Page 37 of The Stranger in Room Six
A thrill shot through her. Any connection to her darling mama was so precious now she was gone. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ Mabel said. ‘I didn’t know you knew my mother.’
‘Well, she and her sister weren’t allowed to mix with the likes of us, but I remember how kind and gentle she was. Your aunt was always very different from your mother, God rest her soul.’
As she spoke, the sky darkened and huge drops of rain began to fall.
‘Come into the cottage with me. You can shelter from this storm and I’ll put on the kettle for a cup of tea.’
Remembering Frannie’s words (‘We’re all a bit scared of her’) Mabel was about to make up an excuse. But the rain was so heavy that it was stinging her face. ‘Thank you,’ she found herself saying.
The lacemaker settled her down into a small but comfortable chair by the fire. Scattered round the room were several spools of lace. Mabel wanted to touch them but was conscious of her stained hands. ‘You can wash them in the sink,’ said her hostess, as if reading her mind.
She gave Mabel a large bar of carbolic soap. Mabel scrubbed and scrubbed but the pheasant blood wouldn’t come out.
‘Let me help.’ As she turned Mabel’s left hand over, she began tracing the lines on her palm and then gave a small gasp.
‘What is it?’ asked Mabel.
‘Goodness me. You’re going to have an extraordinary life,’ she whispered.
Mabel felt as if the hairs on her arms were standing on end. ‘How can you tell?’
The lacemaker’s face was so close that she could smell her breath. It reminded her of cinnamon.
‘You see this line here? It’s very long. That means you’re going to reach a good age. But challenges will come for you along the way. You will get through them, though you may doubt it at the time. Then, towards the end of your life, you’ll …’
She stopped. Her face went pale.
‘I’ll what?’ asked Mabel.
The lacemaker dropped her hand suddenly as if it was scalding her. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said with a tremor in her voice.
‘Please. Tell me.’
The woman’s eyes bore into hers. ‘I can’t, Mabel. However, I will give you one piece of advice. You must learn what to say and what not to say. It could save your life.’
Mabel found something soft being pressed into her hand.
‘Keep it and you will have peace one day. The rain’s stopped now – you should go.’ The lacemaker almost pushed her out of the door, the promise of tea forgotten.
Mabel ran without stopping to Frannie’s cottage, the pheasants in one hand and the gift clenched tightly in the other. Just before knocking, she opened her left hand to find a beautiful piece of cream lace, which she put carefully into her pocket.
‘Thank you, love,’ said Frannie’s mother when she gave her the birds.
‘It’s not from me, it’s from Cook. The Colonel shot them, but we didn’t think he’d miss them.’
She stiffened. ‘I see.’ Then she looked worriedly at Mabel. ‘You’re very flushed. Are you all right?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ lied Mabel, deciding not to talk about her experience on the way. ‘How are you?’
‘We must soldier on,’ Frannie’s mother said, gesturing at her knitting. Like many of the women in the village, she was making scarves and mittens for the brave boys on the front. ‘It’s what my husband would have wanted.’
A pair of heavy boots sounded at the door. It was one of Frannie’s brothers.
His eyes flew straight to the brace of pheasants. ‘Where did they come from?’
Frannie’s mother’s voice quivered. ‘The Colonel and Lady Clarissa.’
‘Did they indeed?’ His brows knitted with anger. ‘Then there’s only one place for them.’
