Page 57 of The Stranger in Room Six
Then, when she turned into Church Lane, she noticed someone up a ladder, trimming the hedges. When he turned to look down, she saw it was the young man from the camp who had talked to her about Shakespeare’s sonnets.
‘What are you doing here?’ she gasped, stepping backwards. Supposing he attacked her with those shears?
‘We’re allowed to do jobs for families in the village now,’ he said, coming down the steps so they were face to face. ‘I can see you are scared, but I promise I am not going to hurt you.’
‘But aren’t they worried you might escape?’
‘Where to?’ he asked, laughing. ‘It is not as if we can go far. Besides, I do not want to.’
‘But surely you want to go back to your family.’
His face looked sad. ‘Of course, but I do not know if my loved ones are there any more. I write letters but receive no replies. I am scared that when or if I return, I may not find them. I prefer to imagine that they are here.’ He looked a little shy. ‘I talk to my mother in my head and to my father and my sisters too.’
‘I do the same!’
‘You do?’
She nodded. ‘Even though my mother and sister are gone.’
‘Gone?’ He looked shocked.
Mabel swallowed hard. ‘They were killed by a bomb in London. My father is away fighting, I pray every day that he’s safe.’
The man crossed himself. ‘Then I will pray too.’
‘But why would you want to do that? We are your enemy. You are ours.’
‘I do not believe in enemies. My family, like many, was caught up in a war we didn’t want. I believe people should live peacefully together.’
‘So do I.’
The church clock struck three times. Goodness, was that the time? ‘I must go back,’ she said.
He touched his cap. ‘It was good to see you again. What is your name?’
‘Mabel,’ she said hesitantly.
‘Me, I am Antonio.’ He gave a little flourish from the ladder. ‘It was lovely to meet you, Lady Mabel.’
‘Oh, I’m not a lady. However, my aunt is and so was my mother when she was alive.’
‘A true lady is someone who has grace. You have that. It is an honour to know you.’
So many thoughts were flying around Mabel’s head that when she went in through the door of the Old Rectory, it took her a few minutes to register the wailing coming from the sitting room.
Clarissa was howling, on the edge of the sofa, bent over a glass of whisky, ash from her cigarette falling onto the antique rug.
Mabel dropped to her side. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.
‘Jonty,’ howled her aunt, burying her face into Mabel’slap. ‘He’s going to be tried for treason. If he’s found guilty, he’ll be …’
Her words trailed into the empty air.
‘He’ll be what?’ whispered Mabel.
‘He will be hanged.’
The Stranger in Room Six
