Page 18 of The Stranger in Room Six
‘Of course not. I stayed here as you told me to.’
‘You’d better not be lying to me.’
‘No, Aunt. I promise.’
‘Good. Now, there are some rules you need to know, young lady. First, you must remember that Frannie is our only maid, now that the others have chosen to become land girls, or whatever they call themselves. She is not your play mate and I forbid you from becoming familiar.
‘Secondly, I hear that Frannie’s mother has suggested you attend the village school. This would be quite inappropriate. I will tutor you myself until we find a governess. I will, however, permit you to partake in the village camouflage netting activity this afternoon. We must show that we are doing our bit for the country. Is that understood?’
Mabel nodded, but as soon as her aunt had gonedownstairs, she grabbed Polly and tiptoed down the narrow backstairs, past the row of servant bells.
Frannie’s mother had said the local train station was at Sidmouth. Mabel was sure she’d seen a signpost on the way to the beach.
It took a lot longer to walk there than she’d thought. Brambles scratched her legs and she was thirsty. Eventually she reached a brick building with a railway track behind it. There was no sign, but she recalled Papa saying that they’d removed station names to ‘fox’ the Germans. Oh, how she missed him.
‘Excuse me,’ she said to a man sat on a bench, dozing with his cap over his eyes. ‘Can you tell me when the next train to London is?’
‘Not until tomorrow now.’ Then he looked at her suspiciously. ‘Hold on a bit. Aren’t you the young lady from the Old Rectory whose family were wiped out in the London raids?’
‘No! Our house was hit but my mama and sister survived. I know they did. I have to find them. I just have to.’
Then she burst into floods of tears.
‘There, there. Don’t fret. I’ll just pop into the office to make a quick call and check the times.’
Five minutes passed before she heard the clip clopping of a horse. ‘Hello, Mabel. You’ve had a long walk, haven’t you? I expect you need a lift home.’
It was Aunt Clarissa’s friend, the Colonel.
‘Thanks for letting me know, Sam,’ he said, nodding to the stationmaster, who appeared sheepishly from the office. So, he had split on her.
‘Climb up here on my saddle, Mabel,’ said the Colonel. ‘Bill will give you a leg up.’
‘No, I’m going back to London. I need to get to my family!’
The Colonel sighed and dismounted. ‘Let’s sit here on the bench for a bit, shall we? Is that all right, Sam?’
The man touched his cap.
‘The thing is, Mabel, you’re right. Maybe your mother and sisterarestill alive. You do sometimes hear stories like that. But if they are, the first thing they’ll do is contact your aunt. So if you go back home to the Old Rectory, you’re more likely to be reunited faster.’
Mabel hadn’t thought of that.
‘My aunt will be angry with me,’ she said in a small voice. ‘She didn’t like me swimming in the sea this morning with Frannie and she says I can’t go to the village school. Instead, she’s going to tutor me until she finds a governess.’
‘Tutor you?’ He roared with laughter. ‘Clarissa doesn’t have the knowledge or the patience. Let me have a word with her. I promise you I can make her change her mind.’
‘Where have you been, you wicked child?’ her aunt shouted when they got home. ‘You frightened me out of my wits, disappearing like that.’
‘Calm down, my dear. Your niece and I have had a little talk and she’s not going to do it again. Mabel, may I suggest that you go upstairs to change? You’ll still be in time to join the camouflage netting work party.’
He spoke as ifhewas Mabel’s guardian instead of her aunt. She did as she was told but then couldn’t resist tiptoeing downstairs and standing outside the library door, listening to the voices inside.
‘There’s no way you can teach the girl yourself, Clarissa. You’d be bored out of your skull. We’ve got so much to achieve and we’re running out of time.
‘Let her go to the village school,’ he continued. ‘She’llmake friends and it will take her mind off things. She thinks her mother is alive, for heaven’s sake.’
‘You’re too soft, Jonty.’
