Page 36 of The Stranger in Room Six

Christmas was approaching. There was still no news about Clarissa and the Colonel getting married, although he had said they’d ‘got a date’. Mabel was glad she hadn’t mentioned it.

Sometimes it felt as though she had been living in the Old Rectory for ever.

At other times, it felt like a few weeks.

But ‘this festive time for reflecting and praying for peace’, as the vicar called it, brought back memories of sugar plums, white iced rabbit-shaped sweets in her Christmas stocking; her father lifting her up in front of the roaring fire and dancing around the drawing room; her mother, clapping from her own special pink-velvet chair; the gramophone that played Vera Lynn records.

But at the Old Rectory, the festive period felt different. The jollier that people became, the worse Mabel felt. Papa was missing. He might be dead. How could people be happy?

‘If we walk around with long faces, we might as well admit that Hitler has won,’ Cook told her when she saw Mabel’s tears drop into the Christmas pudding mixture.

‘We’ve got to have hope, love. Miracles happen in the war. You hear about them all the time. People get dug out of buildings and …’

Mabel gave a sob.

‘Oh, love! I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.’

‘Why couldn’t Mama and my sister have been the lucky ones?’

‘Oh, Mabel. Life is very hard sometimes. But if your mother and father were here, what do you think they would say?’

‘Chin up,’ sniffed Mabel. ‘That was one of Papa’s favourite phrases. Mama was always laughing too.’

‘She was indeed. You’ve got her smile. I remember it well. We were the same age. We used to be friends, rather like you and Frannie from the cottage.’

‘Was Aunt Clarissa friends with you too?’

Cook’s lips tightened. ‘No. She believes “everyone should know their place”. I can tell you, when this war is over, things will change. I’m sure of it.’

‘What will change?’ asked a sharp voice from the door.

Mabel’s mouth turned dry. ‘The pudding,’ she said quickly. ‘When it’s steaming in the saucepan, it gets more solid. Cook’s been teaching me.’

‘Has she indeed?’ Aunt Clarissa swept her hair back haughtily.

She was dressed for riding and looked, Mabel thought, very beautiful.

‘Well, I don’t think that’s necessary for young ladies who will grow up to have cooks of their own.

Now, follow me. You need to change into your jodhpurs. It’s about time you came on a hunt.’

Mabel wasn’t sure about hunting. She’d heard stories about it from her father, who disapproved. That poor fox with all those people after him.

‘Isn’t that rather cruel?’ she asked, as Aunt Clarissa strode ahead to the stables.

‘Absolute nonsense. The foxes need to be culled or else there would be too many. Besides, the horses need exercise.’ She turned to the elderly groom. ‘Right, James, are we ready?’

Before them stood the most beautiful chestnut stallion Mabel had ever seen. Its coat was positively gleaming.

‘You’re a very lucky young lady,’ said her aunt. ‘The Colonel has lent you Wellington from his own stables.’

‘He’s the perfect size for you, miss,’ said the groom, ‘and he’ll go faster than old Foam. If you ride him correctly, he will obey your touch.’

Clarissa was cracking her whip. ‘Right, off we go. We’re meeting the others at the Hall.’

Mabel had often ridden or walked past the Colonel’s home but never been inside before. As they approached, she could see a large group of riders in the courtyard. They were laughing and drinking mulled wine.

‘Hello, Mabel,’ said the Colonel. ‘I’m so glad you could join us. May I introduce Clarissa’s niece, everyone.’

It seemed from the conversation that many of the guests had travelled some distance.

Yet, somehow, they all knew each other. A group of them were huddled together looking at some papers and talking in low voices.

When they saw Mabel looking, they quickly folded them away and slipped them into a bag at the Colonel’s side.

Wellington was getting restless, his hoofs clicking on the flagstones.

‘What if the Germans drop bombs on us while we’re out?’ asked Mabel, nervously.

‘They won’t come near us,’ said one man firmly.

‘But how do you know?’

‘Because they haven’t been bombing for some time,’ said Aunt Clarissa quickly.

‘In fact, there needn’t be a war at all if the rest of the British public saw sense,’ said a man with a twirly handlebar moustache on a horse so tall that it gave her neck a crick to look up at him.

‘Let’s not talk politics, shall we, Bedmont?’ said the Colonel, cutting in.

As they trotted past the fishermen’s cottages, Mabel kept her eyes peeled for Frannie. There she was! Oh dear. How pale she looked.

‘Halt, everyone,’ called out the Colonel. ‘We’ve arranged refreshments to speed us on our way.’

Again? She couldn’t help feeling rather awkward as Frannie handed her another stirrup cup with a stony face. How she wanted to talk to her, but it was difficult with so many people around.

‘Right, everyone!’ called out the Colonel. ‘Let’s go!’

Wellington made to surge ahead but Mabel felt Frannie grab hold of her reins, her eyes accusing. ‘It’s your fault my dad was killed.’

Mabel froze. ‘What do you mean?’

‘That man there was talking about a “near shave”,’ she said, pointing at Bedmont. ‘He said a poacher went to the police and that “he deserved everything he got”. What did you tell the Colonel about my dad before he died?’

‘Just that I’d told your family there was going to be another dinner party and … and that there might be some left-over food like there was after the last one.’

‘That would have been enough.’ Frannie’s eyes narrowed. ‘We’ve all been told to watch out for strangers in the area. Two parties in one month is downright suspicious. My dad probably went to the police and that’s why they made an arrest. The Colonel was behind my dad’s death. You mark my words.’

‘Why would he do something as wicked as that?’

‘You’re either very cunning or very naive, Mabel. Go away with your loose tongue and your fancy aunt and her crowd. I thought you were different but you’re not. Don’t expect me to be your friend any more.’