Page 81 of The Stranger in Room Six

Mabel felt numb with grief at the thought of returning to the Old Rectory.

The fact that it was nearly Christmas, a traditional time of celebration, made it worse.

She had left with a child inside her and now she was returning with an empty heart.

Somewhere out there in the world was her little Antonio, being brought up by a properly married couple.

Now she was expected to get on with her life, as though she had never given birth to him. Never held him in her arms. Never felt his downy little cheek against hers or his rosebud mouth sucking at her breast.

‘Why did my love desert me?’ she asked herself on the long drive back to the house, her breasts leaking now that they had no baby to nourish. ‘Surely some of my letters must have arrived.’

Cook took one look at Mabel’s face and put her arms around her.

The two women sobbed.

‘I am so sorry for your loss,’ said Mabel, thinking of Cook’s sister.

‘You dear child, always thinking of others. I am so sorry for yours.’ She spoke as though the baby was dead. In a way he was.

‘Is there any news of Antonio?’ Mabel asked hopefully.

‘I’m sorry. Like I said when I wrote to you, he was moved to a different camp and then moved again. But no one seems to know where.’

Cook stopped as footsteps approached.

Her aunt’s face was furious. ‘This is highly inappropriate of you, Cook, to comment on a personal situation. Besides, Mabel is a grown woman now. She needs to learn to be responsible for her actions and their consequences.’

‘If I am now a grown woman,’ retorted Mabel, ‘why couldn’t I have kept my baby?’

‘Because I am not allowing an illegitimate child to grow up in this house. Now stop this impertinence and go upstairs.’

Gladly, thought Mabel as she climbed the stairs and snuggled down under the counterpane in the hideous Red Room. There, she rocked herself back and forth, weeping at the thought of little Antonio crying out for her, and for his father who had clearly deserted them.

Slowly, Mabel’s return to the Old Rectory established an unfamiliar pattern as the days went on. Christmas Day was miserable. Her aunt, after insisting she went to church with her ‘to keep up appearances’, immediately retired to her room, leaving Mabel to have lunch alone in the dining room.

Although her stomach was rumbling with emptiness, she could barely eat for grief. ‘I would suggest you sat in the kitchen with me, love,’ said Cook, ‘but your aunt wouldn’t be pleased if she came down to find you there.’

‘It’s all right, thank you,’ Mabel said numbly. ‘I’m not hungry anyway.’

She spent that afternoon walking in the woods or sitting on the private beach, trying to keep away from people. A couple of times she tried to sing her and Antonio’s special song. But the tune would not come out.

‘Does anyone know I had a baby?’ she asked Cook later that day when her aunt was safely out of the house and no one else was around.

‘Lady Clarissa told everyone you needed a break in Cornwall because you were so anxious about your father. If anyone does suspect, they won’t say anything for fear of your aunt. As a landowner, she still carries a lot of weight around here, despite everything that happened with the Colonel.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Mabel.

‘Let’s just say that although the police didn’t arrest Lady Clarissa, there are still quite a few who think she knew what the Colonel was up to. When the war is over, she may well be brought to account.’

‘Brought to account?’

‘I have said enough already. Now, I hope you don’t mind but I thought you could do with some company of your own age. So I asked Frannie if she’d like to come up to see you.’

‘But she’ll be with her family. Anyway, she won’t want to.’

‘Actually, love, I think you’ll find she will.’

When her friend arrived that afternoon, Mabel flung her arms around her. To her relief, Frannie did the same. ‘I had a baby,’ she sobbed, ‘and my aunt gave him away.’

‘My mam and I wondered if something like that had happened,’ muttered Frannie, stroking her friend’s hair. ‘You poor thing.’

After that, Frannie came to sit with her every day after her work was done, sometimes walking with her down to the sea.

‘I wish I knew where Antonio had been sent,’ Mabel would say again and again as if the refrain might bring him back. ‘I don’t understand why he hasn’t contacted me.’

‘Some men are like that,’ her friend responded sagely. ‘My mam says that war gives them an excuse.’

Was that true? Antonio had seemed so genuine, but maybe she had been too naive. Perhaps he simply didn’t love her any more. Perhaps he never had.