Page 98 of The Stranger in Room Six

Mabel had been looking forward to the summer.

Somehow, it had become part of the year’s pattern that Harry, now fifteen years old, would come down and spend a month at the Old Rectory.

He was away at boarding school and often wrote to say how much he was looking forward to his time with her.

Papa and Diana had not had any more children, and Mabel got the feeling that coming down to the sea was a welcome change for the lad.

It was the same for her too; her time with Harry made her feel as close to being a mother as possible.

Although thankfully, now she was thirty-five, most people had stopped asking her when she might get married.

Despite the fact they weren’t related by blood, Mabel saw a lot of herself in her ‘little half-brother’, as she called him. He loved the open air and riding. He was also keen to please.

When the old Red Room needed redecorating, he offered to help. She could, of course, have paid someone in the village to do it, but Harry insisted that they could do it themselves. ‘I enjoy practical things like this,’ he assured her.

They started by scraping off the red peony wallpaper on opposite sides of the room. Then she heard a cry. ‘Look,’ he said, pointing to something low down on the wall. Is that what I think it is?’

‘Yes,’ she said numbly. ‘It’s a swastika.’

‘Why would anyone have painted that here?’

‘My aunt must have had something to do with it,’ she said, crossing her fingers. How could she tell him that she had drawn the pattern on the wall herself as a teenager, in her enthusiasm for ‘the cause’.

‘Why?’ he asked, clearly shocked.

What should she say now? How much had his father told him of the family history? Should she ask him first? Yes, that seemed the right thing to do.

But Harry was standing right in front of her, demanding answers.

‘Sit down,’ she said. Enough lies had been told in life.

So they sat, side by side with their backs against the wall. It was easier not to face him as she told him everything of her childhood at the Old Rectory. Well, not all of it, obviously, but enough.

‘You mean that Clarissa, the woman you thought was your aunt, was actually your mother, and that she was one of the fascists who supported Hitler?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘And your father was murdered for it?’

‘Yes, but I didn’t know he was my father. Of course, back then, I thought your father was my father, until he came back from the war and told me.’

Harry squeezed her hand. ‘That must have been a real shock.’

‘It was. But I still see him as my father. He was the man who brought me up. Besides, he and your mother have given me a brother,’ she said, squeezing his hand back.

‘Did you know anything about Clarissa and the Colonel’s activities then?’

‘No,’ she said, trying to keep her voice steady. If she told her beloved Harry that she had been a crucial part of those activities, he might not understand it had been well intentioned.

‘But who killed her?’

‘We don’t know. As everyone said at the time, it could have been anyone in the village. She wasn’t liked, and by the end of the war, there were definite rumours that she was pro-German.’

He shuddered. ‘The Nazis did such wicked things. I can’t believe people were so cruel back then.’

‘Nor could we. But it is frightening how anger and ambition can take over some people.’

‘It must have put you in a very difficult situation,’ he said.

‘It did,’ said Mabel. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him about Antonio but he would be shocked to know she’d fallen in love with the enemy, let alone had a child. She and Papa had agreed long ago not to tell him.

‘My poor sister.’

She leaned her head into his shoulder. It was so comforting. At times, she could almost imagine that he was her son.

‘I will always be here for you, Mabel. Always.’

‘You are a good, kind boy,’ she said, almost choking with guilt. ‘I am so lucky to have you.’

Then she struggled to her feet and looked down at the evil sign on the wall. ‘Now let us obliterate this loathsome thing.’

Now

‘You mustn’t blame yourself,’ says Belinda. ‘You were so young. You just wanted to please your aunt.’

Mabel is looking away, as if not wanting to meet her eyes. ‘No one will know how ashamed I am. I didn’t mean to tell anyone this. It just came out. But it’s such a relief to confide in you.’

Then Mabel grasps Belinda’s hand. What a strong grip for someone so old! ‘Promise you won’t tell anyone this?’

‘I promise,’ says Belinda, feeling terrible. But she has to tell Mouse. Because if not, her girls might die.