I smiled back at her. Her hazel eyes were flecked with gold, just like Grace's.
"She has Edward's hair," Aunt Phyllis commented to Mamma. "As a boy, his was always wild."
I was interested. I'd never thought about my hair in this way before. Mamma's hair was smooth, light brown. I looked at Aunt Phyllis's hair. It was nothing like Papa's dark brown mop, but a rich colour, like chestnuts, with glinty bits of red in it. It looked as if it always behaved itself.
Now Aunt Phyllis said, "Speaking of Edward, it's time he came out of his study, isn't it? We don't want to be late."
We all set off up the hill to the Parish Church.
Usually I liked to walk with Papa, as Sunday was the one day he had some time to spend with me. He would point out interesting things as we went along and we would talk about important matters, like where the moon went in the day, and how rainbows were made.
But today I chose to walk beside Aunt Phyllis. I went along as sedately as I could, my gloved hand in hers, stepping carefully on the cobbles to avoid getting mud on my best Sunday shoes. I couldn't help smiling to myself when Tom stepped in some horse droppings.
I often found it hard to say awake in church. The vicar's voice droned and he used long words I didn't understand. Today, I claimed my place at Aunt Phyllis's side and vowed to stay alert.
Standing so close to her the fringes of her shawl brushed my arm, I clutched my hymnbook and sang out. During the prayers, I bowed my head and shut my eyes tight.
I prayed, "Dear God, please make me good. Please make Grace's cold better soon. Please let us not have mutton today. Amen."
For once I didn't peek, even when Tom nudged me.
***
After lunch (it was mutton), we went to the door to say goodbye to Aunt Phyllis and she kissed each of us in turn, even Tom, who squirmed. Just as she was going, she deposited a small paper bag in my hands and another in Tom's.
Mine crackled enticingly; the contents felt knobbly.
"Don't eat them all at once or you'll make yourselves sick," she said.
As soon as the clatter of the carriage wheels died away, I looked inside the bag. Miniature pear drops, strawberry pink and lemon yellow, with a dusting of sugar crystals.
"What have you got, Tom?"
He showed me his treat: acid drops.
In return I showed him mine, but he pulled a face. "Pooh, girls' sweets."
I went to take one from the bag, but Mamma's hand descended and caught hold of mine.
"Not on the Sabbath, children," she said. "Remember, it is a Holy day."
I looked up at Papa to appeal, but his eyes were on Mamma; he was shaking his head slightly.
Mamma flushed slightly. "Yes, I know, it's kind of Phyllis, but I don't know what she's thinking of. It's so bad for the children to indulge themselves with sugar."
"It won't harm them once in a while." Papa was brisk.
Mamma pursed her lips, but she turned to us. "Very well. I shall put the sweets in the sideboard and you may have some after tea, starting tomorrow."
She took the bags out of our hands and carried them away.
All afternoon we took it in turns to read from The Pilgrim's Progress.
My favourite part was where Christian fought Apollyon. The idea of the foul Fiend, with his fishy scales, dragon's wings, bear's feet, and lion's mouth spouting fire and smoke always made my spine prickle delightfully.
But not today. The thought of the sweets burned in me.
That night I lay in bed, clutching Annabel. I was wide awake. I waited and waited until I was sure everyone had gone to bed. Then I tiptoed downstairs, my feet chill on the oilcloth.
At the dining room door, I hesitated. It was dark inside, and smelled of furniture polish and cabbage.
I was shivering at my own boldness, but the sweets drew me on.
I felt my way along the wall until I reached the sideboard. I ran my fingers over it until I found the lion-shaped handle. Opening the door, I groped inside. Paper rustled under my touch. I plunged my fist inside and grasped a handful of sweets. The gaslight from the hall guided me back to the door and I was away, up the stairs as fast as I could go, my heart racing, one hand holding up the hem of my nightgown, the other clutching my prize.
Under the safety of my quilt, I relaxed a little.
I put one sweet in my mouth. Stowing the rest under my bolster, I cuddled Annabel to me. The sensation on my tongue was sharp and I stiffened.
Tom's acid drops!
But he wouldn't notice, surely ... I hadn't taken so many. What a pity. I would much have preferred my pear drops. Cheering myself up with the thought that I still had them all to come, I lay and sucked until the sweet dwindled to a splinter in my mouth.
***