Mary Olivier: a Life. Sinclair May

silk."

      "You needn't waggle your big beard at me, Emilius," Aunt Charlotte said.

      Papa pretended that he hadn't heard her and began to talk to Uncle

       Victor.

      "Did you read John Bright's speech in Parliament last night?"

      Uncle Victor said, "I did."

      "What did you think of it?"

      Uncle Victor raised his shoulders and his eyebrows and spread out his thin, small hands.

      "A man with a face like that," Aunt Charlotte said, "oughtn't to be in Parliament."

      "He's the man who saved England," said Papa.

      "What's the good of that if he can't save himself? Where does he expect to go to with the hats he wears?"

      "Where does Emilius expect to go to," Uncle Victor said, "when his John

       Bright and his Gladstone get their way?"

      Suddenly Aunt Charlotte left off smiling.

      "Emilius," she said, "do you uphold Gladstone?"

      "Of course I uphold Gladstone. There's nobody in this country fit to black his boots."

      "I know nothing about his boots. But he's an infidel. He wants to pull down the Church. I thought you were a Churchman?"

      "So I am," Papa said. "I've too good an opinion of the Church to imagine that it can't stand alone."

      "You're a nice one to talk about opinions."

      "At any rate I know what I'm talking about."

      "I'm not so sure of that," said Aunt Charlotte.

      Aunt Lavvy smiled gently at the pattern of the tablecloth.

      "Do you agree with him, Lavvy?" Mamma had found something to say.

      "I agree with him better than he agrees with himself."

      A long conversation about things that interested Papa. Blanc-mange going round the table, quivering and shaking and squelching under the spoon.

      "There's a silver-grey poplin," said Aunt Charlotte, "at Marshall and

       Snelgrove's."

      The blanc-mange was still going round. Mamma watched it as it went. She was fascinated by the shivering, white blanc-mange.

      "If there was only one man in the world," Aunt Charlotte said in a loud voice, "and he had a flowing beard, I wouldn't marry him."

      Papa drew himself up. He looked at Mark and Daniel and Roddy as if he were saying, "Whoever takes notice leaves the room."

      Roddy laughed first. He was sent out of the room.

      Papa looked at Mark. Mark clenched his teeth, holding his laugh down tight. He seemed to think that as long as it didn't come out of his mouth he was safe. It came out through his nose like a loud, tearing sneeze. Mark was sent out of the room.

      Daniel threw down his spoon and fork.

      "If he goes, I go," Daniel said, and followed him.

      Papa looked at Mary.

      "What are you grinning at, you young monkey?"

      "Emilius," said Aunt Charlotte, "if you send another child out of the room, I go too."

      Mary squealed, "Tee-he-he-he-he-hee! Te-hee!" and was sent out of the room.

      She and Aunt Charlotte sat on the stairs outside the dining-room door. Aunt Charlotte's arm was round her; every now and then it gave her a sudden, loving squeeze.

      "Darling Mary. Little darling Mary. Love Aunt Charlotte," she said.

      Mark and Dank and Roddy watched them over the banisters.

      Aunt Charlotte put her hand deep down in her pocket and brought out a little parcel wrapped in white paper. She whispered:

      "If I give you something to keep, will you promise not to show it to anybody and not to tell?"

      Mary promised.

      Inside the paper wrapper there was a match-box, and inside the match-box there was a china doll no bigger than your finger. It had blue eyes and black hair and no clothes on. Aunt Charlotte held it in her hand and smiled at it.

      "That's Aunt Charlotte's little baby," she said. "I'm going to be married and I shan't want it any more.

      "There—take it, and cover it up, quick!"

      Mamma had come out of the dining-room. She shut the door behind her.

      "What have you given to Mary?" she said.

      "Butter-Scotch," said Aunt Charlotte.

      IV.

      All afternoon till tea-time Papa and Uncle Victor walked up and down the garden path, talking to each other. Every now and then Mark and Mary looked at them from the nursery window.

      That night she dreamed that she saw Aunt Charlotte standing at the foot of the kitchen stairs taking off her clothes and wrapping them in white paper; first, her black lace shawl; then her chemise. She stood up without anything on. Her body was polished and shining like an enormous white china doll. She lowered her head and pointed at you with her eyes.

      When you opened the stair cupboard door to catch the opossum, you found a white china doll lying in it, no bigger than your finger. That was Aunt Charlotte.

      In the dream there was no break between the end and the beginning. But when she remembered it afterwards it split into two pieces with a dark gap between. She knew she had only dreamed about the cupboard; but Aunt Charlotte at the foot of the stairs was so clear and solid that she thought she had really seen her.

      Mamma had told Aunt Bella all about it when they talked together that day, in the drawing-room. She knew because she could still see them sitting, bent forward with their heads touching, Aunt Bella in the big arm-chair by the hearth-rug, and Mamma on the parrot chair.

      END OF BOOK ONE

      BOOK TWO CHILDHOOD (1869–1875)

       Table of Contents

      VI

      I.

      When Christmas came Papa gave her another Children's Prize. This time the cover was blue and the number on it was 1870. Eighteen-seventy was the name of the New Year that was coming after Christmas. It meant that the world had gone on for one thousand eight hundred and seventy years since Jesus was born. Every year she was to have a Children's Prize with the name of the New Year on it.

      Eighteen-seventy was a beautiful number. It sounded nice, and there was a seven in it. Seven was a sacred and holy number; so was three, because of the three Persons, the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, and because of the seven stars and the seven golden candlesticks. When you said good-night to Mamma you kissed her either three times or seven times. If you went past three you had to go on to seven, because something dreadful would happen if you didn't. Sometimes Mamma stopped you; then you stooped down and finished up on the hem of her dress, quick, before she could see you.

      She was glad that the Children's Prize had a blue cover, because blue was a sacred and holy colour. It was the colour of the ceiling in St. Mary's Chapel at Ilford, and it was the colour of the Virgin Mary's dress.

      There were golden stars all over the ceiling of St. Mary's Chapel. Roddy and she were sent there after they had had chicken-pox and when their whooping-cough was getting better. They were not allowed to go to the church at Barkingside for fear of giving whooping-cough to the children in Dr. Barnardo's Homes; and they