Hearts of Gold by Janet Woods

she said when Sarette managed to carry out the action a second time with more success.
    Mrs Lawrence placed a slice of cake on a plate and handed it over with a napkin. ‘You might like to place it on your lap, to protect your skirt.’
    Sarette gave a nervous giggle as she pointed out, ‘The dress used to belong to my mother. It’s my second best one, even though it’s dirty. The best one needs washing, and the third best one is almost rags.’
    ‘Nevertheless, as it’s your second best gown, until we purchase another you will not wish to soil it further. In fact, if you’d taken care of it in the first place it wouldn’t have got into such a disgusting state. It’s stained beyond redemption.’
    Obviously Iris Lawrence had never scratched in the dirt for a living, and although Sarette wanted to point it out to this superior lady that she was being unfair, she managed to restrain herself.
    The cake was sweet and delicious. She ate it in two bites, then picked up the crumbs with the end of her forefinger and licked it clean. She sighed. ‘I’ve never eaten cake before.’
    ‘You may have another piece, this time leave the crumbs on the plate. When you’ve eaten it and have finished your tea we’ll have a chat. I want to know all about you and your family, and as far back as you know.’
    By the time Sarette went up to bed that night, with Mrs Lawrence’s prompting, she’d remembered lots of things about her own family background. She’d also learned many things from Mrs Lawrence just by watching her, that the round spoon was to be used for soup, that the liquid was scooped away from the body, and that the bread was broken with the fingers before eating and her knife and fork placed neatly together when she’d finished her meal.
    It was a nice night, cool, but slightly humid. She seated herself by the window in a chair covered in pink brocade and gazed out over the bay while she brushed out the length of her hair. The sea shushed gently against the shore and a half moon burnished the water with silver gleams. It was a gentle bay, not like the ocean she’d crossed with its fluid glass peaks, sudden dips and living, curling waves that crashed and slapped against the ship, tossing it about in a ferment of foam.
    She smiled as she remembered the rotund Captain Jolly, so calm and unflappable, his feet solid on the deck as if he’d been nailed into position and his voice bellowing commands above the din of the weather.
    She unbuttoned the top of her flannel nightgown, exposing her throat to the kiss of night air. Mr John had bought the garment for her to wear on the ship, and like everything Sarette owned, it needed washing.
    ‘Just in case you’re shipwrecked in the night and have to be rescued,’ he’d said.
    He seemed too far away from her now. Her heart ached for him and she whispered, ‘I’m here, Mr John, my dearest friend. Mrs Lawrence has been good to me, and I like your Mr Grimble, but I miss you so much. A year seems such a long time now. Look after yourself. I know you don’t always believe in such things, and you’ve convinced me not to either, but I’ll pray for you every night anyway, just in case.’
    There was a soft knock. The door creaked open and Mrs Lawrence came in, carrying a candle. ‘I heard voices. Are you all right, dear?’ she said.
    ‘I expect you’ll think I’m foolish, but I was talking to Mr John.’
    ‘No, I don’t think you’re foolish. Sometimes when I feel lonely I talk to my husband.’ She picked up the photograph. ‘Is this you with John?’
    ‘Yes. I was fourteen then, and it was taken nearly three years ago, not long after he rescued me.’
    ‘You look younger than fourteen, and have grown into a beautiful young woman in that time. John looks much older than when we last met. I wouldn’t have recognized him with that beard.’
    He shaved if off just before I left, so I could see what he looked like without it. And he looked handsome, but odd, because the