Chapter 37 Summary: Sunday Best

⚠️ Spoiler Warning: This guide contains detailed spoilers for the entire novel. Proceed only if you've finished reading or are comfortable knowing the plot.

Summary

The chapter opens with Freda at evening Mass in Corpus Christi church on Maiden Lane, though she has no intention of worshipping. She entered only to search for Florence, unaware a service was in progress. A man ushers her into a pew, and Freda—quick at picking up cues—mimics the congregation's bowing, kneeling, and murmured responses. When the faithful move forward for Communion, she tries to slip away but is practically frogmarched to the altar rail by the same man. She imitates the ritual again, though she notes wryly that the wafer is disappointingly insubstantial: she has eaten almost nothing for two days. Covent Garden is closed on Sunday, so she couldn't scavenge leftover produce from the market bins; her supper consisted entirely of Florence's humbugs. When the collection plate passes, her fingers itch to take a coin, but she refrains—her soul, she reflects, is already teetering on the edge of mortal danger. She gives nothing either, earning tut-tutting from the woman beside her.

The narrative then loops back to explain how Freda reached this low point. After the handbag theft at the Lyons, she and Florence reported it at Great Marlborough Street police station, but the desk sergeant showed no interest—theft, Freda reflects, is so common in London that it's a wonder anyone still owns anything. As they walk back toward Covent Garden, Florence stops abruptly in the middle of the pavement, arms flung wide, and Freda fears she's having one of her visions. Instead, Florence points out that Freda is still wearing the bluebird brooch. Freda had quite forgotten it, nestled safely on her cherry-red cardigan. Reluctantly, she agrees they must pawn it. At a pawnbroker's in Meard Street, the man scrutinizes the brooch through a magnifying glass as if searching for any worth at all, and hands over a paltry sum—a fraction of what Mr Ingram must have paid. They have a month to redeem it before it's sold. Freda pockets the ticket and money, keeping her hand on it the whole way back against pickpockets.

Back at Henrietta Street, Freda tries to explain what happened to her in that room backstage at the Adelphi, but Florence meets her with blank incomprehension. Florence still believes babies are found beneath gooseberry bushes, and when Freda attempts to convey the crude reality, Florence hazards, “Kissing?”—adding that her mother always said she shouldn't let a boy kiss her. Freda gives up. She herself doesn't fully understand what was done to her; she only knows she was crushed by something brutal and horribly unfair. She sends Florence downstairs to pay the rent to Mrs Darling before the money can be frittered away, then lies down. She could swear she still tastes Owen Varley's blood in her mouth. The day has been too long.

She intends to rest only a few minutes, but wakes to the Sunday-morning bells of St Paul's. Florence is gone. Her side of the bed is unruffled; her coat and crocheted beret are missing from the hook, though her clothes remain in the wardrobe. Freda searches Florence's bedside drawer and finds a paper bag of humbugs stuck together in a clump, along with several packets of “Sights of London” postcards. When she slides Big Ben out of its greaseproof wrapper, a little flurry of white powder drifts onto the bed—like icing sugar or fine snow. More of the powder is in the unopened packets. Freda licks a finger, presses it into the powder, and tastes it cautiously, unsure whether to expect sherbet or strychnine. It has an odd taste, both sweet and metallic—not poison, since she doesn't drop dead, but slightly refreshing. She replaces the postcards in the drawer.

Mrs Darling bangs on the door demanding the rent. Freda protests that Florence paid it last night; Mrs Darling is derisive. She reports that Florence went out about ten o'clock the previous evening, walked right past her door, and headed in the direction of the Strand, “all dolled up.” Worse, Mrs Darling looked out the window and saw Florence get into a car and drive off. Freda feels a spasm in her heart—has another Pied Piper, a more malevolent one than Freda herself, enchanted Florence away?

Freda escapes the Mass after much bowing and muttering, Duncan's word “mumbo-jumbo” echoing in her mind. She returns to Henrietta Street to find the front door locked against her and her suitcase standing forlornly on the pavement. The satanic doorknocker seems to grin at her with fiendish delight. Never in the whole history of girls, Freda thinks, has one felt as wretched as she does now.

Key Events

Freda and Florence report the handbag theft at Great Marlborough Street police station; the police are uninterested.
Florence spots the bluebird brooch on Freda's cardigan, and they pawn it in Meard Street for a paltry sum with a month to redeem.
Freda attempts to explain the Adelphi assault to Florence, who cannot comprehend it.
Freda sends Florence to pay the rent; Florence never does.
Florence disappears overnight—Mrs Darling saw her leave around ten, walk toward the Strand, and drive off in a car.
Freda discovers white powder hidden inside the “Sights of London” postcard packets; she tastes it and finds it sweet and metallic, not poisonous.
Freda attends evening Mass at Corpus Christi hoping to find Florence, mimicking the service.
She returns to Henrietta Street to find the door locked and her suitcase on the pavement.

Character Development

Freda continues to be defined by resourcefulness and endurance. Her ability to mimic the Mass—barely a breath behind the congregation—shows the same quick adaptability that has kept her alive, but it also underscores her isolation: she is performing devotion she doesn't feel, in a church she entered only to search for a friend. Her longing for Vanda, whom she admits she has “grown unrealistically saintly” in her memory, reveals a deep need for comfort and protection that no one in her present life can provide. The chapter also deepens her trauma: she can still taste Owen Varley's blood in her mouth, and her inability to articulate what happened to her—even to herself—leaves her crushed and bewildered.

Florence is transformed in this chapter from a passive, childlike companion into a figure of mystery. Her disappearance, her departure “all dolled up,” and the hidden white powder in her postcards all suggest a secret life Freda never suspected. The narrative leaves open whether Florence left willingly or was taken, but her absence—and the fact that she never paid the rent—marks a decisive break.

Mrs Darling emerges as a sharp-eyed, unsympathetic observer. She knows the footfall of every tenant and would, Freda reflects, have made an excellent spy. Her report of Florence's departure is delivered with derision rather than concern, and her immediate demand for rent shows her hard heart.

Themes, Symbols, or Motifs

Religious performance: Freda's mimicry of the Mass is a literal performance of devotion—the chapter's title, “Sunday Best,” hints at the idea of putting on a show. She is an actress in a church, just as she is an actress in life, playing roles she never chose.

Poverty and hunger: Freda's starvation is visceral: two days without food, scavenging bins, a Communion wafer that is “not a bit more substantial.” Her hunger is both physical and emotional—she is starving for comfort, for Vanda, for safety.

Theft and loss: The handbag theft, the pawning of the bluebird brooch, and the loss of Florence form a chain of losses. The brooch, a gift of love from Mr Ingram to Mrs Ingram, is reduced to a pawn ticket—a symbol of how quickly affection can be converted into survival.

Hidden drugs: The white powder in the postcard packets is never identified, but its sweet, metallic taste and the fact that it's concealed in tourist souvenirs suggest something illicit. Freda's cautious tasting—wondering if it's sherbet or strychnine—captures her precarious position between innocence and danger.

Fairy-tale symbolism: Freda imagines the white powder as breadcrumbs leading to a gingerbread house, but she reminds herself that the gingerbread house is a prison, not a place of safety—it's where the witch fattens you up to be eaten. The image of the Pied Piper also recurs, suggesting Florence may have been enchanted away by a more malevolent figure.

Abandonment: The chapter ends with Freda locked out of her lodgings, her suitcase on the pavement. She is literally homeless, and the satanic doorknocker grinning at her underscores the cruelty of her situation.

Why This Chapter Matters

This chapter is a turning point in Freda's arc. Florence's disappearance removes the last semblance of companionship from Freda's life, leaving her utterly alone in London. The discovery of the white powder hints at a hidden world of drugs and deception that Freda has been oblivious to, complicating the novel's portrait of Florence and raising questions about who she really was. The pawning of the bluebird brooch marks the final severing of Freda's connection to the Ingrams' kindness, and her eviction from Henrietta Street strips away her last shelter. The chapter also deepens the novel's exploration of performance and survival: Freda's mimicry of the Mass is a small, poignant example of the masks people wear to get through the day.

Study Questions and Answers

1. Why does Freda attend Mass at Corpus Christi, and what does her performance there reveal about her character?

Freda attends only to search for Florence, unaware a service is in progress. Once inside, she feels she has no choice but to go along with the ritual, mimicking the congregation's actions. This reveals her adaptability and her instinct for survival—she can play any role required of her—but also her profound isolation. She is performing devotion she doesn't feel, in a church where she is a stranger, and her growling stomach provides an embarrassing accompaniment to the liturgy. The scene underscores how far she is from any genuine community or comfort.

2. What does the white powder in the “Sights of London” postcards suggest about Florence, and how does Freda interpret it?

The white powder—sweet and metallic, not poisonous—is never identified, but its concealment inside tourist postcards strongly suggests something illicit, likely drugs. Freda's interpretation is characteristically imaginative: she wonders if it's breadcrumbs left as a clue, leading to a gingerbread house. But she immediately corrects herself, noting that the gingerbread house is a prison, not a place of safety. This moment shows Freda's tendency to mythologize her circumstances while also recognizing the danger beneath the surface.

3. How does the pawning of the bluebird brooch connect to the novel's themes of loss and survival?

The brooch was a gift of love from Mr Ingram to Mrs Ingram, and Freda remembers the tender look on Mrs Ingram's face when she unwrapped it. Pawning it for a paltry sum—a fraction of its value—represents the conversion of sentiment into survival. Freda's regret is genuine, but she has no choice: the rent is due and they must eat. The brooch becomes a symbol of how poverty forces people to sacrifice the things they cherish, and the pawn ticket is a reminder that nothing in Freda's world is secure.