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Chapters (71)
  1. Copyright Notice
  2. Dedication
  3. Part One
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. Part Two
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. Twenty-One
  26. Twenty-Two
  27. Twenty-Three
  28. Twenty-Four
  29. Twenty-Five
  30. Twenty-Six
  31. Twenty-Seven
  32. Twenty-Eight
  33. Twenty-Nine
  34. Thirty
  35. Thirty-One
  36. Thirty-Two
  37. Part Three
  38. Thirty-Three
  39. Thirty-Four
  40. Thirty-Five
  41. Thirty-Six
  42. Thirty-Seven
  43. Thirty-Eight
  44. Thirty-Nine
  45. Forty
  46. Forty-One
  47. Forty-Two
  48. Forty-Three
  49. Forty-Four
  50. Part Four
  51. Forty-Five
  52. Forty-Six
  53. Forty-Seven
  54. Forty-Eight
  55. Forty-Nine
  56. Fifty
  57. Fifty-One
  58. Fifty-Two
  59. Fifty-Three
  60. Part Five
  61. Fifty-Four
  62. Fifty-Five
  63. Fifty-Six
  64. Fifty-Seven
  65. Fifty-Eight
  66. Fifty-Nine
  67. Sixty
  68. Sixty-One
  69. Books by Barbara Taylor Bradford
  70. About the Author
  71. Newsletter Sign-up

The old Queen Empress had died in 1901, after the longest reign of any monarch wearing the English crown, an amazing feat by any standards, although she had been long absent living in Scotland.

The Prince of Wales was now Edward VII and, contrary to what had been expected, it looked as if he was good at his job. The newspapers appeared to think that anyway. Patrick hoped they were right.

There was peace in the world now that the Boer War was over. England had lost many men in the fighting in South Africa, but a lot had made it home, much to his relief. As a former military man, he cared about the veterans who had come back to start new lives after service for their country.

Patrick sighed to himself, thinking of his days in the Royal Navy. Sometimes he still missed being in a ship at sea, serving Queen and Country. He had liked that orderly life of duty, discipline and dedication, a sense of purpose. It suited his character.

Unexpectedly, his thoughts swung to the Prime Minister, who was not popular with everyone. Yet he himself had a certain amount of faith in Arthur Balfour. Even so, he wondered how the King got on with him.

Patrick’s friend Jack Blane read more newspapers than he did, and Jack was behind Balfour’s policies. Jack also believed the aging Salisbury was definitely too old now to lead the country. New blood was needed, he said. But Jack had also suggested that Balfour and the King were not a good fit.…

Turning into Tower Lane, Patrick was unlocking the door of his workshop a few minutes later. It was filled with natural daylight, and he nodded as he glanced at the workbenches. The lads had cleaned up well last night. Everything looked pristine. All was in order. This pleased him.

Once he was in his little office, Patrick put the papers on his desk and then took off his jacket, hung it on a peg behind the door.

It was early, only six-thirty, and the men would not arrive until seven-thirty. In the summer months, they started later but worked longer, into the early evening. Patrick had instituted these hours so that in winter they could arrive earlier and go home at four-thirty, while it was still light outside. It worked for the men and himself.

Sitting down at the small desk, he glanced at The Daily Mail’s headlines, then picked up the racing sheet. When he felt he could afford a little flutter, he would pick a likely winner and place a bet with his bookie, Billy Hill, at the top of Branch Road. Patrick loved horses and the races. But he was always careful with his money, acutely aware of his responsibilities. He must keep a roof over their heads and put decent food on the table, make sure they were safe, protect his wife, and nephew now.