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Back Sisters of Gold
Chapters (64)
  1. Cover
  2. Title page
  3. Dedication page
  4. A Week’s Work in Birmingham
  5. I
  6. One
  7. Two
  8. Three
  9. Four
  10. Five
  11. Six
  12. Seven
  13. Eight
  14. Nine
  15. Ten
  16. Eleven
  17. Twelve
  18. Thirteen
  19. Fourteen
  20. Fifteen
  21. Sixteen
  22. Seventeen
  23. Eighteen
  24. Nineteen
  25. Twenty
  26. Twenty-One
  27. Twenty-Two
  28. Twenty-Three
  29. Twenty-Four
  30. II
  31. Twenty-Five
  32. Twenty-Six
  33. Twenty-Seven
  34. Twenty-Eight
  35. Twenty-Nine
  36. Thirty
  37. Thirty-One
  38. Thirty-Two
  39. Thirty-Three
  40. Thirty-Four
  41. Thirty-Five
  42. Thirty-Six
  43. Thirty-Seven
  44. Thirty-Eight
  45. Thirty-Nine
  46. III
  47. Forty
  48. Forty-One
  49. Forty-Two
  50. Forty-Three
  51. Forty-Four
  52. Forty-Five
  53. Forty-Six
  54. Forty-Seven
  55. Forty-Eight
  56. Forty-Nine
  57. Fifty
  58. Fifty-One
  59. Fifty-Two
  60. Fifty-Three
  61. Acknowledgements
  62. Further Reading
  63. About the Author
  64. By the Same Author

She wanted to pray, to find God’s counsel in this confusion, but all she could feel was Charles Barber’s presence like a pulse across the cool space of the chapel. A strange feeling came over her, as if an actual force was coming from him, the bowed head and hunched shoulders – as if he was calling to her, trying to bewitch her. It was so strong that she felt pulled in, frightened by some magnetism in him. Her heart pounded faster and faster. What was this feeling she had of terrible wrongdoing which had made him distant? And yet he was calling to her in some way, compelling her. Her breathing was ragged and she wanted to get up and leave, but it was some time before she could force herself to move. At last she got to her feet and began to tiptoe out, leaving him to his prayer. But as soon as she moved, he followed.

Outside, the sound of the last horses’ hooves was dying in the distance. Meadows stretched away to the south, green and sweet smelling, the paler acres of stubble beyond. The air was gentle and scented. Between herself and Charles, however, was not sweetness but something painful and tense.

‘What a lovely evening,’ she said, trying to make things feel lighter and more normal.

‘It is,’ he agreed. He was looking around him. It seemed that everyone was gone and it was quiet. He turned suddenly and took her hand. ‘Margaret.’ He stood in front of her and laid his hands on her shoulders. ‘I have been thinking. Throughout the service, all that was in my mind was you, despite all the straining of my heart to pray. I want to ask you something.’

Her heart thudded, her chest compressed. Don’t ask me anything, she thought. Please – don’t make anything more happen, nothing new. I can’t keep up with you. We are engaged to be married. What more can there be to ask?

‘Come,’ he said suddenly. Again he took her hand and she found herself being led along. To her surprise, instead of a walk along the lane which she might have expected, he led her towards the stable.

‘I want to say a few words in private,’ he said. As usual she was in his power.

There were no stalls inside, just an open place with a few rings fixed in the wall for tethering the horses, some straw on the floor where now there were horse droppings, a rough oak stool for mounting and a couple of old halters hanging from nails. It was gloomy and smelt of horse urine, rat droppings and mustiness.

She was expecting some plan, perhaps a proposal that they take off to foreign climes and the missionary field; something momentous and alarming to which she could not give an answer. She would have to delay and say she needed time to think; she would disappoint him again.