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Back Sisters of Gold Save as PDF
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

‘Where’ve yer bin, yer little bugger?’ Mrs Blount shouted at him ‘’Ad yer poor mother worried to death, you ’ave.’

‘Morning, Mrs Blount,’ Margaret said, wishing the woman would button her lip and leave Den alone.

Mary Poole must have heard her because she came rushing out of the house. With her hair scraped back she looked even more whippet thin, her gaunt face and pale blue eyes alight with strained emotion.

‘Denny!’ She tore over to him and began slapping him about the arms and shoulders, sobbing. ‘Where in God’s name’ve yer been? Where were yer all this time? ’Ow could you go off when . . . everything’s . . .’ She folded helplessly in on herself, sobbing.

Margaret saw an instant’s glimpse of agony on the boy’s face before he assumed his usual look of blank sullenness.

‘Let’s go inside, shall we, dear?’ Gently she steered the weeping Mrs Poole to her house then worked to give her and the little girls Ivy and Nellie what comfort she could, boiling a kettle for tea, leaving the soup for them.

‘Annie will have told Lizzie that Den’s back,’ she told Mary Poole as she left. ‘She saw him before she left for work.’

Mary Poole, seated at her table, nodded, so dazed with grief and worry that she seemed unable to move.

Thirty-One

Thirty-One

‘Here’s the post,’ Susan said, peering through the office window at the blurred figure of the postman who had appeared in the fog of that November morning. Bridget went to open the door. Margaret had been amazed when she arrived at the quantity of post that came in and out of twenty-six Chain Street.

Seated at her desk, writing out a receipt for the bullion dealer, she heard Susan speaking to the postman. The routine was soothing. Two weeks had passed with little event. Both she and Annie continued to visit the Pooles and to offer what help and comfort they could. And Den sometimes came round with various excuses for a visit – would they buy his firewood? Could he leave a message for Annie? – which they knew he could have done just as well through Lizzie. Margaret could see that the boy had become attached to her and was as kind to him as she was able to be.

Susan came in, shivering, with a packet and several envelopes. ‘Ooh – it’s cold out. This is for you.’ Susan dropped an envelope on the blotter in front of Margaret.

With a shock like a bolt of electricity, Margaret recognized her father’s handwriting. She slipped the envelope onto her lap and continued working. Aunt Hatt paid no attention. She was opening the other post, making little piles of enquiries and invoices.