Chapters (64)
- Cover
- Title page
- Dedication page
- A Week’s Work in Birmingham
- I
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- II
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- III
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Acknowledgements
- Further Reading
- About the Author
- By the Same Author
Margaret felt a sudden heady happiness, walking along behind the two men, as if she was on an adventure into the unknown. She had hurried into number twenty-six to see Aunt Hatt.
‘May I go?’ she’d said, after explaining the nature of the invitation. ‘I think it would be very good for Daisy.’
Aunt Hatt stared at her with what seemed a glimmer of amusement. ‘You don’t really need to ask my permission, do you?’ she said. ‘Go on – we’ll keep your tea for you. And Margaret,’ she called after her, ‘you’ll need your hat!’
Margaret had been in such a fluster she had almost dashed out bare-headed and came close to knocking her uncle down in the passage.
‘Where’s ’er off to?’ she heard Uncle Eb say in the back room as she pressed the black hat her aunt had lent her over her hair.
‘The Guild – with Philip Tallis and Daisy.’
‘Oh,’ Uncle Eb said, in meaningful tones which brought a blush to Margaret’s cheek in the dark. ‘Is she now?’
Mr Carson led them to a high building with, so far as Margaret could see in the gloom, an extraordinary number of windows in it. Other people were approaching and turning into the building and a few greetings were exchanged in the chill darkness.
As they went in, Mr Carson suddenly called Daisy to him to tell her something and Margaret found herself beside Philip Tallis as they moved towards the stairs. Glancing round her, she saw signs offering what seemed to be workshops in Ecclesiastical Metalwork and Pottery and Glazed Tiles. She would have liked to stop and look further, but the stream of people was carrying her onwards. Upstairs, they entered a room where a few curved rows of chairs were set out expectantly facing the same direction. The four of them sat together – Margaret between Philip Tallis and Daisy, who had Mr Carson the other side of her. Both the men removed their hats, revealing Philip Tallis’s bushy curls and Mr Carson’s dark waves of hair.
‘And from where do you hail, Miss Hanson?’ Mr Carson asked, leaning across Daisy. But he spoke more softly than usual, as if sensitive to the fact that Margaret was not used to his hearty style of address.
‘Oh – from a village,’ she said, flustered. ‘You won’t have heard of it. It’s not far from Bristol.’
‘I see – and you’re a niece of Ebenezer Watts, I gather?’