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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 shared his sense of skin-creeping distaste, because that was what she had been brought up to feel. Roman Catholics and even the Church of England were both remote to her and alien, over-ornate and worldly; in everything showy and deeply mistaken. She had never ventured even into the simple little church in the village, let alone one such as this.

No one else was inside and she began to walk along the aisle between rows of carved wooden pews, in turn flanked each side by stone arches rising to a point at their centre. Ahead of her, dull light straining through them, were windows, framed in a similar Gothic shape, ornate and stained in gorgeous colours. Almost ashamed, she felt her heart begin to beat with pleasure.

She was standing in front of an altar, of the sort that her own denomination would deem overwrought and idolatrous. Upon its gold-and-white altar cloths, stood a huge cross and tall candlesticks, all shining brass, each holding a long white candle. To the right, hanging from the wall, she could see a light flickering in a ruby holder.

For a moment, she sank down on the seat at the front, gazing at the sight before her. Those candlesticks – just the sort of thing they would make at Gibson & Franks nearby in Chain Street, she thought. But Uncle Eb could make them if he was asked to. And Philip . . .

Her heart seemed to swell. It was strange and foreign in this place, but it was beautiful. It was like the time she had first seen the silver bowl on Philip Tallis’s workbench: the feeling of being lifted, through her senses, to an intimation of something sublime. Beauty, she thought, beauty is truth, truth beauty . . .

In that moment she was filled with longing for Philip Tallis – a feeling of homesickness at being here in this strange place, away from him. Philip was not religious, but his love of beauty linked hands with what she saw here in front of her; it lifted the spirit above the mere materials, the hammering and soldering. And whatever it took for her to adapt herself, she knew with a passion in those moments, that she loved Philip. That quiet, brilliant, tender man – he was her love. And she would return to him and make a life with him. The thought filled her like a burning warmth of conviction.

Here she was with Charles, who had deceived her even in bringing her here, when she had come for the best of reasons, to try and make peace. Yet she was still waiting for an apology.

She heard his footsteps walking along towards her, clipped and brisk, as if dissociating himself from this place which had warmed her soul.