BooksBarbecue
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

‘Peace? Well – you are the person who can perhaps explain why we needed to make peace in the first place. You were a sick woman when I first met your family,’ Charles said. His voice was dry, objective. ‘I was kind to you, always, so far as I remember. I would have said I did you a lot of good. But you always had a vivid imagination – fed by too much time alone, pretending to be an invalid, I should imagine . . .’

Pretending? She gasped. ‘I was not . . .’ she whispered.

But she could see it was no good pleading with him. She sank to her knees behind the door, oblivious to the hard floor, the horror of the situation seeping through her.

She heard his footsteps moving away, into the back room. What was he telling his grandmother? Because she knew now that the old lady was not to blame, had nothing to do with this, odd as she was. And that Charles, the charming, vulnerable man to whom she had given her hungry young heart, was two people – the outward man of charm, and this calculating, soulless man of steel. And she, with all good intent, had placed herself in his hands.

Overwhelmed by her own foolishness, at having been so taken in, she bent over, curling up, weeping in the darkness.

It was very cold. The only remedy she could see were the damp coats and she pulled them around her, repelled by the thought of wearing any garment of Charles’s. But I’ll use it if I must, she thought savagely. I’ll use it to keep warm, if it serves.

She felt her way round the room, wondering if there was any way she might light the place. There was a dim glow now from a lamp along the street. As a distraction from the sick rage and dread that crouched in her, she moved slowly about the room by feel. A firm armchair, leather upholstery by the feel of it. Another the same, the other side of the fireplace. There seemed to be very little in the room. Elsie Barber had moved anything she needed for her comfort into the back. There was some sort of rug by the hearth.

Groping round the fireplace, her fingers searched for a candle, for matches – matches especially. There must be a gas mantle somewhere in the room . . . But nothing in the way of a matchbox came to meet her questing hands. All she could feel was an empty coal scuttle and the wiry hairs of a hearth brush. She wondered whether the coal scuttle might be heavy enough to break the window, but when she lifted it she found it was a light, tinny thing.