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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

The only other object was the chest. Feeling her way to it, she lifted the lid, seeing, with a sense of horror, the dark space inside it. She was reluctant to put her hand in. The chest gave off a stale, old smell of camphor. Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself. What could possibly be in there that might be harmful? Nothing, most likely. With her heart racing, she plunged her hand down with a gasp. Nothing. Except, right at the bottom, what felt like a very worn, old scrap of blanket. It was something. Taking the coats off and wrapping the blanket about her, she put her own coat back over her shoulders.

She thought about moving the chest in front of the door, but when she tried lifting it, it was so light and paltry that she realized it would not keep the door from opening. The only thing to do was to drag one of the chairs over to the door and sit on it. As quietly as she could, she pulled the nearest one across the floor, ramming it as close as she could up against the door knob.

I must be calm, she told herself, feeling a fraction safer as she sat on the chair, wrapping the blanket about her. I must think what to do.

From next door, she made out the faint sound of the clock chiming the half-hour. Was it half past five – or six? She had lost track of how long she had been here. Her mind felt unsteady, jittering with panic.

A moment later, she heard the footsteps again. They stopped outside. She could hear the bang of her own blood.

‘Margaret?’ The voice was calm, with a patronizing smoothness. He was so close, just inches away on the other side of the door, and she gripped the arms of the chair, hardly daring to take a breath.

I hate you. The thought came to her, hard and clear as a diamond. You are wicked and I hate you with all my heart. She wanted to get up and scream at him. Yell and howl her loathing of him, her rage at having fallen into this trap through her own good intentions. But she would not answer him. Would not let him have any satisfaction. Because now she could see, horribly clearly, what satisfaction he gained from controlling, imprisoning, both mind and body.

‘Margaret, my dear?’

She sat quite still, her breathing shallow, saying nothing. She tried not to think about what would happen if he managed to force his way into the room. She would try and stop him, but he would win in the end. And what might he do? He might do what he had tried to do before. He might do anything.

The footsteps moved away. She could breathe again.