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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

At first Margaret had been frightened walking the streets, as if she was in a foreign country, amid people who seemed tougher, more energetic and determined than she could ever be. But already she was getting used to walking around the quarter and starting to look forward to it. All the mucky blue pavements, the busy streets hemmed in by warrens of workshops – now she had realized why people called the place a ‘hive of industry’ – were starting to feel familiar and less overwhelming. And apart from a curious stare now and then, most people were far too busy to trouble about her. The sun lit the shabby sides of buildings at an autumnal slant today, but it was not cold as she stepped out into the morning and she found she was walking faster, like everyone else here in the city, a spring in her step.

Some of the streets were dotted with the businesses of any normal town: shopkeepers selling bread and groceries, banks and pubs, wardrobe dealers, fishmongers, butchers, beer sellers . . . But Frederick Street was like a poem to the crafts of the district and each day she learned more of its lines. William Caley, chaser; David Montagu, gold chain maker; Arthur Cohen, gold ring maker; Herick Emile, gem setter; Clarence Clutterbuck, diamond mounter; Sanders & Son, precious stone dealers; Harrison & Hipwood, metal spinners; David Levy, watch manufacturers . . . On and on along the street on each side, unbroken by any other sort of commerce. The air was acrid with smoke and vitriol and other chemicals used for processing precious metals.

And that morning she noticed a plaque at one property which read ‘Dorothy Bradley & Son, Silversmith’. Surely that couldn’t be right? She paused for a moment to stare at Dorothy Bradley’s modest premises, full of a strange excitement. Could a woman really be a silversmith?

All her life, Margaret had never thought it possible to be anything apart from a wife or a missionary teacher. But perhaps there were all sorts of other possibilities?

Margaret was suddenly filled with a sick feeling of doubt. Here she was in this place, allowing it to corrupt her. Was that what it was? The devil’s seduction – in the crudest guise of gold and silver. A busy, energetic life, all geared to making money. How could she be lured in so quickly, so easily? Was this the City of Destruction from Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress and was she being tempted away from the wicket gate of Christ’s way? But – and this sickened her more – she had been so sure that Charles Barber was a message from God! She was going to marry Charles, be a minister’s wife, honour and please her beloved father . . .

‘Move over a bit, will yer, if ye’re just gunna stand there,’ a voice yelled at her. A lad was behind her with a basket trolley, trying to get it along the pavement.