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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 moved, intrigued, towards the bench which was littered with tools. Dust motes floated in the light from the window. In front of Caleb was a circular die. She was astonished by his work. He could carve the most involved-looking things in a day or two. Bending to look closely, Margaret saw, carved into the metal, a face, about an inch and a half high, the back of the head draped in a robe. The two halves of the die would fit together perfectly, with a thin piece of metal in between, into which the pattern would be stamped.

‘It’s for the coffin factory,’ Caleb said. ‘The Virgin Mary, that is – for the Catholics, like. I do a bit for them now and again – and one of their own fellers passed on last week, so they’re short-handed.’ She realized he meant what was called ‘coffin furniture’ – metal decoration for wooden coffins.

‘It’s beautiful,’ Margaret said. In her upbringing, anything to do with Mary, the mother of God, was seen as alien popery, but the thing was so lovely that this did not seem to matter. All she wanted was to gaze at it.

‘Oh, it’s cheap tat they’ll be stamping out of it,’ Caleb said cheerfully. ‘But there you go – it’s only going under the ground in the end, ain’t it? Any road, I’ve got to get this done. Tell Eb I’ll be round dinner time.’

Fourteen

Fourteen

Another curt letter arrived from their father, telling them that Charles Barber was now recovered and a new appointment was being sought for him at the end of the year. William Hanson therefore expected his daughters home by the same date. The letter filled Margaret with pain. She was still under her father’s influence so strongly that displeasing him felt like the worst thing she had ever done. On Sunday mornings, she and Annie walked to the Congregationalist church at Carrs Lane to hear the Revd Jowett preach. In the past, she would have written letters to her father telling him all about the services and sermons, assuring him that she and Annie were keeping up their night-time prayers. But at present she could not even truthfully write the words ‘Dear Father’. And now, this letter, with its cold tone . . .

‘But what if we don’t want to go?’ Annie said, on reading the letter. The two of them were sitting on their attic bed, Annie with her knees drawn up close to her. She looked even thinner and more tired about the eyes than when they had arrived, but seemed to burn with fiercer determination than ever. To the surprise of everyone except Margaret, she was still sticking it out at the pen manufactory.

‘Whatever do you mean?’ Margaret looked at her, startled. Wanting was never an option in their lives. Duty was the call – what should they do? She had scarcely ever asked herself what she might want.