BooksBarbecue
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

‘All I can say is . . .’ Annie ploughed on, despite Margaret’s increasingly desperate looks which said, Annie, for heaven’s sake, stop! Be quiet! ‘I can’t imagine giving up my thoughts – or my life, for that matter – to a man.’ Having dropped this thunderbolt on to the table, she went back to sawing up her beef with great energy.

‘Well,’ Uncle Eb said, with an outrush of breath. His moustache lifted as he smiled. ‘Who’s going to warn our Jack then? If this ’un started on him he wouldn’t know what’d hit ’im!’

‘Oh, I think he’s already wondering that,’ Aunt Hatt said.

At this, all of them burst out laughing and the tense moment passed.

This added to Margaret’s smile as she walked along. She loved her uncle and aunt’s good nature. Both of them could be sharp and irritable when pressed with the demands of the business, but it warmed her to see how united they were. They did not take anything too heavily and always ended up laughing their way out of any quarrel.

She delivered an order to the bullion dealer whose wagon regularly rolled up in front of Watts & Son, from where the raw gold was carried along the entry at the side of the house and down to the basement. Then she posted some letters, before looking for the shop where she was to buy buttons and two yards of grey serge for her aunt. The day was overcast, but she was feeling cheerful.

She found herself hard to understand. One moment she felt free and optimistic, as though released from all her inner torments. The next, she would be walking along amid the bustle of this busy place and something would come to mind and pierce right through her. Yesterday it was a memory of Charles as he had been when they first met – the quietly charming man in a vulnerable state who had drawn her to him. She was so fragile then, a sickly girl beginning to recover, and he, acquainted with suffering himself, had lured her gently, as if she was a shy bird. With an ache, she missed him, missed the harmony she had felt, the reviving excitement of his interest in her. Memories came of them sitting together by the fire in the parlour at home: the way he had reached forward to take up the poker and shift the coals; the upward wave of his hair; his strong legs close to hers; how he had turned when speaking, to look into her eyes. And suddenly she was close to weeping in the street.

Another time she was walking along Vyse Street when it had begun to drizzle. For an intense moment she was a child, standing beside the river at the edge of the village, her hand in her father’s – her tall universe of a father – and the wet blowing against their cheeks.