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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

‘Well,’ Aunt Hatt said huffily, ‘I believe in looking after my own, not chasing after every waif and stray. I don’t know why you want to go running after these people as can’t help themselves.’

‘But Annie’s right, Aunt.’ To Annie’s surprise she heard Margaret’s voice speak up gently in support of her. ‘It’s what we believe in – and it’s what we do.’

Annie looked across at Margaret and they both smiled.

That night Annie dreamt about Charles Barber. She fell into bed utterly exhausted, her mind full of the Pooles’ house, the terrible smell of it weaving itself into her memories. But once she slept it was he, instead, who forced his way into her dreams.

This time it was herself he was coming for. His face wore the strange, livid expression she had seen as he had shoved Margaret against the wall of the stables, pushing her to the ground, his hands groping at her . . . An ecstasy of rage boiled in her and she wrestled with him, lashing out, fighting him . . .

‘Annie . . . Annie, what is it?’

Margaret’s voice came to her, very close, and she felt her sister’s hand on her shoulder, soothing her. ‘Are you all right? You’re not sick as well?’

Annie scarcely knew where she was. Her nightclothes were clammy with sweat. Disarmed by the darkness, she said, ‘I was dreaming about him.’

Margaret lay back with a sigh, but she kept her hand on Annie’s arm. Annie found it comforting.

‘I was dreaming about that night.’ She drew in a shaky breath. ‘I can hardly believe now that it was real – that I . . .’

‘You were trying to help me,’ Margaret said softly. ‘You did help me – you rescued me.’ She paused. ‘Are you ashamed?’

The question pierced into Annie. You could have killed him . . . their father had raged, when he saw what had happened. Yes – she felt shame. Yet there was also exaltation, at the time, a thrilling strength in lashing out at something so clearly, utterly wrong. As if it had not been Charles Barber, the fragile disciple of their father, but a wild beast. Should she feel ashamed? What she felt, lying there in the night’s blackness, was frightened and sobered by knowing what she was capable of.

‘Do you wish I hadn’t?’ she asked.

‘No. Of course not,’ Margaret said. After a long silence, still feeling her sister’s hand on her arm, Annie heard her say, ‘I don’t suppose either of us will marry now, will we?’

Twenty

Twenty

Lizzie came into work as usual the next day, looking wrung out, her gentle face seeming unable to raise any expression.

‘You all right, wench?’ someone called to her in a motherly way as they all poured into the workroom. Lizzie nodded faintly.

‘Lizzie?’ Annie said as they took their places at their presses. ‘Have you eaten anything today?’