Chapters (53)
- Cover
- About Alison Stuart
- Also by Alison Stuart
- Title Page
- Dedication
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Author’s Note
- Acknowledgements
- Preview of The Goldminer's Sister
‘Come to supper tonight. I can introduce Danny to you and we can proceed from there.’
Richard nodded and repeated faintly, ‘Supper. Yes, that would be nice. Thank you for the invitation … Mrs Greaves.’
As the door closed behind him and the crunch of his boots on the gravel path receded, Adelaide sank onto a chair, willing her breathing to return to normal.
Was it only yesterday morning she had woken up to a regular day? Her thoughts had been of Caleb detained at Shady Creek, wondering when she would see him. In a few short hours, every lie she had told, every pillar on which she had constructed her life, had begun to crumble. Nothing seemed real any more. Nothing.
Her head pounded with the thousand conflicting thoughts and emotions and she laid her head on her arms, wanting the relief of tears, but they would not come.
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Two
The Catholic priest at Buneep sent a message with Constable Brown that he would not bury a man on the Sabbath and Caleb and Russell were forced to wait until Monday morning before they saw Ernest Bowen laid to rest in a quiet graveyard on the Shady Creek property. It was midday before they turned back to Maiden’s Creek, riding in silence through the heat of the day and arriving in the early evening.
They returned their horses to the livery stable and parted ways. At the post office, Caleb lifted the latch on the side gate and trudged down the path to the back door that led into the kitchen.
Netty answered his knock. ‘You can’t come in,’ Netty said. ‘Miss Adelaide’s not—not up to visitors.’
‘Is she unwell?’
Netty fidgeted. ‘Headache,’ she said. ‘It’s the hot weather.’
Caleb thought he understood. After all, as a doctor, he was hardly unfamiliar with women’s ‘headaches’, but he found something unsettling in Netty’s evasive manner.
‘Is there something I can do?’
Netty shook her head. ‘No, nothing. I’m sorry but there it is.’ She paused. ‘Is it true what Amos said? Bowen is dead?’
‘It’s true.’
‘Then I suppose you’re here to stay for a while.’
‘You suppose right,’ Caleb said. He doffed his hat. ‘Tell Adelaide I shall call on her tomorrow evening. Goodnight, Netty.’
‘Goodnight, Caleb.’
Netty had dispensed with the formality of ‘Mr. Hunt’ long before Adelaide.
Annoyance and confusion dogged his weary footsteps back to the doctor’s cottage he had, until recently, shared with Bowen. Now, according to Russell, as the acting town doctor, the cottage was his. He had to pass the Britannia and a sizeable crowd had gathered there, spilling off the verandah onto the street, blocking his path.
Caleb cleared his throat. ‘Excuse me, ladies and gentleman, can you let me through?’
But far from parting, the crowd closed in around him.