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Chapters (53)
  1. Cover
  2. About Alison Stuart
  3. Also by Alison Stuart
  4. Title Page
  5. Dedication
  6. Prologue
  7. One
  8. Two
  9. Three
  10. Four
  11. Five
  12. Six
  13. Seven
  14. Eight
  15. Nine
  16. Ten
  17. Eleven
  18. Twelve
  19. Thirteen
  20. Fourteen
  21. Fifteen
  22. Sixteen
  23. Seventeen
  24. Eighteen
  25. Nineteen
  26. Twenty
  27. Twenty-One
  28. Twenty-Two
  29. Twenty-Three
  30. Twenty-Four
  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. Forty
  47. Forty-One
  48. Forty-Two
  49. Forty-Three
  50. Forty-Four
  51. Author’s Note
  52. Acknowledgements
  53. Preview of The Goldminer's Sister

He considered her for a long moment. ‘It’s been ten years since you left England. Don’t you think he might have changed? Haven’t you changed?’ Caleb held up a hand. ‘I’ll say no more. If he wants to marry you, that’s between the two of you. None of my Goddamned business.’

‘No, it’s not. It is none of your Goddamned business.’ Adelaide wrenched the door open and without turning to him, snapped, ‘Goodnight, Dr Hunt.’

The jars in the cupboard rattled as the door slammed behind Adelaide’s stiff, angry back.

Caleb ground his teeth and swore, resisting a strong urge to sweep the items on the desk to the ground or punch someone. Either would do.

Instead he stood quite still, fingers clenching and unclenching. It had taken every ounce of strength not to take her in his arms and kiss her. He sat at his desk and buried his face in his hands.

‘Goodnight, Miss Adelaide,’ he murmured.

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Seven

9 February 1872

Danny dragged his feet along the main road, scuffing his boots in the dust. He would get in trouble from Netty but right now he didn’t care. He thrust his hands deeper into his trouser pockets, another sin, and hunched his shoulders. The taunts of his classmates may have faded but they still echoed in his heart.

‘Something amiss, Dan?’

He started at the sound of Caleb’s voice. His friend sat on a bench outside the new doctor’s surgery, feet crossed at the ankles, smoking a pipe. Caleb moved over and patted the bench beside him. Danny needed no further invitation. He jumped onto the verandah, the boards creaking beneath him, and sat down beside Caleb.

‘Why don’t you visit any more?’ Danny blurted.

Caleb removed the pipe from his mouth. ‘That’s complicated, Dan.’

‘It’s because of Uncle Richard, isn’t it?’

Caleb didn’t answer straight away. ‘Your mother is enjoying Mr Barnwell’s company, Dan. I don’t want to get in the way.’

‘But he’s there all the time,’ Danny said and, realising that sounded like a grizzle, added, ‘I don’t really mind. He makes Mama laugh and he gives me presents.’

‘I wouldn’t say no to presents,’ Caleb said.

That brought Danny to the cause of his misery. ‘He gave me a set of soldiers,’ he said and sighed. ‘I took some of them to school today and I started to tell everyone about the Battle of Waterloo but—’ His lip quivered and he took a shuddering breath.

‘But?’ Caleb prompted.

Danny felt in his pocket and drew out the Duke of Wellington. The sword the Iron Duke had brandished so valiantly now consisted of just the hilt. ‘A couple of the big boys took him away and broke his sword.’ A deeply shaming tear threatened to dribble down Danny’s cheek.