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
She sat down on the edge of his bed. ‘Do you not like Richard?’
He hefted a sigh. ‘I suppose so. He’s nice to you and that’s what counts.’
For a fraction of a second Adelaide hesitated, torn by a sudden desire to confide the truth in the child.
‘And he’s nice to you too,’ she said. ‘Look at the wonderful presents he’s brought you.’
Danny cast her a sideways glance that reminded her of her father. Sir Daniel Lewis had an instantaneous suspicion of anyone who he perceived to be currying his favour.
‘I have told him I can’t leave Maiden’s Creek until I have someone to take over the post office. Then we will go to Melbourne and Richard and I will be married and we can take the next passage to England.’
‘What about Netty?’
What about Netty?
‘I’ll have to ask her what she wants to do,’ Adelaide said. ‘Now, into your nightshirt and bed.’
‘Where will we live in England?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe London. You’ll like London. There is so much history and wonderful museums and we may even see the Queen.’
Danny’s reaction could not be gauged as he pulled his nightshirt over his head.
As she tucked him in, she said. ‘Don’t tell anyone our news just yet.’
He looked at her. ‘Not even Caleb?’
Especially not Caleb.
‘No one,’ she repeated. ‘Promise?’
‘Promise.’
Adelaide kissed her son goodnight and crossed the hall to her own bedroom. There had been no relief from the heat of the last few days and she lay on top of her bedclothes, drenched in perspiration, while her mind whirled around the ramifications of that simple word—yes.
Twenty-Nine
Twenty-Nine
13 February 1872
‘Where have you been?’
Posy, now respectably dressed in better-fitting cast-offs, hopped from one foot to the other as she opened the door to a hot and exhausted Caleb. He flung his medical bag down on the table and removed his hat, running his hand through his sweat-drenched hair.
‘I have been down at the Italian settlement, Posy. It’s been one hell of a couple of days. The Capellis’ two-year-old daughter pulled a pot of boiling water down on herself on Sunday and they didn’t call me out till yesterday morning.’
Posy’s hands flew to her mouth. ‘Is she—will she be … all right?’
‘I don’t know,’ Caleb said flatly.
‘Poor little mite.’ Tears welled in Posy’s eyes. She sniffed and wiped them away with her apron.
Caleb pointed to a parcel. ‘There’s fish in there. Can you cook that up for supper? It won’t keep in this heat. The Capellis gave it to me in lieu of payment.’
Posy frowned. ‘A few shillings would’ve been more useful,’ she said.
‘I know, but it’ll do us both for supper.’
Caleb collapsed into his chair and blew out a breath.