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
The fingers beneath her hand shifted. ‘There’s one last thing,’ he said. ‘Your father … in my pocket book … letters … money too. Solicitor arranged a bank draft.’ His back arched and he cried out in pain. Adelaide glanced around at Caleb who shook his head. When the spasm passed, Richard whispered. ‘Forgive me, Adelaide … for everything.’
‘You want forgiveness, Richard, then I give it to you. Go in peace.’
She stood and, with a quick glance at Caleb indicating for him to follow, she left the room.
‘What did he mean about a pocket book?’ she asked when they stood in the darkened corridor.
Caleb shrugged. ‘He had a jacket with him. It’s about the only bit of clothing he had still in one piece. Ask Posy.’
Posy gave her the singed and filthy article of clothing. In the inside pocket she found a leather pocket book, untouched by the fire. Adelaide turned it over in her hand but could not bring herself to open it. It could wait till the bright, light of day.
As she walked away from the Britannia, Adelaide raised her eyes to the clear sky above her, the stars brighter than she had ever seen them. She had worn mourning for her old life for long enough. She would never wear black again.
Tomorrow she would wear a bright colour.
Tomorrow her new life would begin.
Forty
Forty
19 February 1872
Adelaide sat at the table in her parlour, staring at the contents of Richard’s pocket book spread out before her: several papers and envelopes and a large handful of pound notes. With shaking fingers she withdrew the letters from their envelopes. Apart from the original of the letter Sissy had copied, she found a banker’s draft addressed to the manager of the Bank of Victoria in Melbourne, requesting that Miss Adelaide Lewis be paid the sum of five hundred pounds—an enormous sum, particularly to someone whose hard work over years had resulted in fifty pounds in savings.
There remained one final document. The seal on the envelope had been broken, presumably by Barnwell, but Adelaide knew the hand that had written her name on the front of the envelope. Her father.
She picked it up and turned it over several times before finding the courage to draw out the folded paper. She recognised the embossed letterhead of Oldham House. It was dated 8 August 1871. Her father must have been close to death but his hand still held a familiar force and, for a long moment, the words written in the black ink he favoured danced in front of her eyes before resolving into a short note.
My dearest Adelaide,