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
Caleb glanced at Adelaide and his fingers clasped hers, the action hidden by her voluminous skirts. ‘We’ve got a lot of talking to do … the three of us,’ Caleb said. ‘Now, how about you go back to your bed and I’ll come and have a look at your hand in a minute or two.’
Danny looked from one to the other. ‘Are you going to kiss again?’
‘Probably,’ Caleb said.
Danny sniffed and stalked out of the room with as much dignity as a boy in a nightshirt could manage.
Adelaide folded her father’s letter and restored it to the envelope. ‘I don’t want to go back to England and you’d hate it.’
‘I know I would. But there’s no reason to stay in Maiden’s Creek. Adelaide, I have long had a mind to buy a farm and settle to the land again. My father would have liked that.’
‘Conversations for another day, when you are less tired. But can I ask you one last thing?’ Adelaide straightened. ‘What will be done with Richard’s body?’
Caleb shook his head. ‘I’ve no idea. He’s at the undertaker’s now.’
Adelaide folded the banknotes from Richard’s pocket book and handed them to him. ‘There should be sufficient here to see to the cost of a decent burial and a simple memorial stone.’
Caleb nodded. ‘I’ll ask Osborne Russell to write to his folks back in England. No need for them to know anything about you or me. Now I better see to the lad and then—’
‘And then you are going to lie down on that day bed and have a sleep while I return to my duties,’ Adelaide said.
Forty-One
Forty-One
21 February 1872
Caleb turned away from the cemetery where Richard Barnwell had been interred. He and Adelaide had been the only people beside the lonely grave besides Reverend Johnson. A sad end to a sad life, Caleb thought as he stood looking down at the raw wood of Richard Barnwell’s coffin.
He left Adelaide at the post office so he could return to check on the burns victims still lodging at the Britannia and those requiring attention at his surgery. There he found Will Penrose waiting for him.
‘Can you spare me a couple of minutes?’ Penrose asked, glancing at the crowded bench of patients waiting on the verandah. ‘It’s important.’
Caleb made his apologies to his patients and ushered Penrose into the front bar of the Britannia where they found a seat in a quiet corner. ‘What’s so important?’
Penrose grinned. ‘Close your eyes and hold out your hand.’
Caleb obliged and Penrose dropped a small rock into the palm.
It took a moment to realise what he held. The weight alone should have told him. He opened his eyes. ‘Gold.’