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
If Adelaide ever found the courage to tell her father the truth of her condition, she would be sent away for the duration of her pregnancy. The child would be taken from her arms as soon as it drew breath and placed in an orphanage or, if it was lucky, with a family that wanted a child. That had been the fate that had befallen her cousin, Edith. Edith, who now lay in a lonely, unmarked suicide’s grave hard up against the churchyard wall.
Netty straightened and held Adelaide at arm’s length. ‘Don’t you fret, Miss Adelaide. We’ll pack your bag and go to my sister in Whitby. She’ll take us in for a little while until we can make some plans.’
‘What do you mean “we”? I can’t take you with me,’ Adelaide sobbed. ‘I’ve no means to pay you.’
Netty’s shoulders straightened. ‘I’ll hear none of that, Miss Adelaide. I’ve been with you since you was a bairn and I’ll not leave you now. Whatever is in your future is in mine and we’ll make the best of it.’ She paused. ‘As for means, there’s your mother’s jewellery. That’s yours to do with as you think fit.’
Adelaide wiped her eyes on the handkerchief Netty offered and a small gleam of hope edged its way into her heart. She would take nothing that would lead her father to an accusation of theft, but the trinkets bequeathed to her by her mother would help. Her fingers circled the chain she wore around her neck, a plain silver locket. The last gift from Richard containing a lock of his hair. She had given him a matching token. Now it lay at the bottom of the unforgiving ocean.
She crossed to the window in time to see her father stomping from the house to the waiting carriage, the epitome of wealth and success in his well-tailored wool coat and beaver hat.
When he returned from London, she would be gone.
One
One
Williamstown, Victoria
21 November 1871
Caleb Hunt narrowed his eyes and considered the odds in the ridiculous game of chance that the locals called two-up. His life now depended on the fall of two pennies: heads and tails, or heads and heads, or tails and tails? He knew his limits and would have cashed in his losses a good hour ago, but luck had turned his way, and a scruffy pile of crumpled banknotes was accumulating to his credit.
Now it came down to Caleb and a sweating, bearded Irishman wearing corduroy trousers and a moleskin waistcoat. With a cold gambler’s eye, Caleb could tell that the man had wagered his entire life on the fall of these two grubby coins. A life now neatly folded and in the custody of a large bald-headed man called the boxer.