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 tiny wooden church of St Thomas on the Hill had plain-glass windows, the most basic benches and no pulpit, but Adelaide loved it for its very simplicity. She thought of the ornate church in Liverpool she’d attended, heavily endowed by her father’s wealth. Its magnificent organ raised music to the rafters. St Thomas had only a simple harmonium, and every Sunday, it was Adelaide’s responsibility to play while behind her the congregation growled the words of the hymns, familiar since their childhoods back in England.
The Reverend Johnson waited for his flock at the door to the church in his black robe and white surplice, a black stole flapping in the hot wind from the north. Despite the heaviness of his robes, he still managed a smile as Adelaide approached him.
‘A warm climb, Mrs Greaves,’ he said, holding out a clammy hand to her. ‘Happy Christmas to you and Miss Redley and Master Daniel.’
‘You are joining us for dinner today, Reverend?’ Adelaide asked.
Johnson smiled. ‘I have been beset with invitations, Mrs Greaves, but it will be my pleasure to accept yours.’
The Reverend Johnson had been in Maiden’s Creek since Easter, installed by Bishop Perry himself. In his early thirties and unmarried, he had quickly become the object of gossip among the matrons of Maiden’s Creek, who were inclined to link him to any eligible young woman in the congregation, the respectable widow Adelaide Greaves among them.
The small, well-polished harmonium stood in a corner of the sanctuary. Adelaide unlocked it with a key from her reticule, removed her gloves and ran her fingers over the ivory keys.
‘You always look like a drowning man seeing dry land when you open the harmonium.’ Reverend Johnson’s voice made her start and she turned on the stool to look up at him.
‘I miss my piano,’ she said.
‘You know you are always welcome to play the harmonium any time you wish,’ Johnson said with a smile. He had a round, boyish face with a smattering of freckles across his nose and an uncanny knack for making her feel like she was the only person in the world he wanted to talk to at that very moment.
‘Thank you.’ She felt the heat rising to her cheeks. ‘It’s not quite the same as a piano though.’