Chapter Five
A da stood yawning at the Park Square gate to Regent Park with hours to kill. She’d much rather sleep and relax after suffering the tension in her neck from the gambling rounds she’d lost. Charlotte was on another of her shopping sprees and had dismissed Ada. Even though she’d been sent as a servant, she was glad to get away from Charlotte and her rotten ways. One day, she’d trap an unaware man into marriage and Ada didn’t want to see it happen. He’d walk into Charlotte’s net of lies. It was one thing to trick men out of some coin, but another altogether to betray them and steal their freedom.
The tulips were in bloom, and even hyacinths showed their buds. A colorful display of spring flowers lifted Ada’s mood as soon as she stopped to take in the crisp air. It was warmer now but still cool, perfect. As usual, the instant Ada was at a safe distance from the Silvers, she felt freer, better, and more herself—not the servant girl without a say about her own life.
Ada walked on the rocky path, ignoring the pebbles that got stuck in her soles. Among the trees, London’s usual noise dissipated, and the morning felt much more in order than the Town’s bustling. Ada bent down to a bed of crocuses, marveling at the beautiful dark purple hues and bright oranges. With their little white bases, each petal flowed into a splash of color, as if an artist had touched a watercolor-laden brush onto a crescent water droplet, allowing the pigment to bleed onto the paper.
Ada remembered her art tutor in Konigsberg. “Wet-on-wet effects for the backgrounds, wet-on-dry for precision,” he used to say. “Precise strokes for the foreground, wider ones for the background.” Growing up, everything had a set of rules, not just watercolors. Discipline, punctuality, and politeness ruled all levels of human interaction. Each day came filled with the same monotony, a life devoid of excitement or challenge. She had searched for a way to break free from the endless cycle of routine, yet it was a path that remained elusive. Instead, she’d found herself entrenched in a rut.
Step-by-step her father had built a little fortune by smuggling the finest liquors from France and Italy to Prussia and, eventually, to England. Aunt Bessie had been one of his most demanding clients, placing large orders and ultimately monopolizing him and his connections. He had uprooted their lives and enlisted tutors for Ada to come along with him as they traveled the world, to ensure that she received the education he’d never had.
Often, during his days-long absences, Ada would be left in the sole care of her Parisian governess while her father pursued his trade business. Over time, his bank account reflected his success and Mrs. Dove-Lyon had built a reputation for an establishment offering the highest-stakes games and the finest drinks in Town.
As The Lyon’s Den grew, so did her father’s greed. When The Lyon’s Den celebrated its tenth anniversary, Ada was twenty. She’d traveled on his father’s ship for nearly two years, perfecting her French, English, and Italian with passengers and other smugglers. She also learned every trick that the men had been willing to teach her about cards. “A pretty girl with wits and tricks,” they used to joke.
At that time, the French physician Dr. Pierre-éloi Fouquier had been treating patients with strychnine, a plant-based substance that could help various ailments—or be lethal in high concentrations. Dr. Fouquier’s research assistant was a gambler and indebted. One day, instead of paying Ada’s father, he brought four vials of strychnine. He sent it to England with the latest shipment for Mrs. Dove-Lyon, whose female clients paid quite a lot for it and wanted more “nux-vomica,” as they called it.
And so, Ada was sent to London with several enormous trunks of the medicine, and her father’s promise to follow soon. He’d trusted Mr. Silvers, expecting his former schoolmate and friend would take Ada in as if she were his own, an equal to the Silvers’ children, Charlotte and Daniel.
“I’ll establish a steady trade line and join you as soon as I can,” Father had promised. “Leaving liquor behind, I can try to help bring medicine to England.” It was a laudable endeavor now that Napoleon had yielded to hegemony in Europe. Ada had thought her father was a pioneer. His business would become important beyond generating money. She’d hoped there would be a virtue in ensuring a steady influx of strychnine and the other cures he’d import.
Sadly, as she had seen repeatedly in her life, the corruptibility of the human soul was bottomless. Instead of using the vials for medicinal purposes, they were pawned off as poison—most efficient and without an antidote. One thing led to another and eventually, Ada’s father was caught by the most corrupt of all souls, the beer brewers from Prussia.
Beer, unlike harder liquors, was less prone to being diluted with the blinding effects of ethanol and generally considered a safer drink—except that it also masked strychnine well and was the drink of choice for disgruntled wives resorting to murder. Thus, instead of establishing a business to bring medicine, Ada’s father had been tricked into smuggling poison. Since he had no legal protection as a Prussian Jew, he had no chance to fight those who’d corrupted his imports.
“He’s dead, Ada.” Mr. Silvers told her without aplomb one night. “Beaten to death by the brewers.”
Ada’s arms grew cold in shock. “It’s all here in this letter, girl. His accounts are frozen until you turn twenty-five or get married.”
As she read the words on the paper in front of her, Ada’s heart pounded loud enough to echo through the room. Her father, the man she loved more than anything and her only family, was dead. Her eyes scanned the words again and again, hoping that the meaning would change, but the pain in her chest only grew worse with each passing moment. She took a deep breath, but it felt like her lungs were collapsing on themselves. Panic set in as she realized that she was all alone now. Ada slumped to the floor, dizzy and hyperventilating. She buried her face in her hands, shaking with uncontrollable sobs, as grief and shock consumed her. The world felt like it had been turned upside down in an instant, and Ada was left with nothing but the hollow emptiness where her heart used to be.
And the Silvers had given her no time to mourn. Instead, Mr. Silvers’ tone and demeanor had changed. From a cherished guest, Ada fell to the status of a household nuisance. She couldn’t quite explain it and she missed her father so deeply, she hadn’t cared to find out.
About two weeks after her father’s death, she stepped into Mr. Silvers’ office, which was only a desk in the small library on the ground floor.
“What do you want?” he grumbled.
“I was wondering when you expect the shipments of my belongings.”
“Like what?” He didn’t even look at her.
“Books, dresses, shoes, scarves, and my diaries.”
At that, Mr. Silvers made eye-contact. His stare locked into his features like a man who enjoyed killing. She’d seen it in the slaughterhouse when he slit the animals’ throats. The kosher way was to make a swift, clean cut so that the animals wouldn’t suffer. Mr. Silvers prolonged the agony, relishing the squeals and screams, enjoying the power he held over his victims. The sight made Ada shiver in horror then, and the memory of it made her shiver again.
“Don’t know. Don’t ask again.” His retort came with a dose of venom and a cold deliberation that made Ada suspicious of his nature. Every time she saw Mr. Silvers, a sudden surge of fear coursed through her body, cutting her breaths to come in short, quick gasps as though she was suffocating. As if remembering the moment Mr. Silvers upended her life with the terrible news, her body went into flight mode even though she had nowhere to go. Every time was worse than the previous, making it difficult for her to calm down and regulate her breathing.
Her father’s death had been a shock and had cost Ada her life as she’d known it. She didn’t even get time to mourn, nor investigate his death. The Silvers stripped her of everything she’d brought to England and made her to sleep in the drafty attics. Worse, they forced Ada to serve as Charlotte’s maid. As Ada continued to toil under the brat’s oppressive and abusive character, her spirit gradually withered away. She yearned for a way out.
Three years her junior, Charlotte read like an eight-year-old but gave commands as if she were a patroness of Almack’s. The spoiled girl made virtually no progress with her tutors and indulged in so many sweets her figure was swelling and her teeth rotting. The stench when Charlotte spoke led her mother to give her a fan to cover her mouth. The girl used it to wave the air away from herself. Dylan once gagged in her presence and was sentenced to cleaning the stables alone during the cold winter night.
“Even the dung smells better!” he’d joked with Ada when she secretly brought him hot tea.
At first, Ada tried to make herself useful to help Charlotte with her correspondence.
“I don’t need to write letters, only invitations,” Charlotte had told Ada one day when Ada offered to help in composing formal missives.
“And how will you thank your hosts after they invited you?”
“With a gift?”
“And who will send that gift with a note?”
“My husband, of course!” Charlotte had everything figured out in her mind. In her narrow perspective, people were nothing but tools, existing solely to cater to her every desire and fancy. Any thought that contradicted this notion was swiftly dismissed, leaving little room for empathy or understanding. Ada shook her head. Some unsuspecting husband, Charlotte surely thought, would one day cater to her whims and consider himself lucky. Preposterous illusions, Ada feared, for which Mr. Silvers might pay. And so, Ada watched the entire household dote on Charlotte. Her parents remained ignorant of the servants rolling their eyes and of Daniel’s lies to avoid Charlotte tagging along when he mingled in society.
Unlike the Silvers, there was no place in London society for a Jewish girl. Jews were only beginning to mingle among the Ton and, ultimately, Ada didn’t belong there. But she also didn’t know anyone in the Jewish community. They were just as tightly knit as the Ton, probably even more. No Jewish man would have her if he knew she gambled at The Lyon’s Den. It was a vicious cycle: She needed her inheritance to leave the Silvers and gambled for money in order to leave, yet being found out as a gambler could jeopardize her chances to marry, which she needed to do to claim her inheritance. Or wait five more years. Ada groaned.
Despite her present lack of prospects, she enjoyed watching the elegant couples when they walked along the crushed stone paths in Regent Park. Ada was content to spend a few hours alone amidst the trees and strangers there. The park was peaceful and smelled like new leaves and fresh buds.
It was a balmy April day and the air was ripe with the scent of life. Soft pink magnolia blossoms danced in the cool breeze and whispered promises of vibrant delights but the season’s efflorescence didn’t soothe Ada’s despair. When Ada went closer to the tall tree, a bed of fallen petals cushioned her steps. These beautiful messengers of spring couldn’t experience the season. Instead, they fell to the ground to be raked up and taken away in sacks before the temperature grew warmer. Ada crossed her arms and rubbed herself. Not even spring’s beauty could dispel the gloomy shadow of her future at the Silvers.
She also couldn’t help the poor magnolia blossoms. She couldn’t even help herself. So, she continued her walk, pondering where her path would take her. The moments of quiet solitude turned into loneliness. Ever since her father died, a pesky urgency sometimes squeezed Ada’s ribs shut. Fear, she thought, was suffocating her. Thus, she tried to trick herself and force a smile, hoping her breathing would follow her expression. The ruse often worked.
Distraction was another trick she borrowed from playing cards. She regarded a tuft of crocuses that had opened their petals wide in the bright sun and knelt to look at the lovely shades of their petals. It was still chilly in the early spring, but these harbingers of warmer days were encouraging. Sometimes crocuses peeked out from under a blanket of snow. If they could bloom despite the cold, couldn’t she, too? But Ada didn’t finish her thought.
A large muscular hand appeared in her field of vision and picked a yellow tulip from the flower bed.
“For you.” That resonant voice from the night before swept through her, as The Cavalier offered the flower to her. “You look like you need some cheering up.”
He caught her off guard—without her guard entirely—especially judging by the immense throbbing in her chest. She inhaled deeply, grateful that the air returned to her lungs.
But a different nervousness washed over Ada and her entire body reacted to the familiar sound of his voice. How would she react to his touch? Though they had only exchanged perfunctory words during their card game the night before, their eyes had met more than once, conveying a silent connection.
“Thank you.” Still kneeling on the side of the flower bed, Ada extended her hand to reach for the tulip. “I’m not sure it is allowed to pick the blooms at Regent Park, milord.”
“I’m no lord, only a physician,” he said kindly, and their fingers touched ever so slightly. “My real name is Alfred. The Cavalier is a nickname.” A jolt of heat, as if fired from the tiny spot where his fingers had brushed hers, shot through Ada. She lost her balance and almost toppled over, landing with one hand in the dirt. He caught her upper arm. “Are you all right?”
She couldn’t help turning crimson as the heat from his firm grip spread through her, thundering in her middle below her already fast-beating heart.
But before she could thank him, a woman screamed. “Help! Somebody!”
Ada turned toward the tree-lined paths to her left.
“Over there,” Alfred called and pulled Ada with him. She had no choice but to run along. He was holding her hand.
“My son, my boy!” a woman in a dark-brown walking dress and feathered hat screamed. “He’s been bit!”
“Let me see, I’m a doctor.” With a firm yet cautious stride, he approached the woman and the small boy, no more than three or four years old, dressed in a miniature Marine outfit. Despite his sobs and the tears rolling down his chubby cheeks, the boy tried to speak but Ada couldn’t understand his lament.
His words were lost, however, as he licked tears off his chin and gave a heaving breath. More tears rolled down his chubby cheeks. Ada’s stomach turned when she saw blood oozing from his small hand. But Alfred remained admirably calm. He surveyed the grounds while he set down a leather bag that Ada hadn’t even noticed before. As he retrieved a white rolled cloth and wrapped the boy’s hand, he spoke with composure as if nothing were the matter. The boy’s sobs quieted to whimpers.
“What bit you?”
“The big monster squirrel,” the boy said, opening his eyes wide as if the perpetrator had been five feet tall.
“A monster squirrel? Oh no! Those are very dangerous indeed,” Alfred said, a little amusement showing through his voice. “They have very sharp teeth!”
The boy nodded vigorously.
“I’ll tell you what we shall do. Come with me to my friend’s office so we can clean the wound. And then you must draw me a picture of the monster. All right?”
Alfred picked the boy up. His eyes met hers, and she understood that he wanted her to follow him, though how she did, she wasn’t sure. There was plenty about this man that confused her; she decided it wouldn’t hurt to get to know him better. After all, he was The Cavalier and she’d need to be able to read him in order to beat him at cards. What better way to do that than to watch him when he was focused on the child? With that in mind, she decided she’d tag along and when Alfred started walking, she followed.