Chapter Ten
A da woke up on her cot when it had grown dark outside. Her neck was stiff and her eyes barely focused. She’d sobbed so deeply that her throat still hurt. Church bells in the distance rang ten times.
Oh no, she was late.
As quickly as she could, Ada pulled on her blue gown, wrapped her hair into a simple bun, and walked down the narrow servants’ stairs. As her hand turned the knob to escape through the rear exit, a spine-chilling voice intercepted her.
“Ada!” Charlotte would have made nails on a blackboard cringe. Ada clutched the doorknob but didn’t pull it. She gave a slight twist of her head and caught a glimpse of Charlotte.
“Yes?” she said as calmly as she could muster.
“You didn’t answer my call this afternoon,” Charlotte said haughtily, her voice full of reproach.
“I’m sorry, I fell asleep.” She wasn’t actually sorry at all.
“Asleep?” Charlotte put her hands on his hips, the ones she stressed with dark sashes as if they were delicate but reminded Ada of a sack of flour with a waistband. “I…I…I…” Charlotte searched the ceiling for a suitable punishment or whatever would put Ada in her place.
“You what, Charlotte?” Ada took a wide stance in front of the brat. “You’ll dock my meals? Make me sleep on a cot in the attic? Treat me like a servant?” Ada gestured grandly in the air. “Oh wait, you already do all that. What could you possibly do to make it worse, hmm? I’m locked here until I’m twenty-five or until I marry.”
Charlotte opened her mouth, but no words came out. Ada’s pulse raced, yet it had to be said. She was glad to finally stand up to her tormentor. Ada pivoted and opened the door only to stop when Charlotte growled.
“I’ll ensure you’re compromised to such an extent that no man in London will consider you suitable for marriage.” With a cat-like snarl, she added, “Nobody will have you.”
“I don’t care what you do or say, Charlotte, I will never fall as low as you,” Ada said, without glancing at her. She was smarter, prettier, and would be much richer if only she could access her trust. Comparing herself to the self-indulgent terror could only make Ada feel better. “I’ll be rid of you in four years. But you have to live with yourself forever.”
Ada was already in the doorway when Charlotte laughed. “You think you get your fortune at age twenty-five?”
Now Ada shot her a look that should have made Charlotte combust instantly, but the evil brat smiled self-gratifyingly. “You get your money if your reputation is intact, or else it’ll vest in me.”
“Why you?”
“Yes, me. I’ll have two seasons, and then your fortune as my dowry. I’m invincible. And you—” Charlotte eyed her from top to bottom—“Are nothing!”
“The trust is my inheritance. Papa’s life savings. A drastic change in the trust was not something he would ever agree to. These terms are unconscionable!”
“Maybe,” Charlotte spoke over her shoulder. “But who can prove now that your dear Papa signed them under duress? Paper is silent on such matters. Ta-dah!” She waved and left Ada standing in the cold draft of the door.
It all made sense now. Her crates of clothing and books… the medicines… had it all been stolen by the Silvers and sold? But why had they killed her father?
That’s why Mr. Silvers had met with her father’s solicitor all those months ago. And when he returned, he had changed completely. Soon thereafter, Father died on his way to Ada, and she became a servant to the Silvers. All words of kindness had gone. Charlotte turned Ada’s room into a dressing room, moved her to an attic bedroom, and gave her daily lists of chores.
Ada’s shoulders dragged, and her arms lost all strength. Each time she witnessed the depth of moral depravity, it felt like a physical blow to her soul—a reminder that even in the darkest moments, hope remained a mere flicker in the dark.
As if in a daze, she walked through the London streets without regard for the darkness and dangers lurking for a girl alone at night. Once she arrived at The Lyon’s Den, Hermia glanced at her with pity. Had she been expecting her?
“She’s waiting for you in her room.”
Ada gulped. Although she had lost to Alfred the previous night, the evening had still managed to turn a profit. And she wasn’t even half an hour late. Surely Aunt Bessie couldn’t hold that against her?
Why did the thought of being summoned fill her with such dread?
Ada trailed her hand along the dark green and white striped wallpaper in the short hallway to Aunt Bessie’s office. With every step, her heart betrayed her more but Ada wasn’t ready to admit to herself that she’d rather be with Alfred than at The Lyon’s Den.
Titan stood guard. It must be a slow evening. As soon as he saw Ada, he gave her the same wistful look that Hermia had shown at the ladies’ entrance. At the door, Ada knocked on the casing. Her heart slowed as she entered the room, but she was determined to follow through despite her paralyzing fear. Whatever Aunt Bessie threw her way could hardly be worse than what Charlotte had said half an hour ago.
The sight before her was nothing she hadn’t seen before. On the wall with the Japanese paravan room divider, hung a large oil painting of a foggy sky over London. Dark upholstered settees grouped tastefully around an intricately carved coffee table centered on an imported rug. Soothing light was cast from a table lamp next to Aunt Bessie’s armchair. Yet, Ada was not impressed by the tasteful décor and instead was caught up in the finality of Charlotte’s threat. Lodged in her stomach like a stone she couldn’t digest, the girl’s meaning had been clear; Ada could not go back to the Silvers. With Charlotte’s strike against her and the threat of an impending match by Aunt Bessie, Ada felt trapped.
“Sit!” came the widow’s command. She was in charge like the pirate captain on a ship full of treasures. For a moment Ada saw herself shrunk down, overwhelmed by the surrounding opulence. Unattainable if she’d lost her trust. Above all, she suddenly longed to be anywhere else.
“I made inquiries, Ada,” Aunt Bessie said.
Although she had an inkling about the subject of the inquiries, Ada’s mind jumped to the worst scenario, losing her position as puffer, the roof over her head—even the uncomfortable one at the Silvers—or being matched with a stranger. She’d lost house money to Alfred. Now, if she lost her position as puffer because she’d been caught cheating, and if Charlotte made her threats come true, then Ada was consigned to her role of the impoverished orphan. Not even that, really. She was too old to be an orphan and still too young to take control of her own money.
But how could anyone have caught her tricks? She’d never been caught.
“My solicitor read a copy of the trust that your father—”
The words flew from Ada’s mouth before she could stop them. “How did you get a copy?”
Aunt Bessie frowned at the interruption but still, she answered Ada. Her voice was grave. “My solicitor took care of it. I read the original. I don’t read copies. They are often forged.”
“It’s in Mr. Silvers’ vault, and he’s never let me see it.”
“I have my ways, child. But that’s not important now. We have more pressing matters to discuss.”
Ada rubbed her hands on her thighs as if the friction could derail the fear in her throat. “Will all the money really go to Charlotte if I don’t wed before I’m twenty-five?”
“You knew?”
Ada collapsed into herself, slumping on the chair devoid of energy. Charlotte had spoken the truth. “Charlotte Silvers told me tonight. That’s why I arrived late. I think she—”
“She’s probably been rattled when my solicitor paid her father a visit today. She’s of no importance to me. As soon as she debuts, she’ll fall from grace. Don’t worry.”
Was that a prediction or a promise? Ada took heart in the mysterious workings of Aunt Bessie’s methods and gave the woman her full attention.
“You, however, mustn’t wait until you are twenty-five to wed.”
“I know and—”
The widow’s hand flew in the air. “Let me finish!”
She fumbled with the ring on her left hand, unable to keep it steady. The wedding band with its thin engraving and the well-worn sheen of an antique bothered her swollen fingers. “You are out of time and must wed. I shall present you with three candidates and the one you choose will be your husband.”
“Marry a stranger?” Ada’s head swayed in alarm as if the church tower bells rang within her skull.
“One will be old, so you may have a brief marriage and enjoy your freedom afterward. One shall be an imbecile, so you can keep him in check.”
“And the third?”
“I don’t know yet. I still have hope for you.”
Hope for what? A love match was surely out of the question given her circumstances.
Ada leaned against the chair. Her back and knees felt fluid. She had no strength left in her bones to walk away. She lifted her chin as she evaluated her options. Each was a stab in her gut.
She had to make a match now and access her fortune because Charlotte wanted her trust. If the candidate was old, would he force himself upon her? Ada was not na?ve and knew what happened between a man and a woman in the bedroom. But if her fortune passed to a feeble man, could he protect the money in her name? A dim-wit might be tricked out of the fortune altogether.
Could Ada possibly hold sway over a man who had become so entangled in the debts of The Lyon’s Den that he was reduced to nothing but a mere pawn in the games played by others? And what would the third choice be?
Suddenly, the air vanished from Ada’s lungs. Her chest was rigid, and she heaved. It was too much to bear. How had her life derailed so rapidly and irrevocably? Who did this to her? She needed some air.