The Keeper of Her Heart Page 3

  She had to admit she knew very little about God—to her, He’d always been a distant figure with little interest in the lives of those on earth—but she knew Ned. And he was a man of his word.

  “I trust you.” Ada cupped his jaw as a swell of love overwhelmed her.

  His eyes appeared more black than blue in the half-light of the room. “I can’t promise we’ll have a life like the one you left behind.”

  “Which suits me perfectly fine,” she said with firmness. “I want a home full of love and hope and laughter—all those things that money cannot buy.”

  She thought she saw his mouth lift in a smile. “In just a three-room flat?”

  “Yes,” she said with a chuckle. It had become their private joke, born from Hugh Whittington’s apology regarding the size of the flat. “I’ve decided cramped quarters have an advantage to sprawling manor houses.”

  Ned laughed heartily at her remark before she covered his mouth with her hand.

  “You’ll wake the guests next door,” she protested, though she couldn’t hold back her own smile. She loved making Ned laugh or laughing in turn at something he’d said.

  “So what are the benefits of living in a cramped flat?”

  Ada burrowed into the crook of his arm. “Well, for one, it is much more convenient to simply roll over and tell you I cannot sleep than to patter barefoot through a series of rooms to reach you.”

  “Ah.” She heard the unmistakable amusement in his voice. “What a shame the upper crust doesn’t know the inconvenience of owning so many rooms.”

  Poking him in the ribs, she incited another deep but muted laugh from him. “That isn’t the only reason. I have seen far more of you these last six days than I ever did while living at Stonefield Hall.”

  “Which might have more to do with us being married now, love.” He lifted her hand to kiss her fingertips, sending shoots of feeling tripping up her arm beneath her sleeve. “You don’t have to wait by the tree until I’m done with the gamekeeping, and I haven’t started work at the shop yet. So we’ve had all day . . .” He placed a kiss on the end of her nose. “And all night . . . to be together.” He tilted her chin upward and captured her lips with his.

  After a minute or so, Ada eased back to trace the line of his jaw with her finger. “Do you think this job at the printers will be a good one?”

  “I think so,” he said with a nod. “It ought to keep us in the flat and provide decent food for the table.”

  “Then we’ll be all right.”

  She sensed his earlier somber mood settling over him again, even before he encircled her in his arms and spoke. “It won’t be easy, Ada.” The gravity had returned to his tone. “But we can make a go of it, can’t we?” His question now was not so different from his silent one on their wedding day.

  “We can and we will,” she said with more than manufactured confidence.

  When she kissed him, it was much longer this time. However unpredictable or difficult their life in London might prove to be, she wouldn’t complain. She would not give Ned cause to doubt her resolve.

  Chapter 3

  Laughing, Ada clung to Ned’s neck as he carried her past the flat on the ground floor, up the stairs, and over the threshold of their first-floor flat. She’d been pleased, and more than a little relieved, to see their building was one in a tidy line with brick exteriors and slate roofs.

  “What do you think?” Ned set her gently on her feet. “We’ve our own bath scullery.” Removing his cap, he used it to point toward the partially open door straight ahead of them.

  With a nod, she moved down the short hallway and into the living area. While Spartan in appearance, the flat was clean and boasted of electric lighting as well as a range and boiler. The cook at Hugh’s sister’s house would likely approve of the contraption. Through the other two doorways, Ada saw what would be their bedroom and parlor.

  “It will be perfect, Ned.” She returned to his side to kiss him.

  His expression held tangible relief but also mild concern. “Even without extra furniture?” They’d been informed there was a bed frame and mattress in the bedroom and a table already sat in the center of the kitchen area, but nothing else.

  “Yes.”

  She walked to the window that overlooked the back of their building. A set of stairs led to a small garden. Perhaps there might even be room for her to plant some vegetables if she could figure out how. If only she’d consulted more of the servants, such as the gardener, for helpful hints before she’d left Stonefield.

  Ned wrapped his hands around her shoulders and pulled her back to lean against him. “Once I’ve been working at the printers for a while,” he murmured in her ear, “we’ll buy some chairs and a sofa.”

  “We’ll be fine until then,” she said, resting her hand over his. “Perhaps Gran might even be persuaded to let us have a few of her things from her attic.”

  He twisted her around to face him. “It might be humble and sparse right now, but I think we’ll be happy here, Ada. You and I . . .” Pressing his forehead to hers, he grinned. “And all those little ones who will come along.”

  Her cheeks warmed with a blush, but she couldn’t help smiling as well at the thrilling thought of having their own family. She kissed him soundly to show her agreement, her pulse racing.

  “I’d better go see about our trunks,” he said after a long moment, though his tone was laced with regret.

  “Go on.”

  Ada unpinned her hat and used it to fan her face as she walked over to the range. Thank goodness she’d learned how to cook on a similar mechanism in Scotland.

  What would her parents think of their simple flat and her new responsibilities?

  Her laugh sounded as merry as it did brittle in the empty room. “What’s done is done,” she firmly told the plain four walls. “And I wouldn’t change a thing.”

  Deep down, she hoped Charles and Victoria Thorne had softened their opinion of her marriage to Ned in the four weeks she’d been gone from Stonefield Hall. She wanted to teach her children different values than the ones she’d been taught, but she longed to do so with her parents’ blessing. Surely they could still correspond with her, as her grandmother had been doing, even if they didn’t condone her decision.

  The sound of footfalls came from the hallway. Moments later Ned and the two men he’d hired to help them entered the flat’s main room with their two trunks in tow.

  “If you could place them over there,” Ada instructed, pointing near the table.

  Once the trunks were in place, Ned paid the two men a thruppence each, then shut the door to the flat, cocooning them in their private world once more.

  “Did you read that letter from your gran yet?” he asked as he set his cap on top of one of the trunks.

  In the excitement of traveling and her disquiet about what sort of condition they’d find the flat and the neighborhood in, she’d forgotten all about the letter in her pocket. “I completely forgot.” Ada removed the letter. “Are you all right if I read it now?”

  “Go ahead.”

  Placing her hat on the table, she took a seat on the other trunk, partially facing the window. “See, we don’t need chairs,” she joked as she tore open the envelope.

  Chuckling, Ned slid the first trunk toward the bedroom.

  Her grandmother talked about the weather and about a dinner party at Stonefield the week before. But Ada found herself skimming the trivial news, anxious for some word about her parents. Had they come around?

  I miss you dearly, Ada, as do your parents, I am certain. However, I regret to say things have not changed on that front. Your father is still adamant we act as if you are no longer with us, though I know it breaks my daughter’s heart to acquiesce.

  Please keep me apprised of your life in London. I truly meant what I said in my other letter. I wish you and Ned much happiness.

  The sincerity of her grandmother’s words did little to quail the piercing ache that rose inside her. My parents a
re choosing to act as though I have died. Ada lowered the letter to her lap, where several tears splashed against the page.

  “What did your gran have to say?” Ned asked from behind.

  Ada jumped to her feet, her back to him, and hurried to remove the evidence of her tears before he caught sight of them. She wouldn’t have Ned thinking they were tears of regret.

  “She’s well. And what’s more”—Ada spun around, pasting on a bright smile—“she wishes us happiness here in London.”

  Ned studied her a moment before dipping his head in a nod. “That’s excellent. And your parents?”

  “They haven’t come around yet,” Ada said briskly as she knelt to open the trunk. “But I am sure they will.”

  If he heard the errant hollowness in her remark, he didn’t comment—and she was grateful for it. She would not let her parents’ continued stubbornness mar this day of new beginnings. But as she moved about unpacking, she felt the hurt of her grief burrow deep within her heart.

  • • •

  After seeing Ned off for his first day at the printers, Ada tidied up from breakfast. She’d never washed a single dish before going to Scotland, but the task no longer eluded her. Cooking, on the other hand, was still a challenge. She and Ned had prepared dinner together the night before, using the food they’d purchased yesterday to stock the cupboard as well as some meat and vegetables from a nearby market. However, today she would be on her own to make the meals.

  An unfamiliar sensation of loneliness wound through her as she stood in her dressing robe, surveying the flat. She’d never wanted for company when she required it. But here, she had no family or friends or beloved horses to occupy her days. Only Ned, who would be gone until dinnertime.

  “Still . . .” Ada folded her arms against the feeling of isolation. “There is more than enough to occupy me until Ned returns.”

  She changed into a moderate day dress of sea green with appliquéd flowers at the high waistline. It was a rather extravagant gown for housework and cooking, but it was the most basic of her dresses. Perhaps in another month or two she might be able to afford more sensible clothes.

  Tying on the apron the cook in Scotland had gifted her, Ada decided her first order of business would be to see what she could do to clean the old mattress she and Ned were sleeping on. She had a vague memory of the maids back home whacking the rugs and mattresses a couple of times a year to rid them of dust and dirt.

  She stripped the bed of blankets and dragged the mattress through the flat to the back steps. The mattress was heavier than she’d anticipated for being rather thin, and Ada was breathing hard by the time she wrestled the object down the stairs and into the garden.

  Trying to catch her breath, she sucked in a gulp of morning air—and nearly choked. The fog was dissipating, but the smells of the river and the city remained behind, heavy and pungent. And the noise. She’d been surprised by its loud cacophony last night as she and Ned had walked to the market. This morning was no different. Even here, surrounded by tenement buildings on both sides, she could still hear the clatter of wheels, the clop of horse hooves, the hum of motorized vehicles, and the rise and fall of human voices.

  Ada searched the ground for something to strike against the mattress. When she didn’t find anything, she returned inside to grab one of the fire pokers.

  Her first thwack produced a plume of dust that made her eyes water and her nose itch. Sneezing, she struck the mattress again. The repetitive smacking soon tired out the unused muscles in her arm, but she was determined to have a clean surface to sleep on.

  After she finished with the first side, Ada awkwardly rolled the mattress over and whacked the other side. The whole thing looked slightly cleaner, but she wondered if she was only imagining it. Getting the bed back inside proved more difficult than bringing it out had been. Sweat slid down her jaw and collar as she slid the mattress back on the bed frame at last.

  She opened every window in the flat after that to make use of the breeze, malodorous or not, then she remade the bed. It was another skill she’d never had to learn until recently. With that done, she decided the floors could use a good scrubbing.

  Three moderate-sized rooms and a scullery didn’t seem like an excessive amount of floorboards to wash, but her back and knees ached before she’d even finished the parlor. Tendrils of her hair stuck to her damp forehead and her soaked hem made her dress heavier. What seemed hours later, she finally dumped the last of the dirty water from the bucket outside.

  She felt a sudden kinship and compassion for the maids and footmen at Stonefield Hall as she sank onto the trunk beside the table and kneaded her sore back. How did they endure this sort of work day after day without complaint? Would she be able to endure it or would she be running to the nearest train station by the end of the week?

  Shutting her eyes, Ada forced a calming breath. There was nothing waiting for her back home, unless she showed up alone. And she wouldn’t do that. She could do this—for herself, for Ned, and for their future family. Self-pity was not an avenue she would allow herself to traverse.

  She ate a cold lunch, in an effort to rebuild her strength to prepare dinner. She very much wanted a warm, delicious meal ready for Ned when he arrived home.

  Following the Scottish cook’s written recipe, Ada chopped, mixed, and prepared six meat pies and placed them in their mold. Then she stepped back to study her handiwork. The tops of the pies looked a bit over-handled with the crust thin in some places and thick in others. But she was proud of the overall result. They were the first meat pies she’d made entirely on her own, without someone instructing her over her shoulder.

  She carefully slid the mold into the range. The cook had given no specific length of baking time—she’d told Ada more than once that the look of things was what told her if something was done or not. Still, Ada figured she had ten minutes or so before she needed to check the pies. She collected one of her books from the parlor and sat on the trunk to read. But her eyes kept falling shut.

  “I’ll sleep . . . a few . . . minutes . . . only,” she murmured, resting her head on her arms.

  A burnt smell nudged her awake some time later. Ada sat up and blinked in confusion. Was there a fire outside? The scent didn’t seem to be coming from the open window, though. As her tired mind became more alert, she suddenly remembered the pies.

  “No, no, no!”

  She leapt up and threw open the range door. Heat and smoke billowed into her face. Ada hurried to bat it away. Had she ruined the pies? She grabbed the mold with her apron, but the fabric wasn’t thick enough to block the heat from reaching her fingers. With a yelp of pain, she dropped the pies onto her clean floor.

  Her fingers were smarting, along with her eyes from the tears she refused to release. Ada dampened a corner of her apron and held it against her hand as she sank onto the trunk again.

  “What a mess I’ve made.”

  She shook her head at the three burnt circles that had managed to tumble out of the mold. The others looked too scalded to slip loose. There would be no delicious meal for Ned now. Sharp disappointment cut through her, more painful than the receding sting in her fingers. She’d wanted so much to prove to her husband, especially on this first day by herself, that she could manage this kind of life. But if she couldn’t even make a proper meal . . .

  The tug to give into her tears of defeat nearly overwhelmed her. Until she remembered her father’s arrogant predictions for her life. She might have limited control over becoming penniless or haggard, but she could choose whether to be miserable or not.

  Determined once more, she rose to her feet. “I will not choose misery regarding scorched pies.” Regret and frustration, perhaps, but not misery.

  Ada placed the runaway pies back into the mold and placed it on top of the range. Then she used a rag to wipe up the burnt flecks off the floor. She didn’t have enough ingredients to start over without going to the market for more. So that was where she would go. Ned might have to wai
t for his dinner, but he would have it nonetheless.

  She changed into a different dress—one that wasn’t damp and didn’t smell of smoke and sweat. Once she’d rearranged her hair into a fresh knot, she pinned on her hat. She locked the door of the flat behind her and set off in the direction of the market.

  The constant movement of people, horse-drawn vehicles, buses, and motor cars was vastly different from the relative quiet and slower pace of the countryside. And yet Ada didn’t find the contrast unappealing. There was an energy in London—the thrumming of the past and present—that swept everyone along in its wake.

  After only one wrong turn, she located the market. A peculiar worry, one she’d never experienced before, settled over her as she handed over her coins in exchange for the meat and vegetables. Was she being wasteful by purchasing more food? Would Ned find such action extravagant? She hoped not. She was committed to providing him a proper meal and not a burnt mess.

  The activity in the streets had increased, even in the short time she’d been at the market, as workmen began returning to their homes. Ada didn’t feel afraid walking by herself, though. There were other women and lots of children about and plenty of daylight remaining. As she walked, she found herself watching those around her, wondering what their lives were like and what had brought them to London. Did any of them have families far away who’d also disowned them?

  She’d been walking for a while before she realized the buildings on either side of the street weren’t familiar to her. Ada stopped and turned in a slow circle, the first niggling of alarm tightening her throat. Had she missed their street?

  A boy of about nine or ten smacked into her, nearly making her drop her basket of food. “Are you all right?” she asked as they both straightened.

  He gazed at her with large, vacant eyes, then darted a look over his shoulder. Without a word, he attempted to step around her.