The Keeper of Her Heart Read online

  “Do you live around here?” If he did, he might be able to help her find her way home.

  The boy shrugged bony shoulders.

  “Could you tell me where I might find Burns Road?” she tried next.

  His expression immediately changed from disinterested to cunning. “I can. But it’ll cost a tanner.”

  Ada frowned. Could she trust him to give her the information once she handed over the sixpence? “Very well.” Lifting her purse from the basket, she fished out the silver coin.

  Instead of looking triumphant, though, the boy turned to look the way he’d come and his face drained of color. “Keep yer tanner.” He scurried forward and into a nearby alleyway.

  Frustration and fear drove Ada to follow. She was hopelessly lost and needed the directions he apparently knew. “How about two tanners?” she called after him as she hurried down the alley. It was all the money she had after the trip to the market. “I need to find Burns . . .”

  Her plea faded to stunned silence when she stepped from the alleyway into a crowded courtyard. A foul smell assaulted her senses, making Ada want to wretch. Everywhere she looked she saw children with dirty faces and ragged clothing. Their mothers didn’t appear to be faring much better. Several stared in her direction, their eyes as haunted as the boy’s earlier. The air around her felt cold and oppressive. She shivered as she hugged her basket to her rapidly pounding heart.

  “What do we ’ave ’ere?” A woman with disheveled brown hair approached her, a baby in a soiled gown resting on her hip. The deep lines of the mother’s face made her age difficult for Ada to determine.

  She swallowed hard. “I . . . uh . . .”

  “’Ere to do your Christian duty, are ya? Or ya ’ere to just gawk at us in pity?”

  Shaking her head, Ada fell back a step. “I was hoping to find directions. I’ve lost my way.”

  “That’d be the truth,” the woman remarked, her tone harsh. But some of the hardness dropped from her expression as she studied Ada further. “Where are you needin’ to go?”

  Ada couldn’t help glancing at the baby. Boy or girl, the babe’s cheeks were far too gaunt. “Burns Road.”

  “You are turned around, aren’t ya?” The woman sniffed with obvious amusement. Then to Ada’s surprise, she explained the way to the flat.

  “Thank you for your kindness.” She took another step backward, anxious to leave this dismal place behind. “I appreciate the help.”

  As she started to turn, her basket smacked against her hip and she glanced down. “Wait,” she said on impulse, wheeling back around.

  The stranger raised her eyebrows but said nothing.

  “I have a little meat and vegetables.” Ada reached into the basket and lifted the food as proof. “It isn’t much, but . . .”

  The woman’s eyes widened, and yet, she made no move to accept the offering. “I don’t want no pity.” The words were tinged with bitterness.

  “It isn’t that.” Ada stepped toward her. “It’s more than I need for tonight. Please, take it. For your little one there.”

  Gazing down at her baby, the mother pressed her thin lips into a tight line. Ada thought she saw the woman’s chin begin to tremble. “I’ll take it for ’im,” she finally said. She maneuvered the baby so she could grasp the food Ada handed her.

  “From one woman hoping to make it in this city to another,” Ada added in a quiet voice.

  She’d been raised to believe those in poverty were beneath others, but in this moment, she felt a strong bond with this stranger. In many ways, they weren’t so different from each other.

  The woman’s features softened briefly at Ada’s words. “Thank you,” she whispered. Then she spun around, calling curtly over her shoulder, “You’d best be goin’ now, miss.”

  Ada retraced her way back through the alley. She blinked as she stepped into the brighter light of the main street. The noise and bustle rushed to encircle her, propelling her forward, but it couldn’t penetrate the dazed state she walked along in. Warring emotions vied for dominance inside her. Regret at not having more to give, relief at the thought of returning to her and Ned’s small yet clean flat, and empathy for the uncertainty and distress in the woman’s gaze.

  Housekeeping and cooking no longer felt like weighty, impossible tasks to be performed each day. And meat pies, whether burnt or not, sounded as fine to her as a king’s feast tonight.

  • • •

  Ned bounded up the stairs to the flat. He was eager to tell Ada all about his first day at his new job. There’d been plenty of moments of anxiety when he wasn’t sure he’d ever learn how to operate the various pieces of equipment with ease. After all, he’d spent years learning gamekeeping under his father’s tutelage before he’d taken over. By late afternoon, though, after his lunch of last night’s leftovers, he felt more confident. Especially when the shop owner complimented him on his quickness at picking up the new tasks.

  He turned the handle of the door, but it didn’t budge. Puzzled, he tried it again. It was locked, which meant Ada wasn’t home. Where had she gone? A flicker of alarm shot through him at the thought of her wandering around the city, lost and unescorted. Perhaps she’d only retraced their walk from the day before.

  Turning around, he headed back outside to wait for her. Others were returning from work as well. Ned nodded politely to several of the workmen and exchanged a few pleasantries with the chap who lived below him and Ada.

  But his concern expanded to dread when their conversation ended and Ada still hadn’t appeared. Not knowing which way she’d gone, Ned headed down the line of tenement buildings until he reached the corner. Ada was nowhere in sight.

  Returning the way he’d come, Ned walked swiftly past their flat in the opposite direction. There were still plenty of people about, but the crowds were thinning as the dinner hour began. Then he saw her. Holding a basket at her side, she walked slowly, sorrow emanating from her expression and downcast eyes.

  Did her grief have anything to do with the letter from her grandmother yesterday? Ada had shared little of its contents with him, other than to say her parents hadn’t come round yet. Ned’s jaw tightened anew at the thought. While he didn’t fault the Thornes for wanting their daughter to marry someone of equal station, he didn’t agree with the way they’d handled their disappointment.

  “You’re home,” Ada said, when she lifted her chin and saw him approaching.

  He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Where have you been?”

  “I went to the market again.” She hoisted her basket, but there was nothing inside except for her purse. “But then I became lost . . .”

  His apprehension returned. “You were lost?” He looked her up and down to reassure himself that she wasn’t hurt. Other than a dirty hem, though, she looked hale and whole.

  “This woman helped me . . .” Her voice shook with emotion before she covered her mouth with her hand.

  Not caring they were in public, Ned tugged her into his arms. “What’s wrong, Ada?”

  “I’ve never seen anything like it, Ned.”

  “How about starting at the beginning?”

  She nodded against his jacket. “All right.”

  Guiding her toward the flat, he listened as she shared how she’d burnt some meat pies and had decided to go to the market for new ingredients. She told him about the boy she’d thought might help her find her way back home and how she’d followed him.

  Ned trailed her up the stairs to the flat, but outside the door Ada’s energy seemed to give out. She sank onto the top step before he could put the key in the lock.

  “It was the most awful place, Ned.” Her horror and distress were unmistakable. “The smell and the refuse . . .” She shuddered as he sat down next to her. “Far worse, though, was the haunted look on all their faces, even the children. Especially the children.”

  He placed his arm around her shoulders and tucked her securely against his side. Guilt cut through him. He’d hoped to shelter Ada from ever
witnessing such poverty, but he hadn’t succeeded, and it was only their second day in London.

  “This woman accused me of coming to gawk at them,” Ada continued, “or that I was there to assuage my guilty Christian conscience.” She tucked her head against his collar. “I told her I only needed directions, which she gave me. But then when I turned to leave . . .”

  She began to weep, prompting him to hold her tighter. He’d never seen her cry before. “I realized we could eat burnt meat pies every night if needs be. So I gave her my meat and vegetables.” Ada brushed at her wet cheeks with her gloved hand. “I didn’t think she was going to accept the food, but she finally did, for the sake of her little one.”

  “Oh, Ada.” Her compassion wasn’t surprising, but it pleased him to know she hadn’t clung to the upper class’s view of those in need.

  When she eased back to look at him, the worry in her dark eyes pulled at his heart. “I’m sorry if I was being wasteful by purchasing more food.”

  “I’m not angry, Ada,” he said, hoping to allay the burden he could still see that she carried. “And I’ll gladly eat burnt pies. Tonight or any night.” And he meant it. So long as they were together.

  She gave him a tremulous smile—but it was a smile just the same. “I am glad to hear it.”

  “We’ll scrape off the worst of the scorching.” He rose to his feet and helped her onto hers. “And thank the Lord for a decent meal and that He bless that woman and her family.”

  Instead of deepening her smile as he’d expected, her lips drooped into a frown, her brow furrowed. “Doesn’t God care for them, Ned?”

  “Of course He does.”

  “Then why would He allow them to live in such deplorable circumstances?”

  Ned paused to consider her question. It wasn’t so different than one he’d asked himself as a boy about the unfairness of families like the Whittingtons having more than others. He could recall most of his mother’s answer, and that was the one he offered Ada now.

  “God doesn’t measure worth or His care by whether or not His children have material things.” He brushed a strand of her dark hair from her smooth cheek. “He knows that our situations, whatever they are, can teach us.”

  She appeared to think over his response. “I want to understand, Ned, but I don’t, not fully. It still seems so unfair and upsetting to know people not far from us are living like that.”

  “I agree.”

  Her brow crinkled further. “But how can it be both upsetting and unfair and yet not unmerciful of God for them to live that way?”

  “Well . . .” He tugged on the brim of his cap. How to explain it better? “Sometimes when things are going well for us, we aren’t as willing to turn to God or to strive to be like Him. That’s likely the case with your parents.”

  Ada gave a slow nod. “I can see that.”

  “Whether we live a life of ease or hardship, we still have a choice.” He unlocked the door and opened it for her. “We can let any and all of our situations lead us to Him if we let them or not. Does that make sense?”

  “A little, yes.” She threw him a pained look. “I don’t know that I will ever understand faith or its need the way you do.”

  He held her in a lingering hug. “Do you want to?” he asked gently.

  “Yes.”

  “And that’s where faith starts—in the wanting.”

  He released her to see her expression was less troubled, but all of her grief hadn’t disappeared. Her encounter in the slums had thrown a shadow over her, one that pained Ned to see.

  “Should we eat?” she asked with a cheeriness he could tell was forced. “We can probably salvage at least two of the pies.”

  “Good, because we’re going to need the food.”

  One of her eyebrows rose. “Whatever for?”

  “Because”—he led her by the hand into the kitchen area—“after dinner, we’re going for a long walk. We need to know every street and lane around the flat so neither of us will ever get lost again.”

  She smirked. “In that case, we may need to eat all six burnt pies.”

  Ned returned her cheeky smile, though it fell from his mouth quickly. He might not have been able to prevent Ada’s upsetting experience and its consequences today, but he would do all in his power to protect her from similar ones in the future.

  Chapter 4

  Once Ada overcame her initial bone-weary exhaustion at keeping house and cooking, she began to find satisfaction in it. Whenever she was tempted to sit down and cry over a ruined meal or her clumsy ironing, she reminded herself of what she’d seen in the slums her second day in the city and that Ned did not expect perfection from her.

  She could—and would—do whatever work was required to keep a home for the two of them.

  Their nightly walks, which had begun as a means to familiarize them both with their area of London, soon became a habit, a treasured time to talk about their days. In contrast to Ada’s occasional struggles with her new tasks, Ned’s work at the printers was going well. That was something else Ada felt relieved about.

  There was only one blight to her happiness—the continued silence from her parents. Every time she received a letter from her grandmother, Ada couldn’t keep her hopes from soaring that this time she would hear that her parents had changed their minds. And each time the news didn’t come, more resentment chipped away at her hope and pushed her grief a little deeper inside her.

  One overly warm day in July, two months after their arrival in London, Ada woke up, feeling ill. Twice, before and after breakfast, she’d run to the bath scullery to ease the nausea in her stomach.

  “Perhaps I should’ve skipped breakfast altogether,” she murmured as she rinsed the tub with water for the second time.

  She hoped Ned wouldn’t get sick. They needed every penny he earned.

  Rising to her feet, she took a moment to steady herself against the door. The queasiness had abated some, but she still longed to crawl back into bed. Back home, she would have done just that, but here, she had far too much to do to be ill.

  Ada gritted her teeth and went to change into a dress. The lace on this one refused to give up its yellowed appearance, no matter how diligently she scrubbed it. All of her gowns were similarly worn out now. She’d even traded her fine corsets for plain, boneless ones the month before, to allow greater ease of movement in completing her daily tasks.

  Once she was dressed, she sat at the vanity that her grandmother had sent as a late wedding gift and arranged her hair. She’d found it difficult to do at first with no one such as Hetty around to help. But she’d soon learned how to style her hair alone.

  Her rosy cheeks were long gone, replaced by a pale thinness that made her dark eyes look twice as large. Ned still thought her beautiful, though, whether she was up to her elbows in soap suds or had flour dotting her nose. And she loved him all the more for it.

  With her hair up and off her neck, Ada stripped the sheets and blankets from the bed, in preparation for washing day. A knock at the door startled her. They never had visitors, except their landlord—and it wasn’t rent collecting time yet. The absence of others to talk to during the day had been difficult for her, but she’d grown accustomed to it and it made her and Ned’s walks all the more precious.

  The person knocked again. Ada moved from the bedroom, through the main room, and down the short hallway. She opened the door to find a woman standing on the stairs, a baby propped on her hip. The stranger had fiery red hair and appeared to be a few years older than Ada.

  “Morning. Name’s Minnie O’Reilly.” A slight Irish accent wound its way beneath the woman’s London brogue. “Me and mine moved in next door just last week.” Smiling, she shifted the baby to the other hip, revealing a young girl clinging to her skirts. “I ’eard another woman lived in this flat, so I thought we’d come over and—”

  Without warning, Ada’s stomach churned with a new wave of sickness. “I’m so sorry . . .” Her cheeks flushed with mortification a
s she darted through the scullery door behind her and hurried to close it. She barely made it to the bathtub to vomit a third time.

  She tried to stand when she was done, but her feet and legs felt too shaky to move. Ada leaned her head against the side of the tub, her embarrassment giving way to annoyance. Hot tears blurred her vision, which only increased her frustration. She’d been a weepy mess the last few weeks.

  “Ma’am?” A soft tap sounded on the scullery door. “Are you all right?”

  Using the side of the tub for help, Ada climbed to her feet. “Yes. Only a little sick, that’s all. Perhaps you ought to come by later in the week . . .”

  “’Ow long have you been feelin’ poorly?” Minnie asked, poking her head inside the scullery.

  She blinked in surprise at the rather personal question. “The last week or two.” When Minnie stepped back into the hallway, Ada exited the tiny room.

  “Is it just smells what makes you sick or food too?”

  “Both.”

  “Let me guess. You’ve been feelin’ weepy too.”

  Ada’s eyes widened at the woman’s perceptiveness. “Yes.” Clearly Minnie knew a great deal about illnesses. “What do you think it is?” She clasped her hands together, hoping it wasn’t too serious. “My husband hasn’t been sick at all.”

  Minnie’s laugh sounded bright and friendly. “It’s not likely ’e’ll catch what you ’ave, ma’am.”

  “Please. Call me Ada.” She pressed one hand against her high collar, steeling herself for the awful prognosis. “What, pray tell, do you think I have that he doesn’t?”

  Minnie gave her a kind smile. “I’m guessin’ you’re with child, Ada.”

  “With . . . child?” An astonished chuckle escaped her lips. Now that she thought about it, she had missed her monthly bleeding, but she’d been too busy to notice it until now. “I’m going to have a baby.” She shook her head in wonder.

  “Here. Hold William.” Minnie held the baby out to Ada, who reluctantly took him into her arms. Her experience with babies was relatively nonexistent. “Me and Janey will go fix you up a cup of tea, what’ll ’ave you feeling better in no time.”