Between them, Nelly and Henry walked her over to the elegant horsehair sofa that filled one corner of the reception area.
“I told ‘em you’d be fine,” Nelly said. “Got a strong heart. Knew it the minute I saw you. Any woman as can out think all those men with their fancy schooling’s gotta have a strong heart.”
“You’re very sweet.” Ada stared hard at the indifferent watercolor on the far wall, willing away the tears the girl’s praise had drawn.
Nelly rolled her eyes. “I’m not either.”
“She’s really not,” Henry chimed in. “Got a bite to her. More vinegar than sugar, I’d say.”
Ada covered her mouth with her hand to hide the smile she couldn’t stop. If she had the right of it, young Henry seemed to have a predilection for acids.
“Vinegar’s strong.” Nelly sniffed. “Enough foolishness,” she waved the subject off. “I’ll see if I can find a pitcher of water.”
“No need.” Ada waved off the offer. “I’m perfectly fine.” Then she plucked at her filthy gown. “My clothes.” She caught Nelly’s eye. “They should be upstairs. There’s a storage closet…”
“Right enough.” Henry jumped at the chance to join in on the excitement. “I’ll find them first thing.” To his credit, he did pause long enough to send Nelly a questioning glance.
The girl gave Ada a long look before handing over her lantern and following after Henry. “Give a yell if you need anything,” she instructed and pushed the doors wide until they latched/stayed open.
Their footsteps echoed back into the reception area for a long while.
Ada sank back against the sofa. All that fear-generated energy seemed to drain completely out of her, leaving her as limp as an old stalk of celery.
She didn’t think she even had the energy to change out of her filthy rags.
She certainly didn’t have enough reserves to face Edison.
She just couldn’t. Couldn’t face the impersonal sympathy in his gaze. Couldn’t face staring into his expressive eyes, knowing they’d never again glitter with passion.
Not for her.
Her supply of resilience had been depleted. She simply couldn’t do it.
Voices, and the grinding chirp of metal wheels on concrete, rose from the back of the factory. Ada jerked up, spine straight. They must have Stanton ready to transport.
A surge of panic rekindled her energy. She jumped up from the settee.
She had to leave. Now.
The rag of a dress swirled around her calves, reminding her that she must look like the poorest of the poor.
Too poor to hail a hansom. Too poor to risk walking alone at night, even in this part of the city.
Ada bit her lip. She held the lantern high, peering into the shadows, assessing every inch of the room.
The beam of light winked off a brass plate in the center of a door at the end of the hall. Stanton’s office.
Please don’t let it be locked, she prayed, as she rushed to it.
For once, luck was on her side. The knob turned easily. She hurried inside.
Dandy that he was, he always had a spare suit at the ready.
And there it was, clean and pressed and perfect, hanging on the inside of the water closet door.
She yanked off the foul dress. They were of a height, but she could have fit two of herself inside Stanton’s trousers.
No matter.
She grabbed the braces already buttoned to the waistband of the trousers. Urgency made her fingers clumsy, and it took longer than it should have to pull them up over her shoulders.
Another second and she had his coat on and buttoned. A fashionable new bowler completed her disguise.
Next, cab fare. She raced to his desk, the back of her neck prickling as the sounds from the factory floor grew louder. She yanked open the top drawer and scooped a handful of coins from the jar he kept inside.
She had crossed the threshold before she thought of it.
A note. She should leave a note.
She turned so quickly, she stumbled and almost went down on the something Persian carpet. The lantern in her hand hit the corner of the desk. She winced at the loud crash.
Frantic now, she tore a sheet from the notepad on his desk and grabbed a pencil from the cup, sending the rest of his collection clattering to the floor.
Distinct voices now reached her ears. Think, she urged herself. Write something. Anything.
She tapped the pencil on the edge of the desk, cursing her lack of words. Not so easy to say good bye as she thought.
The glimmer of an idea struck, and she scribbled quickly, not giving the least thought to penmanship, or even legibility.
Her note completed, she raced back out of the room. A delicate walnut table sat between the couch and two wing backed chairs.
A good a place as any. Ada dropped the note on the table and set her lamp on the edge to anchor it.
“Henry, you bring the carriage around.” Edison’s deep voice rose above the din. “We’ll drop this garbage at headquarters, then we can return for the rest of you.”
She’d recognize it anywhere. Always would, she feared.
They could have a few more moments together. The thought froze her.
No. She shook her head, making Stanton’s hat wobble about her ears. Drinking in the sight of him would only increase the torture.
Ada flew out the door without a backward glance. She ran around the first corner she came to, and the next. She ran until her lungs burned.
She was a coward. A love sick, broken-hearted coward.
Not even Caldwell Nance could create a world in which she could hold the interest of a man like Spencer Crane.
*
“Ada?” Edison called out over the rattle of the handcart’s metal wheels. “Ada, where are you?”
He and Burke were keeping an eye on Grenville while Henry and Spencer pushed the cart across the slick gray floor. Not that he expected the man to try anything. Burke had handcuffed one thick wrist to the cart’s handle. Edison didn’t think that was even necessary. The man sprawled across the cart like a deflated balloon.
Even propelled by two strong bodies, the cart would only move so quickly. Edison forced himself to slow, but he wanted to run. Wanted to see Ada, to reassure himself she was all right.
Once they reached the doors, he surged ahead oof the group, his gaze raking the dim lobby. On a credenza in the reception area, a lantern glowed, but there was no sign of her.
He raised his head, sniffing the air for signs of her violet scent.
Or her stinking rags.
He sensed neither. His heartbeat ticked up, making his heart pound uncomfortably against his ribs. Where the hell was she?
He whirled around to face the group. “She’s not here.”
Briar crossed to the table. She snatched up a scrap of paper, holding it in the beam of her lantern. Her shoulders stiffened, and her chin jerked up, as if she’d gotten an unpleasant shock.
“What?” Edison raced to her side.
“Here.” He grabbed the slip of paper from her hand, all thoughts of manners fleeing the instant he recognized Ada’s precise hand.
Thank you. Thank you all. You’ve done more than I can ever repay. It’s the world’s great fortune to have such heroes.
Ada T.