Page 21 of Don’t Wake a Sleeping Lyon (The Lyon’s Den Connected)
A lfred planned to send word to his parents. When they arrived in London, he and Ada would marry. His mother wouldn’t mind if Ada already lived with him because Seth was there. Considering how badly his parents had pressed him to find a Jewish wife, they would be thrilled with the news.
But Ada didn’t look so happy, staring vacantly through the carriage window. His heart sank as he watched her. There was a special desolation in her now. He wanted desperately to connect with her, to undo the pain engraved in her mind.
“Where are we going?”
“The Silvers,” she said, her opaque eyes lost in thought. “There’s someone I need to speak with.”
It was a short ride to the butcher shop. The smell reminded Alfred of the university morgue minus the embalming agents. Like Charlotte, the three-story building sported a frilly facade to hide the rot within. To his surprise, Ada didn’t use the front door. Instead, she led him through the alley between the buildings, around a corner, and past an open door from which rivulets of blood flowed. An eerie silence cut through London in this back corner of the Silvers’ home.
“What is this?” he asked, bracing himself for the answer.
“The butcher shop is over there. At this time of the day, the staff pour hot water on the tiles and wash—”
Alfred gulped and she came back a few steps to touch his arm. “Are you all right?”
“I cannot believe that you had to live here.”
She gave him a wistful smile and held out her hand. They walked past another brick wall into a small courtyard. An apple tree full of buds hid the ugly back of the building. A few worn wooden crates formed a crude seating arrangement. Ada picked up a terra-cotta flowerpot and retrieved a deck of cards. Then she sat and shuffled the cards.
“What are we doing here?”
“I need to pick something up. It won’t be long, I promise.”
Alfred couldn’t bring himself to sit. The courtyard, peaceful as it appeared, felt like a cemetery. A basement of death that lacked the scientific justification of the university’s studies in anatomy. There the complexity of the human body mesmerized the students who held the mysteries of the joints, vessels, and tendons in awe. Here, greed and evil turned death into a business.
An abominable squeal pierced the silence.
“Piglets,” Ada said.
Before Alfred could recover, a young man emerged from a door with chipped green paint.
He came toward them with a spring in his step. “Ada!”
The newcomer needed a haircut but looked clean and the freckles across his nose gave him a clever look.
“Dylan, this is Dr. Stein.”
“The doctor?” The man eyed Alfred like a protective older brother. Then he broke into a smile and offered his hand.
“I’m Dylan Flaherty, the footman. I’ve heard all about you.”
As he spoke, Ada lifted her hand and his attention was captured by the engagement ring. “What’s this?”
“He is perfect after all,” Ada said.
Alfred wasn’t privy to the secret their exchange contained, but he felt himself to be the topic of conversation nonetheless.
“Congratulations then,” Dylan said, giving her a friendly hug.
Alfred knew he should mind the casual familiarity, but he didn’t. This Dylan must have been Ada’s only friend in this forsaken place.
“Can you go to my room and bring me something?” Ada asked, hooking her hand in the crook of Alfred’s arm. “There’s a loose floorboard under the right foot of my cot.”
“All the floorboards in the attic are loose, what am I looking for?”
“A tin box, about this big,” Ada said, showing the size of a tobacco box by shaping her fingers and hands into a rectangle.
Dylan nodded and left.
“Why did you let them put you in the attic on a cot?” Alfred demanded. “Why did you stay here? You must have been terrified.”
“At first, I was a guest. My room was next to Charlotte’s. But after my father died, everything changed. And then I didn’t know where to go. It took me a while to seek Aunt Bessie out.”
“And that’s how you met me.”
Maybe his work as a peddler-doctor wasn’t so bad after all. Anything was better than living in this place. His heart broke for Ada. Neither she nor Dylan deserved such circumstances.
Moments later Dylan returned. “Here you go, and I saw these on his desk.” Dylan handed her a dented, white-lacquered box and three books.
“Where did you say you found these?”
“I went down the main staircase. The Silvers are out. The door to the office was open and I saw these books on the desk. I slipped some paper into the pages to mark the ones he’d studied. Aren’t those your diaries?”
Ada swallowed hard and clutched the volumes to her chest. When she looked back at Dylan, her eyes were red, and she blinked away tears.
“I want you to have this, Dylan.” She opened the box and took out a stack of money.
“Ada! No! You worked hard for that!”
“It won’t matter now. You need it to take Maria to America. Go. Live your life!”
Though reluctant at first, Dylan slipped the bills into the pocket of his waistcoat. Then he wrapped Ada in a farewell hug.
“Thank you!” he said, sniffling slightly. “I hope you have a long and happy life!”
“I will.” She looked up at Alfred and slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “I’m ready now. Take me out of here.”
As the carriage rattled toward his home, Alfred observed Ada closely. Her face was etched with pain, as tears coursed down her cheeks. Helplessness grew inside him as he watched her cry silently. He longed to comfort her, to wipe away her tears, but he knew better than to intrude upon her sorrow. Her fingers were tightly clasped around the books in her lap, as though they were the only things anchoring her.
Alfred understood that Ada was not ready to speak, and so they rode in companionable silence, the only sounds filling the carriage being her quiet sniffles. The ride felt like an eternity, brimming with unspoken words and boundless emotions. As they pulled up to his townhouse, Alfred offered his handkerchief, which Ada gratefully accepted. Alfred watched her silently and she avoided his gaze, still clutching the books. What secret lay in those diaries?