The first few weeks of Sarah Russell's life, unbeknownst to her, had been a time fraught with emotions for her mother. Ada found herself swinging between elation and depression, contentment and crippling self-doubt, and everything in between. There were times where she would cry with joy at the mere sight of her daughter, and later that night cry herself to sleep with despair. Ethel had left the day after the birth and since then, at Lady Constance's insistence, Ada had spent most of her lying-in, lying, in her room being waited on by Adelaide, Rosie, and the rest of the staff. Given Sarah's prematurity, the cottage hospital midwives had checked on them several times a day for the first few weeks, but now, reassured that Sarah was healthy and growing satisfactorily, their visits had become less frequent. The other women of the house would come to her room and coo over Sarah, but rarely did they ask Ada how she was or whether she needed anything. Now Sarah was here, loneliness gripped Ada more so than when she was trying to keep her secret.

Ada had written to her parents, announcing the birth of their latest grandchild, but had received no reply. Knowing her parents' views on her pregnancy, she was not entirely surprised by the lack of jubilation, but she had expected at least some acknowledgement of the little girl who was now lying, contently feeding, in her arms. But knowing her parents' efficiency with correspondence, the longer that time elapsed, the less likely a reply would be forthcoming.

Having settled Sarah underneath the brightly coloured patchwork blanket in her crib, Ada's thoughts turned to the creator of the blanket, and contents of the accompanying note. She settled herself at her writing desk, loaded her pen and began to write:

Dear Miss Luckes,

As I am sure that you are aware from Nurse Bennett, on the twenty-fifth of last month I was safely delivered of a daughter, Sarah Constance Ethel Russell. Whilst she was some five weeks premature, she was a healthy weight and is now thriving.

Now that my lying in is over, I would very much like to enjoy a little time away from Burbridge Hall. Please may I beg your permission to come to stay, at the earliest possible convenience? Nurse Goodman will be returning to Harley Street in a fortnight and I will have to adapt to life as both a nurse and a mother.

With affection,

Ada

Glancing over to Sarah's crib, and satisfied that she was fast asleep, Ada sealed the letter, slid her feet into her shoes, and crept outside her room for the first time since she had given birth. The late afternoon light beamed in through the sash windows, making the polished wood floors and the metal bannisters sparkle. Ada tip-toed down the stairs, across the entrance hall, and was reaching her hand up to unbolt the heavy front door when a voice behind her called her name. Ada's face fell and her heart sank. Her bid for freedom had been scuppered.

"Where are you off to?" Lady Constance asked.

Ada spun round on her heels to face her benefactress and replied, as politely as she could muster, "only as far as the post office, I've written to Miss Luckes. She wanted me to visit with Sarah."

"One of the servants can do that Ada, dear," Lady Constance replied. Ada flinched slightly at the patronising tone to her voice.

"I know," Ada replied, "I just, need, half an hour."

"But what of your child? You're supposed to be looking after her."

"She is well fed, her napkin has been changed, and she is fast asleep," Ada reassured, "please" she added, the tone of her voice verging on pleading, "I just, need."

Ada's voice trailed off. Her eyes met Lady Constance's. A glimmer of understanding flashed between a childless Countess and a tired new mother.

"I'll watch her," Lady Constance affirmed, immediately heading across the entrance hall towards the staircase.

"Thank you!" Ada called up the stairs.

When Ada returned from the post office half an hour later, she crept into her room and found Lady Constance, sat on her desk chair, peering down into Sarah's crib.

"Are you feeling better Ada?" Lady Constance asked before Ada had a chance to speak.

"Yes, thank you, very much so," Ada admitted.

"You're a wonderful mother, Ada," Lady Constance reassured, taking Ada's nearest wrist in her hands, "don't feel guilty about this. I see how hard it is for you. And I'm afraid I don't know what to do to make things easier for you."

"This is my cross to bear," Ada replied, a lump in her throat rising as she peered at her sleeping daughter, "I have been left with no other choice."

"Remember, you are not alone," Lady Constance continued, "you'll always be cared for here. When do you plan to go to London?" she added.

"I have asked to go as soon as possible, so that I have returned before Rosie returns to Harley Street. I hope to spend a few days away."

"Is Sarah not too young for such a journey? You're only just out of bed yourself, are you sure you are up to it?"

"I will manage," Ada replied, with a tilt of her head and a determined glint in her eye.

Lady Constance knew that there would be no reasoning with Ada when she was in this mood. She merely stood up and said, "there is an old Silver Cross perambulator in the coach house. I'll have one of the stable lads to polish it up and see it in working order before you go to London. No," Lady Constance confirmed to the quizzical narrowing of Ada's almond eyes, "it was never used."

"You are most kind, as ever, thank you."

Four days later, feeling a mix of excitement and trepidation, Ada stood on the platform waiting for the 9:16 to Paddington. Miss Luckes had written back immediately and was able to accommodate them for three nights, so she had spent the previous evening trying to frantically pack enough clothes for herself and a month-old baby into a case small enough that she could manoeuvre it, herself, and the pram. After the steam locomotive wheezed into the station a tall kindly-looking guard lifted the pram into his van at the back of the train, tenderly handed Sarah to Ada, and then helped the two of them, and their luggage into the adjacent carriage. Ada settled herself into the compartment, Sarah half dosing in her arms. There were four others in the compartment. Two well-dressed men, both in early middle age, a younger man, perhaps twenty, and an elderly woman. The men had barely noticed Ada and Sarah. The elderly woman eyed her suspiciously. Ada instinctively curled her hands into her sleeves to disguise her ringless finger. Returning her gaze to Sarah, Ada rocked her gently, hoping it and the sway of the carriage would settle her. She hoped she would not want to feed or need her napkin changed until they arrived in London. For the good of all concerned, Sarah Russell slept soundly in her mother's arms all the way to Paddington.

Just as Miss Luckes had promised, a Hackney cab was waiting outside the station for them. With the pram and the luggage somewhat precariously stowed, the pair of dark bays trotted off in the direction of The London. Whilst it had been less than four months since she was last in the city that had been her home for over ten years, Ada seemed to have forgotten the sights, sounds, and smells of London. The quiet of Burbridge Hall had sensitised her to the shouts of hawkers, clatters of hooves, the smoke, the buzz of energy which she had barely noticed when she lived there. But little Sarah continued to sleep, unaware of anything around her.

The Hackney cab set Ada down outside the imposing edifice of The London Hospital. With a bit of effort, she bounced the Silver Cross up the steps and through the main door. There to greet her, just as promised, was Miss Luckes. Matron stood, tall and stoic, yet noticeably tired. Catching sight of Ada, about ten years worth of careworn shadows melted from Miss Luckes' face to reveal a previously unseen lustre. With the spring a woman half her age, she bounded over to Ada, embraced her tightly, before immediately peering over the high sides of the old Silver Cross.

"Welcome to the Misses Russell," Miss Luckes beamed, glancing between Ada and Sarah, before adding, unable to contain herself, "goodness me, she is the most beautiful little thing I have ever seen."

"You wouldn't say that when she's crying for a feed in the middle of the night," Ada replied honestly, though not without allowing Matron to catch a wry smile out of the corner of her eye.

"Come," Miss Luckes said, taking hold of Ada's bags, "let us go to my quarters, I have accommodation arranged for both of you there. And when you are settled, then we can talk."

Following on behind Miss Luckes, it suddenly occurred to Ada that in over a decade at The London, she had never been into Matron's quarters. Her office of course, but never into her own personal living space. She was pleasantly surprised to find herself being led into a comfortably snug living room. Sofas and chairs with plump cushions framed the room, a teak dining table stood by the window, a low coffee table stood between the chairs covered in novels and papers, pretty lampshades hung from the walls, and heavy velvet curtains from the windows. A door opened off the main room, Ada peered through the crack and saw the corner of a patchwork bedspread.

"You are to have my room," Miss Luckes announced, "I have had a cot brought up from the store for Sarah," she added.

"But where will you sleep?" Ada asked.

"There is a spare room in the Nurses' home, I will lodge there for a few nights. It will be quite a treat I'm sure."

"Oh Matron, I cannot turn you out," Ada began.

"And nor can you stay in the Nurses' home with a baby," Miss Luckes immediately retorted, "you may of course, visit anyone whom you wish to see in the home," she added a little more kindly. "Now," she added, more gently still, opening the door to her bedroom wide, "see to each of your needs, and I will arrange for luncheon to be brought here for 1 pm."

"Thank you Matron," Ada chirped.

Miss Luckes left the room and headed in the direction of her office. Ada made herself and Sarah comfortable and unpacked the contents of her suitcase. Sarah began to whimper with hunger, so Ada settled on Miss Luckes' sofa and began to feed her. At that moment, Miss Luckes returned. A flash of embarrassment and panic darted across Ada's face and she tried to reach for a shawl.

Seeing her reaction, Miss Luckes soothed, "no, please, you must continue, I am not uncomfortable and neither should you be. It's rather beautiful," she added.

The two women sat in silence until Sarah was fed, winded and settled again in Ada's arms. At this point, Miss Luckes popped the question she had resisted asking since they had been reunited, "May I hold her?"

Ada nodded and placed Sarah in Miss Luckes' arms. The elder woman's face sparkled with joy as she held the little girl against her bosom, occasionally letting one of her long fingers stroke her tiny hands. Ada watched the scene in silent contemplation, wondering what her own mother would do when she eventually placed Sarah in her arms. A pang of emotion plucked Ada's heartstrings. It was at this moment that Ada noticed that Miss Luckes' gaze had moved from Sarah to her.

"I want you to tell me everything," Miss Luckes requested.