Ada's note was safely delivered to Harley Street. She tried not to dwell on its contents, nor anticipate the reply that may or may not result. After she and Miss Luckes had taken luncheon together she pushed Sarah in her pram down the Whitechapel Road, towards Spitalfields and onto Wilkes Street. Anna and the children came out of tenement to greet them, each little face peering over the sides of the pram. Ada hoped she had managed to hide her disappointment when Anna had told her that she was expecting again.

"It's what 'appens in my line o' work," Anna had replied nonchalantly to Ada's concerns, "my culls don't like using frenchies."

That evening and for the following two days, Ada spent her time in and out of the nurses' home, playing host to a string of admirers amongst her former colleagues. As The London's nursing sorority cooed over her daughter, Ada retained her composure as she remembered the hostile stares and the shuns she had received from these same women when her secret was first revealed.

Just before supper on their third evening in London, Ada was sat on the end of Ethel's bed, with Sarah contently suckling in her arms. Ethel was watching her intently. Ada noticed she was being watched, grinned a little and said,

"Did your mother not tell you it's rude to stare?"

"Sorry!" Ethel replied, suddenly coming to, "I just find everything so fascinating. I've not had a friend with a baby before," she added apologetically. She paused for a moment and then, staring between Sarah and Ada, asked, "does it feel, strange?"

Ada smiled at her friend's childlike curiosity and replied, "it is a little uncomfortable sometimes, especially when you are full or she's not latched on properly, but, I feel, like this is how things should be. I can't imagine doing anything else."

"You don't fancy a shift in the Receiving Room then?" Ethel joked.

"Not right now," Ada admitted.

Ethel noticed a warm glow sweep across Ada's face. At various points that day, Ada had admitted that being back at The London had made her nostalgic for her former life. But seeing Ada here, with her daughter, Ethel knew that whilst it was not a vocation her friend would have chosen, she was certainly not on the wrong path.

Later that night Miss Luckes laid on the bed in the room of the nurses' home that had once been Ada's. It was larger than some of the others, though the cheery personal touches which its former occupant had bedecked it with were now long gone. She had enjoyed Ada and Sarah's company, and the novelty of living with her staff, even if it was clear that everyone was on their very best behaviour in her presence. The thought that most troubled her mind was the lack of a reply to Ada's note to Harley Street. The little she knew of Dr Walton's feelings, or indeed a man's true love and affection, told her that, regardless of his commitments, the receipt of such a note should have elicited a positive response. Settling into the pillows, she hoped something would arrive with the morning post.

The morning, and its post, came and went, with no semblance of a response to Ada's message to Harley Street. Being truly honest with herself as she waved goodbye to Miss Luckes through the window of the Hackney cab late that afternoon, Ada was almost glad that James had not requested a meeting with her. She could not have invited him into Miss Luckes' quarters, or the nurses' home, and the idea of dragging a pram into one of the delicately genteel tea shops that the two of them frequented all those years ago filled her with dread. Besides, she had only brought utility dresses with her. Her once fine figure did not yet fit back into her equally fine best frock.

By the time she had settled herself into her four poster bed that night her thoughts on the matter had turned somewhat. After the bustle of London, and The London, the quiet of Burbridge Hall and the expanse of mattress on either side of her body reminded her of her lonely station within the world. For the first time in many, many months, Ada suddenly craved a man's attention, a man's affection. The feeling of a strong pair of arms around her. The touch of a man's lips against her own. Her mind wandered for a moment, wondering what, that, could really be like, lying, warm and safe, in a place like this, not up against the cold, imposing edifice of a tenement wall.

"Oh James," she whispered to the darkness, "I love you."

A week passed and Ada no longer looked out for the post in anticipation of a response from James. She had questioned the sincerity of his statement at the time, and on many occasions subsequently, but the words of Ethel and Miss Luckes on the matter had given her hope and comfort in the genuineness of her former fiance's feelings. With each passing day, the glimmer of hope on which she had pinned her optimism began to fade.

One Thursday afternoon, over a fortnight after Ada had returned to Burbridge Hall, the weather was unseasonably warm. After she had seen to Lady Constance's needs, her benefactor had strongly suggested that she take Sarah out in the Silver Cross around the estate.

"It will do you both good!" she had insisted.

Ada had to agree with her, a long stroll about the estate, the fresh air, the merry conversations with the estate workers whom they passed, a visit to the stables to stroke in the noses of the carriage horses, Ronaldsey, the Late Lord Burbridge's elderly but stoically noble bay hunter, and Lady Constance's racehorses, a jet black stallion named Aberdour Sands, and Primrose Girl, a fiery chestnut with white about her face, home from their training yard for the off season, cheered her heart immensely.

Ada retired to the walled garden, and sat under the arbor to feed Sarah, who had become irritable and fractious. No sooner had she settled her daughter again, Ada's sphere of tranquility was shattered by the sound of approaching hooves and a man's voice calling out.

"Hello! Hello!"

Peering around the entrance to the walled garden, Ada saw the cause of the disturbance. A stocky skewbald, hardly tall enough to be called a horse, lolloped across the grounds in an ungainly trot. The man astride the horse was tall, so tall his legs swung below his mount's patterned flanks, unsuitably dressed for riding, and looked decidedly uncomfortable in the saddle. He pulled the horse into a halt, his hands hard on the reins, causing his mount to throw its head in protest. Turning around, the man spotted Ada. Ada retreated slightly behind the wall but her actions were not fast enough. The dark haired, smartly dressed, man turned his horse towards the walled garden and kicked him into a canter. As the horse thundered towards her, Ada suddenly recognised his rider. Aware her mouth was gaped open, she held her hand up to it, her eyes widening with every one of the horse's strides. The horse slid to a halt in front of her and his rider dismounted, lacking in elegance, stumbling slightly on landing. Keeping the reins in one hand, with the other he took one of Ada's, and pressed a tender kiss just above her knuckles.

"Hello James," Ada responded, suddenly aware that her heart rate was no longer within an acceptable range.