Ada had been up for hours, even before the six o’clock summons, lying in her narrow bed in a cramped attic room she shared with the two other temporary maids. By rights, she ought to have fallen into a dead sleep last night. It’d been months since she’d acted as a housemaid, and working as a clerk in a mercer’s shop was far less taxing. But after the servants had finished their tea and evening duties, she’d tossed in her bed like a stirred coal. So much so that one of her roommates had thrown a pillow at her and threatened to tie her to the bed if she didn’t settle. For the rest of the night, Ada had drowsed, trying to get as much rest as she knew she’d need. Yet it was almost impossible, with her thoughts tumbling. She couldn’t stop mulling over the terrible Larkfields using children’s forced labor to pay for their esteemed lifestyle in London. Of the great responsibility entrusted to her by Nemesis. And, most of all, of Michael. They hadn’t spoken for the rest of the previous day, but she never lost her awareness of him.
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