by Rebel Girls
Copyright © 2019 by Timbuktu Labs, Inc.
Activities Copyright © 2019 Wogrammers
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Text: Corinne Purtill
Cover and Illustrations: Marina Muun
Cover Lettering: Monique Aimee
This is a work of historical fiction. We have tried to be as accurate as possible, but names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents may have been changed to suit the needs of the story.
www.rebelgirls.co
ISBN 978-1-7331761-8-7
Ada Lovelace
December 10, 1815 - November 27, 1852
England
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
AFTERWORD
CHAPTER ONE
Ada crept through the jungle, stepping so lightly her shoes made no sound. For weeks, a fearsome tiger had stalked the nearby villages. It devoured people most horribly. And now she, the bravest hunter . . .
No, hunter wouldn’t do. She didn’t want to hurt the tiger.
She, the bravest tiger tamer (yes, much better) would befriend the animal and convince it to stop eating people. Perhaps it could even be coaxed into living with her as a pet. She gathered her courage, stepped into the clearing, and raised her hands.
“Got you!” Ada cried, tumbling onto the cushion where her cat, Mistress Puff, had been comfortably napping in a ray of sunlight. Ada ignored Mistress Puff’s yelps of annoyance and snuggled her face into the cat’s soft, white fur.
Augusta Ada Byron was eight years old. She lived in a big house just outside of London. It was a good house, with a schoolroom for her lessons and a grand staircase with a huge hall, whose walls made a wonderful, rich sound when you stood on the top step and sang loudly. Sometimes, she pretended the kitchen was a witch’s den full of bubbling cauldrons while cackling to herself. (This made the cook shouty and Mama very cross.) Sadly, the things that were most interesting to do and the things that she got scolded for were too often one and the same.
It wasn’t that Ada wanted to be naughty. She tried to be a good girl. She wanted to please Mama and her governess, Miss Lamont, who could play the piano and had a lovely Irish accent. But Ada had so much energy that sitting still was simply impossible. One day, she bit the maid who scolded her, and then bit the wooden railing when she was sent to sit on the stairs.
Unfortunately that was the end of Miss Lamont. Since then Ada had taken her lessons from a string of stern-faced tutors. They were good at molding girls into young ladies, she supposed, but not much else.
“Miss Byron!”
Ada jumped, and Puff leapt off her lap and raced down the hallway. All the tutors seemed to know exactly when Ada’s mind had wandered. Ada looked enviously after Puff, then hurried to the schoolroom. She looked at the agenda Madame had written on the board: geography, music, French, math, Italian . . . Fifteen minutes at a time until the day was through.
Ada was happy to see geography and music on the day’s agenda but much less excited about the math. How was anyone supposed to enjoy a subject without pictures? Geography, on the other hand, was excellent for making up stories.
“Norway is a Scandinavian country with a rugged coastline and waves as high as seventeen meters—”
“What makes the waves, Madame?” Ada interrupted.
“Hush,” Madame replied sternly. “The Norwegian Sea is—”
“Would the waves be taller than our house?”
“Excuse me?”
“The waves. The gardener says that lovely tree in front of our house is fifteen meters high and the tree is taller than the roof. So the waves in Norway would be taller than our house, n’est-ce pas? Isn’t that so?” Ada looked out the window, imagining the sea swelling across the yard. Water pressed against the glass as if she were a fish inside a tank.
Madame sighed and closed her eyes. She did this often during geography lessons. Geography must make her sleepy, Ada thought.
Ada ran her finger along the globe and rested it on Greece. The Greek islands looked like clouds breaking apart to reveal a patch of clear blue sky.
Greece was where her father lived. Mama had told her that the last time she’d asked where her father was. Then Lady Annabella Byron’s mouth had grown small and firm which meant Ada was not to ask any more questions.
Ada could not remember meeting her father, though her mother said she had. She kept the presents he had sent her: a ring, a locket, a length of ribbon, and a tiny picture of Italy.
She knew he was a poet, which sounded boring to Ada. All the poetry books she read were full of dull rhymes about children who felt peaceful and good because they listened to their parents. Ada found it hard to imagine any children like that.
She decided instead that her father was a great ship captain. That would explain why he lived in a country surrounded by the sea.
The door swung open, and a woman with brown curls, sharp eyes, and the posture of a queen stepped into the room.
“Mama!”
Instinctively, Ada ran toward her. Then she caught herself at the sight of Lady Byron’s fierce expression and stopped to curtsey instead.
“Good morning, Ada,” Lady Byron said. “Good morning, Madame. How is Ada’s schoolwork?”
“Her French and Italian are excellent, but she is lazy in mathematics and geography. Her daydreams disrupt our lessons.”
Ada groaned quietly. Nothing made her mother angrier than daydreaming.
“Ada, I will not have you ruining your education with nonsense and flights of fancy. No more geography and no more stories at bedtime until you focus.”
“But Mama . . . ”
“That’s enough,” Annabella scolded, turning to glare at the teacher. “And you, Madame, keep Ada’s mischief to a minimum.” Annabella left the schoolroom, leaving a glum-faced Ada and Madame behind.
That night, a strange, muffled sound woke Ada from her sleep.
She crept down the hallway and peeked between the banister rails to see better. Below, her mother’s hands were pressed to her face to hide her tears. The sound of her sobs echoed up the stairs into Ada’s own heart. Two servants rushed into the hallway below, and Ada scurried out of sight.
“Lord Byron is dead.”
“No!”
“Yes.”
“Shall I wake Miss Byron?”
“No. Lady Byron says the girl is not to be told.”
Ada retreated to her room. She closed the door and climbed back into bed, pulling the covers up under her chin. She lay there for some time, trying to decide how she felt about her father’s death.
The next morning her mother said nothing at breakfast. Ada didn’t either, but made sure to be extra polite. Before excusing herself for her lessons, she stood on tiptoe and planted the softest kiss she could on her mother’s c
heek. Ada thought she saw her mother’s eyes grow wet, but Annabella waved her away.
Ada heard Madame calling her to start the first lesson of the day, but she walked in the opposite direction to the far end of the house. There, hung a portrait covered by a green velvet curtain. Ada had never been allowed to look at the portrait, nor had she found the courage to defy her mother. But today was different. She took a deep breath and pulled back the curtain to see her father’s face for the very first time.
Her father’s clear blue eyes looked just like the ones that peered back at her when she saw herself in the mirror. He wore a heavy red robe embroidered in gold and seemed to be listening to someone speaking just outside the painting’s frame.
People claimed Lord Byron was one of the finest poets in England, possibly the world. He didn’t look like a poet, thought Ada. He looked more like an adventurer, or the sea captain she’d always imagined him to be. Ada tilted her head and folded an arm, mimicking his pose exactly.
Ada understood that her father was special. She knew he had written ideas that people talked about for a long time. Well, if he was extraordinary, then she must be, too. Satisfied, she let the curtain fall and headed to the schoolroom.
CHAPTER TWO
Ada sat in the library, a finger to her lips in concentration. She studied the chessboard in front of her before moving a black knight. Then she got up and moved to the chair opposite. She examined the board again, then decisively moved the white queen.
“Checkmate,” she announced to the room, empty except for Puff who was stretched out across the sofa.
Ada looked over at the cat. “You could at least be happy for me, Puff. That’s the third game I’ve won in a row.”
Puff yawned.
In the next room, Annabella was interviewing yet another tutor. The week before, Ada had been caught with a book of fairy stories hidden inside her workbook. So the last Madame had been dismissed for being careless with Ada’s education.
Ada crept across the room and put her ear to the door to listen.
“ . . . I could teach her some mathematics, I suppose,” a man’s voice was saying. “But it would have to be limited. There is only so much a female brain can manage.”
“In that case, I shall not waste your time,” Annabella replied in a tone Ada knew meant her mother was not pleased at all.
Ada was not sorry to hear the man go. She was ten now and felt she could learn plenty without a tutor. She was working her way through the books in their home library as fast as she could. Gobblebook, Ada called it, to describe the feeling of hungrily devouring every delicious word until she was full.
The characters in books were the closest people Ada had to friends. She had Mistress Puff of course. But without other children in the house, she was often lonely. Ada wanted someone she could play with and someone to tell her marvelous ideas. She had no one like that . . . yet.
~
The next morning, Ada’s mother summoned her earlier than usual. Annabella stood beside a woman Ada had not met before. The woman wore a plain black dress with a white collar, her smooth brown hair was parted in the middle and tucked into a sensible bun.
“Ada,” Annabella said. “This is Miss Charlotte Stamp, your new governess. She will be responsible for your education and will travel with us to Europe later this year.”
Ada curtseyed and tried not to look doubtful. Even the meanest tutors usually appeared eager to meet the daughter of the famous Lord Byron at first. Miss Stamp seemed friendly, but Ada was sure it was only a matter of time before a scowl replaced the governess’ welcoming expression.
“It’s a pleasure, Miss Byron.” Miss Stamp smiled. “We’ll begin our lessons tomorrow. But would you be so kind as to play chess with me this afternoon?”
Well. This is new, Ada thought.
~
“Miss Stamp, I must warn you. I’m frightfully good,” Ada said as she set up the chessboard later that afternoon.
“That’s wonderful news, Miss Byron. I enjoy a challenge.”
They both turned their heads toward a mewling sound. Puff sat on the arm of the floral sofa, looking rather grumpy. Ada knew the cat did not enjoy unexpected visitors in her personal lounge.
Miss Stamp held out her hand toward Puff, and to Ada’s astonishment, Puff licked Miss Stamp’s hand and settled into her lap.
“Your mother has gone over your lesson schedule with me,” said Miss Stamp as they started to play. “Tell me, how else do you pass the time?”
“I love music,” said Ada. “I could play the violin for hours. And I love dancing and reading.” She paused before saying the next part. “I . . . I especially like fairy stories or adventure tales but Mama doesn’t approve of those.”
“Well, I am not required to report on every single book you read.” Miss Stamp examined the board and moved another piece. “Do we also need to make time for letter writing or visits from your friends?”
Ada sighed as she took her turn. “I haven’t got any. I write to my mother’s friends sometimes. I tried writing to my cousin once, but he never wrote back.”
“It is my experience, Miss Byron, that a person has many companions in a lifetime. Some understand your words and meaning perfectly. And the others . . . . Well, it’s often best to save your words for the ones who appreciate them the most. And there. Checkmate.”
“Oh!” was all Ada could say. The governess had stunned her to silence.
“Newcomer’s luck,” Miss Stamp said breezily. “I shouldn’t be saying this to a rival player, but I noticed that I played much better when I studied math at school. Something about working through all those problems sharpened my mind.”
Ada turned this idea over as she glanced at her abandoned math workbook.
“Given that I can’t stand up at the moment,” Miss Stamp said, gesturing at Puff snoozing in her lap, “shall we play again?”
Ada nodded and turned back to the board, determined to win.
~
Miss Stamp was a wonder. She encouraged Ada to imagine far off places in geography. She made mathematics lessons fun. She told fairy tales in French, and danced Ada around the room for exercise. She listened patiently to Ada’s stories, too, knowing just the right time to speak and when to be quiet. After so much loneliness, having a true friend living right in the house felt better than Ada could have possibly imagined. Even Puff was better behaved when Miss Stamp was around.
“How are you and Miss Stamp getting on, Ada?” her mother asked a few weeks later.
“Oh, Mama,” she replied dreamily. “Miss Stamp is not just a governess. She’s . . . an enchantress.”
CHAPTER THREE
On a nice spring day, Miss Stamp sat in the shade of an oak tree with a book on her lap. The brim of her hat dipped occasionally, and Ada was sure she was dozing. Ada tossed her own book aside and flopped onto the blanket. She turned her face to the sky and stretched out her arms as if preparing to gather a cloud in her embrace.
What a joy their trip abroad had been! Ada thought back to all the places she’d seen. In Italy, Ada had set up her easel each morning on the balcony. She sketched the graceful archways of a palace and the distant sparkling turquoise sea. In Switzerland, Ada, Annabella, and Miss Stamp sailed on Lake Geneva, where their guide pointed out a vine-covered building on the shore.
“Have you ever heard of Lord Byron, the famous English poet?” the man asked, causing Ada to suppress a giggle. “He stayed there once!”
Ada could have traveled forever. She imagined sailing the world as a lady pirate, like the Irish queen Grace O’Malley. But after fifteen months, her mother was exhausted and wanted to return to England.
Annabella rented a house in the English countryside, hoping the air would restore her health. But it didn’t seem to be working. She was away yet again at a spa she hoped might cure her tiredness.
Though the journey had exhausted her mother, it energized Ada. The world was so much bigger, brighter, and noisier than she had dreamed, t
he opposite of this quiet, isolated life in the countryside. She rolled onto her belly and reached for her pencil and paper.
Dearest Mama,
Puff is a naughty cat and has got a little hiding place in the chimney of my room where she puts the birds she catches. She leaves them there until she is hungry. This morning she dragged one of them under my bed. I could hear her crunch each bone.
Ada sighed. During the trip, she’d written a swashbuckling story about murder and ghosts. Mistress Puff’s snacking habits were boring in comparison.
Ada stared up at the clouds, which looked like foamy waves on a windy day at sea. A pack of swallows swooped overhead. How graceful they were, soaring through the sky. The birds reminded her of a flying machine she’d heard about in Italy. Nobody had tried to build it yet, but the drawings she’d seen made clear that it was possible. All it would take was imagination and a good workspace.
Ada sat up.
“Miss Stamp!” She reached out to shake the boot of her sleeping guardian. “Miss Stamp!”
When her governess woke, Ada explained her new project in detail.
“I see,” nodded Miss Stamp. “And what, may I ask, is your goal?”
“To fly.”
“Right. In that case, we’d better get to work.”
~
Days later, Ada and Miss Stamp stood disheveled yet proud as they looked at their new flying room in the barn. Piles of saddles and trunks had been dragged outside to clear the floor. Ropes dangled from the ceiling.
“For flight practice,” Ada explained when the stable boy looked at her in confusion.
“Are you absolutely sure you’re ready?” Miss Stamp asked as she tied two ropes to Ada’s leather belt.
“Completely.” Ada fixed a determined look on her face. She took a deep breath, ran a few steps forward, lifted her feet off the ground, and . . .
Crash. She tumbled forward out of the belt onto the floor.
