Every hour until then, p.12
Every Hour until Then, page 12
It would have been so much easier if he was in 1938 so that my choice could be simple. I didn’t want to lose Austen—not now and not in the future.
The longing in his eyes soon changed, and he pulled away, his face growing serious. “I went to your house earlier tonight to tell you that I hired a private investigator to find Mary. And I just received word that he found her, Kate.”
I blinked several times, hope filling my heart. “You found Mary? Where? Is she safe?”
He was quiet for a moment as he studied me, sadness filling his face. “She is going by the name of Marie Jeanette Kelly, and she lives at 13 Miller’s Court.”
It felt as if a fist landed in my gut and all the air was knocked out of my lungs. The hope I’d held that she was not Jack’s victim bled away, and dread filled its place.
“I’m so sorry, Kate.”
“I want to go to her immediately.”
“It’s too late. I’ll take you there tomor—”
“I’m going now, Austen, whether you’re with me or not.”
He pressed his lips together. “Fine. But you must change. I won’t take you there looking so—so elegant.”
His compliment would have pleased me if I wasn’t reeling with the truth.
History claimed my sister would be Jack the Ripper’s last victim.
For the first time in my life, I hated history. And I wouldn’t let it win, no matter what it cost me.
It felt as if my entire world had shifted in an instant. I had known it was a possibility that Mary was Jack’s last victim, but now that I knew it was true, everything was different.
As the carriage turned onto Commercial Street, the filth and stench of London’s East End clawed at my throat. If I had thought being in the glittering West End at night was terrifying, it was nothing compared to entering Whitechapel after dark, especially knowing Jack the Ripper might be stalking the streets.
Austen had been silent since we entered the carriage, but now he asked, “What will you do?”
“I don’t know.” It was the truth. Plain and simple. “I can’t be rash or foolish. Papa warned me not to change history before it’s necessary because it could cause so many other problems.” I pressed my lips together as I thought about my sister’s life. “I still don’t know if she’ll be a random victim or if she’s part of a Freemason plot.”
“What Freemason plot?” he asked with a frown.
We still hadn’t spoken about his parents’ involvement with the Freemasons, or why they had been in Jerusalem with my parents in 1874. But he had made it clear in the garden, speaking to Mr. Maybrick, that he had no interest in joining the brotherhood.
“One of the curators I work with in 1938 believes that the Freemasons are responsible for covering up Jack’s murders.” I quickly told him Calan’s theory as the carriage rolled along Commercial Street. “If Mary’s death is supposed to be random, then I could simply force her to leave the morning of the intended murder.” I paused, feeling overwhelmed with all that was against me. “But if it’s linked to Freemasonry, then things are different. What if Jack has plans to kill her, no matter where I take her? Can I protect her from him?”
“I don’t know the answers to those questions. But I do know the Freemasons are dangerous. That’s why I’ve refused to join them. If they’re involved, then this thing is much bigger than we can imagine.”
“I need to know who Jack the Ripper is, Austen. If I can learn his identity and find out if he’s linked to the Freemasons, then maybe I can unearth the connection between the women.”
“How would that help Mary?”
“If he’s not a Freemason, and just a random madman, I would have the assurance that if I send her somewhere else, she would be safe from him. But if he is a Freemason and I need to reveal his identity to put him behind bars, to keep her safe, I would do that.”
“The Freemasons are powerful.”
“They don’t scare me.”
“They should.”
The way he said those two words made me turn to him. “What do you know about them, Austen? Mr. Maybrick made it sound like you know more than you let on.”
“The less you know, the better. Please believe me when I tell you that. Nothing good would come to you if you knew what I know about the Freemasons.”
“But I want to save my sister.”
“What I know wouldn’t help. If it would, I’d tell you.”
I believed him. And even though it was hard to not know, I would trust him.
As we drew closer to Miller’s Court, there was something else that was gnawing at my thoughts. “I can understand why the authorities were trying to cover up the identity of Jack, if he was a Freemason, but what compelled him to go on the killing spree? What was his objective? Was it simple insanity, or was he trying to accomplish something?”
“I wish I had answers for you, Kate.”
I took a deep breath and then said, “The next two murders will happen on the same night. One will be in a highly public place, and Jack will loiter around the scene of the crime for at least half an hour before he kills Elizabeth Stride. It will happen around one in the morning on September 30th. Lots of people saw him.”
Realization dawned in Austen’s gaze, and he began to shake his head.
“Please,” I said. “We can dress in shabby clothes and find a place to hide. It’ll be dark and raining, so we can stay hidden.”
“It’s a ludicrous idea. What if we run into the killer? What if we change history somehow? Would I forfeit my life if I knowingly change history?”
“I—I don’t know.” I’d never wondered. I had always known that time-crossers forfeited their lives in the path they changed, but what about non-time-crossers? Did the same rule apply to them?
“Not to mention your safety in other regards,” he continued. “It’s insane to go there now, and the only reason I’m taking you is because we know that Mary lives at Miller’s Court and she’s someone we can trust. But to just loiter in Whitechapel, knowing Jack the Ripper is somewhere in that area—it’s out of the question.”
“I will go, Austen. Whether you’re with me or not.”
His face was grim. “You have always vexed me, Kathryn Kelly, but never more so than now.”
“I’ve never been as desperate as I am now.”
We stared at each other for a moment, and then he growled and said, “Fine. I’ll take you.”
I smiled, though I didn’t feel relieved or even happy. Just grateful that I didn’t have to go alone.
When we arrived at Miller’s Court, Miles opened the door for us and Austen stepped out, then offered me his hand.
It was firm as I exited the carriage. I wanted to cling to it, but I let go as we walked down the passageway to the back of Miller’s Court, conscious once again that I didn’t fit in here and neither did Mary.
I’d changed into the plainest gown I owned and wore a dark bonnet with a wide brim to cover my face. But I still felt like I was drawing unwanted attention. Even though I didn’t see anyone, it felt as if there were eyes everywhere.
I knocked on number thirteen, relieved and anxious and desperate to finally see Mary again.
“Who is it?” came a small, feminine voice on the other side of the door.
My heart squeezed at the sound, and tears stung my eyes. “Mary, my love. It’s me. Kathryn.”
The door creaked open, and Mary stood before me, a shell of the woman she’d once been. Tears of shock and joy filled her eyes as she fell into my embrace. “Kathryn.”
I clung to Mary with desperation, horrified at how thin and careworn she looked. There was a stench about her that was appalling, though she probably didn’t notice. The thought of a warm bath and clean clothes was a luxury in Whitechapel. I wanted to take her away with me at that very instant—but a voice of reason spoke from behind me.
“Perhaps we had better go inside before we’re seen,” Austen said as he touched my lower back.
Mary pulled away from me and glanced at Austen, fear and uncertainty in her gaze.
“Hello, Mary.”
She nodded at him and then said, “Come in,” as she opened her door wider, allowing me to see her foul living conditions. The fact that she could afford her own room was a miracle. Jack’s other victims were all homeless, living on the streets, prostituting themselves for doss money to have a shared bed in a boardinghouse.
Mary glanced behind us toward the courtyard, as if she was looking for something—or someone.
Her home was smaller than I imagined, only about twelve feet square, with a single bed, three small tables, and a chair. A picture of a forlorn woman sitting near the seaside hung above the fireplace, and there were two irregular sized windows looking toward the yard. Three of the walls were made of brick, but a fourth was made of wood and looked like it was a partition that separated this room from the rest of the larger house.
Mary closed the door again and then looked out the window, clearly worried. “I don’t know how long you can stay before Joseph returns.”
“Joseph?” I frowned. “Who is Joseph?”
Embarrassment and shame colored Mary’s cheeks as she went to the small fireplace and moved a tea kettle off the flames. “Joseph is my—my man.”
I’d forgotten about Joseph Barnett. He was the man who would give testimony about Mary after the murder. A murder I wouldn’t let happen. “Your man?”
She turned to me, her eyes pleading with me to understand. “If you don’t have a man to protect you in Whitechapel, then you’re forced to have several men.”
My stomach turned, but not because of Mary’s decisions. She was simply trying to survive the unthinkable. Everything about her current life contradicted the one she used to lead, but she had no choice.
She stood before me, her hands clasped in front of her dirty apron, and she couldn’t meet my gaze. She had aged in the past eleven months. She’d always been pretty, but now she looked gaunt and haggard. Her red hair, so much like mine, was thin and dirty. Her dress was worn and hung on her frame. And her green eyes had lost their shine.
“Don’t look at me like that, Kathryn,” she whispered. “I don’t want your pity.”
I glanced at Austen, but he wasn’t looking at me or Mary. He was looking at his feet, probably to spare Mary from embarrassment and shame.
“How did you find me?” she asked.
I couldn’t tell her the truth because Mary didn’t know I was a time-crosser.
“I hired someone to look for you,” Austen said.
Fear tightened the edges of her eyes. “You cannot tell anyone where I’m at.”
“We won’t,” Austen assured her. “The man who found you is someone I trust with my life.”
“If a hired man could find me, then I’m not safe.”
“You’re safe for now,” I said to Mary, taking her hand in mine. “I promise you.” I swallowed and looked at the small, uncomfortable room. “What happened? Why did you leave without telling me? Did Father force you out? He and Mother refuse to speak of you or allow me to speak of you.”
Mary shook her head and pulled her hand away. “It doesn’t matter. This is my life now. I’m getting along as best I can.”
“It does matter. You left without warning, Mary. And look at where you’re living. None of this makes sense. You’re from a genteel family. We love you. We want you to come home.”
“I know you thought you were coming to help me,” Mary said, her voice tightening. “But you’re putting me in more danger, Kathryn. You’re right. I left without warning, but not because Father forced me to leave.”
I stared at her, speechless.
“I chose to leave, to come here—”
“You chose this?” I asked, unable to believe such a thing. “Then why can’t I say your name? Why hasn’t Father searched for you?”
She looked as if she was going to speak, but then she shook her head. “It’s best if you leave—right now, before Joseph returns. He doesn’t know anything about my past, and I want to keep it that way. It’s safer for all of us if he believes I’m Marie Jeanette.”
“I’m not going anywhere until I understand why you left home.”
“You need to go. Now.” She put her small hand on my back and nudged me toward the door. “Don’t come back here, Kathryn. Joseph is already upset with me because I’ve been letting friends stay here at night. It’s too dangerous for them to be on the streets with a murderer on the loose.”
“About that—” I wanted to tell her to be careful, but Austen reached out and put his hand on my arm to stop me. He shook his head, as if warning me not to say too much.
“Mary, please,” I said as I tried to pause.
She opened the door, more tears in her eyes. “If you want to keep me safe, please don’t come back. For your sake and for mine.”
“I’ll send money,” I told her.
“I don’t need—or want—anything from you. No one must know about you. I can’t risk that they’ll find out who you are—or who I am.”
“I don’t understand any of this,” I said. “Please, help me understand.”
She put her hand on my cheek, and I felt like the younger sister for the first time. “Good-bye, Kathryn.”
Austen put his hand on the small of my back. “We should leave. We don’t want to put Mary in a difficult position.”
I wrapped her in another embrace and whispered, “Please be careful.”
She nodded and then pulled back, anxious for me to leave.
When we stepped outside, Mary closed the door behind us, and I leaned into Austen as he led me down the passageway. A curtain moved aside from one of the other rooms, and an old woman peered out at us.
“I don’t understand,” I said again as Austen led me to his carriage. “None of this makes sense.”
“I don’t understand it, either, but we have to honor her wishes.”
“She said that Father didn’t force her to leave. Why would she abandon the comfort and safety of our home? Why would he let her go?”
“Perhaps it was more dangerous for her to live at home than it is for her to live here.” Austen helped me into his carriage and then tapped on the roof to let Miles know we were ready to head back to Wilton Crescent.
“That can’t possibly be true.”
“I’m sorry, Kate,” he said as he put his arm around me and held me close. “I wish you had more answers. But that doesn’t mean that you can’t save her. We must be patient.”
I didn’t want to be patient. I just wanted to save my sister.
12
London, England
September 28, 1938
The basement of Lancaster House was filled with the London Museum’s special exhibits. There was a cell from Newgate Prison, items from the Tudor Dynasty—including medical paraphernalia from Queen Elizabeth’s physician, Doctor Bromley—models of Old London, and even a Roman boat. Calan and I had been given a large, empty room in the corner to turn into an exhibit for Jack the Ripper. It was a dark, dank area and offered just the right amount of atmosphere to create a sense of foreboding. We’d decided to make the long, narrow room look like Buck’s Row, the site of Polly Nichols’s murder—the first of the canonical five victims that were attributed to Jack.
“On the left wall,” Calan said to the museum’s carpenter, who had joined us for a meeting in the basement, “we’ll want a façade of the brick buildings along Buck’s Row. At the end, we’ll re-create the gate that led into the stable where Polly’s body was found.” He pulled several photographs out of a file taken around the time of the murder. “The architecture was very simple,” Calan noted as he pointed to one photo. “Just keep it as true to the photographs as possible.”
“Alright, mate,” the carpenter said. “And what will we do for the floor?”
“We’ll keep the floor natural,” he answered.
“The concrete will do quite nicely as a road,” I added. “You’ll also find a rendering with proper measurements in the file for the brick façade. If you have any questions, feel free to ask either Calan or myself.”
The carpenter nodded as he looked over everything we’d given him.
“And when do you think you can get this done?” Calan asked.
The man shrugged as he scratched the stubble on his chin. “Three or four weeks.”
“The sooner the better,” I told him. “After the façade is finished, we’ll still need time to assemble the rest of the exhibit, and we hope to have the grand opening the first week of November.” I took a breath. “Around the anniversary of the last murder on November 9th.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you.”
Calan and I left the empty room and walked up the stairs toward the main floor.
I tried keeping myself busy with work, but all I could think about was tomorrow in 1888. It would be September 29th, and Austen and I had plans to head to Whitechapel well before midnight to find a place to hide on Berner Street so we could watch for Jack the Ripper. I was so nervous in both paths, I hadn’t eaten in days.
But it wasn’t only visiting Berner Street that had me worried. Ever since we’d visited Mary at Miller’s Court, Austen had been distant. He wasn’t as unpleasant as before, but I knew what he was thinking. What we were both thinking.
Mary needed me to save her, and the only way to do that was to sacrifice my path for her.
“You’ve been quieter than usual,” Calan said, interrupting my thoughts. “Worried about Hitler?”
I almost laughed. Yes, I was worried about Hitler—but right now, I was more concerned about Jack the Ripper. I couldn’t tell Calan that, so I said, “Who isn’t?”
Neville Chamberlain was in Germany for a third visit because the Czechs and the French didn’t like the plan to hand over the Sudetenland to Hitler—and now Hitler was threatening an invasion on October 1st, only three days away. Chamberlain had called for a summit with Germany, France, Italy, and Britain. It was currently happening in Munich. If the prime minister couldn’t find a way to get Hitler to compromise, then war was inevitable, and Mama and Papa would insist we leave for home.
