Page 14 of Every Hour until Then (Timeless #5)

14

Buckinghamshire, England September 30, 1938

There was a festive atmosphere in the Astors’ golden ballroom that belied my mood that Friday night. Heavy gilded trim, floor-to-ceiling mirrors, and dark green wallpaper made the long, narrow room feel much bigger. The Munich Agreement had been signed that day by Neville Chamberlain, Adolf Hitler, Benito Mussolini, and édouard Daladier, the prime minister of France. The Sudetenland, a large portion of Czechoslovakia, was now under German authority—and the Czechs were not given a choice.

Many British citizens thought that a war had been avoided and were celebrating. Others, like Winston Churchill, a prominent and outspoken member of Parliament, knew it was only a matter of time before Adolf Hitler would demand more, and he was vocal about his concerns.

“You’ve been quieter than usual tonight,” Mama said as she approached me on the edge of the dance floor at Cliveden House. She slipped a wayward lock of my red hair behind my ear. “I miss seeing your dimples. Is everything okay?”

The band sounded out of tune, the clomping feet on the wood floor were too loud, and the laughter in the ballroom grated on my headache. I would have rather spent the day buried in research for the exhibit at Lancaster House, trying to find answers about Jack the Ripper, but I’d spent part of it traveling to Buckinghamshire and the other part trying to make small talk with the Astors’ guests.

“I’m fine,” I said to Mama, trying to put a smile on my face. I hadn’t told her about Austen’s kiss, or how it had completely upended me. Nothing had made sense since then. I felt like I was in a daze. What made it worse was that Austen and I hadn’t said a word to each other all the way home from Whitechapel that night. What was there to say? He’d kissed me to blend in with the other couples lurking on Berner Street and to avoid being seen by Jack the Ripper, but it had been the most exquisite and heart-wrenching thing I’d ever experienced. And in the end, Jack might have seen us, anyway—which was something else I hadn’t told Mama. I was still trying to process it myself.

“You don’t look fine,” she said as she studied me. “You can confide in me, Kathryn. I know what it’s like to lead two separate lives. It’s confusing and scary and thrilling, all at the same time. But more than that, it can feel lonely.”

I took a deep breath, not able to hold it in any longer. “Austen kissed me.”

Her eyes betrayed her surprise. “Just like that?”

I swallowed, realizing that I would need to explain the kiss and how it had come to be, but that also meant I would have to tell her about Berner Street.

“Please don’t be angry at me.”

“Why would I be angry? I’ve never met Austen, but I feel as if I know him. And he’s a wonderful man, Kathryn. Honorable and clearly devoted to—”

“He didn’t kiss me out of passion or desire—although—” My face began to burn as a group of three ladies walked toward us on the edge of the dance floor.

I didn’t want to be interrupted now that I’d begun to tell her, so I slipped my arm around her and led her to a couch in the corner.

“What is it?” she asked, taking a seat next to me.

Thankfully, there was no one close enough to hear our conversation in the corner. Papa was on the opposite side of the ballroom, speaking to Charles Lindbergh. No doubt they were planning their trip to Berlin again, now that the Munich Agreement had been signed, and it seemed all was peaceful in Germany. For now.

“The kiss started out as a diversion, but it quickly turned to something more,” I said. “So quickly, in fact, I’m still reeling.”

“A diversion?” She frowned. “From what?”

It wouldn’t pay to avoid the truth, so I whispered, “Jack the Ripper.”

She stared at me and shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

I told her we had gone to Berner Street to try to get a look at Jack and how he and Elizabeth had unexpectedly come our way.

“Before we’d arrived in Whitechapel,” I explained, “Austen had warned me to do as he said. To run if he said run, to hide if he said hide. Neither of us expected that he might have to kiss me to blend in. I think he was just as surprised as me at first—but then, I realized how much I liked it, and I drew him closer. The worst part is that neither of us said a word to each other on the carriage ride home.” The heat in my cheeks intensified just thinking about it. “When we arrived at Wilton Crescent, he walked me to my door and I turned to him, waiting for him to say something—but when he didn’t, I stepped inside and had a good cry.”

Mama was still staring at me. “You went looking for Jack the Ripper?”

“Is that all you can say?”

“Of course that’s all I can say!” She rarely got angry at me, especially in public, but she was upset now. “Austen’s kiss pales in comparison, Kathryn. What are you thinking? You’re talking about the most notorious killer of all time. What if he saw you?”

I pressed my lips together.

Hers parted. “No.” She shook her head. “He didn’t see you, did he?”

“I don’t know for certain. It was dark, and I couldn’t see his features, so I don’t think he could see ours, but he looked in our direction and knew we were standing there watching.”

She blinked several times, as if she could hardly believe what I was saying. “What if he recognized you? What if he comes for you next?”

“There are over five million people in London in 1888. What are the odds that he knows me? Besides, there were other people who saw him, like the grape seller, and none of them become victims.” I was trying to convince myself as much as I wanted to convince her. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”

“You can’t be one of his victims,” she said, quietly. “It’s not part of the original history, and if you’re killed there before your time, then who will save Mary? Not to mention that it would be a deplorable and gruesome way to die.”

“I will be fine.” I tried to reassure us both. “And if I’m not there to save Mary, at least Austen still can.”

“And risk losing his own life?” Her words struck a chord deep within me. It wasn’t a risk I wanted him to take.

“You’re right,” I said. “I will do my best to stay safe in 1888.”

“And here,” Mama added, clearly trying to rein in her frustration with me. “Don’t forget to stay safe here.”

I was finally able to muster a smile, though it wasn’t big. “Why wouldn’t I be safe here?”

“Because you’re so headstrong that you charge into battle without a second thought?” she asked. “Or you get so engrossed in your work that you start to neglect the relationships around you?” She put her hand on my cheek. “Or you think that something can’t be done unless you’re the one to do it? There are a dozen different ways you could get yourself into trouble here. Just be careful, sweetheart.”

I laid my hand over hers as my eye caught on Calan McCaffrey and Sir Rothschild, speaking together in the opposite corner of the ballroom. Their faces were grim.

What if something had happened at the museum? By the looks of them, any number of things could have gone wrong.

“Excuse me,” I said to Mama as I rose. “I’m going to speak to Calan and Sir Rothschild. It looks like there is trouble.”

“Just as I said.” Mama lifted her eyebrows at me. “Instead of running away from trouble, you seem to run toward it.”

I smiled and left her side to approach my colleagues.

Both men were wearing tuxedos, and I’d seen each of them dance already that evening. Sir Rothschild had brought Bianca to the ball, and they were staying in a room across the hall from me. Bianca was a quiet, unremarkable kind of woman who sat on the edge of the room and observed rather than partook of the festivities. She watched me as I crossed the room to speak to her husband.

“I hope all is well,” I said to Calan and Sir Rothschild as I approached them.

They were talking in low tones, and I couldn’t make out their conversation, but they paused when I joined them.

“Is something wrong? Is there a problem at the museum?” I asked.

“It’s nothing about the Ripper exhibit, if that’s what you mean,” Calan answered. “I recently acquired a large collection of paintings for the Royal Museum of Scotland. But because the artist is English, Bryant has been working with the Royal Museum to get some of the paintings sent to the London Museum for a special exhibit.”

“It’s one of the reasons I asked Calan to join our team,” Sir Rothschild confessed. “I was hoping he could be a liaison between the two museums.”

“The Royal Museum is happy to loan the paintings,” Calan continued. “But it seems they have been lost in transit.”

Sir Rothschild’s face became serious again. “They were supposed to arrive yesterday, but there’s been a delay, and we’re having a hard time tracking them down.”

“Not only is there a huge monetary value involved,” Calan said, “but these paintings are one of a kind. Irreplaceable.”

“Who is the artist?” I asked.

The men glanced at each other, and then Sir Rothschild said, “I’d rather not say—just yet. I know you’re trustworthy, but if news of this leaks, we would be facing significant backlash. Please don’t say anything.”

“Of course not.” I frowned, curious about their secrecy.

“Shall we take a turn on the dance floor?” Sir Rothschild asked, surprising me with the sudden shift in conversation, as if he was trying to distract me.

“Of course.” I smiled as he offered his arm.

We walked onto the dance floor, where dozens of people were dancing a foxtrot.

“This is a pleasant change of pace,” Sir Rothschild said as he slipped his arms around me, and we melded onto the dance floor. “I can almost forget all of my other troubles when I’m dancing.”

He was a surprisingly good dancer, and it was a challenge to keep up with him, though I didn’t mind.

“I’m sorry about the paintings,” I said. “Is there anything to be done about it?”

“I sent a man to investigate. If he has not located the shipment by tomorrow afternoon, I will travel to Glasgow and see what I can find.” He smiled, and his mustache came up at the corners. “But I really don’t want to ruin this evening with worries about the paintings. We have much to celebrate. The Sudetenland is now secure, Germany has her people back where they belong, and not a single drop of bloodshed was required.”

“I had forgotten that you were in favor of Hitler’s acquisition of the Sudetenland.” I couldn’t hide the displeasure in my voice.

Sir Rothschild was quiet for a moment, and then he said, “Perhaps history will prove me wrong, but I believe Adolf Hitler is one of the most brilliant men to have walked this planet, and while I’m a Brit through and through and loyal to my king and country, I think we could learn some valuable lessons from the Germans. Is there anything wrong with that?”

It was a sentiment I’d heard from countless people in London, and it didn’t surprise me. Not anymore. Yet, I knew that history would prove that Adolf Hitler was a madman—whether he was brilliant or insane, or perhaps both, was up for debate. Grandmother Maggie had told us that she lived long enough in her 1940s path to see Hitler’s downfall, but it came at the expense of millions of lives. That didn’t seem brilliant to me.

“May I have this dance?” Calan asked as soon as I was finished with Sir Rothschild.

I smiled and nodded. “Of course.”

He took me into his arms, a little closer than Sir Rothschild had, as the band played “They Can’t Take That Away from Me.” Calan began to hum the tune, and I closed my eyes, imagining what it would be like to dance this close with Austen.

Melancholy struck me so quickly, it took my breath away. All I could think about was Austen—his passionate words in the garden. Then, his arms around me on Berner Street and his lips against mine, overwhelming all my senses until I felt as if I might drown in them. I wanted him here, to talk about the kiss, to ask him why it had taken so long for him to confess his feelings and why he continued to keep them locked inside. I wanted to introduce him to Mama and Papa and show him this other world I occupied, one that looked much like 1888 but where I was free to pursue the things I loved.

It suddenly occurred to me that perhaps Austen did know this life.

I stumbled, causing Calan to come to a stop.

“Is everything alright?” he asked.

“I’m sorry,” I said as I took an unsteady breath. “Yes, everything is fine.”

But was it? Austen was only twenty-five in 1888. That would make him seventy-five today. As Calan and I began to dance again, I searched the ballroom, as if Austen might appear. Yet, I couldn’t see him as part of the Cliveden Set. Not the Austen I knew in 1888. But was he alive? And did he live in London? Perhaps at his old address?

A longing so deep and powerful tugged at me to look for him this very moment, even though I was thirty miles away from the city. But what would I do if I found him? He’d be an old man, and it would shock him to see me again. Nothing good would come from visiting Austen—for him or for me. It was a foolish notion.

When our song came to an end, Calan offered a bow and then handed me over to Papa, who was waiting for the next dance.

As soon as the music began, I fell into Papa’s embrace, needing his strength.

“What’s bothering you, ma chérie ?” he asked. “Is it Austen? Mary? Both?”

“Yes.” I put my cheek on his shoulder, unsure if I wanted to talk about it all again.

“If I’ve learned anything, it’s that love cannot be rushed,” he said, a smile in his voice. “And that if it is meant to be, it usually finds a way to thrive.”

I sighed, realizing I did not want to talk about Austen. It was easy for him to say such things, but far harder for me to believe them.

“And,” he continued, “as for Mary, is there anyone who might know why she left home, or if it had anything to do with the Freemasons? Someone close to her. A servant, perhaps.”

I pulled back from his shoulder as a thought occurred to me.

There was one person who might know—someone Mary had trusted, who knew the ins and outs of her daily life better than anyone else.

Someone who had left our house at the same time as Mary.

“Her lady’s maid, Sarah Danbury.”

“And you haven’t thought to ask her before now?”

“At the time, I thought that Mother was making yet another change in the household staff. But perhaps Danbury was let go because she knew too much.”

“There is only one way to find out,” Papa said. “But be careful, Kathryn. The truth can set us free, but it can also put us in danger.”

I nodded, heeding his words.

I’d already discovered the wisdom in his warning.