Page 17 of Every Hour until Then (Timeless #5)

17

October 4, 1888 London, England

I didn’t waste a moment the next day. As soon as I was dressed, I walked out of the front door of 11 Wilton Crescent and pulled the ringer for number 12. Brinley answered the door with his familiar calm, though his eyes took on a sparkle for me.

“Good morning, Brinley,” I said to Austen’s butler. “Is he at home?”

“He’s in his study, Miss Kelly. Won’t you come in and I’ll see if he’ll receive you.”

I entered Austen’s home, and Brinley led me into the parlor, where I waited.

The rain that had been plaguing the city for the past two days had passed, but in its place was a cold dampness that seeped into my bones. I stood at the front window and looked out at the street. Carriages passed and people walked by—and still, Austen didn’t come.

I was about to throw my resolve to the wind and storm upstairs to find him for myself when the door finally opened, and he appeared.

His hair was disheveled, and he needed a shave. He hadn’t bothered to put on a coat, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up at his forearms.

Though I’d been prepared to see him, my heart still did a funny little flip, and I had to look down at my hands to steady the nerves that came to life in my stomach. It was getting harder and harder to see Austen, to remember his words to me in the garden and his kisses on Berner Street, and to know that our time together was coming to an end.

“Do you need something?” he asked. “I’m on a tight deadline and have very little time to spare.”

Again, his reference to work puzzled me. “What is it that you do?”

“I don’t think that’s why you’ve come.” He sighed. “What do you want, Kate?”

I lifted my chin and faced him with as much courage as I could muster. “I need to know what you know about your parents’ murder.”

“No.”

I stared at him for a moment and then said, “Why not?”

“It’s none of your business.”

My lips parted as I took a step closer to him. “None of my business? Do you know that the first four victims of Jack the Ripper were on that trip to Jerusalem with our parents?”

He frowned. “What?”

“Polly Nichols, Annie Chapman, Elizabeth Stride, and Catherine Eddowes were all in Jerusalem with their husbands. My sister is the only one of the five who wasn’t there. But that means that one woman from each family who was on that trip will be killed by Jack the Ripper. And, if my suspicions are correct, your parents’ murder has something to do with the others.” I grasped his forearms. “I need to know what you know.”

He stared at me for a long time, as if weighing the risk of revealing the truth.

“I can’t tell you,” he said, his voice low, almost apologetic. “And I don’t want you to ask me again.”

Anger came over me so suddenly, it took all my willpower not to shake him. Instead, I removed my hands from his arms and balled my fists against my thighs. “Why are you doing this? You know how frustrated I am that my father and Mary won’t answer my questions. Why are you so pigheaded and obstinate? You know that all of this has something to do with the Freemasons and the trip to Jerusalem. Yet you refuse to tell me because of your own stubborn, foolish, selfish reasons.” Tears stung my eyes, but I was more angry than sad.

He just stared at me.

I took a step back, wiping away my tears, not only because of his stubbornness, but also Mary’s. How could I help them if they wouldn’t let me? “For fourteen years, you’ve treated me with anger and indifference. I’ve tried to understand. Tried to be patient and faithful to our friendship.” My gaze slipped to his lips, and I thought of our kiss, and my heart felt like it was tearing inside me. When I lifted my eyes again, I saw anguish in his gaze. “I don’t know why you want to hurt me, Austen, but I can’t do this anymore. I know that your life has been one injustice after another. I know that you’ve been wounded, more than anyone should ever be—and I know you’re angry that I’m leaving here.” More tears fell from my eyes, but this time I didn’t wipe them away. “But I’ve never intentionally harmed you or pushed you away or shut you out. I’ve never broken your heart.”

“You’ve never broken my heart?” he asked, almost incredulous. “Every day I thought about you leaving, my heart broke a little more.” He lowered his arms, defeat in his voice. “Until one day, I realized there was nothing left to break.”

“What would you have me do?” My voice caught, and I had to swallow before I could continue. “Mary needs—”

“What about before?” he asked. “Before you knew that Mary needed you to save her? You were always going to leave, Kathryn.”

“But that was before—” I paused.

“Before what?” he asked.

I pressed my lips together, and for the first time, I was tempted to walk away from Austen and not answer him.

“Before what?” he asked again.

“Before you kissed me,” I blurted out, my cheeks growing warm. “Before I realized—”

He took a step closer to me, his voice low. “Before you realized what?”

This was madness. I couldn’t stay in 1888, so why was I playing with fire? Why was I about to admit to him that I loved him, desperately?

“I can’t keep coming back to you,” I said instead, more tears gathering in my eyes as I lowered my gaze. “If you won’t tell me about your parents, then I have nothing left to say to you. We both know how all of this will end, so why are we torturing ourselves?”

He remained silent.

“Good-bye, Austen.” I didn’t bother to look at him before I left him in the parlor and returned to my house.

I hated crying. I hated feeling defenseless and weak.

And I hated that I had walked away from Austen, and I couldn’t go back.

I entered our house and closed the door behind me, leaning against it, fighting my tears.

There was no future for us, and we both knew it. If I went back to him but couldn’t give him what he wanted—what we both wanted—then it would only hurt more. He’d push me away, I would get upset, and we’d be miserable. I would try to get him to accept what I had to offer, but he wouldn’t. And I didn’t blame him. If he couldn’t have all of me, he didn’t want any part of me. It was selfish of me to ask him to settle for less than what he deserved, because I couldn’t give Austen forever.

My tears came in earnest as I walked down the hall and entered my father’s study. It was the only room in the house the servants didn’t bother. And my father wouldn’t be home for hours, while Mother was still in bed.

I let my tears fall unchecked as I walked to the window and looked out at the courtyard.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” I whispered to God. “I don’t even know what to pray for.”

In the past, I had always told God exactly what I wanted, hoping He’d agree, and it would be done. If things didn’t work out how I hoped, they almost always worked out better, and I didn’t worry.

But this was different. There was no good solution. No answer that could give me everything I desired. I wanted to save Mary. I wanted to give my heart fully to Austen. I wanted my work in 1938. I didn’t want to leave Mama and Papa—but I also didn’t want to leave Austen.

As I stared out the window, I realized there was only one thing to do. I had to surrender to God’s plan. I wasn’t sure what it was, or how it would work, but I was at the end of my own abilities.

A still, small voice whispered in my heart that I would be okay—but I also knew that I would have heartache. Because no matter what happened, I couldn’t have everything my heart desired. There was a measure of comfort knowing that God knew what was best for me, though it didn’t ease the pain.

The overcast sky opened once again, and rain descended upon London. It ran down the leaded glass windows in little rivulets. I was tired and cold, so I went to a wingback chair and pulled a blanket onto my lap, tucking my feet under me as I sat on the oversized leather chair near the window.

Thunder reverberated through the house, and a moment later I heard Austen say, “I’m leaving London, Kate.”

My heart jumped, and my blanket slipped to the ground as I pulled my gaze from the window and found Austen standing at the door.

It was my turn to be surprised and say, “What are you doing here?”

He walked across the study and squatted next to my chair. His face was close to mine, and I could see the specks of gray marbling his blue eyes. He was wearing his overcoat, and he had combed his hair. Slowly, he set his hat on the table next to me and lifted my blanket off the ground to gently lay it back on my lap.

When he was done, he took a moment before he said, “I came to tell you I’m leaving London.”

I set my feet on the ground. I wanted to beg him not to leave, yet—why would he stay?

“Where are you going?” I asked, instead.

“To my cottage on Loch Lomond.”

“Why are you telling me?” My voice was low. “You’ve never told me before.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but then he closed it again and let out a sigh. “I’m—I wanted—”

I took his hand in mine. “There have never been any pretenses between us. Tell me what you came to say.”

The look he gave me was so powerful, my heart felt as if it stopped beating.

“I love you, Kate.” He swallowed, and every wall was down as he said, “I’m in love with you. And I’m tired of pretending I’m not.”

Tears filled my eyes as the rain tapped against the windowpanes. I placed my hand on his face and ran my thumb over the ridge of his cheekbone.

Austen closed his eyes and pressed against my hand. “I don’t expect you—”

“I love you, too,” I whispered, unable to keep the truth from him or myself. We both knew how things would end, but that didn’t stop me from loving him.

His eyes opened, and he searched my face.

I smiled and nodded, tears falling down my cheeks.

“Kate—” He stood, drawing me up with him, and wrapped me in his embrace.

I clung to him, feeling his heart beating hard against my cheek, drinking in the scent of his cologne, the feel of his arms around me, and the bittersweet pleasure that coursed through me at hearing that he loved me.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against my hair, his voice breaking. “You’re right—you’ve never hurt me, and I’ve done nothing but push you away.” He pulled back and put his hands on either side of my face, wiping my tears with the pads of his thumbs. “I’m not worthy of your love, but I cherish it, more than you’ll ever know.”

I placed my hands on his chest and rose on my toes, lifting my face toward his. “Kiss me, Austen,” I whispered.

He didn’t hesitate and lowered his face to meet mine, capturing my lips with his, covering me with his love. This time, it was not a facade. We had no one to convince that our passion and desire for one another was real.

Pleasure washed over me in warm waves as his kiss deepened, and I offered my heart to his. Tears of joy and sorrow trailed down my cheeks, wetting his hands, until he pulled back.

“Don’t cry,” he whispered as he took a clean handkerchief out of his pocket and gently wiped my cheeks. “There is no greater pain in this world than knowing that you suffer. I can endure anything but that. I want you to be happy, Kate. And even if that means that you will leave and I’ll have to bear more pain, I will endure it. But please, tell me that you’ll be happy in 1938.”

I knew what he was asking. We both understood that I had no choice. I had to save Mary. But he could endure it if he knew I would be happy.

I would pretend. For his sake. “I’ll be happy, Austen,” I whispered, the lie sticking in my throat.

He placed his forehead against mine and nodded. “That’s all I desire.”

“Must you go to Scotland?”

“I won’t be gone longer than a fortnight. I have work to do, and it cannot wait. Believe me, I don’t want to be separated from you for a day longer than necessary.” He took my hand and led me back to the leather chair. I took a seat, and he sat in the chair next to me but didn’t let go of my hand. “I want to tell you about my parents.”

I’d almost forgotten about our earlier conversation, but I nodded now, encouraging him to continue.

He took a deep breath and shook his head. “I hope I don’t regret this, Kate.”

“Your secrets are safe with me.”

“That’s the problem. These secrets aren’t safe with anyone.” He looked down at my hand and ran his thumb over each finger before he said, “After my parents died, my mother’s sister came from New York to oversee my welfare.”

“Yes, I know.”

“She sent me to Eton, and the first week I was there, I was visited by a guest.” He lifted his troubled gaze to mine. “It was Sir Charles Warren.”

I blinked several times. “He went to see you?”

“Yes. He told me he was sorry about my loss but asked if I knew anything about my father’s work with the Freemasons, or why my parents had been with him in Jerusalem. I told him that I knew nothing, which was true at the time. He became very serious and told me that if I ever found any important papers in my father’s collection, anything that had to do with the Freemasons or his trip to Jerusalem, I was supposed to contact Sir Warren immediately—and not tell another soul. Not even my aunt. Then he put his hand on my shoulder and told me that my parents had died heroically, protecting the Brotherhood of Freemasons. He also said that if my father hadn’t done what he did, the entire fraternity would have been put in grave danger. I had lost my parents, but their sacrifice had ensured that thousands of other lives were spared. He wanted me to know that when I was ready, I would have a place among the Grand Lodge of Freemasons in London.”

I frowned. “What did your father do that was so heroic?”

“I don’t know. At least, I didn’t know. Not then.” He scooted forward on his chair, getting closer to me. “Miles isn’t just my coachman. I met him at Eton, and we became friends when we realized that our lives were mixed up with the Freemasons. His father murdered his mother—right before his eyes—but his father was never put on trial because he’s a Freemason, and he was spared imprisonment by a Freemason judge and investigator. They’re everywhere, and if you’re not for them, then you’re against them, and your life is meaningless to them.”

I nodded, trying to grasp everything he was saying.

“I’ve investigated my parents’ death. I even went to Israel,” he continued, “but the Freemasons have done an incredible job covering it up. All I can say for certain is that Sir Warren took several trips to Jerusalem, searching for something important in the Temple Mount. He made maps and excavated countless shafts into the core of the mount. On his trip there with my parents and yours in 1874, they finally found what they were looking for—but my parents died protecting it, and the others brought it back to London.

“What it was, and what happened to it after that, is buried safe within the secrecy of the Brotherhood. I’ve spent years searching for answers, and I’ve created many enemies because of it. Men like Michael Maybrick, who suspects my motives.” He looked deep into my eyes. “You cannot let anyone know that you’re aware of the purpose of that trip to Jerusalem. Not even your parents must know that you know.”

“I won’t breathe a word,” I promised. “But what was it that they found? What could be so important that your parents died protecting it and other people’s lives are at risk knowing about it?”

“I don’t know, but I suspect that whatever it is, it would uncover the truth behind the Freemasons’ power and would have a catastrophic impact on their existence, thereby impacting the English royal crown and who knows how many other countries. It might even cause wars.”

I lifted my eyebrows. “That sounds very serious.”

“More serious than you can imagine. I’m only telling you this because I’m tired of hurting you, Kate. When you left today, and I knew it was within my power to share this information with you, I had to make a choice. You’re an intelligent woman, and I trust that you’ll keep this information safe. You might be impetuous and headstrong”—he smiled as he touched my cheek—“but you’re not foolish. Please promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I promise, Austen.”

“Good.” He lifted my hand and placed a kiss there. “I won’t stay longer in Scotland than necessary, and as soon as I’m back, I’ll send word to you. But please don’t go to Whitechapel while I’m gone.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

He nodded as he rose and drew me to my feet. “Because when I come back, I want to do this again.” He lowered his face to mine and gave me another kiss, this one as passionate as the last.

And then he was gone—and I was left with even more questions than before.