Page 23 of Every Hour until Then (Timeless #5)

23

November 7, 1888 London, England

I had never lived through such a long day before in my life. But if I thought being in 1938 and not having word from Berlin was difficult, it was nothing compared to waiting in 1888. What made it even more unbearable was that Austen hadn’t been home all day and no one knew where he had gone.

I spent most of my day pacing, though I tried to stay occupied. I only had two more days in this path, and this was not how I wanted to spend my time. The weather had finally cleared, and the day was bright and warm for early November. I would have preferred walking in the park or taking a drive through the city, but I was confined to our townhouse, afraid to go out, not knowing when I might see Austen next. He knew I was leaving soon. Didn’t he want to spend every possible moment with me?

“Your mother sent me to tell you that it’s time to get ready,” Father said when he opened the parlor door and found me that evening.

“For what?” I asked.

“For a dinner party or something or other.”

“I don’t plan to go out tonight.”

He sighed. “I wouldn’t advise you to deny your mother’s request today. She’s not in a good mood.”

“I’m not in a good mood, either.” I crossed my arms and stared into the crackling fireplace.

He stood at the door for several seconds and then said, “I hope this doesn’t have something to do with Austen. You two have spent far too much time in each other’s company lately. I don’t like it one bit.”

I didn’t respond.

He entered the parlor and closed the door behind him.

I finally turned my gaze away from the flames with a frown. Father rarely took the time to address me, unless he was upset.

“I hope Austen isn’t preparing to ask for your hand in marriage.” His blunt, simple statement made me sit up straighter in my chair.

Austen and I hadn’t spoken about marriage because we knew it was pointless. “I’m—”

“It’s out of the question.” Father planted his feet, as if he was ready to go into battle. “I have other plans for you, and I won’t hear of it.”

“Why? Austen is a good man, from a good family.”

“That doesn’t matter—at least not in this situation.”

“How could it not matter?” I moved to the edge of my seat. “What does that mean?”

“Austen is not the right man for you. He’s headstrong and stubborn and unwilling to yield to common sense. I want you to marry someone who is willing to play by the rules.”

I stared at my father for a moment, realization dawning. “He won’t join the Freemasons. Is that what you mean? He won’t play by their rules, and if he’s not for you, then he’s against you?”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” His voice became low as his eyes narrowed.

“Austen knows things that you don’t want him to know if he’s not under a pledge or oath to the Brotherhood. Is that it? Is that what makes him unsuitable for me? You want someone who will bend and comply to your demands. Who can be entrusted with your secrets. Who is willing to toss their daughter onto the street because she knows too much.”

Father took a menacing step toward me, his face turning red in an instant. “Who have you been speaking to? Is it Austen? What has he told you?”

My lips parted in surprise at his fury. If I wasn’t careful, I might get Austen into the same kind of trouble that Mary had been in.

“He’s told me nothing,” I said quickly.

He came closer, and I pressed into the back of the chair.

“Have you seen Mary?” Father asked, studying my face for the answer. “Do you know where she is?”

I swallowed. I didn’t want to lie—but I couldn’t tell him the truth. I shook my head, tasting real fear for the first time.

“I’ve warned you, Kathryn.” He put his hands on either side of the arm rests, his face coming close to mine as he leaned forward. “I cannot protect you if you know too much. Stop looking for answers.”

I wanted to tell him I’d already found them, but I didn’t want to end up like Mary. I only had two days left, and I needed one of them to help my sister.

“Perhaps you should stay home tonight,” he said, standing up straighter while he adjusted the lapels of his coat. “We will give your regrets to the hostess while you stay in your room and think long and hard about what you plan to do with your life. You have a choice, Kathryn. You can keep going down the path you’re on and end up like your sister and the others who went to Whitechapel, or you can follow in your mother’s footsteps and be silent and compliant.”

Was that why Polly, Annie, Elizabeth, and Catherine died? They refused to be silent and compliant. I wanted to ask him, but I didn’t dare.

“Go on,” he said as he took a step back. “But if I hear that you went to Austen’s or that he entered this house, you will not be living here come morning.”

I was a twenty-three-year-old woman being sent to my room, and it rankled. But I also knew what my father could do, and I would not test the limits of his patience.

I went to my room, but I didn’t go to bed. I couldn’t. It was still early, and I planned to see Austen as soon as my parents left. I would send word to him through Duffy.

Austen couldn’t come to my house, and I couldn’t go to his. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t meet him somewhere else.

At the appointed hour, I snuck out of my home on Wilton Crescent and walked the ten minutes to Hyde Park and the Statue of Achilles. I’d told Austen to meet me there in the note I had sent with Duffy. I just prayed he would get it in time.

Clouds covered the moon as I made my way along the dark street toward the park. Austen, Mary and I had come here often as children, drawn to the impressive sculpture that stood over thirty feet high. It was on the east end of the park, close enough to reach easily at this time of night, yet sheltered enough that we would have a bit of privacy.

It had grown cold since the sun went down, and a wind had come up, making me pull my cape closer to my body. Though this part of London was relatively safe, I couldn’t stop thinking about Jack the Ripper and his next planned victim—my sister. I had no reason to think he’d been watching me, but I couldn’t be certain. It was probably a foolish idea to leave the house this late at night. Alone. With only Austen knowing where I planned to go.

I kept my head low as I passed people on the street. It was far too late to be out for social calls. If anyone knew my identity, my reputation would be ruined.

But none of that mattered. I needed to speak to Austen. To tell him what had happened to Papa in 1938 and to make sure all our plans to help Mary were in place.

And, more than anything, I simply wanted to be with him.

I made it to the statue, but there was no one within sight. I had hoped Austen would be waiting for me, though I had arrived earlier than I planned.

The wind whipped the leafless branches of the trees overhead and whistled a low, moaning sound through the park. I shivered as I stood near the statue, on full alert to anyone who might come by. My fingers and nose were cold, so I brought my hands up to my mouth to blow warm air into them.

A lone man entered the park. I watched him closely, but quickly realized it wasn’t Austen. My heart began to beat hard as he came closer. I moved deeper into the shadows, praying he would pass by.

Thankfully, he turned on the path and moved out of sight.

My entire body shook as I realized this had been a mistake. I was headstrong, but I wasn’t usually foolish, and the longer I stood there, alone, the more foolish I felt.

Twenty minutes passed, and I was about to return home when I saw another man enter the park and walk toward the statue. I knew instantly that it was Austen, and my pulse sped for a different reason as relief and joy washed over me. His stride was so dear, so familiar, I wanted to run to him. But I waited behind the statue until he was within earshot.

“I’m here,” I said quietly.

He turned toward the sound of my voice and joined me at the statue. It was then that I noticed he was carrying something in his hands. He set it on the base of the statue and opened his arms to me.

I entered them freely as he enveloped me.

“As soon as I got home and saw your note, I raced to get here,” he said. “You shouldn’t be alone in the park at any time, but especially not now, when we don’t know if Jack has been watching you.”

“Father forbade me from going to your house or for you to come to mine. But I had to see you.” My voice caught with emotion. “I’ve wanted to see you all day—to tell you—” I couldn’t bring myself to voice the reality of what was happening in 1938.

“What is it, Kate?” He pulled back to study me. And though it was dark, my eyes had adjusted enough to see his face.

“Papa was abducted in 1938.” My voice faltered, and I found it harder to tell him than I expected. I relayed everything we’d learned the day before, and when I was done, he drew me into his arms again and held me tight.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I wish I could do something to help you.”

“You are. Maybe not there, but here.” I clung to him, trying to remember all the little details I could. The smell of his cologne, the feel of his arms, the sound of his voice. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

He tilted my chin up with his finger and placed a kiss on my lips. It was just as tender as all the others, but it held so much passion and longing, it felt different. As if he couldn’t get enough.

When I finally pulled back, I asked, “Where were you today? I’ve missed you.”

“I did something that’s probably foolish.” He let me go and reached for the item he’d set on the statue. “Actually, I know it was foolish. I left last night after I brought you home from Miller’s Court, and I just now returned.”

He handed me the item, which I quickly realized was a book. A book I would know anywhere.

“It’s the book about Queen Elizabeth,” I said, quickly opening it and trying to see the pages in the dark. It was the book that Austen and I had read together in the garden as children. The book that had made me want to be a historian. “Austen.” I looked up at him, my lips parting in both surprise and delight. “Where was it?”

“At my cottage on Loch Lomond.”

“You went all the way there and back to bring it to me?”

He took my hand and walked me to a bench where we sat, out of the wind and in a little alcove of trees. “Do you recall all the hours we sat together reading this book?”

“Of course I do,” I said as I ran my hand over the worn fabric cover. “Those are some of my dearest memories. This book made me fall in love with history.”

“As I fell in love with you,” he said, touching my cheek. “I’ve always been drawn to your passion and your courage. I could see you living in the Elizabethan period, amid the intrigue at court, like Queen Elizabeth’s maid of honor Lady Cecily Pembrooke, who we read about.”

I smiled against his hand. “You remember her story?”

“How could I forget? You lit up every time we read about her. I could easily see you in any place and at any time in history,” he said, his voice growing sad, “never cowering or bowing down to injustice. That’s why the book means so much to me. It makes me feel connected to you through time, somehow. I’ve never understood it.” He paused for a moment, and all the angst and gruffness was gone as he said, “You’re timeless, Kate. Whether you’re here or in 1938, or in Queen Elizabeth’s court, you belong. And I feel honored to know you. To share even a small part of your amazing existence.”

His words warmed my heart, and I lifted the book to my chest. “Why did you have this at Loch Lomond?”

“When I left London after my parents died, I didn’t take a single thing with me. Nothing. Except this book. I had it with me at Eton and then Oxford, and I had it with me on every trip I took abroad. I leave it at Loch Lomond only because when I’m in London, and you’re nearby, I don’t need it.”

“You took this with you?” I asked, incredulous.

“It reminded me of the happiest moments of my life, of a time that made sense and gave me hope.” He ran his thumb over my lower lip. “It connected me to you. No matter where I went.”

“Austen,” I said on a breath, trying to control my emotions. “What are we going to do?”

“What can we do?” he asked. “We must face the path ahead with courage and faith. Just as Lady Cecily did in 1563. Do you remember?”

I smiled and nodded. “But she had a knight in shining armor come to her rescue.”

“Did she?” he asked with a smile, taking me into his arms. “Somehow, I remember that it was Lady Cecily who did the rescuing.”

I returned his smile, my heart breaking, knowing that neither of us could rescue the other from what was about to happen.

This was a stolen moment. One I would cherish forever, because there would never again be a night like this.