Page 24 of Every Hour until Then (Timeless #5)
24
November 7, 1938 London, England
My nerves were so raw by the next evening, I could hardly think straight. There had been no news from Berlin. Not even a phone call from Major Smith, Colonel Lindbergh, or anyone from the American embassy. The Astors had come earlier in the day, but seeing that there was nothing they could do, Mama had insisted they leave.
We had called Lydia and spoken to her for over an hour, and then around noon, Mama had told me I needed to leave. She knew I had things to do at Lancaster House to prepare for the grand opening. And, though I didn’t want her to be alone, I couldn’t deny my need to go to the museum.
As I worked on last-minute touches to the exhibit, I prayed fervently for good news out of Berlin and for a miracle in 1888. Every time I saw something with Mary’s name on it, I forced myself to think beyond November 9th. This was not how Mary’s story would end. I didn’t care what history had to say about it. And I prayed that Austen wouldn’t have to suffer for helping me. I was the one changing history.
An hour before the grand opening ceremony, I went into the restroom to touch up my lipstick and smooth down my hair. King George VI and Queen Elizabeth would arrive within half an hour to look over the exhibit before it was opened to the public. They would be on hand for the ceremony, when Sir Rothschild, Calan, and I were scheduled to talk about the history and the collaboration between the London Museum, the Smithsonian, and the Royal Museum of Scotland. It was one of the biggest moments of my career and my life. I just wished Mama and Papa could be there with me to celebrate.
I took several deep breaths, trying to gain control of my emotions so I could get through the next couple of hours. My longing for Austen felt like a gaping hole in my chest. If he could be at my side, things would be a little more bearable. Waiting for news about Papa might not be so hard.
When I left the restroom, I was near the portrait gallery, so I slipped into the long, narrow room to look at Austen’s paintings. It still amazed me that he had done this work. If we had more time, I would love to go to Loch Lomond and see his painting studio. Watch him create one of these masterpieces. It was a marvel how he used light to convey the mood of each painting, and how he could transport me to another place and time with his creations.
I stopped in front of the portrait of me. Of all Austen’s paintings, this one made me feel the closest to him. I could imagine him brushing each stroke of paint to create my cheeks, my eyes, my lips—almost as if he was caressing them with his fingers now. Warmth filled me at the memories of all the kisses we’d shared in the past couple of weeks.
But then reality washed over me as I thought about all the kisses we would be denied after I forfeited 1888.
Tears stung my eyes, and I had to work valiantly not to cry.
“It’s a stunning portrait, is it not?” Sir Rothschild asked as he entered the room.
I blinked several times before I turned to him and smiled, surprised that he’d found me here.
“This is the painting that first caught my eye,” he continued as he looked from the painting back to me. “The one that made me interested in Austen Baird’s work. I’d already met you in Washington, and when I saw this, I was shocked at the likeness. I was convinced it was you, until I learned that Mr. Baird had painted it in 1889—and it couldn’t be you.” He chuckled and shook his head. “But it made me curious to see all his other paintings. I had assumed they would all be portraits. I was surprised to learn that this was the only portrait he’d ever painted.”
“It is an uncanny likeness,” I said, my voice weaker than I liked.
“I’m happy that it is,” Sir Rothschild said. “Because it led me to investigate this painter, and I was delighted at what I discovered. Nothing happens by chance. I’m convinced of that.”
I nodded, unable to find words to express my agreement.
“And now you’re here,” he said with a smile. “Not only have you created a spectacular exhibit, but you’re able to see this portrait for yourself. I had so hoped you could. It isn’t every day that we see a picture of ourselves from the past.”
I looked up at him quickly, but he was smiling happily as he admired the portrait.
“I suppose it’s not uncommon to have a doppelg?nger—is that the word the Germans use?” He chuckled again. “With so many people in the world, both past and present, there has to be others who look like us.”
I swallowed my nerves and said, “I suppose so.”
“Well.” He clasped his hands, apparently ready to move on. “We should prepare to receive the king and queen. They will want a personal tour.” He motioned toward the door, and I preceded him out of the gallery.
Thirty minutes later, I was standing beside Calan, just inside the special exhibit room in the basement of Lancaster House when the king and queen were escorted in by Sir Rothschild. They were dressed in formal evening wear, which made me assume they had other plans beyond attending the grand opening. The queen’s jewelry sparkled, and the king was boasting a set of ribbons and medals on his chest.
I lifted my chin, determined to enjoy the culmination of weeks of hard work. Meeting the King and Queen of England was an honor I wouldn’t waste, even though my heart was filled with the weight of many concerns.
“Your Majesties,” Sir Rothschild said, “may I present our lead curator, Mr. Calan McCaffrey from the Royal Museum of Scotland, and our assistant curator, Miss Kathryn Voland from the Smithsonian Institute.”
I offered the king and queen a curtsy while Calan bowed.
“How do you do?” I asked them.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Queen Elizabeth said with a smile.
I rose from my curtsy. “It’s an honor to have both of you visit the museum today.”
“We’ve been apprised of the situation with your father,” King George said, rocking back on his heels slightly. “And I want you to know that everyone is cooperating to find him as quickly as possible.”
Tears threatened again, but I managed to smile. “Thank you.”
“Of course.”
“Shall we begin the tour?” Sir Rothschild asked as he motioned toward the exhibit.
I walked on one side of King George and Queen Elizabeth, while Sir Rothschild and Calan walked on the other.
“Miss Voland,” Sir Rothschild said, “would you like to give a brief history of what happened in 1888 in Whitechapel?”
“Of course.”
We’d set up the exhibit in sort of a timeline, starting near the facade of Buck’s Row, where the first murder had taken place. “In the early morning hours of Friday, August 31, 1888, the first victim, Mary Ann Nichols, commonly known as Polly, was found here at Buck’s Row in Whitechapel.”
As we walked through the exhibit, I gave them all the details, though I didn’t mention my suspicions about the victims’ connection to the Freemasons. I wasn’t sure if King George was a member of the Freemasons and how much he might know about the cover-up. I wasn’t foolish enough to think that if I cracked the truth open, the Freemasons would let it stay open. Especially if King George was a Grand Master, as Prince Albert Victor had been in 1888.
And even if I did, I would be changing history in 1938, as well, and that was a risk I couldn’t take.
The king and queen asked several questions and showed great interest in the exhibit, but when we came to the pictures of the victims, they both declined to look at them.
I didn’t want to look at them again, either.
“What a fabulous exhibit,” the queen said. “Jack the Ripper has fascinated me since I was a child.”
“I’ve always found it odd,” King George mused as he looked at the items found in the victims’ pockets. “He has fascinated countless people, yet there have been others before and after him who were much more heinous. Why do you think we are so intrigued by Jack the Ripper?”
“Perhaps it’s because he was never caught,” the queen offered. “And that he always seemed just out of reach of the authorities. Kind of like a mythical creature. The evidence of his existence was real, but no one could catch him. And then his terror ended as abruptly as it began, causing more speculation about the monster.”
“I think you’re right,” I said. “And the more time that passes, the more his legendary status grows.”
We were almost to the letters Jack had written when an aide-de-camp stepped into the room and nodded at them. “Your Majesties? I believe it’s time to go upstairs for the ceremony, and then we must be off for your next appointment.”
“We do hate to rush,” Queen Elizabeth said, “but duty calls.”
“Of course.” I smiled.
“The exhibit is magnificent,” she said. “You have much to be proud of.”
“Thank you.”
We were ushered out of the exhibit hall and up the stairs to the central room of Lancaster House, where there was more space for people to gather.
The king and queen’s presence had not been advertised and was completely unexpected for our guests. Excited chatter filled the room as the royals smiled and nodded. They took their places on the landing of the massive formal staircase where we would address the audience, though neither of them planned to speak.
Even though the room was full, I felt lonelier than ever. I longed for Mama and Papa and for Austen and Lydia and Mary. I even missed Father and Mother, though neither one would approve of me having a career. I couldn’t fathom what they would say or think if they knew the truth about my time-crossing. They would be impressed that I’d met the king and queen, though, and that put a smile on my face.
After Sir Rothschild welcomed everyone to the London Museum and gave a special mention to the king and queen, he turned to Calan and me.
“It is with much gratefulness that I introduce our guest exhibit curators, Mr. Calan McCaffrey and Miss Kathryn Voland.”
After Calan said a few words, everyone clapped as I stepped up to the microphone and looked out at the eager faces in the crowd. A few people still carried their gas masks in boxes slung over their shoulders, but most people had accepted that Hitler was no longer an imminent threat. I knew differently—especially with my father held captive somewhere in Germany.
I squared my shoulders, knowing he wouldn’t want me to cower or back down from this crowning achievement of my career. Both he and Mama had always encouraged me to pursue my dreams and passions, and he would be the proudest of all if he were standing there. So, I pushed forward with the speech I had prepared.
As I spoke about Jack the Ripper and, more importantly, about his five victims, I couldn’t help but feel a deep connection with them. Not only because I worked on the exhibit and because my sister was supposed to be the last victim, but because tomorrow, I would thwart his plans and save Mary.
It was late when Sir Rothschild and his wife, Bianca, brought me back to 44 Berkeley Square. All evening, I had hoped to see Mama or one of the Astors arrive with good news, but there had been nothing.
As Sir Rothschild walked me to the front door, I prayed that no news was good news and that they hadn’t kept something from me so I could enjoy the grand opening.
“Thank you for everything,” Sir Rothschild said again as he stood at the door with me. “We will keep waiting to hear of news about your father. I know that you have things in your office at the museum that you would like to take home with you, but don’t rush to gather them on our account. Take your time. We will see you whenever you can come.”
I nodded my thanks and then entered the townhouse, closing the door behind me.
Slowly, I walked up the stairs, tired and heartsore. Now that the work of the day was behind me, I was more exhausted than I realized. I just wanted to rest, but to do that, I would have to forget about tomorrow in 1888. And that was an impossible feat.
“Mama?” I asked as I entered the parlor quietly.
She was sitting near the hearth, her elbow on the armrest, her chin in her hand, staring into the fire. Without even asking, I knew that there had been no news.
“Kathryn.” She turned and motioned for me to join her.
I knelt beside her and smiled, my love for her as keen as any other emotion I’d ever felt. She represented all that was good and hopeful in my life. She was my connection to the past, the present, and the future.
She touched my cheek and then ran her hand down my hair. “How was it?”
“The king and queen came.”
A sad smile tilted up her lips. “I’m so happy for you. I wish I could have been there.”
“Any news of Papa?” I asked, almost afraid.
She shook her head and looked back at the fire for a moment. “Colonel Lindbergh called again today, but he had no news to share. They have ramped up their efforts to find Luc, but there is still no communication from whoever took him.”
“It doesn’t make any sense.” I nibbled my bottom lip, trying to think of some reason that someone would want to hold Papa captive.
“Colonel Lindbergh suggests that we head back to Washington, DC,” Mama said, “now that your work here is done. He offered to personally escort Papa home as soon as they find him.”
“Do you want to leave?” I asked her.
“No.” She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I mean, yes, I long to return home with all my heart. But when your father is ready to come home, I don’t want to be an ocean away from him. I want to see him the second I am able. If we go back to Washington, it will be several days at sea for us and then for him. I don’t want to spend even one day longer apart than necessary.”
My heart broke even more as I listened to her, because I understood the longing she felt to be near the man she loved. The tears I’d been holding back all day came to the surface and fell down my cheeks. I wiped them away, frustrated at how much I had cried the past few weeks.
“I’m so sorry, Kathryn,” Mama said as she gave her full attention to me. “In all the chaos of the past two days, I’ve completely forgotten about what you’re facing in 1888 tomorrow.”
“When I come back here tomorrow, that will be it,” I said, feeling the finality of it. “I won’t return to 1888 ever again.”
“I know it’s hard to imagine, but I do understand.” She ran the back of her fingers over my cheek to wipe away another tear. “It gets easier, my love. I promise.”
“But you had Papa.” I swallowed my pain as I shook my head. “I know you gave up Hope and Isaac, but you didn’t have to give up the man you love.”
“Not yet,” she said as her lips trembled.
“Oh, Mama.” I laid my head on her lap to let the tears fall freely. “Papa will come home.”
“I know.” She lifted my face, and her gaze did not waver as she said, “I have determined to praise God through this storm, Kathryn. To trust Him, even if the darkness overwhelms me. I am not alone, and neither is your father. Wherever he is, God is with him, and that comforts me like nothing else.” She placed her hands over mine. “God is not surprised that this happened. He allowed it for a reason, and it’s our job to trust that He will use it for our good and His glory. Even if things don’t turn out how we hope—” She paused to take a deep breath. “God is good, and His plans are far better than ours.”
“What if I don’t like His plans?” I whispered, my heart crying out for understanding. “What if it feels unfair or doesn’t make sense?”
Peace filled Mama’s face as she looked down at me. “Ever since you were little, you’ve fought for your way. I remember when you were just four, and we were on an afternoon drive. You begged Papa to go as fast as he could, and he humored you on empty roads, but then he had to stop the automobile because there were larger vehicles passing at a crossroad. You became so frustrated that you cried and begged him to keep going. If he’d given in to your demands, we could have been killed. He understood the danger, even if you didn’t. I know it’s a simple illustration, but it’s no different with God. He can see things that are beyond our comprehension, and when He says no, or wait, He is protecting us.”
I remembered those drives with Papa, and all the other times I’d felt that my parents weren’t allowing me the freedom I desired. And now I felt that way toward God.
Yet, Mama was right. I didn’t have full understanding, only God did.
“I think that’s why the Bible tells us to trust God and lean not on our own understanding,” Mama said with her gentle voice. “Only then will we have real peace.”
“Do you have peace about Papa?” I asked her.
“On the surface, I’m anxious and afraid, but in my heart of hearts, there is a peace that doesn’t make sense. And I know that’s the peace that comes from trusting God.”
I pulled myself off the floor and took a seat on the chair next to Mama, ready to talk about something else. “I wish you knew Austen. When Papa comes home, we’ll go to the London Museum to tour my exhibit and then you can both see Austen’s paintings.”
“I can’t wait for that day.”
“Sir Rothschild said that the portrait that Austen painted of me is one of the reasons why he was first intrigued by Austen’s work.”
“Isn’t it interesting how God pulls all the pieces of our lives together?” Mama asked. “Nothing happens by accident, Kathryn. It’s all part of a master plan.” She smiled. “You, of all people, can appreciate a plan like that.”
I nodded and smiled.
The plan God had put in place for my life wasn’t the one I would have chosen for myself, but I would trust Him through the darkest hours and pray that the rays of dawn would bring hope back into my life.