Page 27 of Every Hour until Then (Timeless #5)

27

November 9, 1888 Southampton, England

Even before I opened my eyes the next morning, thoughts of Sir Bryant Rothschild and Jack the Ripper filled my mind. I groaned as my eyelids fluttered open, not wanting to face the day and all the obstacles in front of me.

I blinked several times, frowning as my gaze took in the dark room around me.

I wasn’t at 44 Berkeley Square. I was back in the Dolphin Hotel. In Southampton. My corset was pinching, my hairpins were poking into my scalp, and the sky was not much lighter than it had been when I went to sleep.

Shock propelled me to sit up. I was still in my green gown from last night.

And when I went to the window, I saw a horse tied to a hitching post on the street below.

“What?” I whispered, confused and bewildered.

How had I come back to 1888?

I didn’t waste another moment but rushed out of the room and down the hall to Austen’s room. I pounded on the door with all my strength.

Austen’s door opened, and he stood there fully dressed, his clothes wrinkled and his face in need of a shave. His eyes were red-rimmed, as if he’d been crying. He frowned. “You didn’t go to sleep?”

“I did!” I shook my head, still trying to understand what had happened. “I spent an entire day in 1938, but I still came back. How long ago did we say good-bye?”

“Not even ten minutes. What does this mean? I thought you forfeited this path when you changed history.”

“I thought I did, too.” A faint hint of light lined the eastern horizon through the window, and the morning stars were starting to fade.

“What time is it?” I asked him.

“About six o’clock, I think.”

The ship that Mary should have been on wouldn’t depart until daybreak. I needed to know if she was still on that ship—or if Miles had brought her back to Miller’s Court.

“We have to get to the ship,” I said to Austen as I grabbed his hand. “I need to know if Miles took Mary to the ship or if he returned her to Miller’s Court.”

“Why would he return her to Miller’s Court?” Austen asked as he allowed me to pull him into the hall.

“I’ll explain on the way,” I said, not waiting for him as I rushed toward the steps and the tavern’s front door. “Which way to the harbor?”

Austen followed me out, still looking perplexed, but turned left and began to lead me down High Street. “It’s about a ten-minute walk this way.”

“Then let’s run.” I lifted the hem of my gown and didn’t care if I was breaking every rule of propriety as I began to run toward the harbor.

“What did you mean when you asked if Miles returned Mary to Miller’s Court?” Austen asked, running beside me. “Why would you think that?”

“Mary still died,” I said, choking on the truth. “When I woke up in 1938, nothing had changed.”

“How is that possible?” Austen asked, almost angry.

“I don’t know. But I think that’s why I came back. I didn’t change history.” Though, Mama’s story about Libby changing history and failing, yet still losing her path, didn’t make sense. But I wasn’t going to question it right now. All I cared was that I was back in 1888, and I needed to know what had happened to my sister.

“Miles wouldn’t have brought her back to Miller’s Court,” Austen said as we continued to run toward the harbor. “He is the most trustworthy man I know.”

“Perhaps he works for Jack.”

“Impossible.”

“There’s more to the story,” I said as I explained Sir Bryant Rothschild’s connection to the Fascist Party and Hitler and what he hoped to do to the Freemasons. Adolph Hitler wasn’t yet born in this path, and Fascism wouldn’t be founded until the time of World War I in Italy. But it didn’t take much for me to explain both to Austen. “Jack the Ripper isn’t a Freemason,” I said to him, running out of breath. “He is their enemy. I don’t know if he was behind your parents’ murder, but I know he wants the Book. He wants to take the Freemasons down.” Panic took hold of my heart as I remembered that Miles hated the Freemasons because they had protected his father after he had killed Miles’s mother. “Just as Miles wants to see them ruined. Maybe they do work together.”

Austen shook his head. “Miles wouldn’t allow an innocent woman to be killed, no matter what he believes about the Freemasons.”

When we finally got to the harbor, the sky was a little brighter, but several large passenger ships were still docked at the wharf.

“I purchased tickets for them on the passenger liner the City of New York .” He scanned the harbor and then pointed and said, “There! It’s still docked.”

We continued down the wharf toward the ship, which looked like one of the newer vessels in the harbor. People were still boarding, so when we approached, I told the steward that we had come to speak to two of the passengers.

“It’s very important,” I said to the man, knowing that my voice and face revealed the depth of my dismay. “Something that cannot wait.”

“We’ll be setting sail within the hour,” the steward said with sympathy. “So make it quick.”

“Thank you.” I started up the gangplank with Austen close behind.

“They’re in a first-class cabin,” he said. “I believe it was room 164 in the bow of the ship.”

When we reached the promenade deck, he took my hand and led me toward the front of the ship. We asked a porter where room 164 was located, and he directed us up a beautiful rounded staircase.

Everything in first class was lovely, from the potted ferns to the walnut trim. Part of me was thankful Austen had taken such care to make sure my sister traveled in style, but the other part was so worried Miles had taken her back to Miller’s Court that I could hardly see straight.

When we finally reached room 164, I didn’t hesitate and pounded hard on the door. “Mary,” I said, praying that by some miracle my sister was still in her cabin. “Mary!”

The door finally cracked open, and Miles stood on the other side, blinking away sleep. He was wearing a modest nightshirt, and his hair was disheveled. On the ground behind him was a pallet with blankets and a pillow.

He frowned, clearly confused and alarmed. “What’s the trouble?”

“Where is my sister?” I demanded as I pushed open the door.

Mary was in the berth. She sat up, startled, and pulled the covers to her chin. “Kathryn! What’s wrong? Why are you here?” She looked toward the small window where the sky was just turning soft pink, obviously sleeping just moments ago. “Haven’t we left port yet?”

“Mary!” I cried as I rushed into the room and tripped over the blankets on the floor before falling against my sister with relief. I began to weep. “You didn’t die!”

She was baffled as she hugged me back. “Of course not. What has gotten into you, Kathryn?”

It took me a moment to gather myself, but even as I felt relief, more confusion set in. “I don’t have much time,” I said as I pulled back and righted myself. “But I need to speak to you.”

“We’ll give you a moment alone,” Miles said as he pulled his coat on over his nightshirt and grabbed his pants before he and Austen stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind them.

“What is going on?” Mary asked me as she got out of bed and grabbed her dress.

“There was a murder last night,” I told her. “At 13 Miller’s Court.”

She paused and stared at me. “What?”

I couldn’t tell her how I knew, so I said, “Jack the Ripper got into your room and murdered—someone. Someone who looks very much like you, perhaps.”

Her expression blanched as she grabbed my arm. “Jane.”

“Jane?” I frowned and shook my head. “Who is she?”

“A friend,” Mary said. “People always mistook us, and everyone thought we were sisters. Our hair is the same color, and we’re about the same height and weight. I was surprised at first, thinking that we might be related. We looked so much alike.”

“Why would Jane have been in your room?”

“She came often,” Mary said, her voice quivering with emotion. “She was afraid to be on the streets, so I told her that if she couldn’t get her doss money, she could always come and stay with me. She was in my room minutes before you came for me last night.”

Realization dawned. “She was standing in the passageway when we came, speaking to a man. I thought she was you at first.” I rubbed my temples, trying to put all the pieces together. Had Jane been the victim all along? “What were you doing last night before Austen and I came to take you away?”

She lowered her gaze as she said, “I was planning to leave with Joseph. He’d called on me earlier and said he found a position as a groom in Surrey. He told me to meet him at the Horn of Plenty Pub on Dorset Street at eleven last night. He had some business to attend to first, and then we’d make our way to Surrey, because he had to be to work in the morning.” She played with the edge of the blanket and said, “I told him my real name was Mary Jane Kelly. He’s the only person in Whitechapel who knew the truth. He also heard that you had visited me a few times, but that’s all he knew about me.”

That was why she was known to history as Mary Jane Kelly, and not Marie Jeanette Kelly. “You would have left with him?”

“I didn’t know when you would come for me, so I’d told myself if you came before I left with Joseph, then it was God’s will that I go to America, instead of Surrey. Since you came before I could meet Joseph, I knew what I needed to do.”

“You wouldn’t have been at Miller’s Court last night, either way?”

Mary studied me, and I could see she was confused by my question, but she said, “I would have been heading to Surrey if you hadn’t come. So, no, I wouldn’t have been at Miller’s Court last night.”

“And Jane would have gone into your room, even if you weren’t there?” I asked, needing to know for certain.

“She did it before,” Mary said. “It was one of the reasons Joseph was angry with me. Jane came and went whenever she felt like it. She always promised to pay me for the use of my room, but the money never came.”

“And people might have thought it was you,” I continued. “If they saw her at night, going into your room.”

“Yes. People were always getting us mixed up.” She shook her head. “Poor Jane.”

I took a seat on one of the chairs in the room and put my face in my hands, trying to breathe normally again. All this time, it hadn’t been Mary, but Jane who was Jack the Ripper’s last victim. From all reports, the body had been so mutilated, the face included, that they couldn’t identify the victim, except for her hair, her height and approximate weight, and the fact that she was in Mary’s room.

“I didn’t change history,” I said quietly to myself, stunned.

“What do you mean?” Mary asked.

The realization hit me hard as I looked up at my sister. I hadn’t forfeited this path because I hadn’t changed history.

It felt like I had a second chance.

Elation filled me, but it was soon dashed. There was still the matter of Papa being held captive in a warehouse in London in 1938.

A porter yelled, “All visitors ashore,” as he passed through the hallway.

It was time to say good-bye to Mary again.

“I’m so sorry about Jane,” I said as I gave Mary a big hug. “But you mustn’t tell anyone the truth. Everyone thinks you’ve died, and that’s probably for the best. Go to New York and make your life whatever you want. Be happy and do good and don’t be afraid, ever again.”

She returned my hug, though I could tell she was still a little confused by my sudden appearance and behavior. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I said as I pulled back and smiled.

“Good-bye, Kathryn.”

This time I was ready to say good-bye, knowing she was finally safe.

I left the cabin and found Austen and Miles speaking quietly nearby. When Austen saw me, he stood straight, his gaze searching mine.

“All is well,” I said to reassure them, though it did little to reassure me.

Austen’s smile was so beautiful, it almost brought tears to my eyes.

“I’m sorry to have barged in on you,” I said to Miles. “Thank you for caring for my sister.”

“It’s my pleasure.” He smiled, and I knew he meant it, even if he looked confused by my intrusion.

We said good-bye to Miles and then left the ship.

“What happened?” Austen asked me as we walked along the wharf toward land. The smell of fish and wet wood assailed my nose. People passed us on their way to their ships, speaking quickly and excitedly.

“I didn’t change history,” I told him in a quiet voice, still surprised at the turn of events. “Mary was going to leave with Joseph if we hadn’t taken her here. She was never going to be at Miller’s Court on the night of November 8th. It was her friend, Jane, who was killed. And because it wasn’t Jane who I tried to save, I didn’t knowingly change history.” My heart broke for Jane and the other four victims. The injustice of it all was senseless. Her name would forever be lost to history. “I’m starting to realize how easy it is to misunderstand history. Something I should have known as a historian.”

Austen smiled.

“But I still need to find the Book,” I told him.

He put his hand on my arm to stop me. “What do you mean?”

I hadn’t had time to tell him about Papa yet, so I did now as we stood on the wharf.

“Sir Rothschild is holding Papa captive in a warehouse in 1938 until I can produce the Book,” I said. “I need to know where the Freemasons keep it so I can get it to him in 1938.”

“We don’t even know where it’s at in 1888 ,” he said. “How in the world will you manage to give it to him in 1938 ?”

“I don’t know. But I can’t give up. The note I read at Buckingham Palace from Sir Charles Warren to Prince Albert Victor said that the Book would be kept under the King’s guard at WC—or Windsor Castle. It must be there.”

“You cannot go to Windsor Castle and find the Book,” he said. “It would be impossible. First, you’d have to know where they kept it, and second, you’d have to get past the guards— if they even have it at Windsor Castle. WC could mean any number of places.”

I slowly nodded, wishing it wasn’t true but feeling desperate. “We must go back to Wilton Crescent so I can speak to my father. Perhaps he’ll tell me where the Book is kept.”

“Why would he do that? If what you said is true, this Rothschild man threatened each of the families who were in Jerusalem, yours included, with death for the women they loved—and the Freemasons didn’t give in to his demands. Why would your father tell you now?”

“Because I know more. I know that it wasn’t the Freemasons who killed the women.”

“It doesn’t matter. The Freemasons are corrupt and ruthless.” Austen paused. “Who is Rothschild in 1888?”

“What do you mean?”

“He said he also lived in 1888. So, who is he here?”

“I don’t know. His first name in 1938 is Bryant, and since most time-crossers have the same first name in both paths, I would assume his first name in 1888 is also Bryant.”

Austen frowned as we continued to walk toward Southampton Central Station. “I don’t know of anyone named Bryant.”

“I don’t, either.”

“Are you certain that’s his real name in 1938?”

I shrugged. “It’s the one he uses.”

“We can look for someone with that name here,” he said, “and tomorrow when you wake up in 1938, you can see if that’s his real name there.”

“We still need to go home so I can speak to my father,” I reminded him. “To ask him about the Book.”

Austen paused again. “I don’t think it’s a smart idea, Kathryn. Nothing good has come from anyone knowing about that book. And as much as I’d like to see the Freemasons fall, I’m afraid of what might happen if the Book lands in the hands of Jack the Ripper. I don’t know anything about the Fascist Party or this man Hitler, but if he’s going to lead the world in a war, you could change history by giving Sir Rothschild information about the Book. What if the Freemasons really are keeping power in balance and Hitler has the means to take them down? He sounds like a madman, and if he’s against the Freemasons, then they must be doing something right. What would stop him from achieving world domination in 1938?”

I also stopped, but now I needed to sit down. There was a bench looking out at the harbor, so I went to it and took a seat.

Austen joined me.

All I could do was stare at him as I thought through the ramifications of Sir Rothschild getting ahold of the Book. “You’re right. I could change history if I knowingly give Sir Rothschild the Book. But I’m so confused now. What if I am supposed to give him the Book? What if that’s part of history?”

“Helping Mary was a selfless act,” he said. “And even if you thought you were changing history, you knew you were doing the right thing. Giving Jack the Ripper and Hitler access to the Book is not the right thing, Kate. I think that’s the difference.”

“What will I do about Papa?” I asked, trying not to feel defeated or panicked. “How will I save him, if I can’t get Sir Rothschild the Book?”

Austen thought for a moment. “First, we’ll return to London and search through public records for anyone with the first or last name of Bryant. If we find him, we’ll decide what to do next.”

“And if we can’t find him?”

“You can spend tomorrow in 1938 trying to learn his identity. We have a couple of days to figure this out.” He took my hand into his. “We’ll free your papa, Kate. I won’t rest until we do.”

It was a plan—not a perfect one, but it was a start. God had brought me this far, and He’d given me a second chance. I wouldn’t waste it being worried.

“What will I tell my parents?” I asked as Austen stood and offered me his hand. “I disappeared last night.”

“We’ll tell them the truth.” He slipped his fingers through mine. “He’ll demand that I marry you, Kathryn, but he won’t need to force me. I want to marry you, with all my heart.”

“And I want to marry you,” I said, “but there are so many things still—”

He put his finger to my lips. “God has already worked one miracle. I’m certain He can work others.”

I pressed close beside him as we walked to the train station, hoping and praying he was right.

It was almost noon when we finally returned to Wilton Crescent. Austen had hired a hansom cab at Victoria Station, and it dropped us off in front of my parents’ home.

Austen stepped out first and then helped me out before paying the cabby.

I stared at the front door of number eleven and wondered what might greet me inside.

“We’ll let them know you’re well,” Austen said as he put his hand on the small of my back and led me to the door, “then we’ll both change and head to the Public Records Office to search for Rothschild’s name in 1888.”

“Last time I spoke to Father, he forbade me from seeing you,” I told Austen, pausing just outside the door. “What makes you think he’ll allow me to leave with you today?”

Austen turned to me as the cab pulled away. We were standing just outside our homes, but the street was quiet, and it was just the two of us.

“He might try to stop us,” Austen agreed, “and I respect your father, but you are a grown woman. You are not obligated to follow his commands. I will do whatever it takes to make sure we find Jack.”

“I’ve been trying to find him for months. How will we do it in two days?”

“At least you know what he looks like, right?”

“Yes.” I was very familiar with Sir Rothschild. And, like me, he probably looked the same in 1888 as he did in 1938.

“Then you know more than most.”

I nodded and took a deep breath before I opened the front door. No one was in the hall, but I could hear faint voices coming from Father’s study in the back of the house.

Austen and I walked in that direction, and when we entered the room, we found Father, Mother, and Michael Maybrick. Mother was seated on the edge of a chair near the window, her handkerchief in hand, as she wept silently. Father and Mr. Maybrick stood near the fireplace, their backs toward the door.

“Do you think he took Kathryn?” Father asked Mr. Maybrick.

“I can’t be certain, though I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Do you think he killed her, as well?”

“All of the other murders came with fair warnings,” Mr. Maybrick said. “I don’t think he’ll kill her until he knows we won’t give in to his demands.”

“Why doesn’t Sir Warren just arrest him?” Mother asked.

“Because he knows too much!” Father barked.

Mother noticed me and rose to her feet. “Kathryn!”

Father and Mr. Maybrick turned at her exclamation, shock on their faces.

With a cry, Mother rushed across the room and embraced me. It was a rare show of affection, which took me off guard, causing tears to spring to my eyes.

“What is the meaning of this, Austen?” Father asked, his chin rising with anger. “Where have the two of you been?”

“Who cares, Bernard?” Mother asked as she pulled back and turned to him. “She’s safe. That’s all that matters.”

“Her reputation will be in ruins once people hear of this,” Father said.

“At least that monster didn’t take her and—” Mother’s voice broke on another sob.

“I will do right by her,” Austen said, standing stiff beside me. “I love Kate—”

“Where were you?” Father demanded again.

Austen glanced down at me, but I put my hand over his to still his response.

Instead, I took a step forward. “I wanted to run away.” I couldn’t tell them the truth. I didn’t want them to know that Mary lived. The world, even my parents, needed to think she’d died. It was the only way she would ever be safe from Rothschild or the Freemasons. “But Austen insisted that we return.”

“You should have stayed away,” Father said, anger making his face red. “And never came back.”

“Bernard!” Mother took my hand. “You don’t mean that. We’ve already lost one daughter. I cannot abide losing another.”

“At least he didn’t get her,” Mr. Maybrick said, and I suspected that he wasn’t speaking of Austen. Was he talking about Jack the Ripper? Did they know his identity, and could I get it out of them?

“Have you heard about Mary yet?” Father asked, his gaze clouding with pain.

“Do not repeat it,” Mother said, putting her handkerchief to her lips again. “I cannot bear to hear it again.”

“She was murdered in her bed last night,” Father said anyway.

“It’s all your fault,” Mother hurled at him.

“Quiet.” Father stared at her. “Or you will regret speaking.”

Mother fled the room, weeping, leaving Austen and me alone with Father and Mr. Maybrick.

“Mary is dead?” I asked, trying to look devastated, so they wouldn’t question me.

“Murdered by Jack the Ripper,” Mr. Maybrick said, disgusted. “In the most gruesome way you can imagine.”

Austen put his arm around me, but he asked the men, “Who is Jack? Someone you know?”

Father and Mr. Maybrick glanced at each other, and I could see the truth in their eyes. They knew, but they’d never tell.

“This is all about the Book, isn’t it?” I asked scornfully as Austen tightened his hold on me in warning. “Jack wants it, and you refuse to tell him where it is. How many more women will have to die before this stops?”

“You do not know what you speak of,” Father said, caution in his voice.

“She knows about the Book?” Mr. Maybrick turned a cold eye to Father.

“She thinks she knows about it,” he responded, trying to appease Mr. Maybrick. “But she is only guessing.”

“That’s good,” Mr. Maybrick said as he stared at me, “because if she actually knew about it, then we’d have to decide what to do about her.”

Austen’s hold tightened again, and he took a slight step forward, as if to protect me.

“And what about you, Baird?” Mr. Maybrick asked. “What do you think you know about the Book?”

“I want Kate’s safety, first and foremost,” Austen said. “That’s all I care about.”

“I suppose this changes our agreement,” Father said to Mr. Maybrick.

“I wouldn’t want her now.” Mr. Maybrick snorted. “I have no taste for used goods.”

Austen’s entire body tensed, and he took another step forward. I grasped his hand and held him back. “It’s not worth it,” I said to him.

Mr. Maybrick lifted a corner of his mouth in a sardonic smile and then strode to the door. “I will take care of this mess,” he said to Father. “And I know just how to do it.”

With that, Mr. Maybrick was gone.

Father lowered himself into the chair behind his desk, and for the first time in his life, he looked old, weary, and defeated.

“You two will be married as soon as I can arrange it,” Father said without even looking at us. “Now leave.”

I started to speak, but he lifted his hand to silence me.

We walked out of Father’s study and stood in the front hall for a moment.

“I’m sorry, Kate,” Austen said. “This is not how I wanted our marriage to begin.”

“I know.” I put my hand over his and nodded. Even though Father had just told me that Austen and I would be married, it was the last thing I could think about now. There were so many other things pressing for my attention. “We’ll talk about it later. Right now I will go up and change, and then we need to go to the Public Records Office.”

Austen shook his head. “I’m going to follow Maybrick. I suspect that he knows who Jack is, and if that’s true, he’ll lead me right to his front door.”

I grasped his hand. “It’s too dangerous.”

“I’ll be fine.” He smiled. “You saw me in 1938, didn’t you? I was still alive.”

“I went to your house yesterday to speak to you, but you didn’t answer.”

“Maybe I knew it was best that we didn’t speak.” He kissed my forehead. “Get some rest, and as soon as I know who Jack is, I’ll be back. I promise.”

“Are you sure it’s safe?”

“No.” He smiled. “But I’ll be careful.”

I let him kiss me again and then watched as he left the house.

Exhaustion, hunger, and worry plagued me as I started up the stairs. Once all my needs were met, I planned to go to the Public Records Office and start searching for Bryant on my own.

I had to find him.