Page 30 of Every Hour until Then (Timeless #5)

30

November 10, 1938 London, England

I woke up the next morning with the same determination I had the two days before, but when I went into Mama’s room, her bed was empty.

My heart pounded hard as I rushed out of her room and went down the stairs in my pajamas—only to find her in the parlor.

I sagged against the doorframe, my hand over my heart as I caught my breath.

“There you are,” I said, entering the parlor.

She sat on the chair near the hearth, but her smile was sad as she greeted me. “I couldn’t sleep, worrying about your papa and you. So I thought I’d be more productive if I sat up and prayed through the night while you were in 1888.”

“You didn’t sleep?” I asked as I entered the room.

She shook her head, but there was more to her sadness this morning. It hung on her like a mantle.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“News has filtered into London this morning. There is a riot happening across Germany. It was started last night by the Nazis, and the German government is not intervening. Reports are coming in that hundreds of synagogues were destroyed, thousands of Jewish men have been arrested, and Jewish homes and businesses have been ransacked. The press is calling it Kristallnacht , or the Night of Broken Glass.”

I sank into a chair near hers, feeling weak and afraid for what was about to come upon the earth. But my fear was nothing compared to the thousands of Jews who had lived through Kristallnacht , and the countless others who were fearing for their lives and the lives of their loved ones this morning across Germany.

“Why is the world so broken?” I asked her, tears in my voice.

She gently took my hand. “Because the hearts and the minds of her people are broken. And until we stop fearing our neighbors, and love them as Jesus commanded, there will be war and hatred and anger. Fear has the power to cause an entire nation to rise up and kill her perceived enemies. Just imagine what love could do if we’d let it.”

“I spoke to Sir Rothschild,” I said.

She nodded, eagerly. “And?”

“He’s bringing Papa here at noon—but he made me promise it would just be you and me. No one else.”

Mama closed her eyes briefly, and I knew she was trying to control her emotions. She missed Papa more than anything and had spent countless hours praying for his safe return. When she opened them, she nodded. “I’ll do anything to get him home.”

“I will, too. I think Sir Rothschild will be satisfied with the information I give him. I’ll just pray that he can’t find it at Windsor Castle.” I took a deep breath. “I hope he will be satisfied.” My hands clenched on my lap as I thought about all that he was getting away with. I hated injustice, especially when it was wrought against the people I loved. “I want him to face the consequences of his actions—both in 1888 and here. He tried to change history there yesterday. I think he might have forfeited his path without realizing it. I plan to find out if he died there.”

“Let the Lord deal with Sir Rothschild,” Mama said as she took my hand. “I want to return to Washington immediately. As soon as we have Papa.”

“Of course.” I rose to get dressed, but Mama didn’t let go of my hand.

“And when all of this is done,” she said. “We’ll talk about what you plan to do next.”

“I haven’t even let myself think that far ahead.”

Mama’s smile was both sad and hopeful. “I have—and I’m preparing myself to say good-bye, Kathryn.”

My mouth parted as I knelt before her. “What do you mean?”

She put her free hand on my cheek. “You’re in love with Austen. I think you know what I mean.”

“I am in love with Austen,” I said as my voice choked with emotion. “But I’m not ready to say good-bye, Mama.”

She simply smiled. “I know. I felt the same way when I decided to leave Hope and stay with Papa.” Her smile softened. “I shouldn’t have said anything yet. Let’s focus on today and getting Papa back before we talk about Austen.”

I nodded and then rose from the floor to leave the parlor, not wanting to add more anguish to my heart. It was already so overburdened, I was afraid I would crumple into a corner and start to cry and never stop. I wasn’t certain that Sir Rothschild would bring Papa to us. And if he did, I wasn’t sure if we would survive the encounter. He was a Nazi who had done horrible, terrifying things in two different paths to get something that could change the course of history if it fell into the wrong hands.

He would stop at nothing to get what he wanted, and I was risking everything by telling him where the Book might be located. I wasn’t sure it was the right course of action, but I was desperate and prayed that the king’s guards would protect the Book.

It was my only hope.

As soon as I had dressed, I left 44 Berkeley Square and returned to the London Library. The librarian greeted me with a smile as he had the day before. “How may I help you?”

“I’d like to see the file on James Maybrick again, if I may.” I waited, half expecting him to tell me there was no file on James Maybrick. If James had changed history, then there would be no trial and no newspaper clippings.

The librarian nodded. “Of course. Please follow me.”

He took me back to the table I had used yesterday, but when he presented the folder, it was just as thick as the day before.

What did it mean?

As the librarian walked away, I slowly opened the folder, wondering what I might find.

There were just as many newspaper clippings as before, but they contained much different information. James Maybrick had not died at noon on November 10th, 1888, as history had originally stated. Instead, he had died in his sleep, and his body was discovered the next morning on November 11th. His brother, Michael, had still accused Florence Maybrick of poisoning her husband, and it had still gone to trial. But this time, there was no proof of poisoning, and Florence Maybrick did not go to prison.

She’d been spared.

Sir James Bryant Rothschild, also known as James Maybrick, had forfeited his life in 1888. He’d made Jack the Ripper exit history without even realizing it. Which explained why he disappeared so abruptly.

I slipped one of the newspaper clippings into my purse, knowing that Sir Rothschild would never believe me without proof, and planned to return it as soon as I could to the library.

After thanking the librarian, I returned home just before ten, with two hours to wait for Sir Rothschild’s arrival.

“He changed history,” I said to Mama as soon as I entered the parlor on the main floor.

She was sitting in her chair near the hearth, her eyes closed in prayer, but she opened them when I appeared. “What?”

“Here.” I showed her the newspaper clipping and explained everything I’d discovered.

She shook her head in wonder. “This is the newspaper clipping I saw yesterday when we were at the library.”

“You don’t remember that he was supposed to die at noon, from arsenic poisoning?”

“No.”

“But I do.”

“That’s because you’re still a time-crosser,” she explained. “I’m not anymore. What I do know is that God’s plans cannot be thwarted.”

For the next two hours, I paced in the parlor while Mama prayed. If Sir Rothschild didn’t bring Papa to Berkeley Square, I would be forced to tell the world about Jack the Ripper—and forfeit my own paths.

When the grandfather clock struck the midday hour, my pulse ticked up another notch.

I strode to the window, but looking out, I could see no one approaching the townhouse.

“Where are they?” I demanded.

Mama didn’t answer.

The clock continued to tick. Five minutes passed, ten minutes—and then the front doorbell rang.

Mama rose from her chair, but I ran past her into the hall, down the stairs, and into the foyer, where I tore open the door.

Papa stood on the front stoop beside Sir Rothschild, his hands cuffed.

“Papa!” I cried and rushed toward him.

Sir Rothschild pulled a large knife from his pocket and pointed it at me. “Stay back, Kathryn.”

I paused at the sight of the weapon so similar to the one he’d used freely in Whitechapel.

Mama appeared at the top of the steps and cried out in relief. Something sweet and heartbreaking passed between my parents. The longing and love on their faces was the most beautiful thing I’d ever witnessed, though it was bittersweet as Sir Rothschild nudged Papa into the house and closed the door behind him, keeping his knife in plain sight.

“All of you, into the parlor,” Sir Rothschild said, pointing up the stairs.

We did as he commanded, but I could see that it took all of Papa’s willpower not to lash out at Sir Rothschild or put his arms around Mama and me. He hadn’t shaved in at least a week, and his suit looked as if he hadn’t changed since the day he’d been abducted. He’d also lost weight, though it was the least of my concerns. He seemed healthy and whole, and that was all that mattered.

“Sit,” Sir Rothschild said to my parents.

They did as he commanded, sitting on the sofa beside each other. Mama took Papa’s cuffed hands, tears in her eyes.

“Get the information you came for,” Papa demanded, “and then leave us in peace.”

Sir Rothschild scoffed. “I’ll leave you in peace if the information Kathryn gives me is satisfactory. If it’s not, then we have more business to conduct.” He tilted his knife to reflect the sunlight from the window, sending a chill up my spine. I’d spent enough time researching the murders he’d committed in Whitechapel in 1888 to know that he was capable of anything.

He approached me, his gaze intent on my face. “Well? What do you have to say?”

Panic overwhelmed me. Would the information from the letter be enough to appease him?

When I didn’t answer right away, he yelled, “Stop stalling, Kathryn, and tell me where the Book is.”

“What good will it do?” I asked, surprising myself with how bold I felt as I stared at the knife.

“As soon as we take down the Freemasons,” he said, as if speaking to a child, “there will be no one to stop us from overtaking Europe—and then the world. I thought I made myself clear.” He stared at me and shook his head. “Even if I have to kill you here, I will still come after you and all you love in 1888, so stop stalling.”

“You don’t know, do you?” I asked him.

He frowned. “Know what?”

“You forfeited your life in 1888.”

His frown deepened. “What are you talking about?”

“You can’t hurt me in 1888 because you died there. Last night.”

His eyes narrowed. “I didn’t die there. I refused to let Florence or Michael poison me.”

“You changed history. And when we knowingly change history, we forfeit the timeline we try to change.” I went to the desk in the corner and lifted the newspaper clipping for him to see. “I went to the London Library today, and I confirmed what I had suspected. You didn’t die of poisoning in 1888—you died in your sleep. And Florence wasn’t convicted. They could not prove what killed you. But I know.”

He tore the clipping from my hand and read it quickly, his face falling with realization.

He stared at the paper, the knife going limp in his hand. When he finally looked at me, rage filled his face. “You knew yesterday when you visited me, didn’t you?” He advanced toward me. “You knew that I was forfeiting my time there.”

My heart started to pound as he came toward me.

Papa leapt from the couch, but Sir Rothschild pointed the knife at him. “Stay there, or I’ll slit her throat before you take another step.”

Panic and anger reverberated off Papa, but he stayed near the couch. For now.

“Why do you hate the Freemasons so much?” I asked, trying to distract him from Papa.

“I’ve known about Jack the Ripper since I was young,” Sir Rothschild said, keeping his knife pointed toward Papa but looking at me. “But I had no idea it was going to be me until last year, when I learned about the Book in 1937. I had discovered that all five women had connections to the trip to Jerusalem because I was fighting against the Freemasons, even in 1887. My father had devoted his life to the Brotherhood, and I despised them and vowed to take them down, as many others have done. I went to Jerusalem in 1887 and met the man who tried to take the Book from Sir Charles Warren in 1874. He told me about each family, and how they had a part of the Book.

“When I came back to London, it didn’t take long to realize all the women were in Whitechapel for various reasons. I tried to blackmail the families, but none of them would betray the Brotherhood. So, I followed through with history’s plan and brought pain to the Freemasons—the same pain my father inflicted on me when he chose the Freemasons over his own son.”

“But did you have a choice?” I asked, horrified. “To become Jack the Ripper?”

“Of course I had a choice,” he said with a sneer. “I could have changed history at that time. But in my mind, there was no choice. Hitler must succeed.” He stepped closer to me, his voice lowering. “I might not have gotten what I wanted out of them, but when I met you and realized you were also a time-crosser, I knew that I had found another possible solution. I also knew that I was supposed to be poisoned by Florence or Michael, but I wouldn’t let history have that satisfaction.” He snarled. “Though apparently, history won anyway.”

“Drop your knife,” Papa said to Sir Rothschild. “There’s no need to shed more blood.”

In a flash, Sir Rothschild had the knife pointed at me again and he yelled, “Tell me where the Book is, or you will be next!”

A noise in the hall caught all of us by surprise. When Sir Rothschild turned to see what had caused the sound, I darted toward my parents.

The door opened, and police officers began to pour into the parlor before Sir Rothschild could turn right or left.

He glared at me. “I told you no police!”

“I didn’t call them—” But my words were cut off as two policemen grabbed Sir Rothschild and wrestled the knife out of his hands. He fought back but was no match for their strength or their surprise attack.

“James Bryant Rothschild,” one police officer said, “you are under arrest for the abduction and unlawful captivity of United States Brigadier General Lucas Voland, as well as high treason against His Majesty the King of England.”

“This is madness,” Sir Rothschild said, fighting to be free. “You will all pay for this. Hitler will personally see that I am vindicated.”

He continued to yell threats as they hauled him away.

I turned to Papa, more concerned about his well-being than what Sir Rothschild had to say.

“Are you okay, Papa?” I asked.

He smiled as a police officer took off Papa’s handcuffs. “I’m better than ever, Kathryn.”

The moment he was free, he embraced Mama.

Tears of joy ran unchecked down her cheeks as she said his name over and over.

“General Voland?” one of the police officers said. “When you have a moment, I have questions for you, sir.”

Papa finally pulled away from Mama but kept his arm around her. “What would you like to know?”

“Was Sir Rothschild responsible for your abduction?”

“Yes. I was surprised to see him when he approached me on a street in Berlin, but he told me he was there to consult at a museum.”

“He told me he was going to Paris,” I said, incredulous. “To consult at Versailles. I had no idea he was in Berlin.”

“Why did you go with him?” the officer asked Papa.

“Because I recognized him. I went with him to a café, but by the time I realized I was in trouble, I was seized by several men who I later identified as members of the Nazi party. That same day, I was flown to London with Sir Rothschild, and I’ve been kept in a warehouse near the river for the past four days.”

My heart hurt, listening to him recall his story. As he spoke, I watched another officer lift Sir Rothschild’s knife off the ground and carry it away.

When the police officer interviewing Papa seemed to be satisfied, he said, “I’ll leave you to reunite with your family and take some time to refresh yourself. But I would like you to come to New Scotland Yard as soon as possible to make an official statement. We will also alert the American authorities that you have been returned safely.”

“Thank you,” Papa said.

The copper tipped his hat at Papa and then Mama and me and called for his men to clear out.

Papa and Mama embraced again, and then Papa came to me. He drew me into his strong, tender arms and held me tight.

“Thank you, Kathryn,” he said, his voice low and gruff with emotion. “Rothschild told me that you visited him in 1888—even though you knew he was Jack the Ripper. He proudly told me several times about the vicious crimes he committed in Whitechapel to try and scare me. You risked everything to have me returned safely to you and Mama. I owe you my life.”

“You owe me nothing,” I said as tears traced my cheeks. “I would do anything for you.”

“I know you would, ma chérie .”

“Who told the police that he was going to be here?” Mama asked, joining us. “Kathryn and I told no one.”

“She told me,” an elderly gentleman said as he slowly entered the parlor.

My breath caught as I pulled away from Papa. “Austen.”

Mama and Papa turned toward the door and stared at a man who was older than both of them—at least, in this path.

But he didn’t look at my parents. He only had eyes for me.

“I’ve waited fifty years for this moment, Kate,” he said with a smile, the wrinkles around his eyes softening and making him look more like his younger self. “I’ve always wanted to be your knight in shining armor.”

With a glad cry, I crossed the room and embraced Austen.

His arms tightened around me, and for a split second, I forgot that he was seventy-five years old. No matter how old Austen was, I fit perfectly into his embrace.

A sound behind me reminded me that my parents were watching—and they’d never met Austen before. It was strange to leave his arms and turn to face them.

They were both smiling as I said, “Mama and Papa, this is Austen.”

I looked up at him, loving that his eyes had not changed. They were filled with affection for me—with just a hint of his former angst.

“Austen, these are my parents, Lucas and Grace Voland.”

“It’s an honor to meet you, Austen,” Mama said as she approached and took his hand. Her eyes filled with tears. “Thank you. For everything.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he said.

Papa shook his hand next. “We owe you everything. Not only for today, but for every day you’ve been by Kathryn’s side.”

Austen’s gray hair and wrinkles were a reminder of his age, but when he smiled at me, I saw his youth. “I would like to say it has been easy, but I would be lying.”

Mama and Papa laughed, and I gave Austen a look, though I couldn’t help but laugh, as well.

“I would deny it,” I said, “but no one would believe me.”

Austen’s smile faded, and he grew serious as he regarded me. “It hasn’t been easy, Kate, but it has been the greatest honor of my life.” He turned to my papa then and said, “I have been waiting fifty years for something else.”

“Oh?” Papa asked with a curious frown. “What is that?”

“I know this is all very strange,” Austen said, “but seven days from now, I will be celebrating my fiftieth wedding anniversary.”

It was my turn to frown at his words.

“Kate and I weren’t given a choice by her other father,” Austen said, “but I’ve always wanted to ask for your blessing to marry your daughter.”

My mouth parted as Mama reached out and took my hand.

“I married her anyway,” Austen said with a mischievous smile, “but I promised her that when the day came, I would officially ask for your blessing.”

“You married me?” I asked him.

He turned back to me and nodded. “Nothing could have kept me from it.”

“At St. John’s?” I asked, my heart warming.

With a shake of his head, he said, “I can’t wrap my mind around it, but that hasn’t happened for you. Yet.”

“No.” I could hardly wrap my mind around it, either. I was going to marry Austen in seven days at St. John’s. Which meant I would stay in 1888 and leave Mama and Papa on my twenty-fifth birthday. I had time to say good-bye to them and prepare myself for that, but I had a question for Austen now. “Have the last fifty years been good?”

Austen grinned, and it was unlike anything I’d ever seen before. Joy, passion, and love radiated from his smile. “They’ve been extraordinary.”

I returned his smile, overcome with my own happiness. I wanted to be in Austen’s arms—young Austen—but I would have to wait until tomorrow.

Papa took a step forward. He placed his hand on Austen’s shoulder as if he was a young man and said, “Anyone Kathryn loves is someone we love. You have our blessing.” He turned to me and placed a kiss on my forehead. “You have our blessing, Kathryn.”

Mama hugged me next, her tears still falling. “I knew it,” she whispered with happiness.

When I pulled back, I turned to Austen again, not sure how to ask my next question. “Am I—here?”

He shook his head. “She—you—stayed home today. She wasn’t sure if you would want to see yourself as—well, fifty years from now.”

“Was she there when I saw you outside Wilton Crescent? The day I discovered the portrait?”

“She was. She watched from an upstairs window, since she knew exactly when you’d be there.”

“And when I went to Wilton Crescent the other day? To ask you about Mary?”

“We both knew you would be there, so we made sure we weren’t. We knew you would come looking for answers, but we couldn’t give them to you. You had to wait until God was ready to reveal everything.”

“There is a time for everything,” I said, thinking of the Bible verses in Ecclesiastes.

“A season for every activity under heaven,” Austen added. “Sometimes, we want to hurry those seasons, but God knows what is best.” He turned to Mama and Papa. “It’s been almost fifty years since she’s seen you. She understands how difficult and strange this is, but she misses you. If you’re willing to see—”

“Yes,” Mama said with a decisive nod. “Forever yes.”

Austen smiled at Mama. “I’ll bring her by tomorrow. I’m sure the general would like some time to rest.”

Papa nodded his appreciation. “It’s been quite the week. We’ll be ready to see her tomorrow.”

Austen then turned to me. “And you?”

I took a deep breath and shook my head, not fully understanding my choice, but knowing it would be the right one. “I think I’ll stay away. I’m not sure it would be a good idea to see myself. It’s too ... odd.”

“I don’t blame you.” He studied me for another moment and then said, “I should go. I don’t like leaving her—you—for long.”

“I’ll walk you out.” I followed him to the front hall and stood for a moment with him as he continued to look at me.

He put his hat on and shook his head. “I kept the portrait of you for as long as I could.”

Frowning, I asked, “The one you painted in 1889?”

He nodded. “It’s strange, but I painted it because I knew it would be used one day to fulfill God’s plan. I didn’t think I could paint anything other than landscapes, but you’ll go back to 1888 tomorrow and tell me all about what’s happened. After we’re married, I’ll begin the portrait and I’ll realize it’s the easiest thing I’ve ever painted. It will hang in our cottage at Loch Lomond for forty-nine years until a young man comes to the village in search of my paintings.” He smiled. “You’ll immediately recognize him as a man named Calan McCaffrey, and you’ll insist that I sell him the portrait for the Royal Museum of Scotland. I’ll agree—only because I know it’s part of God’s plan—and because I’ll know that I get to see you as a young woman again.”

I smiled and shook my head in wonder.

“It does my heart good to see you young,” he said. “But I sure do love seeing you as the woman you’ve become over the last fifty years. I’m blessed that God chose for me to walk this path with you, Kate.” He leaned forward and placed a kiss on my cheek. “You’re the greatest adventure of my life.”

When he pulled back, there were tears in my eyes.

“I’ll see you tomorrow in 1888, Austen.”

He winked. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

And with that, he walked away.