Page 9 of Every Hour until Then (Timeless #5)

9

London, England September 8, 1888

Our townhouse was warm and crowded that Saturday evening as I stood near Father and Mother by the front door, greeting guests. Mother’s laughter was only reserved for nights such as this, and it was so unnatural to my ears that it made me tense each time I heard it. She was a lovely woman with dark red hair like mine, and clear, beautiful skin, especially for her age. She stood next to Father with pride and thrived on hosting events like this one. They filled her days with purpose, especially when she could highlight a favorite performer or artist.

“Ah, there you are!” Mother said with a cry of delight when a tall, handsome man entered the front door of our townhome. He looked to be in his early thirties and carried himself with the suave confidence of a performer. “Mr. Maybrick, how good of you to come.”

Michael Maybrick was one of the most renowned composers and performers in Europe. We had seen him on stage at the London Opera House the year before. Mother had been trying to get him to come to her dinner parties ever since.

Mr. Maybrick bowed deeply before Mother as many of her guests turned to see the famous musician. “It is a pleasure to be in your home, Mrs. Kelly.”

Mother’s cheeks filled with color as she allowed him to kiss her hand. Then she turned to me, her eager expression telling me all I needed to know. Mr. Maybrick was single, and Mother would use any excuse she could to push me in front of an eligible bachelor. “Mr. Maybrick, may I present my daughter Miss Kathryn Kelly?”

He took my hand and bowed over it. “It is an honor to meet you, Miss Kelly.”

I curtseyed and smiled. “And you, Mr. Maybrick.”

When he straightened, he offered a dashing smile and his gaze lingered on me for a moment before he tore it away to be introduced to some of Mother’s friends.

I stepped back, happy to be out of the spotlight for a moment. My corset had been pulled especially tight tonight, and I struggled to catch my breath. Pungent perfume cloyed the air, and the extravagant jewelry and clothing in the room made me feel uncomfortable. I was wearing one of the most expensive—and exquisite—gowns I’d ever owned. It was a House of Worth creation, sent from Paris for this event and made of the finest gold silk I’d ever seen, with dark purple silk embroidery along the bodice and the skirt.

But all the finery only made me think about Mary even more. She’d been raised with the same wealth and privilege, the same set of skills. How was she surviving on her own? Was working as a charwoman enough? Or had she resorted to taking a male companion to help pay for her room and board? Was she a night worker, as Mrs. Barnett called prostitutes?

The very thought made a shiver run up my spine. I couldn’t imagine such a life for Mary.

At the appointed hour, Mother allowed Mr. Maybrick to escort her up the stairs and into the drawing room. It was the largest of the rooms in our home, and all the furniture had been moved to the attic to allow everyone to fit inside.

Father offered me his arm to escort me upstairs. It was the first time we had been within speaking distance since I’d woken up that morning, and it might be the only chance I would get.

“Do you know anything about the Freemasons?” I asked him.

His footsteps faltered, and he almost tripped as he turned his face toward me. “What do you know of the Freemasons?”

“Very little.”

“Why would you think I know something about them?”

How was I supposed to answer that? He would never believe me if I told him the truth. “I’m just curious. I have heard it whispered that most of the powerful and influential men in London are Freemasons, so that made me think you might be.”

His chest puffed out just a bit with pride, but he frowned at me. “It’s no secret that I’m a Freemason, though I rarely talk about it outside of my meetings.”

It was my turn to miss a step, but I held tight to him as we continued up the stairs. “Is that why you went to Jerusalem? To the Temple Mount?”

I’m certain he would have stopped on the stairs had there not been people behind us. “This isn’t the time or place for that conversation, Kathryn. And it really doesn’t concern you.”

Every time I was told that something didn’t concern me, it meant I had hit on something important.

Father left my side the moment we entered the drawing room, and I was certain it was because he didn’t want me to ask him any more questions.

After everyone quieted, Mother went to the front of the room and introduced Mr. Maybrick.

The audience clapped politely as Mr. Maybrick took his place. He wore a thick mustache and had combed his hair back into a shine. He caught my eye and dipped his head in my direction, causing several people to look at me and smile.

Soon, Mr. Maybrick was entrancing the audience with “Nancy Lee,” “Midshipmite,” and “They All Love Jack,” one of his more recent compositions—and one that hit too close to home. That morning, Annie Chapman’s body had been found in the small, enclosed yard at 29 Hanbury Street, and the reporters had gone wild with the news. The police surgeon had immediately linked it to Polly Nichols’s murder because both women had died in the same manner, their throats slit from ear to ear and their bodies mutilated. However, Annie’s had been even worse than Polly’s. She’d been disemboweled, and portions of her intestines had been placed over her right shoulder. I’d heard some people whispering about it tonight, but polite society wasn’t discussing it like they would in Whitechapel.

Mr. Maybrick’s performance came to an end, and everyone clapped, then it was time to begin the dance. Mother whispered into his ear, and he nodded and smiled, then came to me and offered his hand.

“May I have this dance?” he asked.

“Of course.” I couldn’t say no, not with everyone watching. “Your performance was wonderful,” I said with a genuine smile. “My mother seems very pleased.”

He took me into his arms for the dance and returned my smile, pulling me a little too close. “I hope my singing pleased you, as well.”

His behavior and tone made me uncomfortable, but I said, “Of course.”

The three-string orchestra began to play a waltz, and Mr. Maybrick twirled me around the room with confidence. As we passed the entrance to the drawing room, a new arrival caught my attention. He was handsome and stylish, but there were so many people and we moved so fast, I didn’t have a chance to catch his eye. He was probably another of Mother’s bachelors, invited to try to convince me to get married. Others were taking notice of him, too, as people turned their heads to look in his direction.

Mr. Maybrick was entertaining as we danced, complimenting my abilities, though I wasn’t under any illusion that I was especially talented.

As the night progressed, I danced with each of the men on my dance card, making small talk, trying not to yawn or show my boredom. I looked for the stranger who had caught my eye before, but he remained elusive. No doubt he would appear at the appointed time, if my mother had anything to do with it.

When it was time for me to take a break, I slipped out of the drawing room and made my way to the back stairway, needing some time alone. The courtyard beckoned, and I wanted to escape before someone stopped me.

The night was cool, and the air was crisp as I stepped outside. Several of the windows were open on the second floor, allowing the faint strains of the orchestra to drift outside. A clear sky offered a brilliant view of the stars, and there were torches lit around the courtyard, though they offered scant light.

“I was hoping you’d come out here,” a deep male voice said from a corner of the courtyard, drawing my gaze down to earth again. “I hate crowds.”

The man I’d glimpsed earlier was sitting on a stone bench, and the soft glow of torchlight illuminated his handsome features. His voice was Austen’s, but his appearance was unfamiliar.

“Austen?” I asked as he rose and walked across the courtyard.

His transformation was remarkable. With no beard, he looked ten years younger—more like the boy I’d once known—though there was nothing boyish about Austen Baird.

He’d had a haircut, as well, and his evening clothes were fashionable and new.

My lips parted as he walked toward me, and my pulse began to pound in a way it had never pounded before.

I was suddenly aware of everything about Austen—the way he moved, the way he looked at me, the way my entire body responded to his presence. I was reminded of how he’d reacted when I kissed his cheek and the strange words he’d said to me in Whitechapel afterward. That if I didn’t know why I shouldn’t have kissed him, then he wouldn’t bother explaining.

I was suddenly very aware of why I shouldn’t have kissed Austen Baird.

We were no longer children.

The innocence that had once cocooned our relationship had fallen away, creating a sense of vulnerability that overwhelmed me. Our previous intimacy was meant for children, not grown adults.

How had I been so na?ve?

This was a man—a handsome, mysterious, intriguing man.

The closer he came, the more aware I was of this truth, and I began to back up on instinct. It was as if a veil was lifted, and I could see clearly for the first time.

I didn’t know him anymore, not really, and that made me feel breathless. Excited.

Terrified.

When he stopped in front of me, I could only stare.

“Don’t look at me that way,” he said, his voice low, almost pleading.

I swallowed. “How am I looking at you?”

“As if you don’t know me.”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

When he reached for my hand, it sent a shock up my arm and my gaze locked on his.

We stared at each other for a moment before he led me to the bench he’d just occupied and we took a seat. I was conscious of his leg pressed against mine, the smell of his cologne, and the way my hand still tingled from his touch.

We were both quiet for a moment, and my breath began to return to its normal rhythm, though my heart was still hammering.

“You came,” I finally whispered, clasping my gloved hands in my lap.

“I couldn’t stay away,” he said just as quietly.

He didn’t need to explain what he meant. Something had drawn Austen and me together since we were children. An invisible force that neither of us could deny, though he had tried for years. Even when we were not together, I was always conscious of him, wanting to see him, be near him, hear his voice.

It was almost as if...

He turned to me as the truth pressed against my heart, and my mouth parted in surprise again.

The thing that he couldn’t tell me, and I had never allowed myself to acknowledge, was now as obvious as the rising sun, shedding light on every part of my life.

I was in love with Austen Baird.

“Kate—”

I stood, my breath shallow as panic overwhelmed me. I couldn’t love Austen. I wasn’t staying in 1888. And, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. Not if I was going to save my sister.

He also stood, and the anguish in his eyes finally made sense. His behavior toward me these past fourteen years wasn’t because he was mourning his parents’ loss. He’d been pushing me away because he was heartbroken. He was in love with me, and I had not returned his affection.

Had not given him a chance.

“Why?” I asked, almost angry.

“Why what?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Austen stared at me, his emotions raw and intense as they crossed his handsome face. “What did you want me to say? That the day you told me you were leaving this path was the worst day of my life?” He took a step closer to me, years of disappointment tightening his voice. “That I’ve tried to push you away every day since then, and I hate myself because I still yearn for you? That even when I’m in Italy, or India, or France burying myself in work, I can’t forget you?” He put his hands on my cheeks as he lowered his voice. “That my pulse beats faster every time you’re near and my heart longs for a glimpse of you, a touch of your hand, or a whisper of your voice?”

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think.

He stepped closer to me, and my senses were overwhelmed.

“That when you kissed my cheek the other day,” he said as his face lowered to mine, “it took all my willpower not to pull you into my arms and kiss you until this madness inside of me subsided and I could think clearly for the first time in fourteen years?” He stared deeply into my eyes. “Is that what you wanted me to tell you, Kate? That the only reason I returned to London was to try to convince you to love me, too?”

I was trembling, and tears filled my eyes. I was in love with Austen, but knowing he loved me—accepting the truth after years of denial—brought such profound grief, I felt like I might suffocate.

He was breathing hard, but when I didn’t answer him, he pulled back, his emotions retreating behind the wall of anger and indifference he hid behind. His hands fell to his sides in defeat. “That’s what I thought. Those weren’t the things you wanted me to tell you.”

“Pardon me,” said a male voice behind us. “Am I interrupting a tryst?”

My heart was pounding so hard, I was afraid I might pass out as I turned and found Mr. Maybrick standing behind us.

There was a light of humor in his eyes until his gaze caught Austen’s, and then all humor fled.

Austen stiffened, and his jaw tightened.

I didn’t know what to say or do, so I motioned to Austen and said to Mr. Maybrick, “This is my—my neighbor, Mr. Austen—”

“Baird,” Mr. Maybrick finished as he advanced toward us. “How are you, Austen?”

“You two know each other?” I asked as I looked at Austen.

“We belong to the same club, don’t we, old chum?” Mr. Maybrick asked Austen.

Austen didn’t smile, nor acknowledge that he knew Mr. Maybrick.

I was again at a loss, my mind swirling with Austen’s declaration and Mr. Maybrick’s presence, so I said the first thing that came to mind. “I didn’t know you had a club, Austen.”

“I don’t,” he said, his breathing still erratic as he looked at Mr. Maybrick.

“He could, if he wanted one.” Mr. Maybrick smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s not really a club, but a secret society, a brotherhood. I’m a proud member, and Austen should be, too. His family has a long history of membership. It’s a shame he doesn’t want to join in the fun.”

My eyes widened as I stared at Austen. “Is he speaking of the Freemasons?”

Without even looking at me, Austen nodded.

“Your family were Freemasons?” I asked, shocked.

“Not only were they Freemasons,” Mr. Maybrick said, “but his father was a Grand Master, of the highest order. He died defending the Brotherhood in Jerusalem at the Temple Mount.”

My heart thudded as all the pieces started to fall together. I couldn’t be more surprised—though Austen’s face was devoid of emotion, suggesting that he knew all this information. I’d always thought his parents were accosted by robbers, but had his father truly been defending the Freemasons? How?

“You look surprised, Miss Kelly,” Mr. Maybrick said. “I thought perhaps you knew, since your parents were on the same trip, excavating Solomon’s Temple in search of the great secrets of the Knights Templar.”

“That’s why they went?” I asked and turned to Austen. “Did you know?”

Austen’s cheek muscles twitched as he continued to stare at Mr. Maybrick, but he offered a slight nod, acknowledging my question.

“I hate to be the one to tell you,” Mr. Maybrick said, though he didn’t seem contrite. “But, perhaps now that you know, you might convince Mr. Baird to join his rightful place with us.” He looked from Austen to me, his lips curling up in a half smile. “Since it seems you two are close.”

Austen lifted his chin but didn’t respond.

“Your mother sent me out to retrieve you, Miss Kelly,” Mr. Maybrick said as he offered me his arm. “Shall we?”

I stood between Austen and Mr. Maybrick, unsure what to do. There were so many things Austen and I needed to discuss.

But he made the choice for me.

“Goodnight, Miss Kelly.” Austen gave a stiff bow and then turned and walked toward the hedge, disappearing into the night.