I had failed to save Mary, Austen might have died when he tried to help us, and Papa’s life was in danger. I wanted to give in to my fear and grief, but I couldn’t. I still needed to save Papa. And if no one would help me, I would do it myself.
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.”
