“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?”
