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 nudgedPapa 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 andvowed 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.
