The way he said it made me pause. Had he meant we still had time to save Mary? Or that we still had time together?
When the carriage finally came to a stop, the coachman got out and opened the door for us.
“Stay close,” Austen said to me.
I nodded and then accepted his hand to step out of the carriage.
The smell was worse outside. I wanted to put my handkerchief up to my nose, but I refrained.
Instead, I walked close to Austen as we approached a brick building that said Miller’s Court on a weathered sign. There was a narrow passage with several doors on either side. We walked along the passage and found the number thirteen on a door at the back. Next to the door was a small window, which was broken and had a piece of clothing pushed through it.
“This must be it,” I said to Austen.
Austen knocked on the door, and we stepped back to wait.
My hands were sweating, and my pulse was thumping hard. There were so many things I wanted to say to my sister, so many questions I wanted to ask. But if this was her, I would have to be very careful. I couldn’t change history before just the right time,or I could mess it all up—and lose my place here sooner than necessary, while putting other people’s lives in danger.
More than anything, though, I wanted to know why our father had not stopped her from leaving.
Austen knocked again, but there was no answer.
“Perhaps she’s working,” he said.
“Can I help you?” asked a man as he walked down the passageway toward us. He was in his mid-thirties. His worn clothes and thick accent suggested he lived in Whitechapel.
“We’re looking for Mary Jane Kelly,” Austen said. “We were told she lives at this address.”
He frowned. “I’m the landlord of this place, and there ain’t no Mary Jane Kelly what lives here.”
“Do you know who rents number thirteen?” I asked him.
“What’s it to you?”
Austen reached into his pocket and removed a coin. He discreetly handed it to the man and said, “Please answer the lady’s question.”
The man pocketed the coin and nodded, his gaze trailing up the length of my body. I was thankful for the simple, modest gown, though it still looked out of place in this neighborhood. “The room is currently empty. Are you looking for a place to stay?” He glanced at Austen and then back at me. “Or only a room to rent for the hour?”
My lips parted at his insinuation, and Austen took a menacing step forward.
The man backed up, his eyes widening.
“Do you know a woman named Mary Jane Kelly or not?” Austen demanded.
“Never heard of her before,” he said quickly.
“And this room is empty?” I asked. “No one is currently living here?”
“Bertha Parker was the last tenant, and she moved out this morning. Found herself a man to live with, she did. I say good riddance. She was always late with her rent.”
“Mary Jane must not live here yet,” I said to Austen, disappointed that we hadn’t found who we were looking for but still praying it wasn’t my sister.
“Thank you for your time,” Austen said to the landlord as he put his hand on the small of my back and led me through the passageway, back to Dorset Street, where the carriage was waiting.
When we arrived at the carriage, Austen helped me inside and then tapped on the roof to let the driver know we were ready to pull away.
“I’m sorry, Kate,” he said to me.
I nodded as I looked out the window, not wanting him to see how disappointed I was.
