“Do you know who did it?”
Calan shook his head. “I don’t know who did it, but I think I know who covered it up.”
“Really? Who?”
He finally looked up and leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Tell me what the police commissioner, police surgeons, chief inspector, coroner, several journalists, the city solicitor, several members of Parliament, and the prince of England all had in common in 1888?”
I lifted my eyebrows, waiting.
“They were all Freemasons.”
My mouth slowly parted as I absorbed the information. “The chief of police—”
“Almost everyone who was in a position of power or authority during the investigation of Jack the Ripper was a high-ranking member of Freemasonry,” Calan said quietly, glancing at the next table to see if anyone was listening. When he looked back at me, he said, “Even Prince Albert Victor himself was a Grand Master of the Freemasons. In the 1870s, Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli said, ‘Royalty cannot survive without Freemasonry, and Freemasonry cannot survive without Royalty.’”
“Who were the Freemasons?”
“You mean, whoarethey. The Freemasons are a secret fraternal society that started to become powerful in England in the 1700s. Different histories link them to the original stonemason of King Solmon’s Temple in Jerusalem, Hiram Abiff. Their membership is not secret, but their rituals are, though I’ve done enough research to have an idea as to their activities.”
My curiosity was piqued. “And you think the Freemasons covered up the identity of Jack the Ripper? Why?”
“Because if Jack was one of them, they were honor bound to protect him.”
“Why?”
“If the killings were linked to a Freemason, or it became obvious that the other Masons were destroying evidence to keep his identity a secret, the entire society would crack open—and no one was more worried about that than the prince of England, who needed Freemasonry to survive. The Freemasons have unthinkable power in unity, and the prince couldn’t lose that power.”
“But who was Jack?” I asked.
“I don’t know. They’ve buried the truth too deeply.” He continued to lay out his tiles. “Anything that could point to the truth was destroyed or hidden.”
It was an intriguing theory. “Do you really think Freemasonry has so much power?”
“I know it does. The world headquarters are in London, but there are over a million Freemasons still active around the world, and they have a secret network of power, for good and for evil.” His face was so serious, I couldn’t look away. “The Freemasons have always fascinated me, especially because of their connection to Jack the Ripper, so I have visited the headquarters myself, which are open to the public. I discovered a book calledEngland’s Masonic Pioneers, written by a man named Dudley Wright. He claims that one of the oaths a Freemason makes upon his entry into the secret society is, I quote, to ‘hide and conceal and cover all the sins, frailties, and errors of every Brother to the upmost of my power.’”
I looked down at the mah-jongg tiles, trying to wrap my mind around what Calan was saying. Could his theory be correct? Had the Freemasons covered up the identity of Jack the Ripper? If the prince of England was involved, and the police commissioner, and even members of Parliament, then there wouldn’t have been any trouble keeping the truth hidden.
“There are still powerful people in Freemasonry,” Calan said quietly, “perhaps even men in this room, so tread lightly.”
I nodded, glancing around the room. I’d never spoken to anyone about Freemasonry before, though I had heard it mentioned a time or two.
“The police commissioner, Sir Charles Warren, was responsible for leading a group to the Temple Mount in Jerusalem in 1874,” Calan said as he crossed his arms.
My head came up quickly. “Jerusalem in 1874?”
Calan nodded.
Mine and Austen’s parents had gone to Jerusalem in 1874. It was there that Austen’s parents had been killed. Had they gone with Sir Charles Warren?
“The Temple Mount is the center of all Masonic legends,” Calan continued. “It’s there that Solomon’s Temple was built. And the builder of the temple was a master artisan and mason, Hiram Abiff, the first Grand Master of the Freemason.”
Had my parents gone to Jerusalem because of the Temple Mount? And, if they had, could my father be a Freemason?
“Ah, there you are,” Nancy said as she approached our table, a bright smile on her face. “Mah-jongg. How marvelous. I’ll find another player, and we can make it a foursome.”
Our conversation came to an end, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what Calan had said—or the fact that Father and Mother had gone to Jerusalem in 1874. It might be a coincidence, or it might not. But I would need to find out.
Later that evening, I left the drawing room with my parents. Their room was next to mine, so we climbed the grand staircase together. I wanted to talk to them about Freemasonry, but Mama had something else in mind.
