My heart was pounding so hard, I was afraid I might pass out as I turned and found Mr. Maybrick standing behind us.
There was a light of humor in his eyes until his gaze caught Austen’s, and then all humor fled.
Austen stiffened, and his jaw tightened.
I didn’t know what to say or do, so I motioned to Austen and said to Mr. Maybrick, “This is my—my neighbor, Mr. Austen—”
“Baird,” Mr. Maybrick finished as he advanced toward us. “How are you, Austen?”
“You two know each other?” I asked as I looked at Austen.
“We belong to the same club, don’t we, old chum?” Mr. Maybrick asked Austen.
Austen didn’t smile, nor acknowledge that he knew Mr. Maybrick.
I was again at a loss, my mind swirling with Austen’s declaration and Mr. Maybrick’s presence, so I said the first thing that came to mind. “I didn’t know you had a club, Austen.”
“I don’t,” he said, his breathing still erratic as he looked at Mr. Maybrick.
“He could, if he wanted one.” Mr. Maybrick smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s not really a club, but a secret society, a brotherhood. I’m a proud member, and Austen should be, too. His family has a long history of membership. It’s a shame he doesn’t want to join in the fun.”
My eyes widened as I stared at Austen. “Is he speaking of the Freemasons?”
Without even looking at me, Austen nodded.
“Your family were Freemasons?” I asked, shocked.
“Not only were they Freemasons,” Mr. Maybrick said, “but his father was a Grand Master, of the highest order. He died defending the Brotherhood in Jerusalem at the Temple Mount.”
My heart thudded as all the pieces started to fall together. I couldn’t be more surprised—though Austen’s face was devoid of emotion, suggesting that he knew all this information. I’d always thought his parents were accosted by robbers, but had his father truly been defending the Freemasons? How?
“You look surprised, Miss Kelly,” Mr. Maybrick said. “I thought perhaps you knew, since your parents were on the same trip, excavating Solomon’s Temple in search of the great secrets of the Knights Templar.”
“That’s why they went?” I asked and turned to Austen. “Did you know?”
Austen’s cheek muscles twitched as he continued to stare at Mr. Maybrick, but he offered a slight nod, acknowledging my question.
“I hate to be the one to tell you,” Mr. Maybrick said, though he didn’t seem contrite. “But, perhaps now that you know, you might convince Mr. Baird to join his rightful place with us.” He looked from Austen to me, his lips curling up in a half smile. “Since it seems you two are close.”
Austen lifted his chin but didn’t respond.
“Your mother sent me out to retrieve you, Miss Kelly,” Mr. Maybrick said as he offered me his arm. “Shall we?”
I stood between Austen and Mr. Maybrick, unsure what to do. There were so many things Austen and I needed to discuss.
But he made the choice for me.
“Goodnight, Miss Kelly.” Austen gave a stiff bow and then turned and walked toward the hedge, disappearing into the night.
10
London, England
September 15, 1938
It had been a week since I’d seen Austen, but whether I was in 1888 or 1938, thoughts of him and our night in the garden shadowed everything. Duffy told me that he had left London the morning after the ball, but no one knew where he had gone, or when he might be back. My heart ached not knowing. I wanted to talk to him, ask him if he had truly returned to London to convince me to love him, because his behavior up until the night in the garden suggested otherwise.
The day was bright and warm as I walked from Lancaster House toward the Café Royal on Regent Street, where I would meet Mama and Papa for lunch. The air was thick with tension as people mobilized for potential war. Hitler had given a speech during the final hours of the Nuremburg Rally three days before, indicating his intention to annex the Sudetenland, a part of Czechoslovakia that was home to three and a half million Germans, regardless of whether they wanted to be annexed to Germany or not. England held no obligation to help Czechoslovakia, but France did, and England was obligated to help France should she go to war. No one wanted another war, and least of all the English prime minister,Neville Chamberlain. He’d boarded an airplane that morning to fly to Germany to negotiate with Hitler.
