“That should keep you busy for a while.”
As I sat at my desk, I was thankful for the letters, hoping they’d distract me from thoughts of tomorrow in 1888.
If all went as planned, I would see Jack the Ripper in person.
13
London, England
September 29, 1888
It had been raining all day, just as I knew it would from reports I’d read in my other path. My feet and hands were so cold, I could do nothing to get them warm, though I suspected it was more from my nerves and less from the weather.
“Are you certain you’re ill?” Mother asked as she entered my bedroom one more time before she and Father left for a ball at Devonshire House. “I really hate for you to miss the ball. The duke’s son will be there tonight.”
“Spencer Cavendish is over fifty years old,” I protested.
“And a bachelor. It’s rumored that he’s looking for a wife, and a young one at that. He needs an heir.”
I pulled the covers closer to my chin, truly feeling ill—not only from the fear of going to Whitechapel tonight and seeing Jack the Ripper, but from the thought of marrying a man older than my father.
“I do not feel well enough to attend the ball,” I told her. “Please give my regards to the duke and duchess.”
Mother was wearing a beautiful blue ball gown with sapphire earrings and a matching necklace. She was lovely. I almost enviedher passion for society. I didn’t mind a party or two, and I enjoyed things like the house party that the Astors hosted at Cliveden, but balls, especially in 1888, were another thing entirely. They were so exhausting.
“I’ll have Duffy bring you some ginger tea and honey.” Mother shook her head in disappointment. “If this infernal rain would stop, perhaps you would feel better.”
She left the room with the train of her gown sweeping soundlessly across the carpeted floor. I stayed in bed for another half hour, accepted the tea that Duffy brought for me, and then told her she needn’t check on me for the rest of the evening.
When the house was quiet, I slipped out from the covers and removed a pile of clothing from under the bed. I’d been collecting them for the past week, asking Duffy if there were any discarded items that the staff might want to donate to Toynbee Hall. She’d asked the servants in the neighboring homes, and they’d brought several things to me. I’d gone through them and created an outfit that I hoped would disguise me in Whitechapel. After I was done with them, I’d see that they were donated to those in need.
Within ten minutes, I was dressed in a worn gown with a tattered jacket and a shabby bonnet. I hoped it would be enough to keep me warm, though I doubted it. Once it was wet, I would be colder than ever. I shivered just thinking about it.
The clock in the hall struck eleven times, which meant that Austen would be waiting in his carriage out front. We would get to Berner Street around eleven thirty and then wait for Jack and Elizabeth to appear.
I turned out the light in my room and then tiptoed through the hall, down the stairs, and into the front entry. Thankfully, the staff were probably in bed and my parents weren’t expected back until close to sunrise, so I could leave without notice.
The rain fell at a steady cadence as I left my house. Austen’s carriage was waiting just as he promised, and when I appeared, he stepped out of the vehicle and sprinted toward me with an umbrella.
“Thank you,” I said quietly as he put his hand on the small of my back and led me to the carriage. Miles offered his hand for me to climb in, and Austen followed.
“I cannot stress enough the foolishness of this errand,” Austen said without a proper greeting. “I pray you and I do not live to regret it.”
“Good evening, Austen,” I said as I sat next to him, pressed close in the tight carriage. “I hope you’re well tonight.”
“I don’t know how you expect to identify this man in the darkness. No doubt he prowls about on nights such as this because he knows it’s impossible to see him.”
“There will be some light from the businesses and homes nearby.”
“Your optimism is unfounded, Miss Kelly.”
I sighed. When he used my last name, it was never a good thing.
The sound of the horse’s hooves against cobblestone was the only noise that filled the carriage as we traveled across London to the East End. The damp, cold air seeped into my bones, and I longed to press against Austen for warmth, but it would be foolish. The more I touched him, the more I longed for his touch. The more time I spent with him, the more I wanted to be in his company. I still thought of his impassioned speech in the garden the night of my parents’ ball, and I often wondered what might have happened if I had encouraged him—if I would encourage him now.
If I didn’t need to sacrifice this life for Mary, would Austen and I be planning a wedding even now?
The tension between us suggested that perhaps we would.
