“Miles will drop us off several blocks away from Berner Street and return for us later,” Austen finally said as we neared Whitechapel. “You must stay close at all times, and do not question me. If I say run, run. If I say hide, hide. Do you understand?”
“Of course.”
“We cannot change history in any way. You cannot try to be a hero.”
“I’m well aware.” I started to feel irritated at his tone, as if I were a child and didn’t understand the dire circumstances of our errand.
“We are there to observe,” he continued, “and if you don’t get the view you want, then you have to accept it.”
I finally turned to him. “I’m not foolish, Mr. Baird.”
“I’ve never thought you were foolish.” He studied me in the darkness, his voice softening. “I do not wish for you to be disappointed, Kate, that is all.”
His words warmed me, and I leaned back in the seat, allowing our shoulders to brush. “Thank you for coming with me.”
“This goes against my better judgment, but I know how much it means to you.”
He didn’t move away from me as we turned onto Commercial Road and then a smaller lane where the carriage came to a stop.
Austen stepped out of the carriage and helped me alight. The street was darker than I anticipated, and the rain was falling faster, but Austen opened his umbrella and held it over my head. My heart pounded hard, and my palms were sweating, despite how cold they were. Thankfully, there was no one within sight to see the two of us leaving a gentleman’s carriage.
“I’ll return here at 1:30 to collect you,” Miles said. “The copper on this beat comes by every thirty-five minutes, and his last round will be at 1:20. If you’re not back by 1:50, I will leave and then return.”
“We should be here by 1:30,” Austen assured him.
Miles nodded and then clicked his tongue as he prodded the horse to move.
“How does Miles know the police officer’s schedule?” I asked Austen.
He didn’t answer, but wrapped my hand around the crook of his elbow and held the umbrella over us as he directed me toward Commercial Street.
“Is Miles not concerned about what we’re doing in Whitechapel at this hour?” I persisted.
“Miles has been with me for many years,” Austen said. “He doesn’t ask questions.”
“That’s a bit disconcerting. Do you two often find yourself in situations such as this one? Should I be worried?”
He drew me closer and sighed. “You, on the other hand, ask a lot of questions.”
“Because you don’t give me enough answers.”
“Perhaps that’s by design.”
“Where were you those two weeks after my mother’s party, Austen? Your staff doesn’t even know where you go.”
He was quiet for so long, I wasn’t sure he would answer, but he finally said, “I have a little cottage near Loch Lomond. I go there when I don’t want to be disturbed.”
“I remember the cottage,” I said, though I hadn’t thought of his Scottish getaway in a long time. It took almost an entire day of travel to get there. “You used to go there with your parents.”
“It’s the only place I feel like I can think properly.”
I let the discussion go because I knew why he’d gone there after our conversation in the garden. He needed space and time away from me.
Though it was now half past eleven, the activity on Commercial Road was surprisingly busy. Pubs and lodging houses lined the street with grocers’ and coffee houses still open. In the glow of the lights from doors and windows, I saw that Austen had also dressed a little shabbier than usual, and he had a shadow of a beard on his face. He wore a flatcap and a wool jacket that looked worn. But regardless of his clothes, he was still handsome, and when his gaze caught mine, it caused my pulse to skitter in a way that was new and unfamiliar.
As we passed rough-looking men on the street, I was thankful for Austen, who had a commanding and possessive presence about him. The other men looked at me, but none approached. Though it didn’t stop women from calling out to him or using suggestive language as we passed by.
Soon, we came to the corner of Commercial Road and BernerStreet. Dutfield’s Yard would be on the right, about a hundred yards from the corner.
