I stumbled, causing Calan to come to a stop.
“Is everything alright?” he asked.
“I’m sorry,” I said as I took an unsteady breath. “Yes, everything is fine.”
But was it? Austen was only twenty-five in 1888. That would make him seventy-five today. As Calan and I began to dance again, I searched the ballroom, as if Austen might appear. Yet, I couldn’t see him as part of the Cliveden Set. Not the Austen I knew in 1888. Butwashe alive? And did he live in London? Perhaps at his old address?
A longing so deep and powerful tugged at me to look for him this very moment, even though I was thirty miles away from thecity. But what would I do if I found him? He’d be an old man, and it would shock him to see me again. Nothing good would come from visiting Austen—for him or for me. It was a foolish notion.
When our song came to an end, Calan offered a bow and then handed me over to Papa, who was waiting for the next dance.
As soon as the music began, I fell into Papa’s embrace, needing his strength.
“What’s bothering you,ma chérie?” he asked. “Is it Austen? Mary? Both?”
“Yes.” I put my cheek on his shoulder, unsure if I wanted to talk about it all again.
“If I’ve learned anything, it’s that love cannot be rushed,” he said, a smile in his voice. “And that if it is meant to be, it usually finds a way to thrive.”
I sighed, realizing I did not want to talk about Austen. It was easy for him to say such things, but far harder for me to believe them.
“And,” he continued, “as for Mary, is there anyone who might know why she left home, or if it had anything to do with the Freemasons? Someone close to her. A servant, perhaps.”
I pulled back from his shoulder as a thought occurred to me.
There was one person who might know—someone Mary had trusted, who knew the ins and outs of her daily life better than anyone else.
Someone who had left our house at the same time as Mary.
“Her lady’s maid, Sarah Danbury.”
“And you haven’t thought to ask her before now?”
“At the time, I thought that Mother was making yet another change in the household staff. But perhaps Danbury was let go because she knew too much.”
“There is only one way to find out,” Papa said. “But be careful, Kathryn. The truth can set us free, but it can also put us in danger.”
I nodded, heeding his words.
I’d already discovered the wisdom in his warning.
15
London, England
October 1, 1888
The next day, I found myself at 50 Chester Square, an elegant townhome in Belgravia, one of the more affluent districts in central London. The day was overcast, and rain still fell from the dark clouds. To Londoners, the Double Event had just happened the day before, and news was starting to circulate.
My fifteen-minute walk from Wilton Crescent had taken me past several groups of people standing on street corners with newspapers, shaken by the unthinkable. How had the murderer gotten away withtwokillings on the same night? And why had Sir Charles Warren erased the graffito on the wall?
There was a heaviness that permeated the air. Even in our home, the staff whispered about the murders. It was all anyone could think about. With the popularity and subsequent closure ofThe Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, the public started to question if the killer was a physician like Dr. Jekyll with knowledge of anatomy to accomplish his gruesome tasks. The image of a man in a top hat and overcoat, and carrying a doctor’s bag, stalking the dark, foggy streets of Whitechapel, had started to appear on the front cover of all the newspapers.
I knocked on the door of 50 Chester Square and took a deep breath. The owner of the home, Mrs. Windham, was a family acquaintance. She had hired Danbury after she left our house, or so Duffy had told me.
The butler soon answered the door, and I was invited in out of the rain. He took my umbrella and set it on a drying rack and then led me into the parlor.
“My dear Miss Kelly,” Mrs. Windham said as she arrived a few minutes later. “What a lovely surprise.” She smiled and motioned to one of the chairs. “I’ve rang for tea. Won’t you have a seat?”
