Though I’d been prepared to see him, my heart still did a funny little flip, and I had to look down at my hands to steady the nerves that came to life in my stomach. It was getting harder and harder to see Austen, to remember his words to me in the garden and his kisses on Berner Street, and to know that our time together was coming to an end.
“Do you need something?” he asked. “I’m on a tight deadline and have very little time to spare.”
Again, his reference to work puzzled me. “What is it that you do?”
“I don’t think that’s why you’ve come.” He sighed. “What do you want, Kate?”
I lifted my chin and faced him with as much courage as I could muster. “I need to know whatyouknow about your parents’ murder.”
“No.”
I stared at him for a moment and then said, “Why not?”
“It’s none of your business.”
My lips parted as I took a step closer to him. “None of my business? Do you know that the first four victims of Jack the Ripper were on that trip to Jerusalem with our parents?”
He frowned. “What?”
“Polly Nichols, Annie Chapman, Elizabeth Stride, and Catherine Eddowes were all in Jerusalem with their husbands. My sister is the only one of the five who wasn’t there. But that means that one woman from each family who was on that trip will be killed by Jack the Ripper. And, if my suspicions are correct, your parents’ murder has something to do with the others.” I grasped his forearms. “I need to know what you know.”
He stared at me for a long time, as if weighing the risk of revealing the truth.
“I can’t tell you,” he said, his voice low, almost apologetic. “And I don’t want you to ask me again.”
Anger came over me so suddenly, it took all my willpower not to shake him. Instead, I removed my hands from his arms and balled my fists against my thighs. “Why are you doing this? You know how frustrated I am that my father and Mary won’t answer my questions. Why are you so pigheaded and obstinate? You know that all of this has something to do with the Freemasons and the trip to Jerusalem. Yet you refuse to tell me because of your own stubborn, foolish, selfish reasons.” Tears stung my eyes, but I was more angry than sad.
He just stared at me.
I took a step back, wiping away my tears, not only because of his stubbornness, but also Mary’s. How could I help them if they wouldn’t let me? “For fourteen years, you’ve treated me with anger and indifference. I’ve tried to understand. Tried to be patient and faithful to our friendship.” My gaze slipped to his lips, and I thought of our kiss, and my heart felt like it was tearing inside me. When I lifted my eyes again, I saw anguish in his gaze. “I don’t know why you want to hurt me, Austen, but I can’t do this anymore. I know that your life has been one injustice after another. I know that you’ve been wounded, more than anyone should ever be—and I know you’re angry that I’m leaving here.” More tears fell from my eyes, but this time I didn’t wipe them away. “But I’ve never intentionally harmed you or pushed you away or shut you out. I’ve never broken your heart.”
“You’ve never brokenmyheart?” he asked, almost incredulous. “Every day I thought about you leaving, my heart broke a little more.” He lowered his arms, defeat in his voice. “Until one day, I realized there was nothing left to break.”
“What would you have me do?” My voice caught, and I had to swallow before I could continue. “Mary needs—”
“What about before?” he asked. “Before you knew that Mary needed you to save her? You were always going to leave, Kathryn.”
“But that was before—” I paused.
“Before what?” he asked.
I pressed my lips together, and for the first time, I was tempted to walk away from Austen and not answer him.
“Before what?” he asked again.
“Before you kissed me,” I blurted out, my cheeks growing warm. “Before I realized—”
He took a step closer to me, his voice low. “Before you realized what?”
This was madness. I couldn’t stay in 1888, so why was I playing with fire? Why was I about to admit to him that I loved him, desperately?
“I can’t keep coming back to you,” I said instead, more tears gathering in my eyes as I lowered my gaze. “If you won’t tell me about your parents, then I have nothing left to say to you. We both know how all of this will end, so why are we torturing ourselves?”
He remained silent.
“Good-bye, Austen.” I didn’t bother to look at him before I left him in the parlor and returned to my house.
I hated crying. I hated feeling defenseless and weak.
