“He lost his job,” she said, lifting her shoulder. “And he’s struggling to get more work. Which means.” She took a deep breath. “It means that I need to find another way to pay rent.”
I remembered what she’d told me before. That having one man was better than having several, and my throat began to tighten with alarm.
I squeezed her arm, not wanting to act shocked or mortified, but I couldn’t help it. My sister wasn’t a prostitute, but what choice did a woman in her position have?
“It’s not enough being a charwoman,” she said almost apologetically. “I can’t make the money I need to pay for this room with occasional domestic work. I could go to a boardinghouse, but I’d have to share a room with a dozen or more strangers, and that’s not cheap or safe, either.”
“We can help,” Austen said from where he was still standing near the fireplace. “You don’t need to live like this, Mary.”
She shook her head. “I can’t take your money. People will ask questions.”
“We’re not going to give you a choice,” I told her. I wanted to say that she wouldn’t have to worry about it after November 9th, but there was no way I could—unless. “I know why you left home. I know more about the Book.”
Mary’s gaze came up, and for the first time since I’d entered the room, she really looked at me. “What?”
“I can’t tell you how I know, but I’ve seen a letter written by Sir Charles Warren to Prince Albert Victor. The Book you saw is part of a larger one, split into five sections, and taken out of the Temple Mount in Jerusalem in 1874.” I wasn’t sure how wise it was to tell her all the details, but I needed her to trust me. “Polly Nichols, Annie Chapman, Elizabeth Stride, and Catherine Eddowes were all on the trip with our parents and Austen’s. I think they knew about the Book, and that’s why they ended up here, just like you.”
Mary’s eyes opened wide.
“Austen and I have made plans to take you away from here,” I told her. “To get you to a safer place.”
“Where?” she asked. “Is any place truly safe from the Freemasons?”
“We’re sending you to America,” Austen said, taking a step forward. We had talked about what would happen to Mary once we took her away from Whitechapel but hadn’t planned to tell her now. “You’ll change your name, and I’ll see that my aunt finds a place of employment for you in New York City. You’ll blend in with all the other immigrants there and have a decent life. It might not be the kind you were born into, but it’s a better option than this one.”
Mary looked from Austen to me, as if she was weighing her options. As if she was trying to decide which would be a better life. This one—or the one he spoke about in New York.
“You don’t have a choice,” I told her, wanting to shake her into compliance. “You can’t stay in Whitechapel.”
She nibbled her bottom lip and looked toward the window with longing.
“Are you in love with Joseph?” I asked.
Tears gathered in her eyes again, and she lifted her apron up to her face. “I’m so ashamed, Kathryn.”
“Why?” I asked as I put my arm around her shoulder. “You didn’t choose this life. And you’ve made the best of your circumstances.”
“I can’t leave Joseph. He’ll get back on his feet again. He’s looking for a better job, out of Whitechapel.” She lowered her apron, her eyes pleading. “He wants to marry me, but he said he won’t until he can afford a nice home. He’s a good man.”
“Listen to yourself, Mary.” I frowned, angry and bewildered. “Every time we’ve been here, you were afraid of him coming back.”
“I wasn’t afraid ofhim. I was afraid he might find out I had a sister and then ask me too many questions that I couldn’t answer.”
I was still baffled. “You’d choose to stay in Whitechapel on the unlikely chance that he might make something of himself? Youwould give up the opportunity to work a decent job in New York? To start over with no threat of the Freemasons?”
“I-I think I do love him.”
I was about to tell her how foolish she sounded when I caught sight of Austen, standing quietly, watching us. And it struck me that I couldn’t judge my sister. Her love for Joseph was no less important or real than my love for Austen. And if I could, I would give up everything for him. All the plans I’d made in 1938, the modern conveniences I enjoyed, my work at the Smithsonian, even my life with Mama and Papa.
But I wasn’t given the choice because I wanted to save my sister.
And now I had to convince her to leave this place. There was no other option.
“I will give you some time to think about Austen’s offer,” I told her, trying to keep my voice level. “We’ll come back in a few days and see what you decide.” I’d take her away from this place by force if she didn’t come willingly.
Mary nodded. “I will think about it.”
“Until then,” I said, “I will leave a few coins for you to get by, and I won’t take no for an answer.”
