I swallowed. I didn’t want to lie—but I couldn’t tell him the truth. I shook my head, tasting real fear for the first time.
“I’ve warned you, Kathryn.” He put his hands on either side of the arm rests, his face coming close to mine as he leaned forward. “I cannot protect you if you know too much. Stop looking for answers.”
I wanted to tell him I’d already found them, but I didn’t want to end up like Mary. I only had two days left, and I needed one of them to help my sister.
“Perhaps you should stay home tonight,” he said, standing up straighter while he adjusted the lapels of his coat. “We will give your regrets to the hostess while you stay in your room and think long and hard about what you plan to do with your life. You have a choice, Kathryn. You can keep going down the path you’re on and end up like your sister and the others who went to Whitechapel, or you can follow in your mother’s footsteps and be silent and compliant.”
Was that why Polly, Annie, Elizabeth, and Catherine died? They refused to be silent and compliant. I wanted to ask him, but I didn’t dare.
“Go on,” he said as he took a step back. “But if I hear that you went to Austen’s or that he entered this house, you will not be living here come morning.”
I was a twenty-three-year-old woman being sent to my room, and it rankled. But I also knew what my father could do, and I would not test the limits of his patience.
I went to my room, but I didn’t go to bed. I couldn’t. It was still early, and I planned to see Austen as soon as my parents left. I would send word to him through Duffy.
Austen couldn’t come to my house, and I couldn’t go to his. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t meet him somewhere else.
At the appointed hour, I snuck out of my home on Wilton Crescent and walked the ten minutes to Hyde Park and the Statue of Achilles. I’d told Austen to meet me there in the note I had sent with Duffy. I just prayed he would get it in time.
Clouds covered the moon as I made my way along the dark street toward the park. Austen, Mary and I had come here often as children, drawn to the impressive sculpture that stood over thirty feet high. It was on the east end of the park, close enough to reach easily at this time of night, yet sheltered enough that we would have a bit of privacy.
It had grown cold since the sun went down, and a wind had come up, making me pull my cape closer to my body. Though this part of London was relatively safe, I couldn’t stop thinking about Jack the Ripper and his next planned victim—my sister. I had no reason to think he’d been watching me, but I couldn’t be certain. It was probably a foolish idea to leave the house this late at night. Alone. With only Austen knowing where I planned to go.
I kept my head low as I passed people on the street. It was far too late to be out for social calls. If anyone knew my identity, my reputation would be ruined.
But none of that mattered. I needed to speak to Austen. To tell him what had happened to Papa in 1938 and to make sure all our plans to help Mary were in place.
And, more than anything, I simply wanted to be with him.
I made it to the statue, but there was no one within sight. I had hoped Austen would be waiting for me, though I had arrived earlier than I planned.
The wind whipped the leafless branches of the trees overhead and whistled a low, moaning sound through the park. I shivered as I stood near the statue, on full alert to anyone who might come by. My fingers and nose were cold, so I brought my hands up to my mouth to blow warm air into them.
A lone man entered the park. I watched him closely, but quickly realized it wasn’t Austen. My heart began to beat hard as he came closer. I moved deeper into the shadows, praying he would pass by.
Thankfully, he turned on the path and moved out of sight.
My entire body shook as I realized this had been a mistake. I was headstrong, but I wasn’t usually foolish, and the longer I stood there, alone, the more foolish I felt.
Twenty minutes passed, and I was about to return home when I saw another man enter the park and walk toward the statue. I knew instantly that it was Austen, and my pulse sped for a different reason as relief and joy washed over me. His stride was so dear, so familiar, I wanted to run to him. But I waited behind the statue until he was within earshot.
“I’m here,” I said quietly.
He turned toward the sound of my voice and joined me at the statue. It was then that I noticed he was carrying something in his hands. He set it on the base of the statue and opened his arms to me.
I entered them freely as he enveloped me.
“As soon as I got home and saw your note, I raced to get here,” he said. “You shouldn’t be alone in the park at any time, but especially not now, when we don’t know if Jack has been watching you.”
“Father forbade me from going to your house or for you to come to mine. But I had to see you.” My voice caught with emotion. “I’ve wanted to see you all day—to tell you—” I couldn’t bring myself to voice the reality of what was happening in 1938.
“What is it, Kate?” He pulled back to study me. And though it was dark, my eyes had adjusted enough to see his face.
“Papa was abducted in 1938.” My voice faltered, and I found it harder to tell him than I expected. I relayed everything we’d learned the day before, and when I was done, he drew me into his arms again and held me tight.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I wish I could do something to help you.”
“You are. Maybe not there, but here.” I clung to him, trying to remember all the little details I could. The smell of his cologne, the feel of his arms, the sound of his voice. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”
