As we walked through the exhibit, I gave them all the details, though I didn’t mention my suspicions about the victims’ connection to the Freemasons. I wasn’t sure if King George was a member of the Freemasons and how much he might know aboutthe cover-up. I wasn’t foolish enough to think that if I cracked the truth open, the Freemasons would let it stay open. Especially if King George was a Grand Master, as Prince Albert Victor had been in 1888.
And even if I did, I would be changing history in 1938, as well, and that was a risk I couldn’t take.
The king and queen asked several questions and showed great interest in the exhibit, but when we came to the pictures of the victims, they both declined to look at them.
I didn’t want to look at them again, either.
“What a fabulous exhibit,” the queen said. “Jack the Ripper has fascinated me since I was a child.”
“I’ve always found it odd,” King George mused as he looked at the items found in the victims’ pockets. “He has fascinated countless people, yet there have been others before and after him who were much more heinous. Why do you think we are so intrigued by Jack the Ripper?”
“Perhaps it’s because he was never caught,” the queen offered. “And that he always seemed just out of reach of the authorities. Kind of like a mythical creature. The evidence of his existence was real, but no one could catch him. And then his terror ended as abruptly as it began, causing more speculation about the monster.”
“I think you’re right,” I said. “And the more time that passes, the more his legendary status grows.”
We were almost to the letters Jack had written when an aide-de-camp stepped into the room and nodded at them. “Your Majesties? I believe it’s time to go upstairs for the ceremony, and then we must be off for your next appointment.”
“We do hate to rush,” Queen Elizabeth said, “but duty calls.”
“Of course.” I smiled.
“The exhibit is magnificent,” she said. “You have much to be proud of.”
“Thank you.”
We were ushered out of the exhibit hall and up the stairs to thecentral room of Lancaster House, where there was more space for people to gather.
The king and queen’s presence had not been advertised and was completely unexpected for our guests. Excited chatter filled the room as the royals smiled and nodded. They took their places on the landing of the massive formal staircase where we would address the audience, though neither of them planned to speak.
Even though the room was full, I felt lonelier than ever. I longed for Mama and Papa and for Austen and Lydia and Mary. I even missed Father and Mother, though neither one would approve of me having a career. I couldn’t fathom what they would say or think if they knew the truth about my time-crossing. They would be impressed that I’d met the king and queen, though, and that put a smile on my face.
After Sir Rothschild welcomed everyone to the London Museum and gave a special mention to the king and queen, he turned to Calan and me.
“It is with much gratefulness that I introduce our guest exhibit curators, Mr. Calan McCaffrey and Miss Kathryn Voland.”
After Calan said a few words, everyone clapped as I stepped up to the microphone and looked out at the eager faces in the crowd. A few people still carried their gas masks in boxes slung over their shoulders, but most people had accepted that Hitler was no longer an imminent threat. I knew differently—especially with my father held captive somewhere in Germany.
I squared my shoulders, knowing he wouldn’t want me to cower or back down from this crowning achievement of my career. Both he and Mama had always encouraged me to pursue my dreams and passions, and he would be the proudest of all if he were standing there. So, I pushed forward with the speech I had prepared.
As I spoke about Jack the Ripper and, more importantly, about his five victims, I couldn’t help but feel a deep connection with them. Not only because I worked on the exhibit and because my sister was supposed to be the last victim, but because tomorrow, I would thwart his plans and save Mary.
It was late when Sir Rothschild and his wife, Bianca, brought me back to 44 Berkeley Square. All evening, I had hoped to see Mama or one of the Astors arrive with good news, but there had been nothing.
As Sir Rothschild walked me to the front door, I prayed that no news was good news and that they hadn’t kept something from me so I could enjoy the grand opening.
“Thank you for everything,” Sir Rothschild said again as he stood at the door with me. “We will keep waiting to hear of news about your father. I know that you have things in your office at the museum that you would like to take home with you, but don’t rush to gather them on our account. Take your time. We will see you whenever you can come.”
I nodded my thanks and then entered the townhouse, closing the door behind me.
Slowly, I walked up the stairs, tired and heartsore. Now that the work of the day was behind me, I was more exhausted than I realized. I just wanted to rest, but to do that, I would have to forget about tomorrow in 1888. And that was an impossible feat.
“Mama?” I asked as I entered the parlor quietly.
She was sitting near the hearth, her elbow on the armrest, her chin in her hand, staring into the fire. Without even asking, I knew that there had been no news.
“Kathryn.” She turned and motioned for me to join her.
I knelt beside her and smiled, my love for her as keen as any other emotion I’d ever felt. She represented all that was good and hopeful in my life. She was my connection to the past, the present, and the future.
