Ripped (31 page)

Toby exploded. “
Utterly absurd!
And if you believe such nonsense, you belong in an asylum. Perhaps Mrs. Tray couldn't see you because you have a disease in your brain. Bats in your belfry. Loose nails in the coffin of your mind!”

The gas jets sputtered to life as the train chugged and then lurched into the next station. Moments later the doors rattled open. Katie jumped up to leave, giddy with relief to see light outside and feel fresh air. But Toby grabbed her and forced her back into the seat.

Katie took several deep breaths, hating the thought of being closed up in the narrow carriage again. She whirled angrily on Toby.

“What Mrs. Tray
said
was that I'm from the London Stone. And she's right, Toby. I'm a time-traveler. There! Are you satisfied? I don't know how or why, but it's the truth. I'm here because I want to save Lady Beatrix from being slaughtered. If Jack the Ripper isn't stopped, Lady Beatrix will be the Ripper's last victim, the most horrifying and gruesome of all the murders. Can you live with that, Toby? Can you live with knowing you might have saved her?”

“Why should I believe you?”

“I'll tell you everything I know, every last detail, and you can do what you please with the information. I'll return home through the portal in the London Stone. I never wanted to lie to you Toby, or deceive you, or cheat you. I'm not a thief. I'm just an ordinary girl from the twenty-first century!”

Chapter Thirty-six

Green Grass and Flower Names say the Park Bells of St. James

T
o
by was silent
as a new set of passengers streamed into the train and shook out their newspapers. Then, just as the doors began to rattle shut, he jerked Katie up and shoved her through the half-open door, which snapped closed behind them with a resounding clank.

Katie turned just in time to see the beefy man with the moustache leap up to follow them out, but he was too late. As the train pulled away from the platform, his swarthy face, plastered to the glass, turned white with mottled blotches against his cheeks. He banged angrily against the doors with his fist as his menacing eyes held Katie's through the window.

Smoke billowed from the steam engine. There came a tremendous hiss and clatter as the train hurtled away into the darkness.

“Who
was
that?” Katie asked, blinking and rubbing her eyes.

“I don't know. He followed us from Traitors' Gate. The other man, I
did
recognize.”

“What other man?”

“The fawning little toff in the silk top hat with the candle. He works for Major Brown. He was at Mary Ann Nichols's autopsy.”

A chill went through Katie. “Do you think they overheard us?”

“No. There was too much noise in the train.”

Katie suddenly had a new fear. “What if those men return to Traitors' Gate and question Mrs. Tray? What if she tells them about the London Stone, and about
me?
” Railway steam continued to choke the air and catch in Katie's throat.

“The Oracle of Traitors' Gate would never rattle and pitch. Not Mrs. Tray.” Toby took Katie's elbow and guided her up a set of granite stairs into daylight above.

“How can you be so sure? That man with the moustache might rough her up. She's an old lady. No match for—” Katie stopped in midsentence. The jiggling of the train was still with her. The ground below seemed to rock back and forth. She grabbed Toby's arm and waited for the spinning motion to settle down.

“Take deep breaths,” Toby said, leading her to a park bench. “You don't have to worry about Mrs. Tray. No one bothers her. Ever. She'd put a right good hex on them if they dared.”

“Oh, Toby! There's no such thing as a hex. I know you believe that sort of superstitious stuff, but it's not possible. Trust me, I know more about modern science than you could ever imagine. No one can put a hex on someone.”

“But they can travel back in time through a stone?” Toby snorted derisively.

When Katie was almost, but not entirely, over her bout of dizziness, Toby hammered her again. “So, lass. Tell me why I should believe you're a”—he had trouble saying the words, as if they burned his mouth—“
time-traveler?
”

She began to explain, hesitantly at first, about how she and her cousin Collin, and his friend, Toby, had gone to Madame Tussauds in the twenty-first century to see the Jack the Ripper exhibit. Then Katie started talking so fast, her words came out in a jumble about the waxwork victims and potential Ripper suspects.

“Whoa! Slow down, lass.”

Katie took a deep breath, but continued in a rush. “I didn't want to come here, Toby! I didn't
ask
to come here. I went to Madame Tussauds with my cousin and his friend because the London Stone was on display. I only wanted to wish for something simple. I wanted to tell my parents I loved them and . . . and to say good-bye. Sounds stupid, I know. It's not as if I actually
believed
I could make some sort of cosmic wish and it would come true, but there's this weird legend attached to the London Stone that if you're pure of heart, you'll get whatever you ask for.”

Katie took another gulp of air and rushed on before she lost her nerve. “My mom and dad died in a car crash. They were picking up my cousin Collin at the airport. He's a direct descendant of
your
Collin, here in the nineteenth century. Anyway, on their way to the airport in Boston, my parents were in a collision. That's why I put my finger into the Raven's Claw fissure in the London Stone. I just wanted to say good-bye. And I wanted my sister to come home. By mistake, I must have whispered something about Jack the Ripper, because the next thing I knew I was hurtling through time and landed here in your century!”

Toby remained silent.

A spasm of fear shot through Katie. Toby would walk away from her because he thought she was crazy. Deranged. He'd have the Duke commit her to an asylum for the insane.

“Aren't you going to say something?” she wailed, and her voice to her own ears sounded pathetic, like a child begging forgiveness. But there was nothing to forgive. She'd done nothing wrong. Other than conceal her real identity, lie about being psychic, and not tell the truth about where she came from. Minor quibbles in the grand scheme of things.

“I've a question for you, lass.”

“Shoot.”

“Shoot what?” He stared at her, perplexed.

“No. I mean, okay, hit me.”

“Hit you?” Both eyebrows shot up this time.

“I mean, ask your question! Just remember, Toby, as weird as this is to you, it's a gazillion times weirder for me. I'm living it! And unless
you
are Jack the Ripper, I could use a little help here. Go ahead. Ask me anything.”

“What's an airport?” he asked levelly, meeting her eyes without a flicker of anger or annoyance or disbelief.

“That's it? I thought you'd be totally pissed off and ready to commit me to an insane asylum. You look as if you actually believe me!”

“I do.”

“But why? I mean,
why would you?
”

Toby explained that the last thing Mrs. Tray had whispered to him was that if Katie told him how her parents died, he would know she was telling the truth. And that this truth would be far more difficult to believe than anything he could dream up on his own.

“So,” continued Toby, thoughtfully rubbing his chin. “The only idea I could dream up on my own was that you were either a spy, a member of a secret society, a supernatural being such as a ghost, a witch, or a vampire . . . or you were just plain crazy. But a time-traveler? I didn't think of
that
. So, let me get this straight, your parents were riding in their carriage, which must have overturned—”

“Not a carriage. A car.”

“I know what a car is, Katie. It's the cab within a carriage.”

“No, it's an automobile. A . . . um . . . I think you call it—
or will call it
—a horseless carriage. And an airport is where airplanes land.”

“What's an airplane?”

Katie began to laugh, softly at first, then all out. She saw the intelligence in Toby's face, and the humor, too. Gone was the bleak, disbelieving face he had shown her back in the underground railway. She wanted to hug him. No . . . she wanted to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him. A cousinly kiss, of course.

She relaxed and, still grinning, said, “An airplane is sort of like a train, only it . . . er . . . flies. Through the sky. Through the clouds. Up in the air.” Katie held her breath, but when she let it out slowly, Toby just nodded.

“I suppose, lass, if we can travel at lightning speed underneath the ground, it's not much of a leap of faith to believe that we shall someday hurtle overhead in a flying train. Though you won't catch me riding upon one. Not if I have any say in it.”

Katie reached over and gave him a hug.

Toby looked startled, then pleased. “Now, lass,” he said. “Just because I believe your cock-and-bull story doesn't mean I'm susceptible to your charms. Nor will I allow you to take liberties with my affections. A proper young lady does
not
hug a gentleman in public.” Toby tsk-tsked and tugged out his pocket watch. “Best be on our way.”

They walked across the street, past the Lyceum Theatre, with its giant billboard advertising
Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde
, and on through the northern tip of Green Park. As they walked, Katie couldn't take in enough fresh air. She had hated being underground amid the sulfurous fumes, smoke, and roar of the engine.

All around them in the park, autumn leaves rustled. Glossy green grass was turning to golden brown beneath the elm trees. White birches and giant beeches made dancing, leafy patterns against the clear blue sky. Katie felt happier than she had in days.

They strolled down a path flanked by black-eyed Susans swaying in the breeze, their black middles and yellow petals drooping heavily over long, orange stalks. Neat rows of flower beds showed roses still in bloom; spirals of white and purple phlox shimmered in the afternoon light.

Katie smiled as her boots scraped against the paving stones. What was the analogy Mrs. Tray had used to describe Toby's mother? The sound a petal makes when it falls to the ground. Katie glanced at Toby. His sound, if there were such a thing, would be a million oak leaves rustling in the autumn wind, straining to be free.

“What are you thinking about, lass?” Toby asked, his strong nose and handsome face catching the fading rays of the sun.

Katie tried to contain her amusement. “
You.
”

“Well, then,” Toby said, his smile steady, his eyes full of laughter. “I'll leave you to your thoughts—as wonderful as they
surely
must be.”

Katie laughed happily, and then suddenly stopped as she remembered something else.
Someone else
. Collin. How he would die on the moors in a hunting accident. She thought about her grandmother's family Bible and the historical details recorded there. A year from now, on September 12, 1889, Collin would lose his footing and drown in a peat bog on the moors. And this was
after
he married Prudence Farthington and produced an heir.
I
'
ve got to warn Toby
.
He
can save Collin
.

Katie shook her head.
No, I can
'
t tell Toby
.
At least not right now
. It was enough that Toby believed she could travel through time. And that he believed her about Jack the Ripper. There would be plenty of time later when he trusted her more. Still . . . maybe she could hint at it.

“Toby . . . ” Katie took a deep breath. “There's one more thing. Promise me you will never, ever venture out on the moors with Collin. Especially a year from now. Exactly a year from now. Never, ever. Promise?” She didn't mention her grandmother's family Bible, or that Collin would marry Prudence Farthington. Nor did she tell him that Tobias Becket, trusted family friend, would be with Collin Chesterfield Twyford, the third, when he died on September the twelth, in 1889.
I can
'
t dump one more thing on
Toby
'
s plate. He
'
s got enough to swallow right now.
And if history can
'
t be changed . . . if we can
'
t stop Jack the Ripper and save Lady Beatrix, there
'
s no hope for Collin
.

Katie stared up at Toby. His strong jaw, glossy black hair, and rugged features made her heart pound. But it was his kind, fathomless dark eyes that just about did her in.
If I tell Toby about Collin
'
s death on the moors, and Toby
isn
'
t able to prevent it, how awful is that?
Is it better to know the future or not know? Katie decided that if she could actually change history, even a little bit, by stopping Jack the Ripper, or saving any of those girls, then she'd tell Toby about Collin's accidental drowning in a peat bog—or at least what was recorded in the family chronicle of births and deaths.

With the exit to the park looming in front of them, Toby met Katie's gaze and his tone grew serious. “I think we'd best keep this time-travel business to ourselves. Collin can't be relied upon to keep a secret. And if you go spouting off about the London Stone being a portal into the past, others might think you're a wee bit cracked, up here—” He tapped his forehead. “Have we got a deal, then lass?”

Katie nodded. “It's a jellied eel as long as you agree not to tell Major Gideon Brown. We can't risk it. He's a police officer, which gives him the perfect alibi to be prowling the streets at night. The perfect disguise for Jack the—” Katie stopped when she saw Toby's expression.

Annoyance tugged at the corners of his mouth. “For now,” he conceded. “But you're wrong about Major Brown. He's a Cockney who has risen to the top ranks in Scotland Yard. He's totally trustworthy.” Toby's eyes fastened on hers. “The very idea that he might be a suspect—”