“I promise you, Toby, I’m from this planet, just like you. I’m not an alien from Mars. I’ve traveled a great distance to get here, that’s all. The one thing I can tell you, though, with my hand on my heart, is I’m alive. I live and breathe. And I’m real in the here and now.”
“That’s not all you’re going to confess to me, lass. When we leave here, you’re going to explain yourself. You’re going to tell me everything! Even if I have to hit the great bloody London Stone over your thick skull, I’ll have answers!”
“Oh, dear me. Dear, dear me. Tobias. Such a temper. There shall be no hitting of stones upon anyone’s head. Is that clear, young man?”
“Crystal clear, ma’am,” Toby said through gritted teeth.
Chapter Thirty-five
Steam Coal and Fame say the Bells of Mark Lane
“All right then,” Toby said, a harsh edge to his voice. His mouth was drawn down, his eyes fixed on Katie. “We can walk several miles back to Twyford Manor, or”—his face broke into a twisted, almost devious smile—“we can take the Underground Railway.”
From the way Toby was glaring, Katie knew he was challenging her. She remembered reading about the first subway trains in London and how people were frightened to ride them. Was that it? Was Toby trying to scare her into telling him who she was and where she came from?
Katie raised her chin. The last thing she was afraid of was the Metro System. She’d ridden the Tube so often she could almost do it blindfolded. How difficult could it be in this century? If Toby expected her to cower, he was mistaken.
“Let’s take the Underground!” she said breezily, and by the surprised look on his face, Katie knew she’d been right. Proper young ladies probably wilted dead away at the thought of traveling below ground. She bit back a smile. Toby was so transparent.
“Are you sure, luv?” A hint of disbelief, or was that derision, in his voice?
“Of course.” Katie pulled an innocent face.
“Most twist ’n’ swirls are afraid to go down into the subterranean bowels of Hades.”
“Not me.” Katie smiled sweetly. “Won’t bother me one bit.”
Toby definitely had something up his sleeve. Katie could sense it. But if he was planning on frightening her into revealing what she knew about the London Stone, it wasn’t going to work. She’d offer him a portion of the truth. She had to. But as far as she was concerned, Toby was on a need-to-know basis, and he didn’t need to know. At least not everything. Mrs. Tray had said that people from the Stone could not change the course of events by themselves. Which was why Katie needed Toby’s help. But Katie also knew, with the razor-sharp certainty of a dagger at her throat, that if she told Toby she had traveled back in time, he’d think she was crazy. What’s more, he might even try to thwart her efforts to stop Jack the Ripper.
No, Katie couldn’t risk it.
After leaving Traitors’ Gate, Katie and Toby hiked back along the River Thames, with the southern side of the Bloody Tower on their right. Passing the Warders’ Hall, they traversed a wooden bridge over the moat and made their way toward the location of the Tower Hill Tube Station.
When they crested the hill, it wasn’t there. Instead, across the cobbled avenue was an ornate glass archway with a mosaic-tile sign: “Mark Lane Underground Railway.”
The Tube stations must be different here, Katie thought, sweeping her gaze across the street, searching for the Roman Wall, but couldn’t find it either. Maybe the famous fortification hadn’t been excavated yet. One sign pointed the way to the Corn Exchange and another to Billingsgate Fish Market.
Toby bought penny-fare tickets at the kiosk and together they descended the granite steps to the polished platform to await the train. The terminal smelled of acrid smoke, making Katie’s eyes water. She tried hard to remember what she’d read about the early days of the Underground Railway.
“Um . . . Toby?” she ventured. “The trains . . . are . . . electric . . . aren’t they? I mean they have electric motors, right . . . ?”
He shot her a look. “Not a bit of it. They run on steam. Not to worry, luv. This line has ventilation shafts for all the foul-smelling fumes. You won’t die of asphyxiation like some earlier passengers.”
She pursed her lips. Was he kidding? People had actually died of asphyxiation down here? She swiveled her gaze, trying to take it all in. The platform was tiled with shiny mosaics and lit from above by an enormous sky-lighted arch, like a giant greenhouse. Running parallel was a similar arched roof but with steel girders that covered the entire length of a ditch below where train tracks stretched as far as the eye could see into a dark tunnel.
An ear-splitting blast, followed by an explosion of gleaming metal, burst from the train tunnel. A steam-engine locomotive roared toward them, chugging and whistling, then ground to a screeching halt. Six linked carriages, like coachman carriages, came to a jittering stop. Doors rattled open, and men smoking cigars poured out. There were no women that Katie could see.
Toby took Katie’s elbow and steered her toward the last compartment of the train, which was half empty and didn’t resemble any subway car Katie had ever ridden in. The inside was decorated with ornate mirrors, purple tufted seats, and oil lamps. It was as if they were stepping into someone’s front parlor. The walls were padded in maroon leather. And the windows were hung with curtains!
Toby guided Katie to a row of seats that looked like sofas nailed to the floor in matching rows of eight. Diagonally across the aisle, a mild, peering little man wearing a silk top hat sank into his seat and tugged a small candle out of his pocket. Placing the candle into a brass holder on the windowsill, he struck a match, lit the wick, and began to read his newspaper.
The candle confused Katie because oil lamps jutting out from the walls blazed sufficiently to read. Several more passengers, all men, took seats across from one another at the rear of the car, pulled out their own candles, and settled them in metal holders on the window ledges.
Katie stared around, awestruck. “I’m sitting in one of the first underground trains in the world!” she thought, feeling goosebumps prickle up her arms. Or did New York City have the first subway system? Katie wasn’t sure. But this was so cool! Her cousin Collin back home would have loved this. He was a total train junkie. Collin and Aunt Pru collected railway timetables from all over the world. Katie tried not to show her excitement, but this was amazing!
“You won’t be smiling in a minute, luv,” Toby said through gritted teeth. “Especially if you don’t relish being shut in.” There was a fierceness in his voice.
“I’m not claustrophobic. Never have been. This doesn’t bother me a bit. I’ve been on plenty of”—she was about to say subway trains—“underground places. Like caves and . . . tunnels . . . and . . . um . . . stuff,” she ended lamely.
“Well, then, this’ll be a Noah’s ark for you.”
“Noah’s ark? A walk in the park?”
Toby shook his head. “A lark.”
“Yes. It will be a lark,” Katie agreed.
Across the aisle, a heavy-jowled, grizzled man with a bristle-brush moustache plunked himself down next to the man in the silk top hat. His shrewd eyes traveled slowly about the compartment, taking in the other passengers, and when his gaze settled on Katie, a flicker of a wry smile formed below his bristly moustache.
The locomotive lurched, then rattled, then thundered away from the platform with a sound like the deafening backfire of a dozen motorcycles. Katie didn’t exactly bounce in her seat, but she was definitely joggling to and fro as if she were sitting on a power lawn mower.
“So?” Toby said, watching the heavy-jowled man from the corner of his eyes. “I need you to answer my questions with the utmost honesty.”
“Cross my heart and hope to die. I won’t lie to you, Toby. Ask away.”
The gas lamps winked on and off, sputtered, and went out completely. They were bumping up and down in near darkness, with only the jiggling candles on the window ledges for illumination.
“Are you a spy, Katie?”
“A sp—? No.”
The heavy-jowled man across the aisle tugged out a cigar, lighted it with a sweep of a matchstick against the heel of his boot, and continued staring at Katie.
“Are you the Duke’s goddaughter?” Toby asked in a harsh whisper that emanated from deep within in his throat.
“No. I mean, sort of . . . but not exactly.”
“Don’t feather and hay me, lass. If I find you’ve deceived the Duke, you’ll go down on your knees and beg his forgiveness.”
The cigar man cut his gaze from Katie to Toby and back again.
Katie coughed loudly. The tobacco smoke, combined with the acrid smell seeping into the carriage from the belching steam engine, was making her gag.
“Coal dust,” Toby whispered. “Like I told you. You won’t die from the fumes, but it’s not pleasant. I’ve a mind to travel around and around, back and forth on this underground line, until you tell me the truth. It will get far more disagreeable than this. Some say it’s like taking a trip into the cauldron fires of Hell.”
Katie gritted her teeth as a fresh wave of nausea hit her full force. She turned toward the rattling window and stared outside, trying desperately to set her gaze on something stationary. But it was black as pitch, and the only thing she could discern was the reflection of the cigar stub, like a gleaming red eye.
“Mrs. Tray says you don’t exist. Are you a ghost, then?”
“A ghost? No,” Katie sputtered. The air inside the carriage billowed with noxious fumes.
“An angel, then?”
“No, Toby. Not an angel. Nothing surreal or supernatural.”
“You’re here, but not here. Not of this world. That makes you either a ghost, an angel, a demon, or . . . Are you in some sort of secret society, Katie? That’s it, isn’t it? There’s been talk of subversive social orders trying to do good, but doing ill instead. You’re in some sort of society involving the London Stone, aren’t you? The stone is probably used for initiation rites.”
The man across the aisle leaned forward as if straining to hear what they were saying. He slid his cigar from his mouth and knocked ashes onto the floor, a wrinkle of concentration creasing his beefy forehead.
“No. Absolutely not! I’m not from any secret society,” Katie whispered, taking deep breaths to calm her queasy stomach.
“We are twenty feet below ground, lass. Above us is solid, packed earth. There are those who come down into these tunnels who never come up again. I’ve a flask of tea and brandy in my pocket. It helps calm the stomach. It’s all yours if you tell me who you are and why you’re here. What’s your game? What are you playing at?”
“No game, Toby, I swear.” Katie concentrated on watching swirls of smoke curl upwards to the roof of the carriage.
“Mrs. Tray believes you’ve deceived me, Katie. Deceived the Duke.”
“Not deceived . . . exactly. At least I never intended to deceive you. Look, Toby. I’m as confused by this as anyone. More so, probably. I don’t know why I’m here other than to stop Jack the Ripper.”
“So you are from a secret society sent here on a mission? Which is tantamount to being a spy. An American spy. That’s punishable by swinging from the gallows.”
“I’m not a spy! I’m closer to being an alien from a different . . . er . . . time, than a spy.” Katie could feel the rapid race of her pulse. She tried to calm herself by taking long, slow breaths, but the air was so smoky and sulfurous all she could do was sputter and gag.
“If we stay underground long enough, asphyxiation from the fumes plays cruel tricks on the mind and the stomach. What’s it to be? Tell me the truth, or we stay down here all day. I’ll wager you’re not clairvoyant either, are you?”
“I’m not clairvoyant. But I can predict the future. Sort of. At least where it pertains to those girls who are about to be murdered.”
“Was it a parlor trick with the stuffed vulture?”
“Sort of.”
“A hoax to deceive me?”
“I guess.”
“How did you know what was written on the parchment?”
“If I told you, Toby, you wouldn’t believe me.”
“Try me.”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“I can’t risk it.”
He gave a snorting laugh. “The way I see it, Katie, you’re a liar and a cheat. Are you a thief as well?”
“Only of time,” Katie said under her breath, but he’d heard her.
“A thief of my emotions and of my time. A liar, a deceiver, and a cheat. All in a day’s work, eh, lass? Well, I’m washing my hands of you. This is the end. I’ll not do your bidding, nor speak to you, nor squire you about. The Oracle of Traitors’ Gate was right. You don’t exist. Not for me. Not any more.”
“Toby. What if I told you I haven’t been born yet, would you believe me?”
He turned his back on her.
“What if I told you I don’t belong in your world. I belong in mine, which just happens to be in another century?”
He continued to ignore her.
“There, you see? You don’t want to know the truth! You wouldn’t believe the truth if it bit you in the ass! What if I told you I’ve met your great-grandson, who’s also named Toby? Or that I was at Madame Tussauds waxwork museum with him in the twenty-first century?”
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
Toby 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 th
rough 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.”
Ripped, a Jack the Ripper Time-Travel Thriller Page 26