Chapter Three

She woke with a start. She sat up in a large, four poster bed. She looked up at the blue canopy and down at the blue comforter. She felt the silk sheets that shimmered underneath of her hand. She was still in her blue jeans and t-shirt, though her coat was hanging on a hook by the door. She got up and walked over to it, pulling out her phone. It was only seven thirty in the morning. She looked around at the wooden floors and the flower wallpaper. She saw a door against the opposite wall and was relieved to find a bathroom. She heard a knock on the door as she tied up her hair. She ran to the door and opened it to see the man from last night. “Master Thomas wished me to tell you breakfast will be ready soon.”

“Thank you, um,” she paused, not knowing what to call him.

“James, milady, you may call me James,” he said, bowing.

She smiled at him, “Thank you James.”

She made her bed, unsure of how it was before she had messed it up. She also wondered how she had gotten to bed, when she didn’t remember seeing this room before. The only other option was she was carried, and James was pushing seventy. She folded the blanket over the pillows and went downstairs, her stomach growling when she smelled bacon. She followed the smell to a room with a dining table lined with plates of food. She saw pancakes and bacon and fruit and the like. Jack smiled at her from the end of the table, “Good morning beautiful,” he said as he started filling his plate with bacon, his voice dripping with a familiar sarcasm. She sat next to him and followed suit.

“How did I get to bed last night?” she asked, before stuffing a piece of bacon into her mouth.

He grinned. “You’re heavier than you look,” he said.

She scowled as he stifled a laugh when James came into the room. He handed Jack the mail on a silver platter. Jack laughed when he saw her staring at the silver dish and the envelope opener he was using to open the mail. “So when do you want to go today?” he asked. Emily suddenly felt embarrassed. She hadn’t meant to stay over or eat his food. He must have seen the look on her face. “I mean in time,” he rolled his eyes. “And you can stay as long as you like. I want to help you learn how to use your gift so you don’t interrupt the time-space continuum,” he laughed at her horrified expression. “Okay, how about we start with your past. Tell me everything about you that I don’t already know.”

She nibbled on a piece of bacon. “Well, I grew up in Manhattan until I was ten and my mom dropped me off for a ‘weekend’ at Aunt Trish’s,” she said, looking off into space as if she were reliving it again.

“What was your mother’s name?” he asked.

“Margaret,” she said, looking at Jack then, seeing him nod seriously. “Weekends turned to weeks, weeks to months, and months to years. I worked during school so that grandpa could have the care he needed while Trish went to clubs at night where she spent any money she had earned. She had guys over all the time so I started spending my days at the nursing home, and I dropped out of school. When I was sixteen my grandpa told me to make something of myself, so I made up two years of high school in ten months and finished the last two, graduating at seventeen. Trish started staying with a well to do boyfriend, leaving me to pay the bills. On my eighteenth birthday I got home from working at a café and her stuff was gone except a note. Basically she said she had found someone who wanted to marry her and she knew I would take good care of gramps. She gave me her bank account number and everything and it had ten thousand dollars in it. I didn’t know where she got the money but I used it to pay for the nursing home and I worked my way through college, using what was left of her money for a cheaper apartment and a lemon of a car. After I graduated last may I applied at the state hospital and here we are,” she said, taking a bite of a strawberry. Jack was staring off, deep in thought. She watched his brows furrow. “What’s wrong?” she finally asked.

“Nothing!” he shook it off but Emily was still suspicious. She narrowed her eyes before finishing a pancake. He continued opening his mail and smacked his forehead when he got to an old looking one. He opened it, frowning while he read. She tried leaning over to read it but he turned it away from her.

“Hey! I just told you my life’s story and now you want to keep secrets?” she glared at him but he ignored her. She smiled as an idea came to her head. She scooted closer and he kept turning the paper. Finally she reached under the table and put her hand on his leg, right above the knee. His eyes got wide and he froze. She took that moment of surprise to snatch the letter from his hands and try to read as he reached all around her, trying to get it back. “It must be from your secret admirer since you don’t want me to read it!” she teased as she read. She got to the signature and it was signed ‘Mother’. She grinned as she turned to face Jack, who had still been trying to get the paper back. When his eyes met hers he stopped, inches away. She handed the letter back to him, and he snatched it, turning away from her. “Can we go, pretty please with a cherry on top?” she asked in her best kid’s voice.

“No!” he said, still pouting.

“But I’ve always wanted to go to a thanksgiving ball and I’d love to meet your family,” she pleaded.

“My family is a bunch of screwy nutcases who don’t have any bloody manners and can’t seem to think of anyone but themselves,” he said, slamming the letter onto the table.

“So… like you then,” she asked, unable to help herself. She watched him bring a hand to his face and his shoulders started shaking. At first she thought he was crying until he turned around and was laughing.

“Just for that I’ll let you meet them,” he said after he contained his laughter.

She smiled victoriously, “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet Love, you haven’t met them yet,” he chuckled again as he walked out the door and she followed.

“They can’t be that bad,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“You won’t like them,” he said, opening the doors to the library. He picked up a book, flipping through it.

“How do you know? I like you don’t I?” she asked, crossing her arms. He looked at her for a moment.

“How do I know you like me?” he asked, a small smile on his lips.

“I,” she started, and had to think, “I let you eat my pizza and drink my tea!” she said.

“It was cold tea and I don’t like pepperoni, and,” he added, seeing her about to protest, “You wouldn’t have even let me in if I didn’t have your pizza.”

She tried to think of something. “Well I just like you, okay?”

“You can’t just like someone without a reason,” he said, studying the book in his hand.

“Fine,” she said, throwing her hands in the air, “I like your accent!”

He grinned. “I knew it!” he said, snapping the book closed as he walked over to her. “You like my voice,” he said, stopping inches from her. She looked away, afraid she would laugh if she held his blue stare. “Does it sound better in a whisper?” he said, leaning closer, trying to sound dreamy. She laughed at that.

“Maybe if you weren’t so full of yourself,” she said, grabbing the book from him, and walked to a chair, where he couldn’t sit next to her. But he still sat on the arm. She flipped through some pages, each one was filled with a handwritten notes. The first one she read was ‘1903, George’s Vineyard, Venice, Italy, G.’. The next read ‘1345, Downspire Castle, Weston, England, E’. “What are they?” she asked, mesmerized by the old writings.

“It’s a list of all the homes my grandfather had built. He gave each of us grandchildren a copy before he died,” Jack said quietly.

“Oh,” Emily said, knowing how he felt, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. The letters are for which grandchild inherited it. ‘G’ is Grace. The ‘E’ is Edward. Then the next one has a ‘J’, obviously, that’s me. The ‘C’ is for Celia, she is about your age, and she will be twenty. Then finally ‘W’, which is my baby brother, William. He hasn’t received his inheritance since he isn’t of age yet,” he said, pointing at the note at the bottom of the first page, ‘1575, Castle Herring, Skye, Scotland, W.’. She sucked in a breath.

“Too bad I didn’t have a castle to inherit,” she whispered, studying the other places. When Jack got up she looked at him. He crossed the room to where he had grabbed his grandfather’s book and pulled out another one. This one wasn’t quite as old but had dust on the cover. He handed it to her and she traded him books. She flipped it open but froze when she saw the hand writing. She brushed her fingertip across her grandfather’s familiar letters.



‘To Margaret, my eldest, I leave Windsor Manor, in Yorkshire 1818. To Beatrice in the middle, I leave Darling Province, in Kent, 1910. To Emily, my youngest, I leave Castle Rodin, Ireland, 1357.’ She read. She looked at Jack, confused.

“Your grandfather had another daughter. Her name was Emily Elizabeth Smith. You look like her, except she had blue eyes, like your grandfather. She died when I was four. I can still remember her if you would ever like to know about her,” he said quietly. She looked at the book, unable to speak.

Finally she whispered, “How did she die?”

“She was murdered,” he spoke softly, as if Emily had been close to her.

“How?” she asked.

“Three men attacked her on the streets of London one night. They did terrible things to her, and she died the next day in the hospital,” he struggled to find the right words.

She closed her eyes. It was no wonder nobody had mentioned her, it hurt too much. She realized then, maybe that’s why her mother and Aunt Trish had left her, because she reminded them of their slain sister. She closed the book. “Did you know who I was when you first met me?” she asked.

“Not at first, but I thought I should. As you talked you reminded me of her. Your red hair is just like hers and then you told me your name. I had a feeling you had to be related, if not a reincarnated form of her. After you left me in the parking lot I did some digging and found out who your family was. Then I bought you pizza,” he said, grinning now. Emily laughed and looked at her feet.

“Do you know where my mother might be? Or my aunt?” she sounded hopeful.

“No, but you could try their houses,” he said, gesturing towards the book. She opened it, reading them again. She tried her mother first. She thought of Windsor Manor, 1818. She closed her eyes and opened them, and gasped, for before her stood a towering stone mansion, surrounded by expansive gardens. She jumped when jack grabbed her arm, pulling her towards the house.

“How are you here?” she asked, amazed.

“I followed you,” he said, winking. She walked on her own now as they neared the big doors. She followed him up the steps and he knocked. A tall and lanky butler opened the door.

“May I help you?” he said in a surprisingly deep voice.

“Yes, actually, we’re looking for a Miss Smith. Might she be home?” jack asked, using his biggest smile.

“Lady Smith has taken residence at Clearwater Manor, milord,” the butler said. Then he looked at Emily’s clothes. “Perhaps she wouldn’t mind if the young lady borrowed a dress?” he asked, smiling knowingly at Emily. She smiled back and followed him into the big house. She looked around as a maid escorted her to her mother’s room. The maid didn’t say anything as she looked through the wardrobe. She finally pulled out a green one the color of an emerald. Emily recognized it as a Regency era dress. Undressed and put on the white underclothes as the maid fetched a corset. She hollered when the maid pulled tight on the cords. She glared down at the tight thing around her chest. Her mother had left for a world of corsets and stuffy petticoats. She raised her arms, letting the maid help her into the dress. She smoothed it out and looked into the mirror. She had never worn a dress like this and felt as if she was about to perform a stage version of Pride and Prejudice. She followed the maid to a wooden chair and the maid undid the knot that held up her hair and brushed it out. She watched in the mirror as the maid twisted her hair this way and that, recreating hairstyles she had seen in many movies. She tied a dark green ribbon into her hair and bowed. Without a word the maid left the room, leaving Emily alone to gawk at herself.

She wasn’t the only one to gawk as she went down the large staircase and smiled at Jack, whose mouth was almost touching the floor. “I feel ridiculous,” she said, looking down at the satin fabric.

“Well I can assure you love, you don’t look the slightest bit ridiculous,” he said quietly, staring at her. “You look like you were born and raised in this place. Like you belong here,” he said, letting his voice trail off. Emily blushed and looked at the thin green slippers on her feet. She noticed he had gotten changed as well into a simple black day suit. His hair was greased back and she could tell he was used to wearing those clothes.

“Were you born in this time?” she asked.

“I was born almost seventy years from now, in 1883,” he said, grinning. Her eyes grew wide, never having considered he was almost three hundred years older than her. He chuckled as he held out his hand to escort her outside. It was early morning there, and the grass still sparkled against the rising sun as a horse drawn carriage pulled up in front of them. He helped her up and climbed in after her. She was grinning wildly. “Is this the first time you’ve rode in a carriage?” he asked. All she could do is nod her head as she looked out her window, like a giddy child. Jack chuckled as she pointed to big houses on hills as they rode for nearly half an hour. When Jack Pointed out a large white stone mansion her smile dropped. “That’s Clearwater Manor,” he said. She watched it grow bigger with every second the carriage sped by. This is where her mother had gone. Jack touched her shoulder and she looked at the concern on his face.

“What if she doesn’t want to see me?” she whispered, tears threatening her eyes.

“I have an idea,” he said. “We will announce you as Elizabeth from now on. Besides, if there is anyone else there that knew Emily then it’s probably best to keep gossip down about her doppelganger coming to visit her sister,” he said thoughtfully.

“Okay, I’ll say I’m her cousin,” she said to herself. She looked back out the window as the carriage turned into the long drive. Jack watched her carefully as her brows furrowed as they stopped in front of the towering house. He got out and held his hand out to her. She slowly grabbed it and stepped out of the carriage, looking up at the house. She gulped and he interlocked their arms, guiding her up the stairs to the door. He wrapped on the door twice and seconds later a tall, roundish man with greased black hair looked down at them.

“You must be here for Lady Smith’s engagement tea?” he asked with an almost gravely voice. When Emily didn’t say anything Jack cleared his throat.

“Yes, thank you. I am Lord Thomas and this is Lady Elizabeth Smith, cousin to Lady Smith,” he said lightly. The butler bowed as he stepped out of their way. Jack led Emily into the fancy entryway. She looked all around as the butler guided them through the large hall. He stopped at two large doors that had laughter and giggles coming from them. Jack took one look at Emily and touched the butler’s arm as he reached for the door. “Perhaps you could kindly ask Lady Smith to join us in private? Lady Elizabeth has traveled far and hasn’t seen her cousin in years. We don’t wish to steal her away from her guests.”

“Of course, milord,” the butler said understandingly. The butler led them to a small sitting room not too far off. A footman brought tea and scones and left them alone. Jack sipped tea as Emily rung her hands together. She stood up as the door opened, revealing a woman with dark brown hair curled on top of her head. Her soft pink dress shimmered in the sunlight. “Emma,” the woman said her face as if she had seen a ghost. As she slowly stepped forward she noticed the green of Emily’s eyes, “Emily?” she asked, confused. Emily couldn’t make the words she wished to say come out. The women stood there, staring at each other. Emily felt hot tears sting her eyes. Finally she found her voice, “Mom?” she said, unsure of how she should feel. Then she saw sorrow flash across her mother’s eyes.

“They didn’t tell you then?” she asked quietly. The look of confusion on Emily’s face confirmed her question. “Emily,” she said, putting her hand on Emily’s shoulder, “Beatrice was supposed to tell you everything.” Emily let a tear fall down her cheek.

“She left too,” Emily whispered, looking down at her feet, anger finding it’s way to her. That seemed to shock Margaret. “She left on my eighteenth birthday, leaving me to take care of grandpa, leaving me to find out everything on my own. If it weren’t for Jack I would have never known about this,” she said, gesturing around her. Margaret looked at jack, and he didn’t smile.

“Dad didn’t tell you?” she asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“He tried, but I thought he was crazy,” she said, tears dripping down her face, “Even after he died,” she choked back a sob, glaring at her mother. She watched that settle in.

“When?” she asked, eyes closed.

“Friday,” Emily whispered. Margaret put her hand to her head and sighed. “You should have been there with him, he needed you!” she said angrily.

“No, Emily, I’m positive he didn’t. He never has. He gave up on Beatrice and me as soon as Emma died,” she sighed again, “I left because I’m not your mother, and I never was. My sister gave birth to you the night she died,” Margaret’s eyes softened now. “I thought you were her, for a moment,” she smiled sadly. Emily couldn’t find the words. “I suppose Trish never told you because she thought it safer,” she continued. “Emma was murdered in cold blood. Someone wanted her dead. When she gave birth to you she begged us to take you away, to never tell anyone you were hers. I always thought she was ashamed because she wasn’t married. But when I found out she had been attacked I knew she feared for your life. I tried to dig into the murder files, but they led nowhere. When I got a letter telling me to stop looking into things I knew it was above my head. I talked Beatrice and our grief stricken father into leaving. I tried to raise you on my own but I couldn’t. Everyday you grew into her image, looking and sounding more like her. I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

Emily started crying freely then, and Margaret wrapped her into a hug. “You should have told me,” Emily sobbed.

“I really am so sorry,” Margaret said, her own tears falling now. Emily broke away, wiping at her tears. She sat on the couch, thinking everything over. She looked at Jack, who was frowning at her.

“What’s wrong?” she asked him. He blinked at her then looked at Margaret.

“Margaret, what was your sister’s full name?” he asked, still frowning.

She frowned back at him. “Emily Elizabeth Smith,” she said. “Why?”

He looked at Emily. “I think we need to go back to my place,” he said then, standing.

“What is it?” Emily asked, standing.

“I know that name from somewhere,” he said, disappearing. She looked at Margaret who nodded. She closed her eyes and opened them in the library of Jack’s house. She saw him pulling books off the shelf, searching almost franticly.

“Jack, will you tell me what’s going on?” she walked to him, starting to get scared.

He didn’t answer as he pulled out a book and flipped it open, his frown deepening as he read. He closed his eyes. “I’ve been so stupid!” he said, making Emily stop.

“What?” she said desperately. He tossed the book onto a table, pacing. She could see the anger on his face. She grabbed the book slowly, opening it. She read her mother’s name among four others. She flipped the book closed, reading the title, ‘Jack the Ripper’.

Her eyes flicked up to Jack for a moment. “It’s not me, sweetheart,” he said before pacing again. She read more, having to cover her mouth at the description of the murders. She was crying by the time it was over. She snapped the book shut, throwing it on the table as Jack had. She sat down, mouth over her hand and her eyes wide. Jack ignored her horrified expression. “There’s something connecting these murders, what is it?” he asked himself. He turned to her, not seeing the breakdown on its way. “You’re a psychologist. What do all these women have in common?” he asked, stopping in front of her. She tried her best to ignore the metallic taste in her mouth as she tried not to through up. Her hands were shaking and her eyes were wild, staring at Jack.

“Um…” she started, but stopped, for fear of losing it. The description of her mother’s murder played in her mind. Why did he let me read that? she wondered. She stood up, staring into Jack’s angry eyes. Without thinking she slapped him. She watched the anger be replaced by shock, and then realization as he looked at the book. She turned away as he held his stinging cheek, ignoring him as he tried to apologize.

She walked up the stairs, trying to keep her balance. She closed her door, locking it. She gripped her stomach where the corset was still squeezing her. She walked to the bathroom and splashed water on her face. She stared at her hands as they shook. She looked numbly at her reflection in the mirror, her mother’s death still playing in her head. She thought of her mother, lying in the hospital bed, begging for her daughter’s life. She thought of the three men who had attacked her. She looked at herself in the mirror now, studying her face, one that had appeared like her mother’s to Margaret. She punched at the mirror, breaking it. She stared at her bloody knuckles as they shook with anger. For so long she had wanted answers and now she wished she could forget them. She slid to the floor as someone knocked on her door. She ignored them as she sobbed. She heard her door open after a few minutes. “Emily?” Jack called, worried. She didn’t answer as the sobs shook her body. She could see his blurry form crouch in front of her. She felt him take her hand. She pulled it back, burying her face in her knees. He sat down against the tub, opposite her. He waited until her sobbing had stopped and listened to her breath come easier.

After a while he heard her breath become slow. “Emily?” he asked quietly. When she didn’t even stir he got up. He walked to her, her breath still steady. He scooped her up and carried her to her bed. He brushed her hair from her eyes and took her bloody hand. He picked a piece of mirror out of it and went to the bathroom. He cleaned the mess up and looked in the cabinet for alcohol and a bandage. He sat down beside her, wiping at the wounds carefully. She stayed asleep as he cleaned and bandaged her hand. He sighed, wondering if she would ever speak to him again. He stared at her a while longer before he got up and went to the small desk. He scribbled a note and folded it, taking it over to lie beside her on the pillow. He looked at her, laying there in her green dress. He kissed her head before disappearing.