Chapter sixteen I looked up at the leaden sky and savoured the cool drizzle on my face. I was back in London in the spring of 1889, standing on the pavement outside 29 Napier Street. I hesitated before lifting the doorknocker, then rapped it three times. After a few moments a wary voice spoke from behind the closed door. “Who is it?” “Grace, it’s me, Jack. I’m back.” The door was immediately and eagerly pulled open and her beautiful face was there in front of me again, but her delight changed to horror when she saw me. She screamed and staggered backwards into the little hallway of the house I hadn’t seen for nearly eighty years. Her hand flew to her mouth. “No, no, no,” she moaned, “It can’t be... you can’t be... oh my god, oh my god Jack. What’s happened to you?” “It’s ok Grace; it’s all going to be ok. Let me tell you everything, let me explain.” I knew that it would be shocking for her, but there was no way I could have made it less so. I walked forward, reaching for her shoulders, wanting more than anything in the world to gather her close to me, wanting to make something that could never be right again, somehow better.
