Only the Thunder Knows_East End Girls

by Gord Rollo, Rena Mason

  “How long will it take?”

  “By Michaelmas.”

  “That long?”

  “It’s only two weeks, and besides, it’s a delicate matter.”

  “I suppose it’ll make for a great holiday surprise. For me anyhow.” She cackled and then started coughing. Cleared her throat, then spat to the right. “What am I supposed to do in the meantime? I need a little drink now and then. Helps me keep my mouth shut if you know what I mean.”

  Eliza shoved her hand down into the cloak pocket and pulled out the pouch. “Here’s five shillings. Should keep you quiet for a while.”

  “Indeed, miss. It will.” Catherine smiled, exposing her missing tooth and grungy mouth.

  “Meet me back here Michaelmas night.”

  “Good idea. Lots of people will be out celebrating, me right along with them.”

  “I don’t want to see you until then, and if I feel you following me, the deal’s off.”

  “No need to make threats. I’ll leave ‘ya be.”

  Catherine walked away shaking the coin pouch, humming a song Eliza didn’t recognize, which didn’t surprise her. She wanted nothing in common with this vile and loathsome woman.

  Chapter

  13

  September 29th, the Covington house was filled with happy familiar faces ready for Michaelmas cheer. For Eliza, though, the holiday no longer seemed a joyous occasion as she often found herself checking the time. Doctor Llewellyn had come for dinner and Eliza’s father was very happy to see his old friend again, but it meant she would have less time to spend with him. The men would finish their meals, then be drinking and smoking cigars until it was time to retire. Lady Covington would excuse herself and go to bed early blaming an exhaustion headache for all the work she did to make the dinner party a success.

  “Eliza, there you are, darling. I’ve missed you.” Henry stepped up, leaned in and gave her a simple kiss on the cheek. There was no passion in it. She felt domestic already and wondered whom he was truly saving his desires for.

  “It’s good to see you again,” she said.

  “I’m looking forward to when I see you every day.”

  She smiled. I’m sure of it. “I think it’s time to sit down for dinner. We should go before my mother sends someone to look for us.”

  “I hope she placed us close to one another. Sometimes I’m certain your parents are determined to keep us apart until the wedding.” He put his arm around her and pulled her close. Eliza moved out of his embrace. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Now come on.” She took his hand and led him away.

  The dining room was elegant. There were twenty chairs lining either side of the long rectangular king’s table. Candlelight flickered off the silverware and set aglow the white and yellow rose bouquets. It appeared as though Mr. Grey and all his botanical knowledge had come through. No doubt, he’d be doing the flower arrangements for the wedding.

  “There you are. Henry, you’re over here next to me,” Lady Covington said. He turned to Eliza and winked before walking to his seat. “Eliza, you’re next to Doctor Llewellyn.” Her mother pointed to the other end of the table.

  Eliza grinned and hurried over. The doctor rose and pulled out her chair. “I’m delighted you were able to join us,” she said.

  “It was generous of your family to have invited me.”

  “Is your wife here? I’d very much like to meet her.” Eliza looked up and down the table.

  “She passed away two years ago.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.” I might’ve known that if Father had kept up your friendship.

  “Please, don’t be. She’s in a better place.”

  “Yes,” was all Eliza could say. Doctor Llewellyn took a drink of wine and she did the same.

  In perfect time, Mr. Sutton brought out a platter with a cooked goose on top. He set it down in front of them. Eliza eyed its spread legs, stuffing spilling from the cavity. In her mind she saw Annie Chapman and thought of how she’d pulled out her intestines, piling them over to one side so they would be out of the way. Immediately, her appetite disappeared.

  “Any news?” she said.

  Doctor Llewellyn looked at her and wrinkled his brow.

  “Concerning Whitechapel.”

  “Just conjecture. No solid leads. I even heard Inspector Abberline came by for a visit with a midwife theory.”

  “That he did, but I’m sure I redirected him.”

  “So, you don’t think it’s possible the killer is a woman?”

  Eliza struggled to come up with a response, but then Llewellyn spared her by putting his hand over hers. “I’m in agreement with you.” He gently turned her hand palm side up. “No one would think these hands could be used for anything but good.” The tiny scabs from where the broach had pricked her were still barely visible, but Doctor Llewellyn made no mention of them.

  Lord Covington, seated at the very end of the table, raised his glass and tapped it with a spoon. Eliza slid her hand out of Doctor Llewellyn’s. There was something she didn’t like about his touch, and now she wished she were sitting next to Henry after all. Her father cleared his throat and made a longwinded holiday toast to his friends and family. He mentioned her upcoming graduation, wedding, and even choked up a bit when he spoke of her leaving for America. There were a few yawns during the speech and more than one couple was distracted whispering to one another, so that when he finally got to the end of it, everyone cheered, and Eliza knew it wasn’t because she was moving after the wedding, but she couldn’t help feel that way.

  * * *

  An hour before midnight Eliza sneaked out of the house. The air outside was thick with a cold damp fog. Benches normally visible in the daylight hours had completely vanished. The dense haze made the surrounding gas lamps ineffective. They reminded her of the way a lighthouse appeared from a ship’s point of view, dim and feeble.

  A few more people were out than usual at the late hour and she assumed it was because of the holiday. Their footsteps tapped on the wet cobblestones, the sounds coming from all directions before anyone would actually physically appear. They walked through the fog and it moved around them like a ghostly smoke dragon. She considered returning home more than once, crawling into her warm bed, and ignoring Catherine’s demands. Who did this prostitute think she was that she could blackmail anybody? It angered Eliza to be caught in the middle of such a vile woman’s scheme. She shouldn’t have to sneak around in bad weather. Her nose was bitter cold, and watery mucous ran from her nostrils, over her lips, leaving a salty taste in her mouth. She wiped it away with her sleeve. Eliza feared the possibility she might become ill and be unable to finish her final exams. These thoughts only fueled her rage as she rushed through Regent’s Park wearing a frock coat and hooded cloak, the doctor’s bag clutched in her hand.

  Eliza followed the louder sounds of hooves clopping; it wasn’t long before she was able to get a hansom cab. While inside, she opened her bag and rearranged it, putting the items she’d need on top. The carriage came to a halt and the driver knocked on the roof. Eliza stepped out into a large puddle of murky water, sending up the odor of raw sewage. She clenched her jaw and ground her teeth together, then covered her nose with a scarf she’d stolen from Nanette and paid the man. He pulled away to avoid splashing her, and she was thankful for it.

  When he was out of sight, Eliza went toward Mitre Square. There were even more people out on the streets at East End than usual. She knew Catherine would be one of them. Every few minutes, someone would come out of the fog and if it weren’t for all the wine she’d had at dinner, she’d probably be a little jumpy.

  A block away from the square, she heard a woman shouting slurred obscenities. Eliza walked softly behind where the sounds were coming from. She looked down an alley and saw the shadow figure of Catherine leaning against one of the walls. As Eliza approached, a small group of loud partygoers were walking by. She set her medical bag down and then crept closer, her footfalls silent compared t
o all the noise. Catherine was drunk and shouting at them about how she would soon be rich.

  Eliza’s heart sped up as she quietly waited behind the prostitute. After the people had passed, the prostitute took in a deep breath and paused. As she exhaled, Eliza held up the ends of Nanette’s scarf, which were tightly wound around each of her hands, leaving some space left in between. Eliza quickly brought the scarf down hard against the prostitute’s throat. Catherine tried to scream, but her words were choked off by the pressure against her neck. Eliza dragged the kicking, thrashing woman into the alley. The backward movement and struggle only made the scarf tighten more, and Catherine’s choking turned to weak gasps for air. After about fifteen feet, the prostitute’s fight slowed. The fog hid them in the alley. Eliza could no longer see the street at the other end. She continued to pull Catherine by the scarf until the woman’s body went limp. When it did, Eliza moved the fabric away and let her body fall to the ground. She came around and kneeled beside the body, took her right glove off and checked for a pulse. The prostitute was still alive, barely, which was what Eliza had wanted. She put her glove back on, and then reached into the medical bag she had placed there earlier. The surgical knife was right on top.

  Nanette’s scarf had left deep red marks across Catherine’s throat. While positioning herself over the unconscious harlot, Eliza lifted up her own skirts, forgetting that they’d been splashed with sewage. When she caught a whiff of the foul stench that soaked the hems it made her even more furious, so she plopped herself down hard onto Catherine’s abdomen. The woman groaned underneath her. Eliza leaned forward and stared at the wretched woman’s face. Hate filled her with an extreme heat that spread throughout her extremities. Eliza tightened her grip around the knife and gritted her teeth. Catherine opened her eyes and saw Eliza on top of her. With one long stroke of her arm she sliced through Catherine’s neck. The prostitute convulsed between Eliza’s legs. She moved her lips and tried to talk, but no words could escape. There was only a gurgling sound that came from the open wound as hot blood pulsed out, steam rising from its crimson flows.

  Still enraged, Eliza slashed the long, drawn face she hated more than anything in the world. One V for vile, and one for vulgar! The carving didn’t stop until Catherine’s body ceased to twitch. Eliza envisioned the woman’s pupils dilating. She wanted to see the woman die and be the last person the whore saw before she did. Eliza exhaled a deep sigh of relief. The torment of being blackmailed was over. It was time to cover up her crime and make it the Whitechapel Murderer’s. She got off the body and kneeled down next to it. Eliza pulled up Catherine’s skirts and began her work below. She took her time, remembering how she’d cut up Annie Chapman. It had to look the same, but progressively worse. In honor of Professor Huxley humiliating her because she’d confused the kidneys with the ovaries, she excised one for him, as well as the uterus. Eliza thought of what her father had said that night in his study. “The killer is evolving.”

  “Indeed, father,” she whispered. “The killer most certainly is.”

  She finished laying the extracted uterus and kidney onto Nanette’s scarf. Eliza was tying up the ends when she heard a police whistle and shouting somewhere in the fog. Uncertain of the direction or distance of the sounds, she hurried the rest of what she was doing. Out of fabric to clean her instruments, she cut off half of Catherine’s apron. Small bits of junk came out of the pockets and landed scattered on and around the body. Eliza shoved the cloth into her pocket, then set the organs in her medical bag, and stood up. She pulled the cloak hood over her head and walked quickly into the boggy mist, avoiding any people out on the streets.

  After passing a man who nearly bumped into her, then pardoned himself, Eliza ducked into a dark doorway, took the swatch of cloth from her pocket, and quickly wiped off her dirty instruments. She threw the fabric down, placed her tools back into the medical bag and continued walking. Then another police whistle blew. This one seemed much louder. She picked up the pace, her heart racing and pounding in her chest. She rounded a corner and a horse reared up and neighed. Eliza shrieked and jumped to the left. The animal came down, hooves clapping like thunder against the cobblestone. A carriage door swung open with a shadow of a man in its opening. His gloved hand reached out to Eliza.

  “Get in, quick.”

  She took hold and climbed in.

  Chapter

  14

  Eliza sat down in the seat across from the man. Their black leather gloves stuck together for a moment before pulling apart. “Thank you, sir,” she said.

  He tipped the rim of his top hat forward, which hid his face even more. The only distinguishable feature was his pointy chin. Everything else was veiled in shadows. Eliza examined his attire. It appeared he was a gentleman of some sort based on his fashionable suit. As her stare moved over his clothes, she could feel him watching her in return.

  “Where shall I tell my man to take you?” His voice was low and deep.

  “Regent’s Park, please sir.”

  He tapped the roof of the carriage with a cane Eliza hadn’t noticed before. The handle was made of bronze formed into the shape of a serpent’s head. Red rubies were inlaid for the eyes. It was quite elegant.

  Eliza sat back and put her hands together in her lap. The gloves stuck to one another. Pulling them apart filled the coach with a muted sound of tearing paper and she wondered why blood had to be such a tacky substance. Had the gentleman noticed when he took her hand? Then again his glove seemed sticky, too.

  The carriage rode on, and Eliza sat with a small smile on her face and eyed the carriage’s interior as an excuse to observe more details about the gentleman. The legs of his pants were as wet as the bottom of her hem. She could make nothing else out about him since he wore nothing but black. If someone were to look upon the pair, they’d think they were either going to, or coming from, a funeral. Then something next to the man’s feet caught Eliza’s eye. It stopped her breath. A medical bag very much like hers was on the floor of the carriage to his right. A feeling of panic sped up her heart rate. She looked at him and she could tell his eyes were already on her face.

  “It is late for a woman of Regent’s Park to be out in such a dangerous part of the city,” he said.

  Eliza took a deep breath to calm herself. “I was visiting friends.”

  An odor clung to the air between them—the smell of metal and salt—a scent of blood. It couldn’t all be emanating from her. She moved forward, closer to the man, then inhaled deeply. The man sat up and grabbed her wrist. “What is it, Miss? Are you faint?”

  “No, sir.”

  He let go of her and this time, it was his glove that stuck to hers. They eyed one another. Heart muscles tightened within her chest.

  The carriage stopped, and a moment later, the door opened. “Regent’s Park,” the driver said. Eliza took her medical bag and stepped down.

  She turned around and looked up at the man in the carriage. “Who shall I thank, sir?”

  The gentleman tipped his hat forward again and smiled, bringing together thin slivers of pink flesh above the pointy chin. “Simply a good Samaritan, Miss.”

  “Thank you, then.”

  “Remember not to travel at the East End late at night. For your own safety.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The driver shut the door and Eliza walked into the park as fast as she could. The carriage pulled away, and when the sounds were barely audible, Eliza headed home. For a moment, she wondered if he would have his driver follow her, but then she came to her senses and was sure paranoia must be setting in.

  Once more, Eliza came quietly through the servants’ entrance. Then she unfastened her skirts and let them drop to the floor. She rinsed the hems, her cape, and coat with her gloves on, then left everything hanging over a chair for Nanette to wash better the next day. In the kitchen, she opened her medical bag on the cutting block table, took out the wrapped organs, then walked over and placed them on the hearth fire. She listened to them sizzle
and crackle for a while, entranced by the orange and yellow flames licking and devouring the pieces of a whore. Before leaving, she added a few more logs and stoked the fire to keep it hot and burning high.

  Eliza went upstairs to her room and fell asleep thinking of the good Samaritan.

  And wondering whether or not he was truly all that good.

  * * *

  The next morning, Eliza and her parents arrived home from church and were told by Mr. Sutton that several men were waiting to speak with Lord Covington in his study. After her father went to greet them, Eliza joined her mother in the parlor for tea.

  “Why are there so many people here? And who are they?” Lady Covington said.

  “Mr. Sutton told me that there’s an Inspector Abberline, an Inspector Dew, and a Detective Halse here. Along with two police surgeons, Doctors Sequeira and Brown,” Mrs. Sutton said.

  “Something more must have happened in Whitechapel. What else do you know?”

  “Papers say there were two women murdered last night. London Star’s calling him Jack the Ripper now. He wrote a letter taunting the police and everything.”

  “Two?” Eliza said. Her mind went straight to the gentleman in the carriage. The smell inside, how their gloves kept sticking, and his medical bag on the floor. Could he have been The Whitechapel Murderer? This Jack the Ripper? Her mother’s voice pulled her away from the idea.

  “The world has gone mad, Mrs. Sutton. From now on Eliza, you’re to use one of our carriages to get to and from the university. Don’t even think of refusing me.”

  Eliza didn’t argue. There was no point in it, and she needed to take the advice of the gentleman Samaritan and stay away from the East End. Only if it was necessary to brush up on the female anatomy to pass her exams would she give it another go; otherwise she’d stay away.

  Nearly two hours had passed when her father finally came into the parlor. He told Mrs. Sutton they would need to dine early.