Only the Thunder Knows_East End Girls

by Gord Rollo, Rena Mason

  A small table sat in the corner next to a feeble wooden bed. Centered in the room against the far wall was the fireplace, the surrounding bricks stained by the black of burnt cinder and ash. An old table and two chairs were positioned in front of it. “Are you expecting anyone?” Eliza said, biting her tongue and stopping short of a longer question. She nearly added the word else at the end which might have triggered some suspicion.

  Walking toward the fire, really only five steps into the room, she noticed Mary’s undergarment hanging over the back of a seat. Eliza took off her hat and hung it on the chair’s wooden post, inadvertently concealing most of the shoddy clothing. Not wanting to put her bag on the table, she placed it on the same chair as her hat, and then opened it. One by one, she took out the unmarked vials of laudanum. Mary joined her at the table with her eyes wide and a smile on her face at the sight of the small glass bottles. “You really came through, miss,” the harlot said. “When should I take it? Shall I have some now?”

  “Yes, yes, I’m getting to that.”

  “You still doing a bodily exam?”

  “I think it would be a good idea, don’t you?”

  “Let me just wash up a bit.”

  Acidic bile rose up Eliza’s throat and burned the back of her palate and tonsils. She quickly swallowed hard to make it go back down. Mary went over to the wash basin on the table next to the bed and dropped a piece of fabric into the water. Lifting up her chemise with one hand, she then took the wet cloth with the other and squeezed the excess liquid, then began vigorously wiping between her legs. Eliza swallowed another wave of rising stomach acid, then turned away and looked deep into her medical bag. The metallic blade of the surgical knife reflected the orange glow from the fire. She reached in, grabbed hold of the handle, and lifted the instrument so that it was resting at the very top of the bag. Ignoring what Mary was still doing, Eliza walked over to the bed and set the bag down at the foot of it and off to the right.

  Mary had finished cleaning herself and followed behind Eliza as they both walked over to the table. The liquid in the brown glass vials appeared to dance with the flames of the fire behind them, captivating and hypnotizing the prostitute. Eliza smiled, thinking this would be too easy. “You’ll want to drink one whole bottle a day until they’re all gone,” she said. “Then in the next week or so, your body should be primed for reproduction.”

  Mary snatched one of the bottles off the table and removed the stopper. Then she circled the vial’s opening under her nose. “Smells awful strong, almost like—”

  “Drink it,” Eliza said. Her heart began to race as she watched the prostitute put the glass to her lips, tip the entire bottle of laudanum into her mouth, then swallow it all in one gulp.

  “Ack!” The prostitute gagged.

  “Quick, put your head back,” Eliza shouted. “Don’t you dare spit that up!”

  Mary coughed, then caught her breath and calmed. “It’s a worse bitter than laudanum that.” She stared at the bottle before setting it back down on the table.

  “Nothing of the sort, stop exaggerating. Do you want to get pregnant or not?”

  “Aye, miss.”

  “Besides, it’s only for a week. Can you do it, or shall I leave this minute and take it with me?”

  Mary slowly nodded her head with a ridiculous smile across her face. Eliza wondered if the opium was already at work.

  “Have you eaten recently?” she asked Mary.

  “Not since breakfast.” She laughed and swooned a little to the left.

  “Excellent, then let’s get on with that exam.”

  As the prostitute stumbled over to the bed, a hint of sympathy touched Eliza to see such a pathetic creature. Mary was a pretty girl with blue eyes almost like her own. They were both young and already set on their paths by unseen hands that forced them along an invisible board, like game pieces. There was no changing who would win; in the end she knew it would be the men. In that moment, Eliza decided she wouldn’t kill the poor wretch. Simply do the world a favor and make having children for her impossible.

  Mary sat on the side of the bed just in time, a second later, and she might have hit the floor. Eliza picked her legs up by the ankles and swung them around onto the bed. The rest of her body fell back against the flimsy mattress of straw and fabric. She lay there and began laughing.

  “You’ll need to stop moving for the exam,” Eliza said.

  The prostitute nodded, then put her hands over her mouth, but continued to giggle. A candle stuck into a broken wine bottle was situated on the bedside table. Shaking off the nonsense, Eliza stepped over and got it, then brought the light closer to where she would be working. She rolled the sleeves of her cloak and frock coat then raised Mary’s chemise over her hips, exposing the pale skin around the pink flesh of her vaginal opening. A small triangular patch of fine blonde-reddish pubic hair was right above it, reminding Eliza of Greco-Roman paintings depicting beautiful nude women.

  Mary instinctively spread her legs apart and Eliza was not repulsed by what she saw. It was one of the lovelier specimens she’d ever seen. Finding it hard to concentrate, she could do nothing but stare.

  “Well,” Mary said. Taking Eliza’s eyes away from the piece of heaven so many men adored.

  “I don’t see anything significant on the outside.”

  “That’s good isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but I need to get a look within.” Eliza put her hands on Mary’s legs and gently pushed them back. “Hold them like that,” she told the girl. Then Eliza positioned herself on her knees at the end of the small bed. Leaning forward didn’t take much, and then she was right between Mary’s legs. Despite the nasty dock worker who had recently been there, the scent that wafted up onto Eliza’s face was clean and almost sweet. It was apparent why this girl in particular was so busy and had a gentleman keeping her. Then she remembered why she was there. The man Mary spoke of didn’t deserve to be trapped, not that way anyhow, and as busy as this whore was selling her beautiful wares, Eliza would never have to worry about her needing any backstreet abortion services when she was through with her.

  “You’ll feel some pressure.” She plunged her index and middle finger inside Mary as far back as they would go. With her other hand on top of the prostitute’s abdomen she simultaneously pushed down and pushed up her fingers, feeling the organs in between.

  Mary groaned a little, but it wasn’t a sound of discomfort. Eliza thought the woman might actually be enjoying it. She looked down at her face and her eyes were closed, but her lips made a slight smile. Through her sheer chemise, Eliza saw her erect nipples along with her firm round breasts, which were nearly as perfect as what was between her legs. She adjusted her fingers inside a little and watched a kind of ecstasy veil Mary’s face. The woman moved her rear end up in circles and Eliza felt her vaginal walls clench. Moisture that was warm and soft filled the cavity. Eliza slid her fingers out and observed the clear glistening substance. Mary’s eyes were still closed. She was heavy under the influence of the laudanum and Eliza knew she could do anything to her with little protest.

  After wiping the glazed fingers on the bed, she reached back into her bag and fished for the long curette. Mary started giggling again.

  “Stop moving,” Eliza said.

  Eyes still closed, she sighed softly. “You did that nearly as well as my gentleman friend.”

  “Don’t try and turn a simple exam into a loathsome act.” Eliza was flushed with anger and embarrassment, so she spoke her mind, assuming the prostitute probably wouldn’t remember the conversation. “Sir Jon should be spending his time with his wife. Not with the likes of you.”

  The prostitute’s laughter intensified, shaking the entire bed. Eliza’s heart began to race and pound. The high pitch made her head throb. “Stop laughing,” she shouted. “There’s nothing funny about it.”

  Mary paused for a moment, a huge drug-induced smile across her face. Then she said, “Sir Jon isn’t my particular gentleman, Miss Doctor.�
�� More laughing came and then panting for air in between. “He’s one of my favorites, but no, it’s Lord Covington I’m all about.”

  Eliza stopped breathing. Her vision blackened from the periphery inward. With one hand still in the medical bag fumbling for the curette, a sudden sharp sting and then an itch came from her pinky finger. The pain kept the darkness from blinding her completely. It was the surgical knife. She carefully slid her fingers along the flat of the blade until she reached the handle. Then she pulled it from the bag.

  The drugged whore’s eyes were still closed when Eliza turned toward her. The laughing had become taunting cackling. With the instrument in her hand, Eliza moved over Mary’s spread legs, which the prostitute still held back with her hands. Before losing her sight to the blackness that was quickly closing in, Eliza thought of a backhand stroke. She threw an imaginary ball up into the air, and moved her arm back. Mary opened her eyes and Eliza swung.

  * * *

  It was the hardest game of lawn tennis she’d ever played, and it all happened in the dark. A heart-pumping frenzy of swinging and striking that required all her energy, and hate was the fuel. Her vision came back in flashes—images of blue eyes staring up at her, blood, and gore.

  Eliza wasn’t quite finished with the game. She continued to play until her sight had fully returned. What she saw was annihilation, but to her, still incomplete, not done. Mary’s lifeless head turned toward the wall. “Don’t you look away, Miss Kelly,” Eliza said to the mutilated corpse. She took a large piece of flesh she’d cut away and what looked to be an organ and propped them under the body’s head to keep it straight. Mary appeared to be watching what Eliza was doing which was what she wanted.

  “You desired to have a baby with my father. Here, right?” She cleared out the rest of the young woman’s innards and then put her lifeless hand in the empty cavity. “It may be a little difficult for you now. And to think I was going to let you live. You have no heart, Mary Kelly. No heart at all.” Eliza gripped the knife handle with both hands, raised it up in the air and plunged it down into the middle of the body’s chest. Then she moved the blade back and forth to pry the sternum apart. When there was a large enough opening she pulled the rest of the ribcage apart with her bare hands. Bone shards cut into her palms, but she hardly noticed.

  The heart was still warm when Eliza extracted it, wrapped it in a swatch of fabric, then placed it down into her bag. Sitting up on her knees, she realized her clothing was drenched in blood and bits of bone, flesh, and hair. Piece by piece, she removed her clothing and placed them into the fire. Because the wool was damp, it was necessary to stoke up the flames and add a log or two to get it nice and hot and keep it that way until every blood-stained garment was ash. In her frenzy, she’d sliced her arms and thighs. Fortunately, her skirts had taken most of the slashes to her legs. The ones on her forearms were a little deeper but wouldn’t need stitches.

  Another piece of bed linen was torn away to wipe her knife off before putting it away. Careful not get any more blood on herself, she went over to the water basin, dipped one end of a clean piece of linen into the bowl then quickly yanked it out, assuring her no blood would get in the water.

  The hearth was ablaze and lit up the room even better than daylight. Eliza noticed the broken window pane as she looked around. There was an extra piece of linen she crumpled up in her hand and set into the open frame. Just in case someone walking by did the same thing she’d done earlier and peeked in.

  All that was left clean was her chemise and a layer of underskirt. Eliza picked up the broken wine bottle that held the burning candle and looked around the dark corners of the room for clothes. Mary’s green bodice and brown skirt were what she found and quickly put on. There was also a shawl Eliza picked up and wrapped around her head and shoulders to partially cover her face. One more time, she went around the room and gathered up what was hers. About to walk out the door with her medical bag discreetly tucked under her arm and hidden by the shawl, she saw the hat. Eliza walked over, picked it up and put it on top of the blazing fire. She looked back at Mary’s body, whose head had turned to face the wall again.

  Not only had Jack the Ripper evolved.

  He had become the perfect killer.

  Chapter

  19

  The following day was the Lord Mayor’s Show, complete with a parade and multiple celebrations to honor the newly-elected Sir James Whitehead. The festivities were in full procession by noon. Eliza slept in, knowing her family never attended the parade. Lady Covington refused to stand out in the dreary November weather for anyone. The Covingtons would honor this year’s elected official by attending the dinner held by the Royal Courts later in the evening.

  Before sitting down to breakfast, Eliza stepped over to the window above the sideboard, pulled a curtain open and looked outdoors. A befitting air of gloom came from the sea in the guise of dark ashen clouds. Even cold, wet weather wouldn’t keep the throngs of people desperate for something to celebrate in their warm homes, and soon the news of another murder would be spreading through London streets faster than the plague.

  Eliza knew they would not be making the Royal Dinner this year. She visualized her father in his study with his head hung low, emptying his brandy decanter, asking for another, while grieving over his dead whore. He would get over it soon enough. Eliza had done a great service for all those whom she cared deeply about.

  Now Mary Kelly’s heart was nothing but ash settled at the bottom of her family’s kitchen’s hearth. Soon to be shoveled out by Mr. Sutton and put into the trash, which will eventually make its way into the Thames, and once more end up at the East End where she belonged.

  * * *

  Life in the Covington house during the next three weeks played out exactly as Eliza had imagined. Throughout the rest of November, her father spent most evenings alone in his study. Lady Covington carried on as though nothing had happened, although she did seem somewhat merrier than she had been before.

  Just as Professor Huxley had confidentially told her, Eliza graduated from the London School of Medicine for Women. No honors were given, of course, but she hardly cared anymore. What she’d learned about herself and the human body elevated her status above and beyond the classical education.

  Inspector Abberline congratulated Eliza at the graduation dinner her parents hosted at the end of the month. “And thank you for your past advice with…Whitechapel,” he said.

  “Have you any new leads?” she inquired.

  The inspector looked over at Lord Covington who was standing across the room near the punch bowl with his head hung low. “No miss, none whatsoever—nothing for you to worry about, though. Best of luck with your nuptials next month and then off to America, I hear?”

  “Yes, sir,” Eliza said. Henry was standing by her side smiling from ear to ear.

  “Blessings to you both.” Inspector Abberline nodded then walked off toward Lord Covington and the two men spoke quietly to one another, looking around the room for anyone who might be watching. Eliza wasn’t concerned. She knew they were proud, educated men, chasing their tails. As she’d overheard once in the East End pub, ‘they were bumbling idiots.’

  Then it was a great surprise to all the guests when Ann Williams and her husband entered the room. Eliza quickly walked up and shook hands with her. While Henry spoke to Sir Jon, Eliza led Ann over to the table covered in seasonal sweets and delights.

  “I never thanked you,” Ann said softly.

  “Please, there’s no need. You would’ve done the same for me. Things are better for you at home, I think.” Eliza looked deep into Ann’s eyes.

  “Yes, much, thank you again.”

  “And how was the eating chocolate? All these glorious treats spread out as far as the eye can see and not a single chocolate. I’ve yet to convince Father it isn’t an evil thing.”

  “Speaking of evil things,” Ann swallowed and looked down at the floor. “You don’t know anything about the latest Whitechapel mur
der, do you?”

  “Nothing at all, but what luck, right?”

  “Eliza,” Ann whispered as if to shush her.

  “What is it, Ann? You can’t tell me you’re not happy with the news. You look absolutely beautiful this evening.”

  Ann was about to say something more, but Eliza waved Henry and Sir Jon over.

  “What is it dear?” Henry said. He handed her a glass full of bubbling champagne.

  “I was just telling Ann how absolutely beautiful she looks this evening. Don’t you think so, Henry?”

  “Yes, of course.” He smiled at her, raised his champagne glass and took a sip.

  “Wouldn’t you agree as well, Sir Jon? Ann’s beauty this evening rivals anything else that ever came out of Wales.”

  Sir Jon coughed and cleared his throat. His face turned red and Henry patted him on the back. “Are you all right?” he asked him.

  “Yes, I’m fine. I’m fine.”

  “Well, I suppose,” Henry said. “If you were to become ill, a room full of doctors would be the place to do it.”

  Sir Jon agreed and everyone laughed except for Ann. She stared at Eliza with squinted eyes. Once more she was about to speak, when Sir Jon took her by the arm, excused their leaving, then led her over to Lady Covington.

  Henry turned to face Eliza, leaned in, and kissed her on the cheek. “Ah my dear, I’m so proud you’ve succeeded in this accomplishment I know you’ve been wanting.”

  “I am so happy.”

  “I’m sure our joy will only continue with the wedding and our move.”