Only the Thunder Knows_East End Girls (23 page)

Read Only the Thunder Knows_East End Girls Online

Authors: Rena Mason Gord Rollo

BOOK: Only the Thunder Knows_East End Girls
7.19Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

“Lose
something?” Eliza said.

Catherine
swung around and gasped. “There you are, Miss. Thought you might be trying to
give me the slip.” She went over to where Eliza was standing.

“I would never
do something like that.”

“I knew you
were a smart girl. Now, tell me your plan.”

“Remember I
told you if the broach went missing, the police would go looking for it?”

“I do.”

“Well, I’ve
found a jeweler who will disassemble it for me so that I can give you the loose
diamonds to sell individually. They’ll be unable to trace it that way.”

“Shame to
break up such a pretty piece.”

“Do you want
the deal or not? It’s the best I can do.”

“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 29
th
, 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 to 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.

Other books

Miracles and Dreams by Mary Manners
Every Man a Menace by Patrick Hoffman
The Night Side by Melanie Jackson
The Spirit Woman by Margaret Coel
The Last Hero by Nathaniel Danes
Lujuria de vivir by Irving Stone