Only the Thunder Knows_East End Girls (26 page)

Chapter

17

Eliza’s head was in a fog when
she woke. Her face felt raw against the crisp linen of the pillow. Flinging
back the covers, she got out of bed and inspected her skin in the mirror above
the wash basin. It was slightly pink compared to the bright red capillaries
webbed across her sclera. Sleep had come late, as dreadful thoughts of the
previous night’s discovery lingered in her mind and kept her busy thinking,
devising. Nanette entered the room to help her get dressed for the day. Without
saying a word, she took some powder from the vanity and dabbed it all over
Eliza’s face.

Downstairs at
breakfast, Lord Covington was reading the paper while Lady Covington sipped tea
when she entered the room.

“Good
morning,” her mother said, as Eliza entered the room.

Eliza nodded
and smiled.

“You look ill
this morning and your eyes are red.”

Her father
lowered his paper, looked her up and down. “She seems well enough.”

“To be in a
hospital perhaps,” her mother said.

“And that’s
where I’ll be Mother, so you have nothing to worry about.” Eliza pulled out a
chair and sat down. Mrs. Sutton came over and poured a cup of tea, then added a
splash of milk.

Lady Covington
picked up a muffin and tore a piece away with her teeth. After swallowing, she
glared at Eliza. “Well, did you talk with your father about the invitation?”

“I—”

“What
invitation?” he said.

“The one you
had me send James Riley.”

“Father, how
could you?”

He laughed,
shook the newspaper straight and went back to reading.

It was
shocking to see this side of him. So heartless and cruel.
An adulterer.
She
raised her tea cup between trembling fingers and took a sip. Her mother
smirked, and Eliza wondered if she knew and if she did, for how long?
Why
hadn’t she reacted to it? Had she ever?
It was doubtful. The hate rose, she
had to leave. After finishing her last bit of tea, Eliza pushed the plate of
uneaten muffin away and stood up.

“Are you
leaving?” her mother said. “You’ve had nothing.”

“I’ll have
something between classes.”

Lord Covington
didn’t say a single word when Eliza left the room.

*   *   *

During one of
many tedious lectures by Professor Huxley that day, Eliza wrote Doctor James
Riley a letter. It multiplied a hundred times the love she actually felt for
him, but she thought he deserved that after how her father had treated him. The
note explained why it was impossible for her to return to London Hospital.
There was still too much love in her heart for him and it hurt to be near.
James would cherish the words and she wondered how long he would keep the
letter—maybe forever.

After classes,
Eliza made rounds at the Royal Free Hospital on Henrietta Street, since she’d
no longer been permitted to go to the London Hospital at East End. Steady
traffic came to and from the small supply room where the linen and medicines
were kept. Two hours later, mostly everyone charged off to an emergency on the
first floor. Eliza quickly walked into the storage room and closed the door. A
strong smell of astringent made her wrinkle her nose. Rows of glass bottles and
vials lined the shelves. To the right was a cluster of smaller brown vials with
droppers. The paper labels on the outside read
laudanum
. Eliza took
three of the bottles, wrapped a strip of gauze around each one, and then slipped
them into her apron pockets before walking out.

Over the next
three days, a total of seven vials were collected, brought home, and their
labels removed. But it wasn’t until Thursday next, November 8
^th
to
be exact, that Eliza carefully lined them upright in her medical bag before
leaving the house for classes.

That morning,
she’d handed Mrs. Sutton a note with strict directions not to deliver it until
dinner. “I won’t be dining here tonight,” she told the maid, “and I don’t want
to explain why to Mother just yet.”

Mrs. Sutton
nodded and took the envelope.

Eliza also
left separate instructions with Nanette. “Let them know you saw me in my room
and helped me change my clothes. I told you I was dining out with friends and
to expect me home late.”

“Yes, Miss,”
Nanette said. When the young maid went back to work, Eliza snuck into the
girl’s room and stole a black hat from her clothing chest. It was time to give
the servant a bit of extra pay for her hard work and to replenish the supply.

With her bag
stuffed so full she had to lay her cloak across the top to conceal its
contents, Eliza climbed into her family’s carriage.

*   *   *

Sitting in
class, struggling to stay awake while Professor Huxley lectured on and on about
the heart, Eliza thought about graduation exams taking place next week. Feeling
confident she would do well—regardless of his hateful remarks about her
knowledge or lack thereof—her mind drifted off.

Mary Kelly
would be the final victim she’d contribute to the evolution and legacy of Jack
the Ripper. Knowing she’d assisted in making the gentleman Samaritan infamous
made her smile. Only two days after meeting him, it was resolved in her mind he
was most certainly the Whitechapel Murderer—Jack the Ripper as the papers were
now calling him. From one killer to another she felt it, the camaraderie of
simply knowing the darkness in someone like oneself. Eliza was sure he
suspected her as well. He seemed almost protective by telling her not to travel
the East End after dark.

By the time
she finished classes and rounds at the Royal Free Hospital on Henrietta Street,
a dense fog had rolled in on the streets of London. Riding in the hansom made
her feel like a normal person again—alive—as though she was going somewhere
with a purpose. And what a purpose it was!

After exiting
the cab, she put on Nanette’s hat. Most of the working girls at East End knew
her as Jane by the dark hooded cloak she wore, and she had no want of anyone
approaching her for services this evening.

First stop was
the London Hospital on Whitechapel Road. Before walking in, she took the letter
for James out of her medical bag. Lowering the brim of the hat down over her
face, Eliza entered the building. The receptionist was talking to a young
couple at her desk. Then she got up from her station and led them somewhere
down the hall. Eliza walked over and set the envelope down in plain sight next
to some papers, then left. It was time she let James go and moved on with her
life. Eliza had familial and social obligations she could not deny. He’d played
an important part when she was young and naïve, but that innocence had long
since passed.

It was evening
and her hunger required some nourishment. In the dark corner of a pub, Eliza
sat and ordered a meat pie. Patrons were busy drinking their pints and hardly
noticed her. Their conversations revolved around Jack the Ripper, what the
police were doing, and that they were a bunch of bumbling idiots.

Darkness
blanketed the East End when Eliza walked out of the pub. Intensifying the
sinister mood, the fog had gotten much worse. On cold nights as these, thick,
black smoke from chimney stacks filled the streets and appeared green against
the dim, yellow lamplights. It was an all-encompassing murky haze that included
the odor of a bog. She held her gloved hand out and couldn’t see it. She
smiled, thankful for the perfect situation and felt even more forthright in her
plan. It was as if some unknown force was aiding her, making it easier to
commit the crime and escape unseen.

Her boots
tapped against the cobblestone as she walked. A flat echo of the same sound
bounced off a nearby rooftop. It would be difficult to know who or what was
coming or going from where. The tapping grew more rapid as she picked up her
pace, and soon she would be at Miller’s Court knocking on the door of number
13.

This would be
a night to remember.

Chapter

18

Alleys lined Dorset Street and
all the surrounding buildings of Miller’s Court. There were almost too many
places to choose from for hiding, but Eliza settled on a dark corner across the
way from Mary’s room. Wanting to be sure the harlot was alone, she watched and
waited.

An hour had
passed and nothing happened. What if Nanette forgot to tell her mother she was
dining with friends? Although, ever since the reigns were handed over for
making her wedding arrangements, Lady Covington seemed less worried about where
Eliza was or her activities. Lord Covington was out late most nights now. The
lipstick on his collar came to mind again and her chest tightened. If it
weren’t for the detectives and police surgeons dragging him to gentleman’s
clubs with the excuse of working on the Whitechapel case, he never would have
been tempted with adultery. His infidelity was their fault, and she would give
those men something to keep them all busy for a while.

Some commotion
was taking place outside Miss Kelly’s room. The thick haze made it difficult to
see. Eliza focused and saw a dark-haired woman with a gaudy red shawl wrapped
around her shoulders leaving. Fortunately, it wasn’t Miss Kelly. A man was
approaching her. “Barnett,” she said to him. “What are you doing here?”

“None of your
bloody business, now out of my way.”

The woman
stepped aside and allowed the man access to Mary’s room. He opened the door,
went in then slammed it behind him. Eliza took in a deep breath and sighed
while she watched the woman walk away. It would be a long night.
This
particular prostitute stays rather busy.
It was tiring but made her angry
enough to continue waiting.

Concealed by
the fog, she left the confines of her hiding space and approached Mary’s room,
crouching down close to a small grimy window. One of the glass panes was broken
out and she peeked in. The man, Barnett, had a large build. His physique
reminded her of someone who might be a dock worker, and the cap next to his
wool trousers with suspenders still attached on the floor reaffirmed it. His
wide rear was contracting and relaxing between the whore’s legs while he
grunted like a pig. Eliza could see nothing else past his mass, and what she
was able to observe made her nauseous, so she crept back to her secret hiding
place across the way.

It was over
two hours later when the man finally left Miss Kelly alone. After waiting
another hour to be sure no one else would be coming, Eliza adjusted her hat,
picked up her medical bag and approached the building, leery but thankful for
the thick vapors that obscured everything.

After pounding
on the door with her gloved fist, she took a step back and waited, hoping she
gave Mary enough time after her last visitor to wash up. Miss Kelly opened the
door wearing a sheer linen chemise and had an expression of curiosity on her
face. “Oh yes,” she said. “You’re the doctor from the Royal Free Hospital. Come
in.”

Eliza nodded,
stepped into the room and waited for Mary to close the door before she spoke.
The room was the smallest one she’d ever seen, dark and void of any life or
color except for a copy of a famous painting depicting a grieving widow in
front of a grave. It was dreadful but felt appropriate. A rank odor of a salty
sea hung in the air, along with smoke, and alcohol. It reminded her of what her
father smelled like when he came home from the gentleman’s club that night.

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.