Only the Thunder Knows_East End Girls (17 page)

Acknowledgements

A big thanks to Gene O’Neill and Gord
Rollo, the “Burke and Hare” of horror writers, Alan M. Clark, Norman
Rubenstein, Christopher C. Payne, JG Faherty, R.J. Cavender, and Chris Marrs.

"It is the same woman, I know,
for she is always creeping, and most women do not creep by daylight."
—Charlotte Perkins Gilman

Chapter

1

Steam rose from Eliza’s gloves
as hot blood continued to gush out of the wailing prostitute. “For the love of
God, hold her still,” Eliza said to the prostitute’s friend, who nodded and
strengthened her grip. “It’ll be the end of us if a copper hears.”
The end
of me anyway, my life, and good family name.

She had been
christened Catherine Elizabeth Covington on June 3, 1870. Her parents, Lord and
Lady Covington of Northumberland call her Eliza, but the East End prostitutes
knew her simply as ‘Jane.’ Where or how she got the nickname, Eliza never
learned or cared to find out.

It was times
such as this that made her wonder why she was wearing a hooded cape like a
villain, kneeling in a back alley of the loathsome Whitechapel District with
her hands between the legs of someone so far beneath her both metaphorically
and literally. Then she would remind herself it was in pursuit of finishing up
at the London School of Medicine for Women to become a physician like her
father, and this thought alone was enough to keep her going. Eliza dreamt of
being the first female doctor to care for a member of the Royal Family. Why
not? Times were changing fast, and she was ready to do whatever it required to
see her dream realized—even despicable things such as what she was doing now.
The vile creatures of the East End had been a way to advance her knowledge, and
they got something out of Eliza’s charity and studies, too.

The uterine
curette had slipped from Eliza’s grasp and she’d inched her fingers further up
inside the harlot in search of the bulbous metal handle. The other end was
shaped into an open oval. Sharp around all its edges, the instrument was
perfect for scraping the inside of a uterus. The woman squealed and clamped her
legs together, making the task more difficult.

“Keep her
calm,” Eliza said, looking up and around for anyone who might be passing by.

The woman
repositioned her hands on her friend’s legs, held them firm, and then spread
them farther apart. “You sure you know what you’re doin’ Miss Jane? Seems a lot
of blood for such a little thing.”

The prostitute
patient began squirming again.

“It’s
perfectly normal,” Eliza said.  “But there would be less of it if she were to
just keep still!”

The friend
turned her head toward the patient and whispered. “Be calm now. She’ll be done
soon enough.”

Up to her
elbow in filth, Eliza thought of the mess that would be left on the sleeve of
her frock coat. Granted, it was one she wore specifically for university and
these ventures in the East End to blend with the residents of the area, but
still, she would have to wash most of it herself before handing it off to the
servants. She knew choosing a black one would be smart, because she
was
smart and of superior intelligence regardless of what Professor Huxley had to
say. He could go hang himself.

“I got it.”
Eliza said. With a firm grip on the handle, she roughly circled the instrument
inside the prostitute one last time, then she pulled it out. A warm gush of
bubbling crimson and gore followed.

“Ugh,” the
friend leaned away and gagged. “It’s done then?”

“Yes. She
should rest for the night.” Eliza said.

“I’ll make
sure of it Miss Jane. And er…I ain’t got nothing to pay for your services, less
you want a little piece of me.” The woman smiled, exposing her yellow teeth and
furrowing the dried dirt caked over her brow and on her cheeks.

“That won’t be
necessary, but see to it this doesn’t happen again.” Eliza pulled strips of
fabric from her medical bag and stuffed them into the patient’s vagina using
the curette she had removed a moment earlier. She’d been stealing the servants’
undergarments and shredding them for just this purpose over the last few
months, and if any of them had noticed, they’d never mention a thing about it
to her. Eliza knew it was a very clever idea—
superior intelligence.

“I swear this
dollymop won’t be seeing the likes of ‘ya again, Miss Jane.”

“That goes for
you, too.”

“You know I
got experience compared to her. Not like me to get knocked up.”

“Fine then.”
Eliza stood, looked around to be sure she had all her things.

“And what
about that mess on the ground between her legs?”

“Clean it up
or leave it. I’ll have no part.”

“And the
pieces? What am I to do with those?”

“Scoop them up
and get rid of them. Here’s some cloth.” Eliza unlatched her medical bag once more
and handed the prostitute a larger swatch of fabric. “Burn it all if you can.”

Eliza stepped
into the fog and made haste.

London haze in
general was abysmal, but the murk that permeated the East End was rife with
smoke and a wretched stench of the poor. A few blind turns past derelicts and
common people coming and going from whatever business occupied them and soon
the more familiar look of Wentworth Street would come into view. The busier
thoroughfare would make it possible for her to catch a hansom cab back to
London Hospital. During the ride, she would remove her cape and frock coat,
change her shoes and tidy up. When Eliza was really a mess, she’d go into the
hospital and wash before taking another cab from the hospital back home to
Queen Anne Street, near Regent’s Park. Until then, she was fortunate the
despicable fog hid her from the police and criminals alike.

Some nights
she would walk along the wet, rugged cobblestones and ponder her future, which
appeared dimmer than the East End lamplights that were useless in the fog,
their glow seemingly miles away. Her wedding, set to take place in several
months to Sir Osborne’s son, Henry, however, felt close enough to smother her.
As dismal as the walks in the area were, the people of the East End had an unexplainable
energy about them that was missing from her own life, and she envied it. So
many East Enders had a bad criminal nature and without a care. It seemed hardly
fair sneaking around to further her education.

If I became a
vile, loathsome creature, the East End would welcome me into its bosom.

Chapter

2

Because of the hour, Eliza used
the servants’ entrance when she arrived home. It also gave her the opportunity
to rinse the sleeves of her frock coat and cape before exchanging them with
Margaret for a plate of cold supper. Margaret was married to Mr. Daniel Sutton,
the Covington’s butler. Together the couple took charge of the other servants
and gardeners.

After dining,
Eliza visited her father in his study and poured him a glass of his favorite
brandy. It had been a nightly tradition since she could remember. As a young
girl, Eliza wanted so much to understand his work, be a part of it. She was
fascinated by his knowledge of medicine and his dedication to the Royal Family.
If any of them fell ill or were injured, he was called for at all hours, even
if he was exhausted after seeing other patients all day. A phaeton carriage
would arrive and be waiting outside to speed him away. There were quite a few
physicians that cared for royalty, but it was well-known that Lord Covington
was one of Queen Victoria’s favorites.

 However, it
wasn’t until Eliza showed medical interests in her later studies that Lord
Covington finally took notice of her pursuits and approved. Since then, they
would spend hours at night discussing new procedures, illnesses, and medicine
in general. Nothing made her happier.

This evening
was different, though. The air was heavy and grave as Eliza approached her
father’s study. She could hear other men in the room, so she gently leaned
against the door to listen. Their voices boomed and vibrated through the solid
mahogany, but she couldn’t discern any of the conversation. No longer able to
stand it, she rapped on the door with her fist.

“Who is it?”
Lord Covington asked.

“It’s me,
Father. Can I come in?” Eliza could hear some protest from the men in the room.
“Is that Henry in there with you?”

“Come in,
Eliza,” her father said.

She turned the
knob so quickly she almost fell into the room.

“Close the
door behind you. We wouldn’t want your mother to hear. Gentlemen, this is my
daughter, Eliza.”

Two men quickly
stood from chairs by the fireplace.

“Eliza, this
is a colleague and old friend from my university days you’ve never met, Doctor
Rees Llewellyn.” His name was said with great reverence. “And this is Detective
Sergeant George Godley.” His introduction was made with little to no sentiment.
“Please gentlemen, continue. Don’t let her looks fool you. More than likely,
she’s brighter than the three of us together.”

“But sir,” the
detective said.

“That’s Lord
Covington to you, Godley.”

“Gentlemen,
please,” Eliza said. Seemed she came at the right time. Eliza walked over to
the brandy tray, poured some into a snifter then brought it to her father who
was seated at his desk. He acknowledged her with a nod and they stared into
each other’s sky blue eyes for a moment, his expressing seriousness and hers
curiosity.

Eliza turned
her head toward Detective Godley and Doctor Llewellyn. “Would either one of you
care for some brandy?”

“No thank you,
Miss. We’re here on business,” Detective Godley said.

“Quite the
beauty she is,” Doctor Llewellyn said. “I hear congratulations are in order,
Miss Eliza.

She looked up
at him with no idea of what he meant. For a moment she thought perhaps her
father had told him about her progress toward becoming a physician.

“For your upcoming
nuptials to Henry Osborne,” he said.

“Oh yes, thank
you doctor.” She sat down and made herself comfortable in a high-backed chair
next to her father’s desk. For several moments, the rustling of her starched
skirts, the occasional crackle from the fire, and Godley’s labored breathing
were all that could be heard.

“Come now
gentlemen, let’s get on with it. We haven’t all night,” Lord Covington said.
“We’re discussing murder, Eliza.”

Detective
Godley gasped. The shortness of breath suited him. He was a stout man stuffed
into an old jacket that was far too small. The plaid, tan vest underneath was
pulled so tight, it protruded his rotund belly. The man’s face was flushed, and
his hair, black as night, was matted to his head with some kind of cheap tonic that
reeked of wet animal.

Doctor
Llewellyn, who was tall and lean in comparison, turned to face her. “A few
women have been found with their throats slit this summer at the East End. But
this last one…this last one had her abdomen cut as well.” When he spoke, his
face appeared worn, as though he’d had a rough life. But otherwise, he was
clean-shaven, and his dark blue suit was kempt. He looked much older than her
father did, even though he had said they’d been university colleagues.

 “They think
perhaps this fiend is evolving, Eliza,” Lord Covington said. “It happened near
the London Hospital.” He gave her a stern look, but mentioned nothing to the
men of the volunteer work she sometimes did there. Fortunately, her father knew
nil of the loathsome deeds she endured in order to learn the female anatomy,
for he would never approve.

“Are you
certain it is the same murderer?” she asked.

Detective
Godley gasped again and plopped himself down into a chair. The color in his
face had gone, and he was quite pale.

Doctor
Llewellyn walked over to the brandy tray and poured some into a glass. He
stepped over to the detective and handed it to him. “Drink this, Godley. For
heaven’s sake man, pull yourself together. This woman is practically a
physician already from what I hear, and surely she’s cut a few bodies open
herself. We speak of nothing she hasn’t done or seen.”

Eliza glanced
at her father and they both smirked. The detective took the glass with a shaky
hand, downed the brandy in two hardy swallows, then handed the snifter back to
Doctor Llewellyn.

“The cuts are
always the same,” Doctor Llewellyn said. “From left to right.”

“So either
your villain is left-handed, or he gets at them from behind,” Eliza said.

“See, Rees, I
told you she was sharp,” said Lord Covington.

 Doctor
Llewellyn raised the empty glass in his hand and nodded at his colleague. “That
is correct, Miss Covington.”

“Was there
anything else, besides the abdominal cut?” she asked.

 “She had been
drinking and was probably strangled first. There was little blood loss at the
scene. Her innards were protruding from the open wound, and there were numerous
slashes crisscrossing her abdomen,” Doctor Llewellyn continued.

Detective
Godley began coughing. Then he stood upright. “Please, sirs, and lady,” he
said. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’ve been feeling a bit under the weather.”

Doctor
Llewellyn took the detective’s empty glass and set it down next to the brandy
tray. “Yes, it is getting late. I suppose we’ve overstayed our welcome.”

Lord Covington
rose from his desk. “It was good to see you again Rees after all these years.
Don’t be a stranger. I’ll be sure to have Lady Covington add you to the wedding
party, and please consider joining us for Michaelmas.”

“Thank you,
Thomas. Please give my regards to Lady Covington. And if you can think of
anything else that might help with the case…or even you for that matter, Miss
Eliza,” he turned toward her and bowed slightly. “Do send us a message. But I’m
hoping this is the end of it. I look forward to seeing you again in September
under more celebratory circumstances.”

“Until then,
Rees,” said Lord Covington. He came out from behind his desk and shook hands
with Doctor Llewellyn.

“It was a
pleasure to meet you both,” Eliza said.

“The pleasure
was all ours young lady.” Doctor Llewellyn raised her hand to his lips and
kissed it gently.

Detective
Godley stood by the door, looking a bit green in the face. He held up his hat.
“Good evening Lord Covington. Miss Eliza.”

Godley opened
the door and Mr. Sutton, the butler, who’d been waiting just outside the study,
motioned for the two men to follow him out.

Eliza walked
over and shut the door after they went. “Father, why haven’t I met Dr.
Llewellyn until now? Does Mother know him? You’ve never mentioned him before.”

“He was a good
friend at University, but he had some problems his last year. Got addicted to
laudanum from what I heard. It was a sad business, too. Rees was one of the
brightest students who ever walked those halls. Seems he pulled through after
the rest of us had finished up and moved on. Was never able to recover his
reputation, though.”

“Why was he
here with the detective?”

“He’s a police
surgeon now.”

“What a
shame,” Eliza said.

“Indeed.” Lord
Covington looked over to his wall of books and appeared to study them for a
moment. “I don’t want you anywhere near London Hospital in the evenings. It’s
too dangerous.”

“But Father,
I’m only there twice a week, and I have my wits about me.”

“I know that,
but it’s of little help when there’s a maniac on the loose.”

“It sounds
like he’s after drunken East End girls anyway, not medical volunteers who help
the sick and the poor.”

“I won’t speak
any further on this subject, Eliza. You are not permitted to go to the East
End. I will have a meeting with Professor Huxley and that Miss Anderson first
thing tomorrow.”

She lowered
her head, turned around, and started for the door.

“Is there
anything else you’d like to say to me young lady?”

“Good night,
Father.”

“Good night,”
he said. His tone softened. “You’ll see that it’s in your best interest to stay
away. Besides, your mother has been blaming me for keeping you from your
wedding plans. Henry’s a good man, Eliza. He’ll make a good husband.”

“Yes, Father.”
A single tear rolled onto her cheek as she opened the door and stepped out of
the room. Months ago, he was in full support of her attending university and
all the work that went with it. She couldn’t understand why a few murders now
would make him change his mind. People died in the East End all the time. It
wasn’t unusual to have a body floating in the Thames there at least every other
day. No, it couldn’t be that her father was so worried about it. This change of
heart must be because of her mother. Eliza’s familial and social commitments
would be the death of her. There had to be a way of escaping them, and she was
desperate to find it.