Only the Thunder Knows_East End Girls (19 page)

Chapter

5

Nearly a month later, Eliza
still felt dull and out of sorts about the idea of moving to America after the
wedding. The uncertainty drove her hard into her studies, and she was more
determined than ever before. There were more late nights spent at the Royal
Free Hospital, plus daytime volunteer work, all in addition to her curriculum.
She took whatever work she could to improve her medical knowledge, but it still
wasn’t enough. Eliza knew she needed the East End. It needed her, and she
wanted it. All she had to do was walk the streets with her medical bag in hand,
and she would be approached by the sick or injured and sometimes by prostitutes
hoping she could take care of their business in the back alleys they were so
accustomed to. If she was going to be forced to live a life she didn’t want,
she would first do what she could and learn as much as possible in the East
End.

It was late
when Eliza snuck out. She had to be certain everyone was asleep. With her bag
under her arm, she walked as far as she could from the house before taking a
hansom to Whitechapel. The fog was so thick she could hardly see the cab
driver. By the time she got there, it had started to rain. Eliza pulled the
hood of her cloak over her head and kept her bag slightly open in case she
needed to reach in for a weapon. Wet and cold, she stood by a building
prostitutes frequented, and waited. Raindrops pitter-pattered against the tin
roofs around her. Chimney smoke from the workhouses and homes of the poor
blackened the fog, making it look green in the dim lamplights. Every breath
inhaled was poison, so she folded the bottom part of her hood over her mouth.

After a few
minutes, she heard muted footsteps. The water and haze distorted sounds, and
Eliza couldn’t tell from which way they came. She reached into her bag and
carefully felt around for the handle of her surgeon’s knife. Nimble fingers
searched out the smooth mahogany, sized for a man’s hand. The blade end was the
same length, made of durable, sharp stainless steel. Against an attacker, the
surgeon’s knife would be a menacing weapon. She was happy to have it in her
bag; a gift from her father. It wasn’t long before she was approached.

Two women,
drunk as she’d ever seen anyone, stumbled up and nearly knocked her over.
“Sorry miss,” one said while brushing off Eliza’s cape with filthy hands. She
had dark hair and a plump face compared to the other woman, who was rail thin;
both were obviously working women.

“See you got a
medical bag there, Miss. You wouldn’t happen to be called Jane, would ‘ya?” the
one with the long scrawny face asked.

“I am.”

“Good. Ah…Emma
here’s got a little problem she needs you to take care of.” The prostitute
patted Emma’s belly and giggled.

“Do you have a
doss for the night?” Eliza said. “A room is best to do the work.”

“No miss, we
spent it on drink. Besides, looks like the rain’s lettin’ up.”

“Is there any
place else?”

“Right around
the corner will do. Emma here’s not picky. Not a lot of folks out this time of
night.”

“Fine then,
let’s get to it.” Eliza walked about 20 yards until a street pump for water
caught her attention. This would be good for cleaning up afterward, so she
turned left and walked down a long corridor behind a three-story building that
was partially lit up from a lamplight in the rear yard. She figured it was as
good a place as any, and she would have plenty of room to work. Two small
outbuildings weren’t too far off in the backyard and she hoped one was a
lavatory where things could be discarded. “Lie down here,” Eliza told the
prostitute, Emma. “Use the bottom doorstep to rest your head. Help her—what’s
your name?” she asked the other prostitute.

“Catherine,
miss,” she slurred, then belched.

“Not your real
name!” Emma scolded.

Catherine
shrugged her shoulders and both women giggled.

“Keep your
voices down, or I’ll leave this minute!” Eliza said. Catherine looked properly
chastised. Eliza often wondered why these stupid, disgusting animals worried so
much about using their real names. She didn’t care one way or the other who
they were because it was unlikely she’d ever see them again. “We must keep
quiet unless you want trouble from the tenants.”

Once they had
Emma positioned correctly, Eliza lifted the prostitute’s skirts and readied her
instruments. First, she took out a piece of wood wrapped in cloth that was a
little longer than a finger and just as thick. “Here,” she told Emma. “Bite
down on this to keep quiet when the pain comes.” Emma nodded and put the stick
in her mouth.

Eliza pulled
down the woman’s filthy drawers. She left her gloves on and inserted two
fingers deep into Emma’s vagina while pressing the woman’s abdomen with her
other hand. She was sure she felt a lump that wouldn’t normally be there. The
patient grunted and her musculature stiffened. “Try and calm her,” Eliza told
Catherine. “It will make things go easier.”

While
Catherine patted her friend’s head and whispered everything would be all right,
Eliza pulled the long curette from her bag and slowly inserted it into Emma. The
woman wriggled and bucked like a wild animal and her friend was worthless at
holding her still. Emma bit down hard and grunted, swinging her head back and
forth. Tears streamed across her temples. “I can’t do this,” Catherine said.
She got up and ran off with her hands over her mouth. Eliza heard the
prostitute’s footfalls tap loud and quick at first, then they grew faint, until
they faded to nothing.

“Don’t worry,”
Eliza told Emma. “We don’t need her, but you’ve got to hold still.”

Emma nodded
and Eliza continued circling the curette. She grabbed another instrument with a
sharp hook at the end, inserted it, and pulled when she felt it had caught on
something. Emma’s eyes bulged and she screamed with the bit still in her mouth.
“Almost done,” Eliza said. She yanked hard and a glob of tissue came out with a
rush of bubbled blood that reeked of feces. “Dammit,” Eliza said, knowing she’d
hit bowel.

Emma began to
scream louder and louder. Eliza was in a panic, didn’t know what to do. She
thought first of what Professor Huxley would say. He would tell everyone he
knew she was a horrible surgeon. Her father would be so disappointed. Her
mother would be ashamed, and Henry would never take her as his wife. Eliza
leaned forward and tried to shush Emma, pinning her arms to her sides to keep
her from flailing about. They struggled, and when that didn’t work, she grabbed
hold of the sides of the bit in her mouth and pushed down. Emma freed herself
and reached into her pockets for something. Eliza grabbed her hands, tore the
fabric of Emma’s dress, and loose junk from the pocket flew up into the air
then landed scattered about. Emma tried to fight. Eliza twisted up the scarf
Emma had around her neck and began choking her, used her thumbs to push hard
against her trachea until Emma passed out. Crazed, Eliza searched in her bag
for the surgeon’s knife. She held it up and stared at the glinting blade just
as Emma started coming to.

Eliza leaned
over her body then used the scarf to turn her head to the right. With little
life left in her, Emma didn’t put up much of a fight when Eliza took the
surgeon’s knife and cut across her throat from left to right. Eliza let go of
the handkerchief and quickly began her work down below. There couldn’t be any
evidence left behind and she would have to move fast.

It was
fortunate she’d been there to hear the details Dr. Llewellyn gave when he and
Detective Godley came to visit her father—almost as though it was meant to be.
And her own father gave her the best bit of advice. If the killer was evolving,
then this would be his next step. Taking a thing—a prize.

Eliza opened
Emma up and heaped her innards on top of her chest to get to the uterus. It had
to go. Everything that could lead back to this failed abortion had to be taken
and discarded. The extraction took less than a quarter of an hour. Then she
wrapped the uterus and other parts of incriminating evidence, into a large
swatch of fabric from her bag and tied it off with a piece of string. Quietly,
but very alert, she went up to the front of the building, set the organs down
next to the water pump and rinsed her hands off best she could. It started to
rain again. Eliza put the bundle into her bag and hurriedly walked down the
street. Every footstep was a loud splash against stone. She caught a hansom cab
that delivered her close to Regent’s Park, where she got out and walked the
rest of the way. Eliza clutched her medical bag hard against her chest as
though it might open and spill out her horrible secret.

When she got
home, Eliza used the servants’ entrance, went down into the kitchen, took the
bundle from her bag and placed it onto the fire along with her gloves. The
flames grew to life with her offering, but she added two more logs to be sure.
Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
What if the police don’t believe my
cover-up? That won’t, and can’t happen.
Before anyone in the house woke up,
Eliza rinsed her cape and frock coat best she could then went upstairs to
change for breakfast.

Despite all
the feelings roiling inside, hunger rose above all else.

Chapter

6

 “You look flushed this
morning, Eliza. Are you feeling all right?” Lady Covington said.

“The other day
I was too pale, and now I’m flushed. Are you sure it isn’t your eyes?” Eliza
sat down at the table and thanked Mrs. Sutton for a cup of tea.

“That’s no way
to speak to your mother,” Lord Covington said.

“See how she
treats me, Thomas?”

Eliza rolled
her eyes. “Oh Mother, you know I don’t mean it.”

“Then don’t
vex me like that,” Lady Covington said. “After church will you go over the
flower arrangements with me?”

“I can’t
today. I’m playing tennis with Henry, Henrietta, and her husband, Arthur.”

“How is his
sister getting along since her marriage?”

“I’ve not
heard much about it.”

“That’s
because you’ve got your nose in books all day. It would be to your advantage
after your own wedding to listen to what’s happening in society.”

“But I don’t
really care what happens with society.”

“You will when
it pertains to your husband, dear.”

“Ladies,
please, might a man have a piece of toast without the bickering?”

Mrs. Sutton
entered the room, placed fresh jams on the table and set a folded paper down
next to Lord Covington. “I thought you might like this right away, sir.” He
nodded. Then she stepped over to Eliza and poured more tea. The maid leaned
over and whispered in her ear. “Nanette says your frock coat and cape are
soaking wet. What would you have her do?”

“Wash them,”
Eliza said. “I decided to walk home yesterday and got caught in the pouring
rain.”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Did you say
you walked in the rain yesterday?”

“Yes, Mother.”
Eliza watched and waited for her father to open the paper.

“Are you trying
to catch a death of a cold?”

“No, Mother.
What news, Father?”

He looked up
from the paper. “Walking is a healthy thing,” he said. “It’s good exercise.”

“Yes, but in
the rain, Thomas?”

“Well, maybe
when it’s pouring out take a cab next time, Eliza.” He went back to reading the
paper. “Hmm…seems there’s been another murder in Whitechapel.”

“That’s
horrible,” Eliza’s mother said. “Must we discuss this while we eat?”

“Thank you,
Father,” Eliza said. “May I be excused to dress for church?”

“Yes, you may.”

Eliza took the
stairs down toward the basement washroom and found Nanette, one of her best
servant girls, standing over a large wash basin. Eliza picked up a can of soap
on the shelf next to her and threw it against the wall in front of the maid.
White powder exploded everywhere and the young girl screamed and turned around.

“Was there a
problem with my coats, Nanette?” Eliza said with clenched fists.

“No, Miss,
they were just so wet and heavy like they’d been left outside in the rain. They
smelled funny, too. I thought that perhaps you’d want to throw them out.” The
maid trembled and rattled off her words.

“You know
those are the clothes I wear to school and to work in.”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Well, they’ll
have to do until I’m finished then, won’t they?”

“I’m sorry,
Miss.”

“Don’t be
sorry, Nanette. I’m a bit out of sorts this morning, that’s all. Please, just
wash the clothes when I bring them to you, with no comments to Mrs. Sutton or
anyone else. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Then hurry up
and clean this mess before someone sees, and don’t tell a soul what happened
here, either.” Eliza walked upstairs and dressed for church. No doubt the news
of the murder had spread throughout all of London. She meticulously scanned
over images in her mind regarding the night’s event. Eliza could think of
nothing she might have forgotten or left at the scene in her rush to clean up
and leave. 

During the
entire sermon, she kept her eyes down and thought of the other prostitute,
Catherine. What if she told someone? Eliza doubted a woman of her nature would
go to the police. Still, she would have to find her somehow and figure out a
way to strike a bargain to her keep quiet.

A match or two
of tennis would help her think things through. Her mind was always more clear
when she was active. Sitting stagnant in church with her thoughts running in
circles did nothing to help. It was suffocating, which made her think of the
grip she’d had on Emma’s scarf when she was strangling the girl. Her hold had
been firm; so much so, she could hardly believe her own strength. Eliza moved
her hand over her bicep muscle and marveled at the definition in her arm. All
the tennis matches and archery competitions had made her stronger than she
realized. She looked up from the pew and smiled.

*   *   *

Henry took
Eliza home in his phaeton carriage and she wondered where her heart was. Would
she ever fall in love with him? Her mother told her it would come with time,
but shouldn’t she feel the least bit for him now?
Love and marriage are
useless things. Life and death, those are real
.

Eliza knew
that once she became a fully-pledged physician she’d have some control over
what was real. But losing control, like she did last night, had also been
liberating. This kind of freedom without conscience could get her into a great
deal of trouble. She had to be careful. Perhaps someone at the Royal
Free Hospital would know of a prostitute named Catherine.

“What occupies
your thoughts so, Eliza? Say it’s me.”

“Of course it
is.” Eliza was pleased with her increasing ability to lie so easily. “You, our
wedding, our future lives in America.”

“I hope you’ll
be happy, dear.”

“I’m sure I
will.”

“Good. Good.”

Henry’s driver
brought the carriage to a halt in front of the Covington residence then helped
Eliza step out. “I’ll see you soon,” Henry said from the door.

“Goodbye,
Henry.”

Eliza sensed
unease when she walked through the front door. She removed her hat and gloves.
Mrs. Sutton came into the foyer and took them from her. “Lady Covington would
like to speak with you.”

“Is there
someone else here?”

The maid
looked from one side to the next then whispered. “More detectives and the
police surgeon have come again. Something to do with the Whitechapel Murderer,
I presume.”

Eliza started
for her father’s study.

“Miss Covington,
your mother is waiting for you in the parlor.”

“Yes, of
course, but—”

“Trust me when
I say you wouldn’t want to be in the same room with that severe bunch. Even
your father looks more stark than usual. Best you be on your way to see what
Lady Covington requires.”

“Thank you
Mrs. Sutton.” Eliza headed for the parlor, slowing her pace when she passed her
father’s study. Men’s voices boomed through the closed doors, making Eliza’s
heart race. Perhaps they’d caught on, which hastened her steps. If anyone knew
what was happening in the house, it would be her mother.

“There you
are, Eliza. Where have you been?”

“I told you
earlier Mother, with Henry playing tennis.”

“Oh, yes, now
I remember. These events have me so distraught I hardly know what to think. It’s
horrible of these men to keep your father from his dinner. A man needs his
nourishment, and he’s not getting any younger or healthier.”

“Mother, it’s
important. They need his help.”

“His help? Why
on earth do they need his help?”

“Well, he’s
esteemed, Mother. They trust him.”

“I suppose,
but it is very inconvenient.”

“Who is here
speaking with him? Are they the same men from before?”

“How would I
know?”

“Mother, you
must have some idea.”

“I can’t
believe you’re more concerned about what is going on in that room full of men
than the reason I called you here.”

“All right,
why did you send for me?”

“The
dressmaker is coming tomorrow afternoon.”

“Oh, mother,
how can you think of such things when father is in his study talking to
detectives about murder?”

Lady Covington
raised her voice. “If I don’t, it will be your wedding day, and you’ll be
walking up the aisle in your nightclothes. What is murder to humiliation? I
won’t have it. You need to be home early tomorrow for the dressmaker, and I’ll
have no more talk of death or detectives.”

“Yes, mother.”
Eliza had never seen her so upset. No sense in vexing her any further. At least
she could be at ease knowing none of them suspected she was guilty of murdering
a prostitute. If they had, she was certain her mother would hysterically inform
her.

*   *   *

Dinner was
served late that evening, and Lady Covington made sure to tell everyone she
suffered from a cruel headache, so most of the conversation centered on her
health. After pudding, Lord Covington returned to his study and Eliza followed.
She could no longer contain her curiosity. The door was barely closed when she
spoke. “Father, please tell me, what news of the Whitechapel Murders?”

Lord Covington
furrowed his brow. “You shouldn’t concern yourself with these matters; although
I can tell you that I knew this kind of thing would only get worse. They’ve got
Inspector Abberline on it now. Expect to have it wrapped up soon.”

“He’s that
good?”

“I’ve never
heard anything other than exceptional remarks about him.”

“Hmm…”

“What is it?
You seem a bit out of sorts. Your mother again?”

“I have to be
home early tomorrow to meet the dressmaker.”

“Is it all
that bad? You are getting married soon.”

“No, that’s
not it.”

“Second
thoughts are normal. You’ll get over it eventually, and you know I’d love
nothing more than to have you practicing next to me. But as it is, I’m up half
the night listening to your mother worry about your future.”

“I’ll be
fine.”

“Truly?”

“Yes, Father.
Good night.” Eliza went around the desk, leaned in and kissed his cheek. He
looked more tired tonight than usual. She was sure his mind was occupied with
thoughts on how to catch a madman, and so she did not want to keep him from his
bit of solitary peace and quiet.

In her room,
Eliza noticed her cape and frock coat hanging over the cabinet door of the
armoire. Nanette had done a good job getting them clean. Eliza sighed. She’d be
unable to walk the East End tomorrow in search of the prostitute, Catherine,
but at least there’d be time to ask around the Royal Free Hospital. Degenerates
from many London districts came there at one point or another for care. Someone
was bound to know of one or two women named Catherine.

She hoped.