Only the Thunder Knows_East End Girls (25 page)

“No, thank
you. I’ll walk.”

Stepping out
into the cold air felt like a sledgehammer against her chest so full of heat
and rage. Eliza couldn’t exhale fast enough and began choking on the Williams’s
porch. She started walking before anyone saw and came to assist her.

How could Sir
Jon be so cruel?
Her boot heels clacked against the icy street and the sounds resonated from the
high treetops.
Were all men this way? Perhaps even her father?
She
didn’t want to know or even think it. Men were inherently lecherous, it seemed,
and there was no way to prevent it—except to perhaps, eliminate the temptation.

Chapter

15

Ann Williams had sent a basket
of fresh fruit to the Covington household two days later. “My goodness,”
Eliza’s mother said. “How lovely, and grapes, too. Very decadent for this time
of year, she must have special ordered them. Apparently, your visit with her
went well, although she was a bit late in sending her regards.” She picked up a
piece of toast and nibbled at a corner.

“We merely
caught up on what had been happening in our lives. Ann is a wonderful person
and a dear friend, if a bit awkward in society.”

“I only wish
she would come out more. It would do her a world of good. It’s a shame she
can’t have children. I’ve heard rumors of Sir Jon’s affairs.”

“Mother!”

“Well, I won’t
give you any details, but Ann should be out showing support for him and not
mulling around at home. It only lets everyone know the rumors are true. Maybe
you should mention it to her on your next visit. I assume you’ll be seeing her
again.”

“Maybe. I’m
busy these next few weeks.” Eliza finished her tea.

“Which reminds
me, the baker—”

“Mother, you
choose. Please, for anything else that comes up, pick what you would have
wanted for your own wedding. I trust your tastes and know you’ll arrange the
wedding of the century. My suggestions will only make it drab and I know how
important this is to you.”

“Eliza, you
can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

“But it’s
your
special day.”

“And it will
be even more special if you arrange everything, Mother.”

Tears began to
swell in her mother’s eyes. She raised a napkin to dab them. Eliza rose from
her chair, walked over, and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ve got to head out now,
but promise me you’ll take care of all the wedding plans.”

“Of course,
dear, but you should have eaten something more.”

Eliza left the
room before her mother burst into tears. It was apparent she was on the verge.
What mother doesn’t dream of planning her only daughter’s wedding? And be
fortunate enough to have one like Eliza who wants no part in it.

Soon there
would be obligatory dinners to attend at the Osborne’s home and holiday
gatherings. Time was running out and then she’d be married and have to move.
The life she knew and loved was coming to an end, but she had no intention of
giving it up quietly.

No. Not
quietly at all.

*   *   *

The Royal Free
Hospital on Henrietta Street, associated with The London School of Medicine for
Women, was a teaching hospital. The girls would make their rounds and take
notes that Professor Huxley would go over the following day. It was busier than
usual, so Eliza and her classmates were spread throughout the building, seeing
patients on their own. Vagrants were lined up one after the other, waiting
behind makeshift partitions of thin sheets used for curtains.

Eliza walked
over to an isolated corner and pulled back the linen. A pretty young woman with
blonde hair, not nearly as fair or golden as hers, sat at the edge of a table.
She looked up when Eliza rifled through her medical papers. Her eyes were a
pale blue compared to Eliza’s bright ones. “Hello, Miss. Can you tell me when
the doctor will be in to see me?”

“I am the
doctor.”

“Oh, I’m
sorry. I just thought that—”

“I was a nurse.”

She smiled and
nodded.

Eliza
continued flipping through the pages, then went back to the first one and
froze. Eyes wide, she looked at the woman and then back down at the notes.
“Your name?” she said.

“Mary Kelly,
just like it says on those papers you’ve been reading.”

A bit uppity
for a prostitute.
It was an extremely convenient coincidence however, and had to have more
meaning than to simply taunt her. Fate was telling her what she had to do.
Thinking quick, she brushed off the harlot’s snippy remark. “Sometimes the
nurses make mistakes and put the wrong papers in the room. I imagine you’d feel
better if I made sure this was really you.”

“Oh, yes,
Miss, I mean, doctor. I’m sorry, just a bit nervous is all, and I’d like to be
heading back to East End before dark.”

“I understand.
How can I help you?” She hoped it was syphilis.

“Well, if I
can trust you.” Mary spoke with a honeyed voice and looked up with angelic
eyes. Eliza could see how this pathetic charm might work on Sir Jon, but she
wanted nothing more than to slit this woman’s throat right this very moment.

“I assure you.
I’m as silent as the grave.”

“Well, I
suppose. You are a doctor, right?”

“Yes, I am.”
Or
rather, will be, very soon.

Mary looked
her up and down for a moment, took in a deep breath then spoke softly. “I’ve
been seeing a gentleman as of late, and I mean a
real
gentleman. He’s
got no children of his own and I’d like to give him one or more.”

The rage began
to swell within Eliza. Heat erupted from her chest and radiated to her limbs,
veins and arteries searing with molten hatred. It needed to be controlled.
There was no way to extinguish this despicable woman right here at this very
moment.

“Why didn’t
you go to the London Hospital in East End?” Eliza said. “They could have helped
you there.” Eliza was sure it was because Mary didn’t want Sir Jon to find out
what she was up to. She wondered what he would do, if anything, were he to
discover it.

“They know me
too well at that place, if you know what I mean. I wanted to keep things private.
Like I told you, it’s a gentleman I’m seeing. He’d want me to come here anyhow
if he knew. A hospital with lots of women ought to know more about having
babies.”

“So this
gentleman, he doesn’t know your plan?” Eliza was pleased she could feign concern,
when what she really wanted was to stab her pencil into the woman’s eye.

“No, I want to
surprise him. Don’t look down on me doctor, it’s not what you think. He loves
me, and he’d be overjoyed if I could give him a baby. He wants one more than
anything else in the whole world.”

“I see. Well,
has everything been working properly down there?”

“Yes.”

“And your
monthly is regular?”

“Yes.”

Eliza couldn’t
help wondering why Mary even bothered coming to the hospital and was certain it
showed on her face.

“I know what
you’re thinking,” she said. “My womanly parts are working fine. I just want to
know if there’s a way I can get pregnant faster, help it along somehow.”

“Ah…well,
that’s all you had to say.” Eliza smiled, her rage buried under miles of cool
ice. “There’s a new elixir some are using to do what it is you want. It
promotes health and optimizes the reproductive system.”

“Why haven’t I
heard of it?”

“Scientists
and doctors are just now testing it. I shouldn’t have said anything. You must
swear to secrecy.” Eliza squinted and put her index finger over her lips and
whispered, “Shhh.”

“Yes, of
course,” Mary said.

“This hospital
is where they are testing it.”

“Oh, that’s
good news. Can I have some then?”

“I’m quite
sure you understand they are
very
particular about who gets it.”

“Saving it for
the rich are they?”

“But maybe…”

“What? Tell
me.”

“No, it’s a
silly idea.”

“It isn’t.
Please, you’ve got to help me.”          

“Well, every
now and again I do charity work at the East End. What if I were to take some
from here and bring it to you after I was done with my duties?”

“Or I could
just meet you here?”

“No, that
won’t do. It would give me away for sure if someone saw us talking. It will
have to be at night, when I’ve finished my work. I’ll understand if you’re too
eager and want to look for something else, there are plenty others that would—”

“Don’t cut me
off, yet. I’m willing to wait. About how long you think?”

“In a week, or
two at the latest.”

“Well, that’s
not long at all. I’m up for it.”

“Since it will
be dark soon, you should probably head back to East End. When I come to see you
with the elixir, I’ll give you a physical exam then as well if you’d like.”

Mary hopped
off the table edge. “Such service—who am I to get a personal doctor’s visit,
and a treatment as well?”

“I feel for
your needs. You and your gentleman friend seem desperate for a child.”

“Yes doctor,
very much so.”

“Where shall I
come when it’s all ready?”

“Miller’s
Court. Number 13.”

“Good. You
have your own place?”

“Well, yes. I
told you I was seeing a
gentleman
.”

“Ah,” Eliza
said. Sir Jon must be paying for this wench’s room. The thought sickened her
and the anger swelled again. “I have no way of getting a message to you, so
I’ll be there when I can. It will be later in the evening, though. That I know.”

“I’ll be
ready.”

“Good day to
you then, Miss Kelly,” Eliza said through gritted teeth.

Mary grabbed
Eliza’s hand and shook it. “Thank you, doctor. Thank you so much.” Then she
leaned over, brought it up to her lips and kissed it.

Eliza pulled
her hand away. “That’s not necessary,” she said.

Mary Kelly
laughed as she walked out of the partitioned room. It was obvious that she knew
she’d made Eliza uncomfortable and was taking advantage.

Behind the
makeshift curtain, Eliza clenched the medical papers and held her breath.
Feeling faint, she reached over and leaned against the table. Several minutes
passed until normalcy came again. She folded up the papers, pushed them into
her pocket, then moved the curtain to the side and walked down the hall with a
smile across her face.

Chapter

16

A few days after her encounter
with Mary Kelly, Eliza was deeply focused on a dissection of the human heart
when Professor Huxley leaned over her shoulder, the odors of liver and onions
on his breath. “What is that pinched between your forceps, Miss Covington?” He
moved his spectacles down to the tip of his nose.

“A vein, sir.”
Somewhat startled by him, her words came out more like a question than an
answer.

The professor leaned
closer to her ear and whispered. “Why bother coming to exams later in the
month, you’ll only embarrass the both of us, and you’re already guaranteed to
pass.”

“It is a vein,
sir,” she said with more confidence.

“For what?” He
spoke up and straightened his posture.

“The heart.”

“But where do
they come from?”

Eliza looked
up to see if any of her classmates were watching. They all appeared to be busy
with their own dissections. She wondered why he was so particularly hard on
her. It seemed brutally unfair.

“Miss
Covington,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Answer the
question.”

“They’re from
the body, sir.”

“Which part?”
He stomped his foot.

 Eliza’s heart
was racing and her cheeks felt warm. She hated Professor Huxley and imagined
plunging the forceps into his eyeball then leaving class to the clapping and
cheers of the other women.

“The lungs,”
she said, unsure of her answer.

“Amazing,” he
said. “And a very lucky guess,” he whispered while walking away.

Certain an
envious smile was on his face, Eliza wished she could carve a permanent one
there. A sense of power surged through her at the thought it was something she
could actually make happen. Killing Annie Chapman was an accident, but making
it appear as though Jack the Ripper committed the crime was genius—she knew
that. Murdering Catherine Eddowes was a choice and she recognized that as well.
Eliza had given in to the dark rage she only recently discovered dwelled within
her. It was possible to control, but as long as external factors existed
triggering the hate, it would need periodic release. Slaying those who hurt her
in their roundabout ways as well as those who hurt the ones she loves most, was
the only way to liberate the fury.

*   *   *

 Eliza arrived
home and was removing her hat and gloves when she noticed the day’s post on a
table in the foyer. A returned letter from Doctor James Riley was on top. Eliza
recognized the envelope.  “Mrs. Sutton, isn’t this one of my wedding
invitations?” Eliza picked up the card and showed it to the maid.

“Yes Miss, I
believe it is.”

“Do you know
why one was sent to Doctor Riley?”

“Your mother
did the invitations, miss. You’ll have to ask her.”

“Where is
she?”

“In the
parlor.”

Eliza tossed
her frock coat over to Mrs. Sutton, then stormed off with the invitation in her
hand. “Mother, what is the meaning of this?” She held the envelope up in the
air and waved it back and forth.

Lady Covington
looked up from the embroidery work she was doing. “Calm yourself, and don’t
speak to me that way, it upsets my nerves.”

While crossing
the room, Eliza noticed the wool skirts worn for school didn’t rustle. Perfect
for stalking—if she were to tiptoe, no one would ever hear her approaching. She
held the invitation out for Lady Covington to see. “What of it?” her mother
said.

“Are you taunting
him? You know he suffers from a broken heart. How could you?”

“Your father
made me send it.”

“Why?”

“You should
ask him.”

“He’s been so
busy with work these past few evenings, I haven’t even seen him.”

Lady Covington
laughed.

“What do you
find amusing about this, Mother?”

“Your father
has been spending his evenings at the gentleman’s club, dear. And not the ones
our circle of friends frequent. Says those detectives and police surgeons come
together and work on solving the Whitechapel murders. What do you think of it?”

Eliza kept
quiet.
He couldn’t possibly be out doing something else—bad things. Not when
I’m so close to graduating, marrying, and leaving.

“Do you
believe that’s what those men are really doing into the late hours of night?
Should I be worried? Eliza, are you listening?”

“Yes, Mother,
I mean no, Mother, you shouldn’t worry. Father is—”

“I
know
he is knowledgeable and well-respected, but he’s not getting any younger and
needs his rest.”

“I’m going to
try and wait up for him tonight. I really want to know why he would send James
an invitation. It seems cruel and very unlike Father to do such a thing.”

“All men have
their reasons for doing what they do. You should leave it alone.”

“That’s no
excuse, and I want an explanation.” Eliza tromped out of the parlor.

Eliza waited
in her father’s study for a long while after dinner. She sat in his desk chair
and looked over clipped news articles of the murders, a feeling of guilt soured
in the pit of her stomach. Certainly not because there was any reproach for
killing the women, but she was to blame for keeping her father working so late
at night these past few weeks. He was busy trying to help solve crimes she had
committed. Some brandy would surely help the feeling pass, so she poured
herself a glass. While taking the occasional sip, her fingers flipped through
the pieces of paper, and she read clipped articles from
The Times
in an
album Lord Covington made of the murders.

Behind her, on
the bookcase wall, were at least a dozen more similar albums he’d put together
since her childhood. Eliza was always curious about his fascination with the
macabre, but she eventually grew out of it. He’d even handwritten some notes in
his latest,
Jack the Ripper
collection. One in particular stood out.
Words that were staggered and scrawled out across a page—
“The Juwes are The
men That Will not be Blamed for nothing.”

What did it
mean? The article on the next page said the chalk writing was on a wall near
where they found a piece of bloody apron. Eliza didn’t remember seeing the
words while cleaning her knife and instruments, but neither was it something
she’d been looking for. The bloody apron piece she remembered tossing to the
ground. Then she wondered if it were possible that Jack the Ripper had been
where she was. Could he have been hiding in a dark corner? Watching her? Eliza
was sure she’d have noticed, but maybe not. The Samaritan gentleman came to
mind, which made her lift the brandy snifter and take a bigger sip. Was there
chalk on his gloves? It was hard to remember.

Looking up to
think more on the subject, her father entered the study. “Father,” she said.
“I’m so glad you’re home.”

“It’s late,
Eliza. What could be so important? I’m certain it can wait ‘til morning.”

Something in
his manner exuded a hint of guilt, which had her too perplexed to reply. He
came up to the desk, leaned over, and closed the album. Rife with heady cigar
smoke and alcohol, her father reeked of a gentleman’s club. His strong odor
made her step back, and what she saw next made her gasp.

“What is it?”
he said.

Eliza looked
down at his desk where some scattered newspaper clippings still lay. “Seeing
all this death, I think it has affected me.”

“It never
bothered you before. Take another sip of brandy.” While he was collecting the pieces
of shorn rectangles and squares, she glanced at his shirt collar again. And
there it was—a finger-length’s smear of red lipstick. Lord Covington looked up
and she turned away.

“You’re right,
what I wanted to say can wait. I’ll talk with you tomorrow.” He stepped toward
her and leaned in. Repulsed to the point of being faint, it took every bit of
her will to kiss him on the cheek. “Good night, Father,” she whispered through
clenched jaws.

“Get some
rest,” he said. “You look very out of sorts.” He gave her a peck on the cheek.

Wanting to run
out of the room, out of the house, and down the street screaming, NO! Eliza
forced herself to walk calm and slow out of his study. Instead of going
upstairs, she went to the kitchen and poured water from the tea kettle into a
basin. Eliza washed her face and lips with scalding water and cried.