Only the Thunder Knows_East End Girls (24 page)

Chapter

14

Eliza sat down in the seat
across from the man. Their black leather gloves stuck together for a moment
before pulling apart. “Thank you, sir,” she said.

He tipped the
rim of his top hat forward, which hid his face even more. The only
distinguishable feature was his pointy chin. Everything else was veiled in
shadows. Eliza examined his attire. It appeared he was a gentleman of some sort
based on his fashionable suit. As her stare moved over his clothes, she could
feel him watching her in return.

“Where shall I
tell my man to take you?” His voice was low and deep.

“Regent’s
Park, please sir.”

He tapped the
roof of the carriage with a cane Eliza hadn’t noticed before. The handle was
made of bronze formed into the shape of a serpent’s head. Red rubies were
inlaid for the eyes. It was quite elegant.

Eliza sat back
and put her hands together in her lap. The gloves stuck to one another. Pulling
them apart filled the coach with a muted sound of tearing paper and she
wondered why blood had to be such a tacky substance.
Had the gentleman
noticed when he took her hand?
Then again his glove seemed sticky, too.

The carriage
rode on, and Eliza sat with a small smile on her face and eyed the carriage’s
interior as an excuse to observe more details about the gentleman. The legs of
his pants were as wet as the bottom of her hem. She could make nothing else out
about him since he wore nothing but black. If someone were to look upon the
pair, they’d think they were either going to, or coming from, a funeral. Then
something next to the man’s feet caught Eliza’s eye. It stopped her breath. A
medical bag very much like hers was on the floor of the carriage to his right.
A feeling of panic sped up her heart rate. She looked at him and she could tell
his eyes were already on her face.

“It is late
for a woman of Regent’s Park to be out in such a dangerous part of the city,”
he said.

Eliza took a
deep breath to calm herself. “I was visiting friends.”

An odor clung
to the air between them—the smell of metal and salt—a scent of blood. It
couldn’t all be emanating from her. She moved forward, closer to the man, then
inhaled deeply. The man sat up and grabbed her wrist. “What is it, Miss? Are
you faint?”

“No, sir.”

He let go of
her and this time, it was
his
glove that stuck to hers. They eyed one
another. Heart muscles tightened within her chest.

The carriage
stopped, and a moment later, the door opened. “Regent’s Park,” the driver said.
Eliza took her medical bag and stepped down.

She turned
around and looked up at the man in the carriage. “Who shall I thank, sir?”

The gentleman
tipped his hat forward again and smiled, bringing together thin slivers of pink
flesh above the pointy chin. “Simply a good Samaritan, Miss.”

“Thank you,
then.”

“Remember not
to travel at the East End late at night. For your own safety.”

“Yes, sir.”

The driver
shut the door and Eliza walked into the park as fast as she could. The carriage
pulled away, and when the sounds were barely audible, Eliza headed home. For a
moment, she wondered if he would have his driver follow her, but then she came
to her senses and was sure paranoia must be setting in.

Once more,
Eliza came quietly through the servants’ entrance. Then she unfastened her
skirts and let them drop to the floor. She rinsed the hems, her cape, and coat
with her gloves on, then left everything hanging over a chair for Nanette to
wash better the next day. In the kitchen, she opened her medical bag on the
cutting block table, took out the wrapped organs, then walked over and placed
them on the hearth fire. She listened to them sizzle and crackle for a while,
entranced by the orange and yellow flames licking and devouring the pieces of a
whore. Before leaving, she added a few more logs and stoked the fire to keep it
hot and burning high.

Eliza went
upstairs to her room and fell asleep thinking of the good Samaritan.

And wondering
whether or not he was truly all that good.

*   *   *

The next
morning, Eliza and her parents arrived home from church and were told by Mr.
Sutton that several men were waiting to speak with Lord Covington in his study.
After her father went to greet them, Eliza joined her mother in the parlor for
tea.

“Why are there
so many people here? And who are they?” Lady Covington said.

“Mr. Sutton
told me that there’s an Inspector Abberline, an Inspector Dew, and a Detective
Halse here. Along with two police surgeons, Doctors Sequeira and Brown,” Mrs.
Sutton said.

“Something
more must have happened in Whitechapel. What else do you know?”

“Papers say
there were two women murdered last night.
London Star’s
calling him Jack
the Ripper now. He wrote a letter taunting the police and everything.”

“Two?” Eliza
said. Her mind went straight to the gentleman in the carriage. The smell
inside, how their gloves kept sticking, and his medical bag on the floor. Could
he have been The Whitechapel Murderer? This Jack the Ripper? Her mother’s voice
pulled her away from the idea.

“The world has
gone mad, Mrs. Sutton. From now on Eliza, you’re to use one of our carriages to
get to and from the university. Don’t even think of refusing me.”

Eliza didn’t
argue. There was no point in it, and she needed to take the advice of the
gentleman Samaritan and stay away from the East End. Only if it was necessary
to brush up on the female anatomy to pass her exams would she give it another
go; otherwise she’d stay away.

Nearly two
hours had passed when her father finally came into the parlor. He told Mrs.
Sutton they would need to dine early.

“What on earth
for?” her mother said.

“The men would
like me to join them later at the station.”

“The police
station?”

“Well, I can’t
very well have them at the gentlemen’s club now can I?”

“Indeed, you
cannot.”

Then Eliza
wondered if her Samaritan went to clubs. He was certainly dressed for it. Her
father turned his attention to her. “Seems I was right, and the murderer has
become more vicious. This is why they need my insight.”

Her mother
turned toward the two talking and listened.

“You must help
them, Father. I just wish there was something I could do, too.”

“Thomas,” said
her mother. “I’ve told your daughter she’s not to leave this house without
taking one of our carriages. I won’t have it.”

“Yes, dear,”
he said. “I’m sure Eliza is well aware of the situation.” He looked at his
daughter and rolled his eyes.

Eliza smiled
and took a sip of tea.

*   *   *

For the next
week, the family’s carriage took Eliza everywhere she needed to go. She didn’t
want to admit it, but riding in the coach with the curtains closed really did
make her feel safe. Even though she knew Catherine Eddowes—the
London Star
had revealed the prostitute’s surname—was no longer following her, Eliza
wondered if her gentlemen Samaritan friend might come looking around. She
thought he could have the same curiosities about her that she had for him. And
what would he think about her evolving his brutality without his own hand in
it? Perhaps he’d be angry with her for bringing so much attention to himself.
Maybe he was plotting to kill her, or even worse, expose the truth. The
thoughts would drive her mad if she continued this way.

The Samaritan
was a gentleman and therefore would be educated. He wouldn’t allow himself to
be caught under any circumstances. Besides, he’d been killing prostitutes and
women of ill-repute in the East End. It was obvious he knew Eliza didn’t belong
there, had even said as much. She had nothing to worry about. Soon enough she’d
be a graduate physician and then married off. Her heart sunk as the last of her
thoughts seemed rather dull. What would living with Henry be like compared to
saving lives and taking them, blackmail, and riding in a carriage with Jack the
Ripper? She knew exactly what it would be like—it would be suffocating.

After
breakfast, Nanette, who’d smartly kept quiet about having to wash the filthy
skirts, cloak, and frock coat, helped Eliza put on a different coat, hat, and
gloves. Then, while Eliza waited for the family carriage to pull up front, an
altogether different one raced from up the street and halted at the gate in a
peculiar angle. Eliza couldn’t help but think it might be Jack the Ripper, her Samaritan
gentleman, come to call—or kill. Her heart began to race. The carriage’s driver
came round and opened the door. To Eliza’s surprise, a servant stepped down and
was hurriedly walking toward the house. Eliza went out and met the woman at the
gate, just as her own carriage pulled up. It was the Williams’s maid, her eyes
teary and full of fear. “Please, Miss,” the maid said. “It’s Mrs. Williams. She
needs you as fast as you can come.”

Eliza told her
driver she’d be riding in the Williams’s carriage. He nodded and turned around.
Then she followed the Williams’s maid into their carriage. “What happened?”
Eliza said. The carriage sped up the street, bouncing them around in the back.

“Sir Jon left
early. You know he spends Fridays helping the poor at London Hospital.”

“Yes, yes, I
know.”
Although we’re both well aware he’s doing more than that.

“I went to
help Mrs. Williams dress for breakfast and found her still in bed. She wasn’t
coming to. I even shook her.”

“But why send
for me? Doctor Williams is—”

“This fell
from her hand.” The maid passed a small glass bottle to Eliza. She raised it
and took a whiff. The scent was mildly astringent. A label on the outside of
the bottle read,
laudanum
. “There was another empty one on her night
table next to the bed.”

Eliza’s heart
sank. Laudanum was useful in small doses, but deadly in large amounts. She was
about to yell out at the driver to hurry when the carriage pulled up to the
Williams’s house. The two women opened the door and climbed out on their own,
then ran into the house. Ann’s body was as the maid had described it, sprawled
out across the bed. She was alive, but her breathing was very slow and her
pulse faint. “Does anyone else know?” Eliza said.

“No,” the maid
said. “Not even the driver. I shut the door when I left and told the rest of
them to stay out. That Mrs. Williams was feeling ill today.”

“Good. Then it
would make sense that you called for me—very smart. “What’s your name?”

“It’s Abigail,
Miss.”

“All right,
Abigail, let’s get Mrs. Williams sitting up in bed. We’ll need to wash her,
change the clothes she has on. Have someone in the kitchen make her some tea.
Tell them to knock first, and then you take the tray. I’ll also need you to
send your driver to the Royal Free Hospital to tell a Professor Huxley I will
not be attending classes today.”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Let’s use
cool water.”

Eliza helped
Abigail with every aspect of the care. Ann urinated on herself and soaked the
bed sheets only an hour after they’d got her dressed, so they had to go through
the entire routine again, but all the commotion seemed to be causing her to
stir. Off and on she’d been opening her eyes. Eliza held a candle near Ann’s
face to get a better look and noted that her pupils were pinpoints.

The maid
gently held her head, while Ann took several sips of tea. After which she lay
back against the pillows, then suddenly sat straight up with bulging eyes and
opened her mouth. A dark liquid shot across the bed in a steady stream. Eliza
and Abigail looked at one another with wide eyes.

Ann groaned
and then lay down again. For the next hour, she would rouse, vomit, and then
pass out, but she was becoming much more coherent during the times she was
awake. Pushing away the cup of tea and shaking her head no.

It was late
afternoon when Eliza thought Ann was stable enough for her to leave. She gave
Abigail strict instructions to follow, and she was to send for her again if
there were any problems. “When does Sir Jon come home?” Eliza said.

“Not ‘til very
late on Fridays, Miss.”

“Good. Try and
keep him away from her if you can, for the next day or so.”

“That
shouldn’t be a problem. They’ve been sleeping in separate rooms for months.
Hardly talk to one another at all anymore.”

“Has she done
this before?”

Abigail
lowered her eyes and nodded. “It was never as bad as this, Miss.”

Sweltering
rage filled Eliza’s chest. She took in a deep breath which only compounded the
sensation of hate rising beneath her ribcage. Eliza rushed to the bedroom door,
swung it open and headed for the foyer.

“Shall I call
for the carriage?” the maid said.