Baths are good for the body, and confessions are good for the soul. Madame Vastra is preparing a big change for their lives, and plans to tell Jenny a carefully edited version of Vastra's story.

But sometimes plans go horribly wrong…

{Trigger Warning – graphic violence, aftermath of sexual violence – Chapter 3 only.}

{Full notes will be at the end of next chapter.}

Wednesday July 6, 2013

Madame Vastra received a Bank Draft from Mr Maxwell Monday morning, and we spent Monday afternoon at the Bank of England. Mr Thackeray and his new assistant Mr Bradshaw helped Madame set up a bank account. Somehow I ended up with permission to put in (deposit, Mr Thackeray calls it) and take out (withdraw) money on Madame's behalf. I started a new page in my account book just for Madame, wrote down the things we spent money on for the Grand Tournament case, and then added: Received – Thirty Pounds honorarium for services rendered. Mr Thackeray checked my work, and was very pleased that I followed the book he gave me for my birthday. He even wrote 'Perfect Score – Jenny Flint' at the top of the page!

On the other hand, my nose is still twitching a bit from our smelly night guarding a pile of sh... manure last week, even though I've washed meself a few times, and washed all our clothes twice. Think it might be a good idea to suggest a special treat to Madame Vastra. Be a nice way to say "Thank-you" before I say Good-bye.

My family flat didn't have a bath, of course. We just had the privy out back, and the pump down the street. Any water we had, we carried up to the flat in a bucket or two, same as Madame Vastra's room. That was my job, and later I had Johnny to help me. Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor a dark night was an excuse for us to slack off by Ma's reckoning. But sometimes Ma use to take us to the Washhouse in Goulston Square, just about a quarter hour's walk from our flat. The baths there were nice and big, with high ceilings covered by an open roof, and had lots of skylights for the daytime when we went, and even gaslights at night for the working folks.

Each bath-room was a bit bigger than six feet each side, shut in by walls of painted slate, which were about twice Ma's height. The top was open, so we had privacy, but the air could move too. The bath was sunk in the ground and of white painted metal.

We used a second class room. On the door is a knob with a number painted upon it; and the same number was painted inside. The attendant could to let in either hot or cold water, as Ma turned the knob. A hot bath was only two pennies, but only one towel was allowed, and Ma bought our own comb and brush and a rough towel for us young ones. Anne and I usually shared a cold bath in the summer; they were one penny for a second class bath. Ma let us have a hot bath each month in the winter, which was a real treat.

I think Madame Vastra might like a nice bath too. Let us get cleaned up proper, and get the stench of the manure out of our noses.

I have a nice long chat with Mrs Brown about this and that, but the one thing she doesn't know is where to find a local place that has private baths, so she sends me over to the Greengrocer. Sure enough, Mrs Crawford suggests Faulkner's on Newgate Street, just north of St. Paul's; about a ten minute walk away. They're more expensive than I'm use to; a hot and cold bath is a shilling! But Madame Vastra is worth it. I need to go up and have a look at the place though; Madame needs privacy if she's going to have a proper bath, and I want to make sure she gets it.

When we were walking back from guarding the manure pile outside the Grand Tournament, Madame had me reading posters on the buildings. I saw a few for some plays, Madame might like a visit to the theatre too. Wouldn't mind finding a nice little place to eat as well. Probably need a small room so Madame doesn't need to hide her face….

Oh who am I fooling? If baths are two shilling for both of us and two shillings more for a pair of seats up in the Gods at the theatre; that leaves me with two shillings from a week's pay for food. We'll be lucky if we get meat pies and cheese at that rate. Better to pick up some things at Mrs Crawford's and Baird the butchers and have a sort of picnic instead.

Well maybe I can get her to come for a nice long walk this evening and clear both our heads. Swing by the grocer and the butcher and Faulkner's and set everything up. Then we can go to baths and lunch in the park tomorrow. That's at least a bit of a 'Thank-you' present.

Still, she might like a trip to the theatre one day…

Enough. I'm just trying to put things off.

We need to talk. She'll most likely be really happy with what I need to tell her.

Well, maybe she'll be a bit sad.

Don't be an idiot, Jenny me girl! That's not bloody likely!

Face it. Madame's been more kind to me than I could ever ask for. It's time to grow up and stop being underfoot all the time. She'll probably be delighted that I won't be in her apartment, and even happier that I won't be in her bed!

What I want don't count fer nothing! Madame Vastra's what important here!

Madame agrees to a stroll after we practice blade work for the day, and review my notes on a science book I'm reading. It's about 9 o'clock or so, after sunset and getting on towards full dark. The street lamps cut through the gloom a bit, making it easier to see. Always fun to watch the lamplighter so about his work.

We've been out far later than this of course; but tonight I'm feeling a bit jumpy. Not sure why. It's a nice evening, fairly warm; even Madame is wearing her light cloak with the hood down, and just her veiled hat on her head.

As we pass a narrow alley way, I hear a sound like a sobbing, quickly muffled. I shake my head a bit, stop us just the other side of the alleyway, and cock my head to listen again. Beside me, Madame is silent; she knows my hearing is a bit better than hers. Suddenly I hear something being hit, like a hard smack, and whimpering, and a man mutters "stupid bitch!" followed by grunting. And now I can smell something…wrong in the air.

Madame brushes past me, murmuring "Stay here, I smell blood." Oh, that's never good. I remain on the pavement, and glance up at the burning street light. Will Madame even be able to see anything in the dark?

Suddenly I hear shouting. That's Madame's voice! Then a blood-curdling scream!

I'm worried enough that I don't think, I just run after Madame Vastra.

There's a little bit of light from the moon in the alley, and the smell of blood is so thick here even I can almost taste it. There's a lump on the ground, but it's Madame Vastra I'm looking for. And I see her all right.

She's nearby, crouched over a dead man, his eyes wide and staring at her. There's a lump in her hand, and a hole in his chest. I can see the white ends of his ribs! Madame Vastra has torn his heart out!

And then to my horror, I see her veil is thrown back; her hand, still clutching the heart is near her face, and there are dark smears around her mouth. Oh Dearest God!

She's eating the man's heart!

I can't help it; all I can do is scream like a banshee, turn and run!

I take two steps before I'm chased down and grabbed, her other hand over my mouth to stop my screams. I try to fight her off, but she crouches in the alley and tucks me into her, my back to her front, pinning my arms so I can't get at my knives. She holds onto me, while I try to kick and flail, but even though I land a few hits, she lets me struggle and fight and just takes the blows. She doesn't try to fight back; she just keeps holding on and murmuring in my ear. She keeps repeating "Jenny you're safe. Jenny, I won't hurt you."

It takes a few minutes to tire meself out, and I realize that something different is being muttered into my ear; "Jenny, she's badly hurt. Jenny, she needs your help."

Who needs my help?

I quiet down, stop fighting and sort of collapse against the cloaked figure who's holding me. I try to look around, but all I can see is the other lump in the alley.

A lump that is moving slightly. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness a bit, and I can make out that there is a woman on the ground. Her skirts are up over her body, and she's moaning and sobbing, quietly. She can barely move. There are dark smears of blood everywhere.

Oh bloody, bloody Hell!

"Jenny, will you help her?" I give a quick nod, and Madame lets me go. I scramble over to the woman. Damn, I wasted so much time!

Madame Vastra starts back towards the man. I can hear his body being dragged away as I rummage through my pockets.

I pull out my little penknife, handkerchief, matches, and a candle stub, light it, drip a bit of wax on a little ledge in the brick wall, and stick the candle in it. It gives me a little more light, as I start to check the woman. She's bleeding from at least a dozen places. Worse, when I look at her face I know that she can't be more than a couple o'years older than me.

"God Damn him all to Bloody Hell!" I curse.

"What`s going on here?" a top-lofty voice calls. I glance up and see a couple hurrying down the alleyway towards us. They must have heard the ruckus. A pair of Toffs. Wonderful! Great help they'll be! Toffs hate getting their hands dirty with filth like us. We're not people to them.

The man stops by beside the candle, throwing half the woman's wounds into shadow. I'm in no mood for being polite to the gentry, even though this isn't their fault.

"She was attacked. She's bleeding real bad. If you're not going to help her, then at least get out of my light. Sir!"

To my surprise, the man nips smartly aside and the woman drops to her knees beside me.

"You a nurse?" I ask, with a sigh of relief.

"No, I'm a Doctor."

I look up in shock. "A What? There ain't no such thing as a woman doctor!"

"Yes, there are, Jenny," Madame Vastra is back, her voice is behind me, "although they're extremely rare!" I imagine she's peering at the woman through her veil. "Great Britain only has one who was licenced here; I saw her mentioned in the papers a month or so ago…"

"Put your hand here and press," the woman tells me, moving my hand a little to better cover an awful looking knife hole just where the woman's ribs begin, "you almost had it." She starts to work on a nasty gash low on the woman's belly. The doctor still hasn't looked up from her examination,

"Doctor Elizabeth Garret-Anderson," she continues, "Nice to meet you. Now can we get on with trying to save this child?"

She looks up now, scowling. She's not a young woman, but she's not ancient either. Not beautiful, but a good strong face. Bet she'd have no fear of taking on Madame Vastra if she needed to. And even though that'd not be a good idea, not sure I'd bet against her either.

The doctor nods to the man, "Anderson, see if you can to find the police and a lantern. And we'll need the carriage."

From behind me, Madame asks, "Jenny, where is your whistle? That will bring the police quickly."

"String's around my neck. Ma'am." I can't even look at her right now. Too many things are jumbling around in my head. I can feel meself getting cold. Don't think. Just do. Stay in the Now. I can have a fit after the girl's safe.

Madame Vastra fishes out the whistle string from under my collar, and I try not to shiver. Her glove is wet and cold when it brushes against my skin; she must have found some water and washed the blood off her hands. She gives it to Mr Anderson, and tells him the signal that will bring the police.

"What about the man who attacked her?" he asks. "I don't want to leave you here unprotected."

"He won't come back," Madame Vastra assures him. I try not to wince at those words. I'm sure he won't. Dead men don't walk.

I hear Mr Anderson hurry up the alley back to the street then give the three blasts on the whistle, followed by a pause and three more.

Then all hell breaks loose. The woman starts awake, screaming. She clutches my wrist and won't let go, even though she slumps back down again a minute later. I stay with her, still applying my handkerchief to the terrible burbling wound.

I watch Jenny and… Doctor… Garrett… do their best for the girl, but her wounds are severe. She's been brutally raped and repeatedly stabbed. From where I stand I can see a perforation of the major intestine, and a sucking chest wound. Those are only two of so many wounds. I have only the barest ideas of how to treat those for one of my sword sisters. I have no idea what to do for an Ape.

Part of me recognizes that my indifference is no longer acceptable. What if that was Jenny? Any or all of those wounds could be inflicted in a fight. Would I let my own ignorance of how to treat them kill her?

Now I hear echoing police whistles in the distance. Thank the Goddess! Policemen start to arrive, too little and far too late, but they can hold lanterns and carry things. Doctor Garrett shows no hesitation in ordering them about.

The third to arrive is Constable Palmer. I have rarely been so pleased to see a male Ape before! The Ape called Anderson returns with him. I think he may be the doctor's mate, as he returns to her side, ready for further orders.

The constable greets me, and I give him a carefully edited version of the story. Fortunately Jenny, concentrating on the poor young Ape, doesn't contradict me on any point.

Shortly, afterwards the carriage arrives. The police seem to be momentarily at a loss on how to carry the girl, but I give my cloak to Constable Palmer and under Doctor Garrett's direction, they are able to slip it beneath her body, roll up the edges, and carry the girl out of the alley. Constable Palmer himself holds her head steady in a firm but gentle grip. Jenny stays with them, still applying pressure to a wound, and still tight in the girls' clasp.

At the end of the Alley, Jenny glances... towards me. She doesn't look directly at me, and she certainly doesn't try to meet my eyes. "Ma'am, she won't let go…I think I better stay with her…?"

I know full well I should not let her out of my sight right now. She may never come back. On the other hand, not all leashes are physical; my only chance now is to demonstrate that I trust Jenny to come home. Even if deep down, I do not really believe that she will.

"Then remain with her." I ask Doctor Garrett, "May Jenny go with you?"

The doctor glances up at me, and I see in her eyes that she already knows what will likely come. "She's been steady so far helping with the girl. If she's up to it, then she may stay."

I pull out my purse and give it to Anderson, exchanging a few soft words with him. My focus though is on Jenny. Who is still not looking at me. Anderson sees my distraction, and misinterprets it. "I assure you that we will keep her safe. What about you Madame?"

"We…. I live close by. I will stay with Constable Palmer and return with him, the police station is close to my flat."

"I'll make sure she gets home all right, sir." Palmer adds. "It's enough for you to worry about the girls."

The police are able to slip the girl, cloak and all, onto the floor of the carriage, Jenny scrambling in to crouch on the floor beside her. The doctor and her mate enter as well, and just before the door shuts, Jenny glances up, but her eyes are still avoiding me. I sigh quietly.

"Good night, Jenny." I say, loud enough for her to hear.

The reply is a very quiet, "Good…night. Madame."

I watch Doctor Garrett-Anderson's carriage roll away into the darkness. I frightened Jenny so very badly this time. I've proven myself to be a dangerous killer and a monster who eats human flesh.

I gave the doctor's mate a full purse, in case Jenny needs money for a Hansom Cab, for food or for a place to sleep. I gave Jenny no reason to return to me. I barely told her Good-bye.

I stand alone on the pavement, as the voices of the police fade to murmurs in the alley. I need to face the fact that due to my inhuman actions tonight, it's very likely that I will never see Jenny again.