Hilliard woke with a start. He looked around, and his panic set in. He was in an unfamiliar place, and he couldn’t remember how he had gotten there. He felt a strange weight on his chest, and that’s when it clicked.
He reached down and felt soft hair. It was Cordelia, asleep on his chest, her harm wrapped around his waist, the other on his stomach. The pieces began to fall into place. Nag’s Head. They had gone to the Nag’s Head public house last night. And what a night it must have been. He was in Selma’s house now, so they must have all been too inebriated to find their way to their own homes.
Hilliard soaked in the moment, relishing the warmth of Cordelia pressed against him, her rhythmic breathing as she slept, the smell of her hair, he took it all in. The grandfather clock in the room clicked into action, chiming out once, twice, thrice… seven times. Seven in the morning.
Cordelia stirred at the intrusive sound of the old clock. She shifted a bit, moaning and grumbling, before clutching onto Hilliard and falling back asleep. He stroked her hair and allowed himself to lay back, basking in the warm feeling of Cordelia Truscott against his body.
His elysian mood was short-lived, however, as the sound of someone trying, and failing, to sneak through the house caught his attention. There were creaks of floorboards, stumblings and whispers. The sound drew near, and Hilliard, unsure of who it might be, intruder or friend, braced himself to protect Cordelia and to spring into action in case of the worst.
His fears were alleviated as his friend Jasper snuck past in a rather unbecoming state of undress. He was sneaking toward the direction of the kitchen. Immediately behind him, in a nightgown and shawl, was Selma. She was following Jasper, trying her best to cover up as much of herself as she could with the shawl. It didn’t take much for Hilliard to put the pieces of the puzzle together.
Cordelia stirred once more, and this time she woke. She hummed happily, squeezed Hilliard in an embrace and snuggled close.
“Well, good morning Mr Purefoy,” Cordelia whispered, coyly, “and how are you?”
Hilliard’s heart raced. Although he had been enjoying the position he was in (and he had physical proof he was enjoying it), he was still a bit old-fashioned when it came to physical intimacy, and the era had been shifting to a much more casual view of sexual relationships.
“Good morning, Cordelia,” he stammered, his mouth dry and his tongue cleaving to the rood of his mouth. “How did you sleep?”
“Like a babe-in-arms, and we can forego the chivalry. Call me Cordie. We are, after all, now courting, are we not?”
With that, she nuzzled her head against his chest and wrapped her arms even tighter around his waist.
“Well, I suppose I can do that… Cordie.”
Cordelia giggled and she sat up. She took Hilliard’s hands and leaned in close. Though his Puritanical American upbringing said much about these types of intimate encounters, he cast them aside. He brought his face to hers and kissed her. It was a short but passionate kiss, on that sealed the beginning of what he hoped would be a fruitful and beautiful relationship.
“I am famished,” Cordie exclaimed, “a night out like that deserves eggs and ham the next morning. Are you hungry, Hilliard?”
Hilliard nodded.
“Quite,” he said, his mouth salivating for the taste of fried eggs and ham. Cordelia smiled and turned to make her way to the kitchen. Hilliard leaned back, his hands clasped behind his head, a smirk of satisfaction across his face. That is, until he remembered that Selma and Jasper had made their way, half clad, to the kitchen. Hilliard jumped up from the sofa in a panic.
“Cordie! I wouldn't go in there just yet!”
As Hilliard got the the kitchen, Cordelia had already seen all there was to see. Jasper had wrapped himself in a pink, polka dotted apron and Selma was trying to hid herself behind a fortuitously placed set of pots.
“Well, well,” Cordelia smirked, “what have we here? Why, I would say that the relationship was consummated last night?”
Selma, clutching her shawl with one hand, waved Cordelia away wildly with the other.
“Go on! Get out! Oh, good lord, Hilliard is here too! Get out, the both of you!”
Selma shrieked at the couple. Hilliard was in an awkward spot and was unsure of how to process the situation. Cordelia, on the other hand, placed a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh.
“Is this a post-coital breakfast? Are we intruding on anything?”
“GET OUT!”
Selma shrieked even louder at her friend and whipped her shawl at Cordelia, a rather perplexing reaction, and one that she had not thought out. Now without her shawl, Selma tried to hide herself behind her arms. Cordelia laughed.
“Alright Hilliard,” she said, taking him by the arm, “I think we have seen enough. I’m sure the amorous couple are famished after a long night of love making. Let us adjourn to the den.”
The lovers returned to the den and promptly placed themselves on the sofa they had woken up on. Still uneasy about the rules of courtship, Hilliard made every effort to be the gentleman and respect Cordelia’s boundaries. This was countered by a much more amorously aggressive Cordelia, who slid as far over as she could, trapping Hilliard between the arm of the sofa and herself.
“You are very new at this, aren’t you, Hilliard?”
Cordelia slid her arm around Hilliard’s waist, then took his hand and placed it on her knee. Hilliard’s heart began to race and his palms became clammy and damp.
“Well, that is- yes-” he stammered as he began to shake from anxiety and excitement.
“Don’t let me make you feel uncomfortable, Hilliard,” Cordelia cooed lovingly, “if there is a line you won’t cross, then I shan’t cross it either.”
She smiled as she patted his hand and pulled him closer still. Her face was so close to his, her warm breath was rapid with anticipation. Her eyes held both lust and love, a confusing combination for Hilliard, who had been taught the the two were equal opposites.
“Cordie, I-”
Before he could finish his thought, Cordelia leaned in and brought her lips to his. It was a soft, romantic kiss, filled with the longing. Hilliard was caught off guard and did not return the kiss at first, but as they remained entangled in the passionate moment, he allowed himself to delve completely into the same longing.
As the kiss continued, the longing turned to desire, and from desire to avidity. The pair began to entwine themselves around each other, pawing and petting desperatley at their partner, trying to feel every inch of the other. Each began to moan and hum in passionate approval.
Hilliard had now thrown all of his pious upbringing to the wind and allowed himself to act in the moment. He ran his fingers through Cordelia’s silky soft hair, gently at first, but the feel of her hair aroused in him a passion he knew not he had, and so he ran his fingers through again, this time with the lusty ardour befitting the moment.
He groped about Cordelia's body. He first slid his hand up her thigh, before quickly thinking better of it. As his inhibitions deteriorated, he began to explore her supple figure. He pulled at her waist, pawed ravenously at her back and shoulders, he even dared to gently, almost reverently, cupped her breast. It was unlike him to even touch a woman’s hand, let alone her most intimate features, but Hilliard was a man possessed. He had forgotten all about his puritan New England upbringing, and instead found Cordelia Truscott, and in that moment, that was all he wanted, all he needed, all he knew was Cordelia.
Cordelia pulled her face away from Hilliard’s. She was smirking and her hair was disheveled. Hilliard suspected his coif was also untamed, but he couldn’t seem to care.
“My, my, Mr Purefoy, we are handsy aren’t we?”
Hilliard blanched at her comment. He was afraid of pushing things too far.
“I- I can stop, I apologise-”
Cordelia took his hands and firmly placed them on her thighs. The pyres of passion burned red-hot in her eyes. Hilliard wanted nothing more than to dive into those fires and allow the flames to lick his skin.
“I knew you had it in you,” Cordelia smirked.
Hilliard gave an amorous smile in return. He slowly ran his hands up her thighs, shuddering in delight at the feel of her smooth skin. He could feel her bustle, and his heart pounded like a tribal drum.
“Oh, I say!”
The sudden interruption made both Cordelia and Hilliard start, nearly causing Hilliard to land in Cordelia’s lap. It had been Jasper who interrupted the pair’s passionate display.
“By God, Jasper,” gasped Hilliard, “don’t do that!”
Selma looked on the pair with an expression of both annoyance and smugness.
“So we aren’t the only ones doing a little carnal commingling, eh?”
Cordelia and Hilliard both began to smooth out their wrinkles, adjust their clothes and fix their hair. Hilliard was miffed at first, which shortly gave way to embarrassment; he had never before acted in such a way. Cordelia was mostly annoyed at her friend having a trump card.
“Oh, come off it, Selma,” Cordelia hissed, “you caught us in flagrante delicto. But we haven’t yet asked “how’s your father”.” She narrowed her eyes at Selma in a way meant to be more menacing than it actually came off. In the end, however, they both laughed as the men stood, a bit awkward, but still part of the joke.
“Hilliard,” Jasper exclaimed after the red washed out of his face, “remember that we are calling on Mr Castleman later today. I suggested that we would arrive sometime around afternoon tea. I know you are excited to read through his personal library.”
“Ah, yes! I had forgotten about that. Thank you, Merchant. What would I do without you?”
“Perish, I should say, Purefoy.”
Selma gave Jasper a playful punch on the arm, then kissed his hand.
“Jasper, be nice to your friend. I’m sure that Hilliard could get along just as well without you, couldn’t you, Hilliard?”
“Well, without Jasper, I never would have met Cordelia, so I dare say I owe him a great sum.”
Cordelia awed and threw her arms around Hilliard’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss. This was a much more subdued show of affection, but Hilliard savoured it all the same.
“Well, since our excursion into the kitchen scared up plenty for a good meal, I say that we girls retreat back and cook a nice breakfast and you boys could go out a buy a Times. I always like to read the Times with my morning meal; something I picked up from father.”
With that Selma took Cordelia by the hand and they whisked away to the kitchen to prepare a hearty English breakfast. Jasper and Hilliard stayed where they were for a moment, each eyeing the other with a fox-like grin, knowing what the other had been up to.
“I suppose we shouldn’t keep the women waiting? Purefoy, let us off and retrieve a Times.”
With that, Merchant turned on his heel and was out of the den. Hilliard jumped up, trying his best to make himself presentable, and caught up with his friend. They checked each other over thoroughly before donning their hats and walking into the brisk London morning.
It was only two blocks before Hilliard and Jasper found a newsboy standing atop an old crate and hollering out the day’s headlines.
“Read all about it! Crazed killer strikes again! Anglican priest and constable slaughtered on church grounds!”
“My God,” exclaimed Hilliard, “did he just say-”
“Yes, I believe he did. I wonder if this is the same killer from the night before?”
“You would think it had to be,” Hilliard gasped, “I couldn’t believe that two madmen were loose in London.”
“Indeed,” was all Jasper could answer.
They each paid the boy three pennies and took their copies. The front page was awash in news about the maniac killer, now officially dubbed “Naughty John”, and his murderous exploits. Accompanying the story was a large picture taken at the scene, which occupied a good third of the page. Jasper gave it a once-over before tucking it under his arm.
“I’ve seen enough,” was all he would say.
They returned to Selma’s apartment in time to smell the last of the ham frying on the stove. Tea had been brewed and eggs had been poached, and now the morning’s Times had been purchased.
“Oh, good,” Selma cheered as Jasper lay the periodical on the table, “the morning edition! Oh, father so loved to read the Times at breakfast. He could never start the day off right without it.”
“Selma, dear,” Jasper choked out, trying hard to ready his paramore for the horrors of the front page, “I don’t think that this edition is appropriate for the breakfast table.”
It was too late, however. Selma had already pulled up a plate and cup and was unfolding the Times in her lap. She took her first sip of tea when her eyes shot open wide in terror. Her face blanched and she nearly toppled backwards at the sight of the dead constable and priest.
“Good Lord,” she cried, setting her cup down on her saucer, “why, who could commit such barbarism?”
“That’s what I was trying to warn you about,” soothed Jasper, rushing to her side and taking the paper away from her. He set it on the table and held Selma tight, trying to stop her shaking. After a long few minutes, she was able to regain her composure.
“I want to read it,” Selma said through chattering teeth. “I want to read what the horrid madman has done. I am not some bird that is fragile and weak, I can stomach this- this- horror!”
Jasper began to protest, but thought better of it. He gave in and handed Selma the paper once more. She carefully folded the newspaper open once more and took a deep breath.
“The media has named him ‘Naughty John’. Why would they bother with something like that?”
It was a rhetorical question more than anything, and no one answered. She continued reading.
“He nailed the poor priest to a wych elm, ‘in a bastardized crucifixion, almost certainly in an attempt to mock the Christ saviour’. Or, at least that’s what the Times says.”
She continued reading silently for a moment.
“The constable’s name was Reginald Hackney. They believe he may have come across Wicked John in the process of killing the priest and became another victim.”
Hilliard’s mind raced. Two more bodies in one night.
“Where there any markings like the first murder?”
Selma read on.
“Yes! One was similar to the first marking, but with another arm? They say it looks like a capital F but the arms are at a 45 degree downward angle. That was carved on the tree above the priest’s head. The bobby was also marked. His forehead was gouged with a knife. The symbol was a line like an upward pointing arrow.”
Selma looked up confounded.
“I don’t get it? What is he saying with these… these…”
“Runes,” stated Hilliard, matter-of-factly.
“Futhark runes, if I’m not mistaken. That would be Scandinavian or Anglo-Saxon, but still very ancient.”
Cordelia gave Hilliard a ghastly pale glance.
“It looks like your degree in ancient religions might be put to use.”
Hilliard nodded grimly.
“In fact, that is why we are calling upon Jasper’s friend later today. His father was a professor of ancient viking and Anglo-Saxon culture. I think that if the maniac is trying to say something, I may be able to find out what from his library.”
“And then what?”
Everyone turned to Selma as if she had just asked the unanswerable. The query hung in the air, ringing in Hilliard’s ears.
“Then-”
He tried to say something, but he wasn’t sure what he would do after he figured out what the man was up to. If he found out anything at all. He had been so absorbed in the minutiae that he had neglected to see the long game.
“Then, I suppose, I take my findings to the CID. I tell them all I know, that perhaps he is spurred on by some affiliation to a cult or ancient order and is practicing ritual sacrifice. Perhaps he read about these runes somewhere and has some lunatic notion that this will ward off some evil. I… I don’t know.”
Selma nodded.
“I didn’t mean to take the wind out of your sails, Hilliard,” she said meekly, “I am just so worried that this man will harm one of us. It was terrifying just a few years ago with Jack the Ripper about, and now we have a new lunatic on our hands. I just hope the Yard can catch this one.”
“Here, here,” Jasper agreed. “Hilliard is a sharp knife, Selma, I’m sure he will find something that is of value and he will help the police catch this madman.”
Everyone nodded and launched into their breakfast. It was excruciatingly quiet as they ate. No one was really in the mood to talk anymore. They finished their meal and meandered back into the den. They all sat and listened to the grandfather clock ticking away the seconds, minutes, quarter hour, before the interminable quietness was broken.
“I say, I hope you all come to see our next show! It’s a rather hilarious farce-comedy called ‘Our Flat’. I am playing the leading lady, Mrs Sylvester.”
Hilliard beamed with pride.
“Of course I shall come to see it, as I’m sure Selma and Jasper will, too. We wouldn’t miss it.”
The four spent the rest of the morning chatting away before Jasper and Hilliard took their leave. It was nearly lunch, and the two still had to prepare to call on Castleman. They hired a cab and returned to Jasper’s apartment. They enjoyed a light lunch and freshened up. It was quarter to two o’clock, and the pair were ready to leave.