Hilda Hopkins, Mother Wouldn't Like It #8

By Vivienne Fagan

A mysterious blue van provides the first clue in this race to rescue abducted MINX Clarice Leverson. Her colleague, the notorious machine knitting serial killer and M.I. Nix assassin Hilda Hopkins is close behind, dragging her boss Sir Ambrose with her across London, Midchester and on to a deserted Scottish castle. The evil guardians within the ancient walls fall prey to our anti-heroine as she puts her signature knitted garrote to work . In this, the 8th Hilda Hopkins thriller, we find out just why, ‘Mother wouldn’t like it’!

• Language: English
• Publisher: StreetWise Publications
• Release date: Jul 17, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476244662

Vivienne Fagan

Vivienne Fagan lives in London and is a retired Civil Servant and former serving member of the Intelligence Corps. She is an award winning machine knitter and mother of three who knows just how to do away with Hilda's next victims!

Book preview

Hilda Hopkins, Mother Wouldn’t Like It

A Hilda Hopkins Crime Thriller

Vivienne Fagan

StreetWise Publications

Published by StreetWise Publications

Suite 1/22 Waikanda Cres, Whalan, NSW 2770

Australia

All Rights Reserved.

http://streetwiseworldpublications.info

http://lulu.com/spotlight/perrygamsby

‘Hilda Hopkins, Mother Wouldn’t Like It’ first

published 2012

Copyright Vivienne Fagan 2012

Fagan, Vivienne 1948-

Cover Illustration by V.Fagan

ISBN 9781476244662

Other Hilda Hopkins Crime Thrillers:

‘Murder, She Knit’ #1

‘Bed And Burial’ #2

‘Domi Knit Rix’ #3

M.I. Knits’ #4

For Queen And Country #5

Saints And Sinners #6

Day of the Mobots #7

Smashwords Edition, License Statement

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any

resemblance to any person, living or dead, is

coincidental and unintentional. The publisher,

author and their officers and assigns assume no

responsibility for the misuse of wool or knitting

machines. No yarn was harmed in the writing of

this story.

Chapter 1

What are you doing, Hilda?

Clarice Leverson leant against the door jamb of Hilda Hopkins’ room, looking in at the older woman. Hilda was sitting at the table, a pair of pliers in one hand, a roll of thin black wire in the other. Clarice felt a little alarmed. Was Hilda trying to make some sort of bomb? Clarice knew that Hilda had had basic training in various forms of execution, but she doubted that Sir Ambrose Possnet-Meysey would let Hilda loose with an explosive device. The woman was lethal enough with a knitted garrotte.

I’m making a pair of spectacles for Julian Cressingham-Gore, replied Hilda, placidly. I know he wasn’t an actual kill, but he is behind bars thanks to us, so I thought I would do him as a trophy.

This made perfect sense to Clarice, who realised that Hilda had been busy knitting one of her look-alike dolls again. She watched fascinated as Hilda cut two lengths of wire and twisted them together for about a quarter of their length. She then took a thick knitting needle, passed one length above and one below so making the lens frame, and twisted them together for a short distance to make the nose piece. Once again the needle was inserted, the wires parted to make the second lens frame, and the remainder of the two wires was twisted to fashion the second ear piece. She bent the sides into place and picked up a woolly doll. The spectacles were a perfect fit across his face. Hilda snapped at the ends with a pair of pincers until they curled neatly round his ears.

Clarice glanced from the doll to a photograph in a newspaper. The likeness was startling. Hilda had caught the man’s expression perfectly. In a fit of defiance, Cressingham-Gore had smiled goofily at the camera, a big beaming smile which had contrasted sharply with the man’s actual emotions at being sent to prison. A tuft of hair stood up at the front of his head, flanked on either side by two bald patches which were rapidly encroaching on his remaining hair.

He was one scary man, Hilda, Clarice could scarcely suppress a shudder as she thought back to the massacre at the Section. It had been instigated by Alan Galswood, who had met his death at Hilda’s hands, but the actual killing of all her colleagues had been carried out by this man and his partner, Jenks. Jenks had also fallen victim to Hilda’s retribution.

Hilda glanced up at Clarice, noting her outdoor jacket and the small overnight bag she was holding.

Where are you off to?

I’m taking a few days’ leave. I’m going over to Mum and Dad’s for a couple of days, and I’m hoping to get across to see Auntie Sylvia and Lettice while I’m there, perhaps stay overnight.

Hilda grimaced. She knew Clarice’s Auntie Sylvia as Mother. The woman was an absolute nightmare so far as Hilda was concerned. She had spent a couple of days with Lettice several years ago, and the constant comment on Lettice’s lips had been Mother wouldn’t like it.

I wouldn’t mind meeting Lettie again, said Hilda, but I suppose Mother wouldn’t like it!

Oh Hilda, you are a tease. See you in a few days.

And with a merry wave, Clarice was on her way.

***

Hilda Hopkins turned into the short driveway leading to the MI Zero Headquarters and mounted the steps before jabbing a short stubby finger at the keypad. She punched in the code and stepped into a pod, the door hissed to behind her and another opened ahead of her. This form of entry had been introduced at the Section, as MI Zero was known to its employees, after a terrible massacre had been perpetrated there.

She pottered into the computer room, and booted up, keen to write up the report of her latest kill. Hilda had been sent out to perform an XPD (expedited demise). With her usual efficiency for this sort of thing, she had executed her target neatly and professionally. Even now she was a little high, the powers which drove her were still up and running. She licked her lips as she brought up the XPD form on the computer. He had known he was going to die, she had seen the sudden realisation and fear in his eyes as she had smoothly pressed the plunger on the syringe. It was so ironic too. This was a drug dealer. He peddled death, and now he had died at the end of a syringe; poetic justice, Hilda had thought.

Hilda’s preferred modus operandi was to use a garrotte, but she had become very adept in the use of poisons, scoring highly in the tests during the courses she had been sent on. Using a syringe she could more often than not watch the victim’s face. She got a tremendous thrill as the eyes glazed over and the spirit left the body, a real high. Hilda had never touched drugs, cocaine, weed or the like, and she rarely drank alcohol, but she reckoned this must be a similar sort of rush. It was certainly addictive.

She settled her ample backside a little more comfortably on the narrow seat, and paused as she searched her mind for a relevant word. Her glance fell on the computer position a little further down the room where she had found Thomas, riddled with bullets which had also shattered his computer screen that fateful day when PIE had sent an assassination squad to the Section. Hilda wasn’t superstitious, but she glanced fearfully round the room for a split second as remembrance flooded over her. It had been a turning point in her career.

The door banged open and a Backroom Clerk came in. She fixed her eyes on Hilda’s back and sidled up beside her.

Excuse me, are you Minx Woolley? she asked.

Hilda nodded. Bernhilda Woolley was her working name at the Section, and as an operative who was trained to work in the field, she held the rank of Minx.

Sir Ambrose’s compliments, and would you report to him once you have finished your reports, requested the girl, formally.

Will do. Er you’re ……?

My name’s Prudence. I’m new here.

Yes, I thought you must be. Well cut along Prudence. You can tell Sir Ambrose I’ll be up to see him as soon as I’ve done this, not before.

Thus dismissed the girl turned on her heel and left. What an ogre. She was glad she was just a Backroom Clerk and not a Minx.

Hilda finished typing her report, printed it out and popped it into an envelope before dropping it into the internal mail. She double checked the computer to make sure it was turned off. She didn’t want to get a contravention. Contraventions went onto your record sheet, and too many could result in a fine or worse.

Sir Ambrose’s office was on the Third Floor. Hilda plodded round to the lift. She didn’t fancy toiling up three flights of stairs. Hilda loathed stairs with a passion. On arrival at the third floor she tapped on Sir Ambrose’s door. Clarice Leverson, a newly qualified Minx who had accompanied Hilda on a couple of adventures also doubled as Sir Ambrose’s Personal Assistant. Once Sir Ambrose had finished with her she would winkle Clarice out and they could go to the Staff Canteen for a cup of tea.

"Ahh, Hilda,