Hilda Hopkins, Domi-Knit-Rix #3

By Vivienne Fagan

Hilda Hopkins is up to her old tricks. After a close shave with her old nemesis, PC Barbara Grey, at Victoria Station, Hilda finds herself a cushy billet as Maid to a Madame. Madame Tempest to be precise! While Madame busies herself handing out discipline, lines and lashes to a steady stream of middle aged and otherwise highly respectable naughty schoolboys, Hilda knits up some lovely outfits for them to wear, just like Nanny used to make!

Of course, before she can crochet a bonnet to match that cute man-size buster suit with the teddy on the front, Hilda has to knit herself a garrotte and hand out a little BDSM of her own. Inspired by some old Alec Guiness movies and a nearby railway line, it isn't long before Hilda's victims are turning up in goods yards across the country!

• Language: English
• Publisher: StreetWise Publications
• Release date: Jul 27, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465736666

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, Domi-Knit-Rix

Vivienne Fagan

StreetWise Publications

Published by StreetWise Publications

Suite 1/22 Waikanda Cres, Whalan, NSW 2770 Australia

All Rights Reserved.

http://streetwiseworldpublications.info

‘Hilda Hopkins, Domi-Knit-Rix’ first published 2011

Copyright Vivienne Fagan 2011

Fagan, Vivienne 1948-

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.

Dedicated to my Bingo partner, Karen, in the hope that we win the big one!

Chapter 1

The Orient Express was champing at its bit, straining to depart from London Victoria Station in all its olde world glory. Recently engaged Police officers, Barbara Grey and Graham Perkins, gazed at it in awe. Barbara was bubbling over with excitement, hopping from foot to foot like an excited child. Graham Perkins watched her affectionately. They were going to have a lovely break, one that they would normally never have been able to afford on police pay. Barbara, being at a loose end one evening, had accompanied her friend Karen to a bingo hall, and they had won the jackpot. Even allowing for their pact to share any winnings fifty-fifty, it had amounted to a considerable sum. Most of Barbara’s win was destined to go into savings towards the deposit for a house, but she had decided to give herself and Graham the trip of a lifetime as a special treat.

Barbara, smiling at the steward who was to look after them on the journey, climbed up the steps into their designated carriage. Graham scrambled up after her. The pair eagerly inspected their compartment. Barbara returned to the corridor very impressed, leaving Graham to test the softness of the seats. The train was now minutes away from departure, and even though no-one was seeing them off, Barbara just wanted to watch as they left the station.

‘It’s wonderful,’ she thought to herself.

Barbara moved to one side as a tardy passenger clambered up the steps, followed by a harassed looking porter. The porter almost threw a set of luggage through into the neighbouring compartment.

Just in time, madam, he said, dropping the suitcases higgledy-piggledy onto the floor and hurrying to step back down onto the platform there you go, I don’t want to be trapped on here when the doors are closed.

The taxi got stuck in traffic. I thought I was going to miss the train, replied the woman grimly, there would have been trouble if he hadn’t got here when he did.

Barbara glanced across to the doorway. Don’t say they were going to have an old misery guts as a neighbour. This was a four day trip and she didn’t want anything to spoil it.

The two women’s gaze met, and recognition flared in Hilda Hopkins’ eyes. Barbara was a little slower on the uptake, after all, she genuinely believed that Hilda Hopkins was dead and buried.

Graham, Barbara called sharply, Graham, come here. Now!

Hilda Hopkins turned, barging past Barbara, knocking her off balance as she scrambled down the steps of the carriage in the wake of the porter. The door slid across and locked as the train began its journey. Hilda stood on the platform, catching her breath and staring up at the window as the train moved off, before turning sharply on her heel and heading for the station entrance.

Graham rushed into the corridor just as Barbara staggered to her feet and put her hand out towards the emergency cord. He took hold of her, staying her hand, and asked,

What is it?

The Hopkins woman, shrilled Barbara, I’ve just seen her. She was next door. She isn’t dead, Graham.

Graham pulled her back into their compartment and forcibly sat her down on the seat.

What are you on about? You know she’s dead, you saw her die in the fire.

Graham was concerned. Barbara had nearly been killed by Hilda Hopkins. She had been left for dead in a cave which already contained six bodies, and had arrived back at the guesthouse in time to see an elderly woman being consumed by the flames which were destroying the building. At the time the woman was believed to be the serial killer, Hilda Hopkins, while her erstwhile partner, Abigail Moffat, was thought to have drowned after her car went over the cliff. Her body had never been found.

Graham looked worriedly at Barbara. She had been through a lot, and had spent several weeks having counselling. She appeared to have come through the whole terrible experience relatively unscathed, what was this, some sort of delayed shock or breakdown?

She recognised me, Graham. She just jumped off the train. Why would she do that if it wasn’t her?

Graham was in a quandary. What to do? The train had picked up speed and if it was Hilda Hopkins back at Victoria, he doubted that she would have hung around waiting to see what happened. He stood up and left the compartment. He inspected the neighbouring suite, it was empty except for two suitcases in a bright red tartan. Red tartan, hadn’t the Hopkins woman chosen that pattern before? When she went on some coach trip or other?

Graham pressed the bell on the wall and moments later the steward appeared.

Do you know who these belong to? asked Graham, flashing his warrant card and pointing at the set of tartan suitcases.

It’s a bit odd, Sir, replied the steward, looking worried, "it’s not something I’ve had happen to me before. I just saw the passenger leap off the train while the doors were closing. I’ve been trying to contact the guard but I reckon he must be