Page 102 of The Little Shop of Curiosities, The Music Box Part 2

Cornelius’ gaze dips to the music box laying on its side next to us and his eyes widen.

“Friends of yours, Connie darling?” The man beside him stares down at us and exhales a thin, elegant stream of smoke, seemingly unconcerned by his semi-nudity.

“Ah…yes, Lord Francis, excuse me, this is…” He reaches down and helps both of us to our feet.

“Harrison Ames,” I interject at Cornelius’ cue. “And this is Samuel Stone, my…uh… associate.”

“Oh, hush now, darling, we don’t judge here. Well, except for Judge Trubridge, but as he’s currently in the parlour with a very pretty young man perched on his balls, I hardly think he’s in a position to cast stones.”

“Um…” I really don’t know what to say to that. I glance over to Sam who, although looking as confused as I feel, is trying not to smile.

“Don’t worry, my little strawberry bonbon, you’re perfectly safe here.” The man turns to Cornelius and admonishes, “Although, you naughty man, I really should have been informed if you were going to invite new guests. We don’t need the constabulary barging in here and arresting everyone.”

“My apologies, my lord, you were otherwise engaged,” he lies convincingly.

“Well, no harm done.” Lord Francis reaches out and traces his fingers along my jaw. “Such a pretty young man,” he mutters. “Better he’s here than trawling Hyde Park, especially with a killer on the loose.”

“A killer?” Sam blinks.

“Samuel, is it?” he asks, and Sam nods. “My goodness, have you been living in a monastery? There’s a beast, dispatching young men in a most gruesome way indeed. He also seems to favour the ones that frequent the Molly houses. Why, we lost our own dear Charles to that fiend. It was most upsetting.”

Molly houses?

Just where the hell are we?

I glance around quickly and note the silk wallpaper, the narrow hallway, the scent of tobacco smoke hanging in the air. None of it really gives me a clue until my eyes land on the gas lighting mounted along the wall that gives off a dim glow.

There’s no electricity.

I look back at the way the two men are dressed—or, in Lord Francis’ case, undressed. Factor in the Victorian fixtures and Cornelius Crawshanks himself, alive and in the flesh, and perhaps a more pertinent question would be not where are we, but when?

Oh my god, please let this be a weird dream.

Lord Francis is appraising me thoroughly and I flush, not just at the intense eye fucking I’m receiving but also at the realisation that I’m wearing my bright purple lounge pants decorated with bats and cauldrons and a T-shirt, which, if I’m being honest, is a bit too small for me and slightly see-through.

“Um, my lord, is it?” Sam clears his throat, unamused by the fact that I’m being ogled. “I know this may be a bit of a strange question, but where are we?”

“Good grief, dear chap, have you been at the poppy?” Lord Francis smirks. “You must’ve overindulged if you can’t remember where you are.”

The poppy? Does he mean opium?

“You’re in Islington, my dear man.”

“Islington?” I reply, my tone sharper than I intended.

“Oh dear,” Lord Francis chuckles. “You too? Perhaps just stick to the brandy for the rest of the evening, or you may not be in a fit state to find your way home.” His eyes trail appreciatively over Sam’s naked torso and land on his very tight-fitting black boxers. “Of course, you’re both welcome to stay the whole night. I’m sure I could find something to do with you.” I grind my teeth together, fighting the urge to block Sam’s body from this pretty but odd man. “Hmm, I very much like your undergarments,” he remarks to Sam. “You’ll have to tell me who your tailor is.”

“Calvin Klein,” he answers, and I elbow him in warning. “My lord,” he tacks on.

“I’ve not heard of him,” Lord Francis murmurs. “Is he French?”

“American.”

Francis takes a slow drag of his cigarette and exhales. “Hmmm.”

My gaze tracks to Cornelius as he leans down and picks up the music box, turning it over in his hands. When he sees the name Cordelia etched into it, his brows furrow and his mouth tightens.

“Where on earth did that thing come from?” Lord Francis remarks in surprise.