A Call of Cthulhu story

[Sheelba of the Eye]

Let me introduce you to the gang…

And how could I begin anywhere other than with the sophisticated and eminently suave Michel Blabla (stage name). From his cravats and gold plated cigarette holder to his immaculate suits from the most fashionable Parisian tailors he looks every inch the movie star. And like all silent movie stars he can’t act a bean. Currently in London until the furore around the newspaper articles suggesting that he spent more time in the Great War entertaining a certain German countess, the Countess —————— (please, no names, show some decorum) than the troops at the front line this devilishly handsome 50 something is finding the English adorable - just like children really. How ever did they acquire an empire? In his attempt to win the admiration of a London pressman, to further his career in this quaint land, Michel is puzzled to find himself keeping company with a librarian of all things. Although he is beginning to realise that librarians can be quite pretty, if only they didn’t dress like, well, librarians.

Next comes the independent and hard working Yasmine Astor (no relation). An editor at The Great Chase, based in Clapham, she is only now realising that librarians can come from wealthy families too! Or at least her friend from her book club has turned out to have very wealthy parents. Determined to make a name for herself she doesn’t notice the great strides she has already made and how proud her parents are of her. Oh, and gentlemen, she isn’t pleased to see you, that is a pistol in her pocket. Fearless, successful, she is determined to have the security which can only be found in greater success. If only this Frenchman wasn't following her around, after all she doesn’t work on the gossip columns and pretty soon she might find herself “linked” with a movie star for whom Low Tea is something to be drunk when feeling depressed.

Percival Wilson makes the third in our quartet. A pharmacist at the Bloomsbury Royal Infirmary Percy never quite gave up the habit of having his service issue Webley .38 close to hand following his experiences as a dispensary in Flanders during the Great War. Fortunately, the nightmares stopped some time ago. Wanting a quiet life he can’t quite get along side a society which frowns on a man of any social standing who does not habitually wear a hat. Enjoying the peace and quiet which comes of living in Richmond he nevertheless diligently commutes into central each day to do his bit in alleviating the suffering of the masses. One can’t help but suspect that he secretly wishes he had decided to become a Librarian, like his schoolhood friend (sweetheart?) Dorothy.

From a wealthy banker’s family Dorothy looks forward to reading to the children who gather in her local library, just around the corner from her small flat in Notting Hill, which she calls work. Very properly dressed and perfectly happy in her little world Dorothy is at the centre of our soon-to-be-tested group. Her doting parents, Janet and Mark, don’t regard a single shilling of the exorbitant wealth expended on their only child’s education wasted - although they can’t help but try and introduce her to members of the board of directors from the British Library. Fond of both high tea (which always embarrasses Janet) and low tea Dorothy is down to earth and as oblivious to the ease with which her privileged upbringing provides her as a one can be in London, 1921.

 

[Sheelba of the Eye]

This is an entry level campaign for a group of players two of whom have played a little (one 5e a few times, the other Runequest a couple of times), the others are new to TTRPG completely. My games are role-play heavy, more so than the average D&D game, I think. We are playing 7th edition Call of Cthulhu and I have started them off with a London set Mr. Corbitt. Dorothy is house sitting for her parents who live opposite kind Mr Corbitt near Regent’s Park in Central London. They’ve already been to the zoo.

We rolled up characters and then had time for a short session to get the ball rolling...

 

[Sheelba of the Eye]

Thursday, September the First, 1921.

Our adventure starts in Nell’s Teacake and Tea shop on a main street in Camden, London. Dorothy has taken the afternoon off and planed to meet her friend from her book club Yasmine, and an old school friend who she has kept in touch with, Percy. She arrived first and was soon joined by first Percy and then a slightly put-upon looking Yasmine who had a middle aged gent with her, distinctly foreign and too wealthy for the likes of Nell’s. Introductions were made - the interloper was Michel Blabla from France. Apparently a star of the silver screen but neither Dorothy nor Percy recognised the name or the face. Still, he seemed cheerful enough, enquiring after the hot chocolate and apparently finding delightful. A pleasant couple of hours passed before they decided to move on. Dorothy nearly barrelled into a rotund gentle man standing just out of view to the left of the doorway. Apologising she was slightly taken aback when the gentleman, who was very well dressed, appeared to hardly notice and muttered “Where have I seen...” Squinting Dorothy could see the retreating figure of Mr. Corbitt, a neighbour of her parents, 10 years older than she and somewhat aloof, albeit a pleasant sort.

“What, no, the fault is entirely mine” the gentleman relied to Dorothy’s apology, draggin his gaze away from Corbitt. “I shouldn’t be standing in doorways.”

Privately agreeing Dorothy joined the stranger in watching Mr. Corbitt disappear around a corner.

“I’m sure I’ve…” The gentleman shook his head and apologised absentmindedly once more before entering Nell’s.

Percy suggested a stroll through the park and Michel cobbled together enough English to say that he had heard of a famous zoo in the park, perhaps they could visit. And so they went to the zoo.

Come evening and reluctant to go their separate ways Dorothy invited her companions back to her parent’s abode and offered to cook. Arriving they saw M.r Corbitt drive away from his house in a general northerly direction. Dorothy waved but was ignored. She felt a little disgruntled. An enjoyable evening followed a pleasant afternoon and sometime later we see Dorothy in turn seeing off her guests as they looked up and down the road for a cab. As they did so they realised that Mr. Corbitt must have driven up just a few moments before they emerged form Dorothy’s and was extracting from his car boot what was presumably his purchase - a longish object wrapped in a thick canvas. Or perhaps just a bundle of canvas. He didn’t notice his observers and walk to his front door, fumbled with his keys, dropped them, then dropped his parcel when retrieving them. Conversation had turned to Dorothy’s wonderful cooking (passable thought Michel, but the English are so easily satisfied when it came to food) and they were all distracted. Michel found himself feeling a little uneasy but couldn’t quite put his finger, as the English say, on it. After seeing the last of her guests off Dorothy locked the front door behind herself and immediately her gaze fell on Percy’s hat. He always forgets it!

The next morning Yasmine went to work as usual, as did Percy, irritated by his loss of his newest hat, and Dorothy, who as always opened top the library and started re-arranging the books. Michel, however, awoke somewhat troubled. The tiny amount of laudanum which he had quaffed to aid his sleep had instead given him unpleasant dreams and he had risen thinking about the funny little English man Corbitt. But what was it about him? Just as he was combing his moustaches in front of his shaving mirror it came to him. He would bet a guinea to a franc that he had spotted something jutting out of the canvas Mr. Corbitt had been carrying. And that thing jutting out was a human hand! He knew the English were an odd lot but this didn’t feel right even for them. Hmm, what to do. Perhaps Yasmine would know. She was a journalist of sorts, and the only person he was on first name terms with in all of England. Apart from his boot maker, but he didn’t seem like the appropriate fellow to ask to about this. After a fine breakfast Michel requested a cab be called and had a tiny absinthe to aid his digestion before getting into carriage and being driven to Hammersmith.

Yasmine was too busy to entertain a film star, no matter how rich. However, good manners matter and she heard him out.

“You went home, got drunk and imagined it!”

“Pardon, I tell you I did not. The parcel had a hand in it.”

Good grief, thought Yasmine, what do the French get up to think that a suburbanite has a hand in a bag at home? Hmm, unless he’s a doctor, in which case… Yasmine couldn’t remember what Dorothy had said about Mr. Corbitt, being too interested in the fabulous house which her friend had been brought tup in. Dorothy had woke this morning with a determination to reach the top of her profession and own a house like that one day. And now she was having to humour Michel again. Oh well, it couldn’t be helped. He would only go to the police and embarrass himself if she left him to his own devices.

“Let’s go and ask Dorothy about him, she’ll know what’s going on.”

So off they went, back to the hansom cab and the relatively short journey to Notting Hill from Hammersmith. As always on a Thursday morning Dorothy could be found in the children’s section rueing the children’s inability to books back on the shelf they took them from. Too polite to show her surprise Dorothy stoked up the little fire place in the office and placed a small kettle on it.

“Tea, anyone?”