Of Skulls and Butterfly Gardens|EnglandxReader

Dedicated to the lovely KattheHatter18

The misty drizzle of the London night was enough to drive you insane. It had started early this afternoon, bringing dreary, grey clouds, and it had not relented, not even as day faded into dusk. Though you had continued your day without interruption, you felt flushed from the heat and the humidity brought by the rain had made your skin feel sticky, even while riding in the carriage. Just moments ago, you had changed from your heavier gowns, the ones that a proper lady always wore out during her daytime activities, and into your lighter evening dress. With only a few layers of fabric, it allowed for more air, and the sleeves were only three-quarters length, which left your wrists and lowers arm revealed to the cool, night air.

A small, but welcomed relief.

Still, the drizzle of rain persisted and you found yourself growing evermore tired of your room, for it was terribly hot and muggy from the day's rain, but you would not be permitted a walk at this hour. A lady does not go traipsing the streets in the middle of the night, your mother would say, despite how it hardly 8 o'clock, and there would be no persuading her otherwise, despite any excuse or escort you offered up.

Stubborn, old woman.

You slipped from your bed and crossed the room to your fair window, the one that overlooked the streets instead of the gardens. While your gardens were beautiful and perfectly tended to, there was not that could compare to the London streets at night. The gas streetlamps gave an eerie glow to the cobblestones, and shadows seemed to dance around every corner, the mist of the rain only adding to the mystery. You opened the window and leaned outside, sighing heavily as the cooler breeze touched your face, and you looked up and down the streets for any sign of life. It was a hobby of yours, to watch for the Londoners that dared the nighttime streets, and then imagine what they must be doing and what their story might be. Tonight, however, the streets were empty, so you were left with no distraction other than your own naggings desires to be one of those daring Londoners.

You glanced back at your door, bolted and locked for the night, then back at the dampened streets. It would not be hard to climb down, you thought, looking down the two stories that separated you and the cobblestones. You bit your lip, thought for a moment longer, and then pulled your boots from under the bed. A few minutes, and a minor slip, later and you were halfway down the street. You would not be gone long, just a couple blocks, and then you would come straight back home. No one ever had to know you were gone.

The night air was like heaven and, though the misty rain had dampened your hair just a bit, it was still enjoyable to be out of the house. You were never allowed to leave alone, not even during the day, so even if you only made it down the street, it would still be worth it! To have a moment alone? To hear your own thoughts and not the chatter of dozen others? It was like a dream.

You continued on, your path lit by the glow of streetlamps, rounding the corner farthest from your house and started past Brandlewood Cemetery. You and your mother had strolled by the large cemetery many times on your afternoon walks, but you had never seen it at night, and you had certainly never walked by its gate by yourself. You paused at the front gate, looking up at the elegantly iron-wrought letters of its name, when suddenly a light from inside the cemetery caught your eye.

Who would be visiting the departed at this hour?

It was then you noticed that the cemetery's padlock, which normally linked the chain of the gates together, lay broken on the ground. You knew you should turn back, go alert the authorities, but curiosity had you slipping through the gates, which had been wedged open, and holding your breath as you made your way toward the little light. You heart pounded against your ribs, like thunder in your ears, but you dared not make a sound, and you half hid behind a gravestone when a lone figure came into view. Illuminated by the lantern light, the man was digging up the grave of some unknown soul and, so far, seemed unaware of your presence. You held your breath and moved closer, studying him as he worked.

He was blonde, his hair soaked and pressed close to his head, and he must have been tall, for you could still see most of his shoulders despite how he was down in the grave. He wore a simple, white shirt that clung to his back and arms, and you noticed a small, gold earring dangling from his left ear. Who was this man, you wondered, nearly upon him now and you reached out to touch his shoulder. He turned then, brilliant green eyes catching yours, and you gasped, frozen for what felt an eternity before you turned to run.
He was upon you in an instant, grabbing your arm and pulling you to the ground. Your head struck hard, lights flashing across your vision, but the prick of a blade quickly brought your brain back into focus. He was straddling your waist, one hand pinning yours hands above your head, and the other pressing a knife to your throat.

"P-Please," you gasped, "Don't kill me."

Arthur's POV

"P-please. Don't kill me."

The frightened words fell past her trembling lips and I realized then it was a female beneath me, not some street leach, and immediately I removed my knife from her neck. The blade had broken the delicate skin, leaving a thin, red line of blood and I felt a bit embarrassed by my mistake. I must have terrified the wits out of the poor girl.

No, not a girl, a woman. A young woman of high-birth, with soft [color] skin and [length][color] hair, dampened now by the rain, and wide, [color] eyes. Her lips were the softest [color], parted to allow for her gasping breaths, and her features were so perfectly defined. She wore a simple evening dress, the [shade][color] meant to compliment her skin, or so I assumed, and the corset bodice made her already ample breasts even more pronounced.

"I am not going to kill you," I finally told her, realizing I had left her waiting long enough for an answer. She visibly relaxed, which I found strange, since she was still trapped beneath me.

"Thank goodness," she whispered and I watched as the terror faded from her face and was replaced with a bit of wary curiosity. "What are you doing digging around in that grave?" she asked, looking over at the grave and then back up at me. The action pulled a few pieces of her hair from its pin and it fell gently about her face. I blinked at her, surprised by the level of calm in her voice. Should this not be the kind of situation young ladies were afraid of?

"Just getting back what is mine, love," I told her and pushed myself off of her, leaving her to sit up and brush the grass from her hair and back. I studied her for a moment before grabbing my shovel and returning to the grave. There was only stillness in the air as she sat there and watched, propped up on one arm and her legs tucked neatly beside her. What a strange woman, I thought, but so long as she didn't bother me, I saw no reason to chase her away. Besides, she was pretty to look at.

End Arthur's POV

"Love?" you asked, wrinkling your nose a bit at being called such a pet name by this stranger. It was very improper, you thought, yet made no effort to really correct him. The rain had stopped and, so far, no alarm had been sounded signaling that anyone was aware of your having snuck out, so you saw no reason to rush off. This was so curious! Why, it was just the sort of strange, mysterious happening you'd been hoping would come!

"Yes, it's a common pet name," he said, not even bothering to glance back at you.

"For couples, which we are clearly not," you reminded him, as if somehow he may have forgotten this simple fact. He did glance at you this time.

"Then what should I call you, love?"

"____," you answered, sitting a bit straighter, but there was little sense for propriety considering the circumstances. You were, after all, sitting in a graveyard conversing with a strange man as he exhumed some poor soul's body. "Miss ____ _______."

"So, you are a well-bred lady, then. I thought so. "

"And who are you?" you asked and you could swear you heard him chuckle a bit. You saw nothing funny about the question!

"Arthur," he answered. "Arthur Kirkland, love."

"My name is ____," you reminded him, but he made no notion that he'd heard you. Arthur Kirkland. The name held no meaning to you, and it sounded like any other London name, so perhaps there was nothing exciting about this man at all (other than his madness). "Who is that?" you asked, nodding your head toward the gravestone. It bore no name, only a death date.

"The rotten bastard that stole from me," he answered, though that hardly satisfied your curiosity. You crawled closer to peer over the edge of the grave, your face coming inches from his when he turned his head.

"What are you doing?" he asked. You shrugged, so he continued to dig until finally you heard the sound of metal striking wood. He cleared away the dirt and struck the coffin again, lifting the broken planks from the grave and tossing them away. You gasped and sat back, a hand over your mouth and nose. What a wretched smell! "You should not have been so close then, love."

"That's ghastly," you murmured, face wrinkled in disgust as you watched him dig around inside the coffin. Bile rose in your throat, burning, but you forced it down and took several deep breaths through your mouth. A few moments later, Arthur pushed himself from the grave and brushed himself off. "A coin purse?" you raised an eyebrow, staring at the medium-sized leather purse in Arthur's hand. "Did he steal your money?"

"Not money," Arthur shook his head, looking as if he were about to explain more, but a sudden commotion outside the gate instantly caught his attention. He let out a foul curse (which made you blush) and whirled around to grab his coat and a feathered hat you hadn't noticed before. Your eyes widened.

"You're a pirate!" you whispered sharply, backing away from him how and nearly tripping over a headstone. Arthur grabbed your wrist, pulling you back to him, and also keeping you from falling. The shouts grew louder, angrier, and you just make out lantern light.

"Spot on observation, love," he said, grinning down at you. He reached behind your head and yanked the pin from your hair, tossing it away before messing up your hair even more.

"W-what are you doing?" you demanded, pushing his hands away and staring up at him with narrowed eyes. The nerve of this man! This pirate! "Stop that at once!"

"Just trying to make you look convincing, love," Arthur explained. He glanced over his shoulder and then tore at your dress just enough to rip it a bit. "Tell them someone dragged you in here. You did not see who. It was too dark. You were scared," he was whispering fiercely as he smeared dirt over your face, chest and arms. "A bit of tears would be nice, love."

"You're mad," you told him, fighting with him and trying to get away. "I'll tell them it was you! You told me your name!"

"How do you know it was not a lie?" he asked and you paused, staring at him. That only made his grin widen. He pushed the coin purse into your hands, pulled you close and placed a chaste kiss on your lips. "Hold that for me, love. I'll collect it soon," he whispered before he tipped his hat and was gone.

"Miss [surname]! Miss [surname], is that you?"

"Y-yes!" you cried out, trying your best to sound terrified. You tucked the little purse into a hidden pocket in your skirt before turning, forcing tears to your eyes and terror to your voice. "I'm here! Please, please help me!"

"Thank God you're alright, Miss [surname]," the man, one of the city constables, had you by the shoulders to steady you, for you had successfully worked yourself up into quite the fit. "What happened, Miss [surname]? What are you doing out here?"

"A m-man," you answered, calming yourself and wiping at your face with the back of your hands. "He dragged m-me from the street, th-through the graveyard.  I couldn't see his f-face! I was so fright-frightened! He pulled m-my hair and he...he meant to..." you hiccupped, letting out another cry and, seeing how you were clearly distressed, the constable gently led you back to the street and the carriage that waited there.

>> time-skip: the next afternoon >>

You turned the leather coin purse over in your hands again and again, fighting your urge to open it. You'd barely slept last night, thoughts of green-eyed pirates and high-seas adventures running through your mind, so you had only woken up a few hours ago. The sun was already high in the sky, but still you sat at your vanity, plagued by poisonous curiosity.

You shouldn't open it. It was Arthur's.

Oh, but what was inside? Jewels? Coins? A treasure map? You could hardly stand it!

Unable to stop yourself any longer, you pushed open the little clasp and dumped the contents onto the polished wood of your vanity. A folded piece of parchment, a two keys, and a locket with a long, golden chain. Ignoring the other items, you picked up the lock and turned it in your fingers, finding the weight of it heavy in your hands. It was beautiful. You slipped it around your neck, the length of the chain laying the locket just between your breasts and hidden from sight. Surely there would be no harm in wearing it and you would just give it back to Arthur once he came to claim it.

"Miss," your handmaid poked her head through the door, her face appearing in your mirror. You quickly returned the treasures to the purse and turned to face her.

"Yes?" you asked, a bit out of breath. She had startled you! "What is it?"

"Your parents are requesting your presence downstairs. A man is here," she explained and you frowned. Another one? You nodded.

"Very well," you said and, after dismissing her, you locked the coin purse in the drawer of your vanity before going downstairs to find your parents at the door. Your father was speaking animatedly with whoever was outside, his loud, roaring voice filling the foyer. "Mother? Father?"

"Ah, ____!" your father exclaimed, turning to face you as your mother led you down the stairs. She was patting your hands, whispering excitedly about the man at the door, which only made you more confused. They'd never been so excited about a suitor, but after the fits you'd been giving them, you supposed, at this point, they'd get in a tizzy over just about anyone. "____, my darling, you will be hard pressed to find flaw in this one," your father said as he took your hands. He turned, bringing you with him, and presented you to the man at the door.

A man whose face had haunted your dreams the very night before. A man who only hours ago had been your company in the graveyard. A pirate who had held a knife to your throat!
You choked back his name, instead forcing a polite smile to your lips. He grinned back at you and removed his hat, bowing to take your hand and place a delicate kiss on your skin. His eyes never left yours and when he straightened, you noticed his grin had grown even wider.

"Hello, Miss _____," Arthur started, your hand still in his. "So lovely to see you."