Read sample Mrs Hudson & Sherlock Holmes Series (Mystery Box Set 1-3)

CHAPTER 1

When would he come?

I checked my watch for perhaps the fourth time in five minutes. Ten past two. I risked a peek at the street outside, buzzing with life on the crisp winter day; carriages rattling past, costermongers shouting their wares, nannies with perambulators, and couples arm-in-arm.

Don’t be silly, Helen, I scolded myself. A grown woman of twenty-eight, behaving like a little girl on her birthday morning! I knew full well that between two and half past was the agreed time. I picked up a novel, Edwin Drood, to occupy myself, but my eyes kept straying from its pages to the window and the world beyond.

The doorbell pealed as though the person ringing it was annoyed at being kept waiting.

It was a quarter past two precisely. Billy ran down the stairs, and the front door creaked.

I rose, straightened my skirts, and glanced in the looking glass. All was in order except my expression, which was altogether too excited for a landlady-in-waiting. I breathed deeply to calm my racing heart, but the effort was wasted as I heard Billy’s light steps in the passageway.

‘Come!’ I called.

Billy entered, grinning. ‘He’s here, ma’am. The man to see the rooms. Name of Holmes. Shall I show him in?’

‘Yes please, Billy.’

Mr Holmes was a tall, spare young man, well-dressed in a frock-coat and top hat. Despite his height, he reminded me of an intelligent bird as his eyes darted around the room. He took my hand in a firm but delicate grip. ‘Mrs Hudson, I am sorry for the circumstances which have led you to take in a lodger.’ His hand was slim and long-fingered, but mottled with stains and little scars. Mr Holmes saw me examining his hand, and gently withdrew it.

I looked down at my black-trimmed dress. ‘Thank you, Mr Holmes.’ I think my voice remained steady, but inside me emotions were fighting to break free. There was excitement at what I was about to do, misgiving that it might be too early, curiosity about my visitor, and fear that this might not be what Jack would have wanted. But excitement and curiosity were winning the race. ‘Would you like me to show you the rooms?’

He inclined his head. ‘I would.’

I had expected Mr Holmes to ask questions as I showed him the suite of rooms which were to let, but he was quiet. I found myself babbling about breakfast preferences and domestic matters. ‘There are two bedrooms, both opening off the sitting room…’

‘Two bedrooms?’ Mr Holmes raised his eyebrows. ‘I was not aware of that.’

‘Oh yes,’ I said. ‘I am sorry, I thought you had been informed.’

‘No, Lestrade didn’t mention it…’ He wandered round the first bedroom, looking outside, opening drawers and cupboards, inspecting the washstand and the mirror. ‘The room would suit me admirably, though. A good view of the street outside, excellent natural light, plenty of space for clothes…’ He walked back into the sitting room, and I followed. ‘How much do you propose to let the rooms for?’

I should say four guineas a week. That was what Inspector Lestrade said the agent had advised. ‘Three pounds ten shillings?’

Mr Holmes let out a low whistle. ‘That is more than I can afford at present, Mrs Hudson. I am in the process of establishing my practice, which is an expensive business, and my income is not steady as yet. The sitting room would be an excellent consulting room, though, and the address most respectable.’

‘What is your profession, Mr Holmes?’ I looked at him afresh, to deduce what sort of work he might do. Nothing manual, judging from his hands – but what of the stains and scars on them? Could he be a surgeon? But then he would not need a consulting room. That ruled out a scientist, too. He might be a sculptor, or another sort of artist, but then he would require a studio…

A low laugh shook me out of my speculations. ‘You are trying to work me out, Mrs Hudson!’ Mr Holmes looked at me from under his eyebrows. ‘You won’t guess, though. As far as I know, I am the only one of my kind. Your best clue is my connection to Inspector Lestrade.’

‘Ah.’ That explained the inspector’s ready acquiescence when I had proposed taking a lodger, and his recommendation of the gentleman standing before me. ‘You don’t look like a policeman.’ I tried to smile, but my mouth refused to obey. Jack was in the sitting room with me, striding in with a smell of London fog and smoke and outside about him. He would pull off his gloves, fling himself into the basket-chair and launch into a detailed account of the day’s investigations. Perhaps another woman would have been bored, but I loved every minute of it, just as I loved Jack.

‘Mrs Hudson, are you quite well? You looked a little…’

I waved a hand. ‘I am quite all right, Mr Holmes. Just a – well, a memory.’

‘Good, good.’ He seemed a little distracted too, as if debating something with himself. ‘Mrs Hudson, I shall be frank with you. I am setting up as a consulting detective. That is why I am seeking rooms, and I have seen none that would suit me so well as those you offer. I take it that you do not mind callers? Frequent callers?’

Now I was back on safe ground. ‘No, not at all. I am likely to receive more visitors myself soon.’ I indicated my half-mourning.

‘And your staff would provide meals, and clean the rooms? Is that included in the price?’

I nodded.

‘Then it is settled. I shall attempt to find a partner in these rooms, and contact you if I am successful.’ Mr Holmes rose.

‘If you can find someone to share the cost, I might be able to reduce the price to three guineas a week.’ The words shot out of my mouth, and I blushed.

‘Mrs Hudson, that would be extremely kind of you. I shall begin my enquiries immediately.’

I rang for Billy to show Mr Holmes out. Then I sank back onto the settee and clapped my hands to my burning cheeks. Soon I would become a landlady to two complete strangers, an occupation I knew nothing of. Soon I would be able to start my life again, and Mr Holmes had no idea that he was a key part of my plans.

CHAPTER 2

Helen Hudson is my third name. I was born Helen Marsden, though everyone called me Nelly. When I married Jack I became Nell Villiers. And now I am Mrs Helen Hudson, for my own safety.

The day that Jack disappeared began like any other. We breakfasted early. I was still in my dressing gown but Jack was fully dressed; not in uniform, but in what he called an ‘unremarkable suit’, designed not to attract attention.

‘Which case is it today, Jack?’ I poured him a cup of tea and took another piece of toast.

‘Opium den in Limehouse, Nell. Today’s the day we crack it open.’ Jack smacked his fist into his palm.

‘You haven’t mentioned it before.’

‘That’s because it’s one of Napper’s cases. He’s invited me along.’ Jack crossed to the bureau and took his gun from the top drawer. He emptied the cartridges out of the barrel onto the table, and held it up to the light.

‘Do you have to do that here?’ I got up to clear the breakfast plates.

‘I’m going straight to Limehouse, Nell, and I can’t afford a misfire.’ Jack cocked the gun and smiled in satisfaction at the click.

‘I’m sorry, Jack,’ I said, as he reloaded the gun. ‘Please be careful.’

‘Don’t worry, Napper and I will look out for each other, and we’ve got back-up.’ He holstered the gun. ‘Oh, that reminds me!’ Jack put on his overcoat and rummaged in the pocket, bringing out a flattened roll of papers tied with string. ‘The inspector asked me to give you this. I completely forgot last night, ’cos you were asleep when I got home.’

‘What is it?’ I took the bundle and worked on the string. ‘Statements?’

‘Yes, from the robbery in Bow. Lestrade asked if you would go through them and write him a short report. There’s a map at the back. Now, I must be off.’ Jack took the last slice of toast from the rack and kissed me on the cheek. The stubble he had missed that morning scraped at me.

‘Will you be late tonight?’

He paused at the door. ‘No, this should be a quick one. Expect me home for six; seven at latest.’ He clapped his hat on his head and pulled the brim down. ‘Goodbye, Nell.’

I fetched a notebook and pen, poured myself another cup of tea and pulled the papers towards me. There were at least fifty pages to work through. I marked the jeweller’s shop on the map, and turned to his statement. After a few minutes I placed a hand on the tiny flutters in my stomach. I had meant to tell Jack the night before, but by the time he got home I had already fallen asleep. Then I had resolved that I would tell him this morning, but the gun on the table had put me off. I’ll tell him tonight, I thought. I’ll cook him a steak, and I’ll tell him tonight.

By midday I had read the statements, marked the locations, plotted witnesses’ movements, and listed contradictions and confirmations. I was ready to untangle the knotted snarl of the various accounts and weave them into a report. But my eyes ached from poring over the handwritten pages, my lower back twinged from sitting still so long, and I was starving. I ate a cheese sandwich then made another, even though the cheese tasted a little sour. Little Jack or little Helen was having a strange effect on my appetite. The cake tin was empty, which was perhaps a good thing. Then I remembered the steak I was planning to cook that night. A walk to the butcher’s shop would do me good.

‘Mrs Villiers!’ The butcher twinkled at me from behind his counter. The smells of sawdust, blood and meat mingled to make me quite faint, and I sat down hurriedly.

‘Could I have two beefsteaks please, Mr Jones?’

‘On a Friday, ma’am? Of course!’ The butcher selected a piece of beef. ‘A big one and a small one?’

‘Could I have two the same, please?’

He raised his eyebrows, and selected a knife. ‘I’ll put these on your account, Mrs Villiers. Will you take them now?’

‘I shall, thank you.’

At the greengrocer I purchased tomatoes and runner beans, and on my walk back home I bought two chocolate éclairs at the bakery. The shopgirl laid them side by side in a white cardboard box, and tied it with a blue ribbon. I wondered whether that meant I was carrying a boy, and almost laughed aloud at my silliness.

I climbed the few steps to the front door with a sense of relief that I was home; even the shortest journey was becoming a chore. The time was ripe to tell Jack the good news, before he could guess. I had enjoyed having my own little secret, though.

I put my purchases away, stirred the fire back into life, and settled to write my report, stopping only for tea and biscuits. By four o’clock I was making a fair copy. At a quarter to five I blotted the last sheet and placed my report in an envelope, ready for Jack to deliver to Inspector Lestrade. My right index finger was ink-stained, and my hair was coming down on one side. I smiled as I imagined delivering my news to Jack in such a state, and went to tidy myself and change my dress. I turned this way and that in front of the glass to see if I looked any different. Despite my near-constant hunger, I could still tight-lace. I took my hair down and brushed it out, and redid it into its bun on top of my head. Perhaps, if Jack was in the humour, he would unpin it for me later… I sat down in the basket-chair and picked up the Illustrated London News to try and distract myself from the vivid picture forming in my mind.

I started as the clock struck six, and looked down guiltily at the magazine, open at page five. I had dozed off again. At least Jack hadn’t come home and caught me asleep. I walked into the kitchen and saw the parcel of steaks. Perhaps I should undo it – or I could wait, and unwrap it as a surprise for Jack, before my big surprise. I poked the fire, which had burned low, resumed my seat, and took up the magazine again.

A quarter past six. He would be home soon. He had said so.

Half past six. Jack had said between six and seven o’clock.

Twenty to seven. He said he’d be home on time!

At five minutes to seven I was pacing up and down. It would serve him right if I cooked the steaks and left his to grow cold. I wondered if he had talked Napper into a pint of ale at the Ship and Shovell, to celebrate their success. After all, Jack didn’t know I had an announcement to make. I poked the fire and sat down. The last thing I wanted was to seem like a nag, or a clinging vine. Once Jack knew about the baby, he would be home on time every night.

Or would he? We had never really spoken about children, beyond agreeing that we would like to have them. Not too many: no more than four, or perhaps five. I had been the oldest girl in a family of nine, and I recalled how tired my mother had always looked as she tried to get us bigger ones to do our share, encouraging us to turn the mangle or make the beds while she darned and knitted and nursed the latest addition to the family. I loved the peace of my life with Jack, the freedom to read and chat and take walks in the park without a thousand tiny hands pulling at us…

Where was Jack? The clock said ten past seven. That was more than enough time to have a drink with Napper and walk home.

By half past seven I had given up any pretence and sat by the window. An omnibus rattled past. A gang of boys ran by. And then a cab, a hansom cab slowing to a stop outside our house. Jack hardly ever took cabs; he said that they were an extravagance.

The door of the cab opened, and Inspector Lestrade stepped down. My heart fell to the ground and shattered. He saw me at the window and bowed his head.

‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Villiers,’ he said, standing at the door with his hat off. ‘I have bad news.’

CHAPTER 3

‘Telegram for you, ma’am,’ said Billy.

I frowned as I pulled the flimsy paper from the envelope. Who would send me a telegram? I read:

Partner found viewing 221B 1pm today wire if inconvenient Holmes.

‘Any answer, ma’am? The boy’s waiting.’

‘No, Billy, no answer.’ I slid the telegram into its envelope. ‘Would you mind polishing the knocker on the front door? Mr Holmes is bringing someone to view the rooms.’

‘Yes, ma’am!’ Billy would be glad to have more people in the house, I reflected. He liked to be busy, and I had taken to devising little errands to keep him occupied.

At exactly one o’clock the bell rang and Billy ran to answer the door. I walked into the hallway and prepared to welcome my second prospective lodger. On the steps stood the tall figure of Mr Holmes, and next to him a thin, tanned man. Both men appeared excited, and composed themselves with difficulty as I advanced towards them.

‘Mrs Hudson, may I introduce Dr Watson? He has expressed an interest in sharing the rooms with me.’

‘Delighted,’ I said, extending a hand to Dr Watson, who shook it with enthusiasm.

‘Would you mind if we go up?’ asked Mr Holmes.

‘Not at all,’ I said, and followed them upstairs.

As it turned out I could have saved my effort, as Mr Holmes showed Dr Watson round the rooms expertly, praising the views, the furnishings, and the cost in a proprietorial way. Dr Watson followed Mr Holmes around the rooms slowly, putting an occasional ‘Quite so’ or ‘Indeed’ into Mr Holmes’s monologue. I wondered how they knew each other, and what Dr Watson had been doing abroad to get so brown.

‘It is settled then!’ Mr Holmes’s cry broke in on my thoughts. ‘We shall take the rooms, Mrs Hudson.’

‘Well, that is good news,’ I said, although now that the moment had come, I was less sure. ‘When would you like to move in, gentlemen?’

‘Now seems as good a time as any,’ said Mr Holmes. ‘I have some work to finish off at the laboratory, then I shall pack up my things for tomorrow morning. Watson, how about you?’

‘I shall be glad to leave the hotel,’ said Dr Watson, smiling. ‘My belongings will pack into a couple of suitcases. I can move in tonight. Do you have anything in for supper, Mrs Hudson?’

‘Well, now,’ I said. ‘Do you like lamb cutlets, Dr Watson?’ I had planned them for our dinner, but I could make do with an omelette.

‘I do!’ he said. ‘Holmes, will you join me?’

‘I am afraid not, Watson,’ said Mr Holmes. ‘My lab work will keep me until late, and then I shall have to pack.’

‘Supper for one, then, Mrs Hudson,’ said Dr Watson, with the air of someone used to giving orders.

‘Very well,’ I said, feeling ridiculous. But the two men took little notice of me as they walked round the room again, trying the chairs and discussing where they would hang their pictures. Billy had taken the dust sheets off the rooms not two days before, and they were already in someone else’s possession. I noted again how bright the sitting room was compared to mine upstairs.

Dr Watson was true to his word, arriving in a cab just after six. He asked if Billy could assist him with his suitcases, and I saw that he held his left arm a little bent, as if it had been in a sling for a long time and had grown used to its confinement. I left him to put his things away, and brought supper up to him at nine, as requested. Already the sitting room looked different. A pipe-rack had appeared, along with some copies of The Lancet, and a pair of silver-framed photographs on the sideboard.

‘Thank you, Mrs Hudson, that looks tasty.’ He picked up the napkin and cutlery.

‘I hope you like it,’ I said.

He coughed, and I realised that he was waiting for me to go. ‘Will that be all for tonight, Dr Watson?’

‘Oh, I should think so,’ he replied. ‘Good night, Mrs Hudson.’

I went to bed early that night. I had not realised how much, over the past year and more, I had grown used to my own company. I shall not say, to doing as I pleased. I would never have chosen the cloistered, shuttered life I had lived for so many months. Waiting on Mr Holmes and Dr Watson would be a small sacrifice for the new freedoms which their presence in the house would allow.

CHAPTER 4

I woke up in a strange bed. My head felt thick and muzzy, yet light as well, and I was wearing a starched nightgown which wasn’t mine. Carbolic soap and beeswax mingled in the air, and the sunshine hurt my eyes.

I focused with difficulty on the woman sitting at the end of the bed. She was wearing a nurse’s uniform. ‘I’m glad you’re awake. You’ve been asleep a long time, Mrs Hudson.’

Who was Mrs Hudson? ‘There must be some mistake,’ I said. I tried to pull myself into a sitting position, but the effort was too much, and my head swam. I sank back onto my pillows. ‘I’m not Mrs Hudson.’

‘Yes you are.’ The nurse thrust a piece of paper under my nose. On it was scrawled:

Mrs Hudson – complete bed rest until further notice. Laudanum p.r.n.

The note was signed by Dr Hayward, MD, Bart’s Hospital.

‘I’m not Mrs Hudson, even if the doctor says I am! Why am I here? What has happened?’

The nurse straightened the bedspread, then came to check my pulse. ‘You must stay calm, dear. You don’t remember why you’re here?’

I shook my head. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me. I am never ill. Is this a hospital?’ I only knew hospitals from the outside.

She pursed her lips. ‘This is a nursing home. The doctor will answer your questions when he comes. I must go and attend to another patient.’ The nurse patted my bedspread and bustled out of the room.

I craned my neck to see if the view from the barred window gave any clue to where I might be, but there was nothing but fields and trees. Why wasn’t I in London? Bart’s Hospital was in London, not far from my home, and surely I would have been taken there… How many days had I been away? And where was Jack? Something slipped out of reach in my brain, like a little boy running round a corner to hide, laughing at me. I shook my head to clear the fog inside. It must be the laudanum…

Laudanum was an addictive pain-killer and sleep-inducer, I recalled, from a book on drugs which I kept for reference. They could have kept me under for days. But that was dangerous. Dr Hayward must be an invention! But why? Why would anyone take me from London and put me to sleep? What else had the book said?

Laudanum, a tincture of opium, is a powerful analgesic –

Opium.

Opium den.

The inspector, standing in my parlour. ‘Jack is missing.’ He did not need to say more; his expression told it all. But I still pressed him for information, hoping beyond hope that there was a chance Jack might be safe.

Inspector Lestrade told me that the small back-up team, concealed in the streets around the opium den, had grown uneasy when there was no signal within the agreed time. Eventually they stormed the den, coming in at every door and window. They searched each room, finding nothing but men lying in stupor, dead to the world. At the top of the building they broke open a locked door to find Napper bound, hooded and unconscious. He had been beaten to within an inch of his life. The open window led only to the river below. There was no sign of Jack, either in the building or the surrounding streets.

The door flew open and the nurse rushed in, followed by a man in a white coat bearing a bowl. ‘Mrs Hudson!’ he thundered. ‘Stop that screaming at once!’ He put the bowl aside and held me down in the bed by my arms. ‘You will do yourself an injury with this hysteria! Calm yourself, or I shall calm you by force.’

There was no use in struggling against him, and I did my best to breathe deeply and compose myself. He released me, and I rubbed my sore arms. ‘I don’t understand why I’m here,’ I said. ‘Please could you tell me?’

The man in the white coat glanced at the nurse, and they conferred in the corner of the room. Then they walked back to my bedside. ‘Mrs Hudson, will you promise to remain calm?’

I swallowed, and nodded.

The nurse crouched by my bed, and laid her hand on mine. ‘Did you know you were pregnant, dear?’ she said, and her eyes were full of kindness.

I turned my face away as the tears poured down.

‘Never mind, Mrs Hudson,’ the white-coated man said, ‘perhaps you can try again.’ The nurse flung him an angry look.

‘I can never try again! I have lost everything!’ I cried, and beat the bed with my fists, until he pressed the pad from the bowl over my nose and mouth, and my sobs drifted away.