In Sherlock's Shadow (Mrs Hudson & Sherlock Holmes Book 2)

by Liz Hedgecock

  ‘Please don’t hate me —’

  ‘You should probably go back to work,’ I said. ‘Gladys will be anxious for you. Remember, don’t tell anyone what you have been doing.’

  ‘I’ll see you out first.’ Evie swallowed.

  I folded up my grey dress, my elegant boots, my little black hat, and packed them under the other things. ‘I am ready,’ I said, picking up my new case.

  ‘You will come back and see me, won’t you?’ Evie looked distraught.

  ‘Of course I shall,’ I said.

  Evie led me to a back door which led out onto a narrow alley piled with rubbish. ‘Good luck, Nell,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll be thinking of you.’

  ‘Not a word to anyone,’ I said, and walked away.

  I avoided shop windows all the way to Paddington station, where the clock said that it was almost ten-thirty. I took a ticket for the left-luggage office and deposited my suitcase. I would return for it later, and find somewhere to dump the clothes from my former life.

  I bought myself a cup of tea and a bun at the station tearoom, dividing the bun into small pieces, as if to make it last. The real reason was that I was worried I would be sick. I had never thought of myself as a vain woman; but the strength of my reaction to the miserable specimen I now was frightened me. This is temporary, Nell, I told myself. In six months, it will be forgotten and everything will be back to normal.

  I touched my eyebrow, felt the absence of hairs, and sighed.

  I put another piece of dry bun into my mouth and chewed slowly. There was no point in feeling sorry for myself. I had to take this job. There was absolutely no way that I could return to Baker Street as I was. I had no fear now that anyone would recognise me. I barely recognised myself.

  CHAPTER 26

  The Regent Hotel was a grand, gilded establishment, tall and white as a wedding-cake. I would have been a little overawed by it in my own person. Dressed as I was, I was not even certain that they would admit me. The doorman, however, let me pass in. I wondered how many other aspiring parlourmaids he had waved through already that day.

  I scanned the foyer for someone who might be Miss Dainton. An angular, long-necked woman was sitting at a table alone, with a sheet of paper in front of her. She was reading a novel. I began to walk towards her.

  ‘Excuse me!’ A man in striped trousers came hurrying over and I stopped, blushing. ‘Do you have business here?’

  I drew myself up as tall as I could in my flat boots. ‘I have an appointment with a Miss Dainton.’

  He subsided at once, like a pricked balloon. ‘Oh very good, very good. Follow me.’ He led me towards the long-necked woman. ‘Miss Dainton, I have a charge for you.’

  Miss Dainton looked up from her book, and her eyes flicked over me. ‘Come and sit, dear,’ she said, without a smile. I took a seat opposite her and folded my hands in my lap. ‘That will be all, thank you,’ she said to the hovering man.

  ‘Excellent, excellent,’ he said, and scurried back to his desk.

  Miss Dainton watched him go, and then turned to me. ‘Now then, am I to understand that you are Mr Poskitt’s protégée?’ She consulted her list. ‘Mrs Martha Platt?’

  I took in my new name, and nodded.

  ‘I assume you have experience of waiting on, and working in a big house?’

  I thought of the numerous meals I had cooked and served at Baker Street, the cans of hot water I had carried, the mantelpieces I had dusted. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Good.’ She appeared relieved. ‘The last thing I wish is to recommend you and then find myself a laughing-stock. Some of Mr Poskitt’s recommendations have not — worked out.’

  ‘I will do my best, ma’am.’

  ‘I am glad to hear it. This is a good place, if you can keep it.’ Miss Dainton leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘The work is light, comparatively speaking, but the mistress of the house is inclined to be … difficult.’

  ‘Difficult?’

  ‘Perhaps exacting is a better word.’ Miss Dainton sat back as if she had already said too much. ‘Now, Lady Chambers is coming at half past twelve and we shall call you in at a quarter to one, so you are not required until then.’ I rose, dismissed.

  I could think of nothing else to do but walk around the block. My left boot was rubbing at the back of my heel, and I stopped to tighten the lace. No doubt I would have a blister to add to my other woes by the end of the day. I wondered what questions I would be asked, and racked my brains to remember the passages of Mrs Beeton which seemed to have floated away. A carriage drew up outside the hotel. I wanted to approach, to see what Lady Chambers looked like, but I did not dare. I shrank back, and peeped round the corner at the well-veiled lady who emerged from the carriage, followed by a short, round woman in black not too dissimilar to my own.

  At twenty minutes to one I re-entered the hotel, and this time the clerk did not scurry over. Within a few minutes Miss Dainton came through a door at the back of the foyer. ‘This way, Martha,’ she said encouragingly.

  The room was bright after the discreetly-lit foyer, and it took my eyes a while to adjust. I blinked, and blinked again. Sitting at her ease, her veil put back, was the woman who had stolen a brooch from the department store. I would have known those half-closed eyes, that amused smile anywhere.

  My first instinct was to say that I had made a mistake and flee. But there was no light of recognition in her eyes, no change of expression. What did I wear that day?

  ‘This is Mrs, ah, Martha Platt,’ said Miss Dainton, waving a hand in my direction. ‘Martha, this is Lady Chambers and Mrs Harper, her cook-housekeeper. Don’t be nervous, now.’

  Remembering what ought to be my manners, I bobbed a little curtsey. ‘Pleased to meet you.’ My voice came out high and thin.

  Lady Chambers whispered to Mrs Harper behind her glove. Then she surveyed me from head to foot, her lip curled slightly as if I smelt unpleasant. I could feel my cheeks reddening as I stood there. ‘Do sit down,’ she said, eventually.

  ‘Have you been a parlourmaid before, dear?’ asked Mrs Harper, gently.

  I nodded. ‘Yes, I have, ma’am. I was a parlourmaid before I was married.’ I touched the gold band on my finger.

  ‘Has your husband passed, dear?’ she asked in the same gentle voice.

  I nodded again, and hung my head. ‘Three years ag —’

  ‘All right,’ Lady Chambers interrupted. ‘Does she have references?’ she asked Miss Dainton.

  ‘Of course!’ Miss Dainton looked indignant. ‘Excellent references, if I may say so.’

  ‘Then I suppose we’ll take her. Unless you have any better ones?’

  Miss Dainton, grateful to have the ordeal over, shook her head.

  ‘At least she doesn’t appear pert. I can’t stand a pert parlourmaid. Do you think you can make something of her, Cookie?’

  ‘I am sure that she will do very well,’ said Mrs Harper, smiling at me.

  ‘I’m not,’ said Lady Chambers. ‘Still, we can always send her back.’ Her careless little smile made me want to slap her. ‘So, Bessie, I assume you can start at once?’

  ‘Our parlourmaid is always called Bessie,’ Mrs Harper interjected.

  ‘Yes, milady, I just need to pack my things.’

  ‘Good.’ She reached into her little bag and passed me a visiting card and a ten-shilling note. ‘Take the five-thirty train to Maidenhead Junction this evening, and Tom will be waiting with the trap. You may have the time between now and then to pack and say your goodbyes.’ Her expression suggested that she did not think it would take long. ‘Miss Dainton, you can deal with the rest of it; I have shopping to do. Come along, Cookie.’ She stood up and walked to the door.

  Mrs Harper held out a hand to me. ‘I shall see you later, Bessie.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Harper.’ I took her hand and bobbed again.

  ‘Come on, Cookie.’ Mrs Harper hurried after her mistress’s departing back.

  Miss Dainton watched them out before fann
ing herself with her list. ‘That went better than it usually does.’ She leaned back in her chair. ‘Don’t worry, milady’s bark is worse than her bite. Twenty pounds a year, a day off every month, church time on Sundays, and you’ll be found in caps and aprons.’ Her tone was almost wheedling.

  ‘That sounds very generous.’ A day off every month… How would I survive?

  ‘And Mrs Harper will look after you,’ she added, smiling brightly.

  ‘Miss Dainton, why did the last parlourmaid leave?’

  Miss Dainton sighed. ‘Milady found her pert, and — said some things which led her to give notice.’ She stood up and held out a hand. ‘Good luck, Martha.’

  ‘Thank you, Miss Dainton.’

  And so my new life was fairly begun. I spent the rest of the afternoon buying a few cheap necessities — a hairbrush, a small Bible, stockings and underthings. I also bought a brass ring, a small photograph of a middle-aged man in a pewter frame to serve as the departed Mr Platt, paper and envelopes, and a package of postage stamps. Then I collected my suitcase from the left-luggage office at Paddington, packed everything inside, and went to a cafe for a simple meal.

  It did me no good, though; I pushed the food around my plate, barely able to swallow a mouthful. I had letters to write; but I could not face them yet. I was not sure that I could face this evening, and yet I had said that I would do it. I had said I would to Mr Poskitt, and now to Miss Dainton. No-one had forced me into the decision; and yet I felt as if I had been pushed into it. I knew, though, that I could not go home. What, oh what would Sherlock be thinking? He would think I was thoughtless — heartless — but I was afraid that he might track me down, even from a note, if I sent it too soon. Had it only been this morning that I had moved his sleepy arm from its casual ownership of me? I squeezed my eyelids shut; but it did not stop the tears from flowing.

  CHAPTER 27

  Dear Mama,

  I am writing to let you know that I shall be away for some time — I do not know how long yet — and shall not be able to write or visit. Please do not worry; I am safe and well. If anyone enquires after me, please could you tell them I am very busy at present.

  Yours with affection,

  Nell

  Dear Dr Watson,

  I expect you have already noticed my absence from the house. I shall be away for some time, and unable to write or visit. I am safe and well, but engaged on business which I cannot discuss.

  Please can you look after Sherlock while I am gone, and dissuade him from trying to find me, if he has a mind to. I shall return as soon as I can. In the meantime, I am sure that Martha and Billy will take care of you both as well as ever.

  Yours sincerely,

  Nell Hudson

  Dearest Sherlock,

  I am so sorry that I have not been able to write before now, and sorrier still that I cannot share with you anything of what I am engaged in. I have been called away suddenly, and I shall be unable to write or visit until my business is concluded. Do not try to find me; that will endanger the work I am doing.

  I am safe and well, and send all my love to you. I shall return as soon as I can.

  Please take care of the enclosed for me; I cannot wear it at present, but I shall return to claim it, rest assured.

  I love you,

  Nell

  The last letter was the hardest to write, and I had spoiled many sheets of paper with blots and tears in the making of it; but it was done. I took off my ring, kissed it, and placed it in the envelope with the letter, sealing it before I could change my mind. The brass ring felt light and unreal in its place.

  I had tied up in my shawl the belongings from my former life; my dress, and boots, and silk stockings — oh, how I ached to keep them. If I had thought, I could have posted them back to Baker Street; but I had neither time nor materials. I put the letters into my bag, and took up the bundle. A short walk brought me to a poor district, and it was the work of moments to leave the bundle next to a sleeping beggar-woman. At least she might get some benefit from it, I thought, hastening towards the station. Close by was a pillar-box, and as my letters hit the bottom, my stomach lurched.

  I bought my ticket and went straight to the platform, though I had twenty minutes to wait. I wanted to be gone. Ridiculous as it was, now that I had posted the letters I imagined Sherlock and Dr Watson hurrying to find me, running along the platform, calling my name. My heart thumped, and I started at every shout, every whistle, as though I were a fugitive.

  The train pulled in and I hurried on, packing myself away in a corner of third-class. It would not be a long journey — Maidenhead was only in Berkshire — but I braced myself for a stopping train, and for the curious looks of fellow-travellers getting on and off. I wished I had a magazine I could bury myself in; but it was too late.

  I imagined my letters arriving at Baker Street; they would be there that evening, by which time I would be safely in Berkshire, closed into a private house, and engaged in my new life. I wondered what the men would say when my letters arrived. Then I realised that they might not even recognise the letters as coming from me until they opened them. I had never had to write either to Sherlock or to Dr Watson before.

  The train jolted me out of my speculations as we moved out of the station, swaying and lurching first through high cuttings, then emerging into fields dotted with houses and cows and sheep. I had not bargained for how quiet the train would be, since most people had already left the capital. Sir William Chambers was probably among them. Would I see much of him? Was this whole enterprise worthless before it even began? No, I told myself. Think of the guineas, Nell. I comforted myself with dreams of the dresses I would buy, the fine stockings, the silk flowers, the hair tonics. I touched the front of my hair, which was stiff with pomade. Like a protective shell.

  The train was bowling along now, pausing briefly at wayside stations, but hurrying to my destination. How many more stops? I was not sure. I felt a sharp tug of homesickness which I was quite unprepared for, as I had never considered I might have to leave London. You are being ridiculous, Nell, I told myself. It is only a short train ride away.

  A village of white cottages whizzed past. A world away.

  And suddenly the conductor called ‘Maidenhead Junction, next stop.’ I hurried to get my suitcase from the rack, almost falling over my own feet in their too-big shoes. I straightened my hat and composed myself as the train slowed. Then I opened the heavy door and got myself and my suitcase out onto the platform. I was the sole person leaving the train, and apart from the station official, the only person on the platform. Suddenly I felt very scared, and very alone. I was tempted to cross the platform and wait for the next train back.

  ‘Miss!’ The stationmaster strode towards me. ‘Your ticket, please.’

  ‘Oh. Oh yes.’ I fumbled in my bag and brought out the little half-torn slip. He glanced at it and waved me through the gate and out into the road. That was it. And I could not go back, for I did not have enough money for a ticket home.

  ‘Hoy!’ The call came from a smart little green-painted trap waiting opposite. The man in charge waved at me. He was perhaps thirty, wearing an open-necked shirt and breeches, and his livery coat was slung over the back of his seat. ‘You for the hall?’

  ‘Yes, I’m the new parlourmaid.’ I held out a hand and he gripped it. His was hard, calloused, probably from years of holding reins.

  ‘Bessie, yes?’ I nodded, feeling that giving him my ‘real’ name was probably not worth the trouble. ‘I’m Tom, and I look after the stables and carriages. Here, hold Blaze while I put up your case.’ He jumped down and handed me the reins, which I took with trepidation. ‘He won’t bite!’ He laughed, stroking Blaze’s nose.

  ‘I’ve never held a horse before,’ I said, a little indignantly.

  ‘I can tell.’ Tom swung my case into the trap and took the reins back. ‘Let’s get going. Blaze and I have been hanging about for ages. Do you need a hand up?’

  ‘I can manage,’ I said,
holding my skirt out of the way to get my foot to the step. Tom watched, grinning.

  ‘You’ve never been in a trap before either, have you? London girl?’

  ‘Through and through,’ I panted, sitting down with gratitude.

  ‘Make sure you hold on. It isn’t far, but there’s a few potholes.’ He clicked his tongue as the London cabbies did, and Blaze set off so rapidly that I grabbed the first thing that came to hand — the back of Tom’s seat — closed my eyes, and clung on.

  The trap swayed and lurched like a ship in a gale — not that I had ever been on one — but Tom continued to chat. I heard none of it, preoccupied as I was with keeping my seat. I was more glad than I could have imagined that I had not eaten before boarding the train, for I would surely have lost it.

  ‘Here we are!’ Tom sang out, and the trap turned through an imposing wrought-iron gate. I opened my eyes and braced myself, but as the drive curved round, I saw a square house of warm red brick, not unlike a smaller version of the Stanleys’ mansion. ‘Welcome to Chambers Hall. I say, Bessie, you look a bit green,’ he chortled.

  ‘I shall be all right when we stop,’ I said. I tried to smile but it must have come out wrong, for Tom halted the trap with a jerk, jumped down, and handed me out.

  ‘Walk with me to the stables,’ he said, taking my arm. ‘If you go in like that you’ll probably be quarantined.’

  I waited while Tom put the trap away, took Blaze out, and attended to his needs, bringing him a blanket and hay. The smell of stable and horse, even outside, was as strong as I could bear after that long ride. Tom gave Blaze a final pat. ‘Ready to go and meet the team, Bessie?’ He picked up my suitcase as though it were empty.

  I took a deep breath and wished I hadn’t. ‘I think so.’

  ‘Come along then. Hey, where are you going?’

  I stopped, cursing myself. In my absent-mindedness I had walked towards the front of the house. ‘I just wanted to look,’ I faltered.