The Secret Life of Mrs. Hudson
Based on the creations of ACD and Hades Lord of the Dead's December Calendar Challenge of Awesomeness:
From Hades Lord of the Dead: The Secret Life of Mrs. Hudson
To the naked eye Mrs. Elizabeth Hudson was a small, slightly chubby woman approaching forty. An ordinary, almost frumpy woman whose mousy brown hair and the faint Scottish trill in her voice was the only thing to physically distinguish herself from the thousands of citizens of London. The sole claim to fame was as the landlady to the late Sherlock Holmes, whose adventures had been published in the Strand magazine after his disappearance and presumed death in 1891.
There were some who whispered that she was trying to cash in on her late tenant's fame. A small sign on her door proclaimed her address at 221 Baker Street as the former abode of the great detective. Tourists would report that after paying two shillings she would take them up seventeen steps and show them a roped off room sealed by a door that was unlocked by a key that she kept on her person. Sightseers were only allowed upstairs in sets of one or two, for there was only enough room for Mrs. Hudson and one or two other people at the top of the steps and she never allowed anyone to enter Sherlock Holmes' apartment. They would have to content themselves with viewing the great man's personal effects from the stair. Visitors could see the chemical corner and the acid-stained, deal-topped table. Upon a shelf was the row of formidable scrap-books and books of reference that the little woman insisted were reproductions and not the actual belongings of Mister Sherlock Holmes. The diagrams, the violin-case, and the pipe-rack, and Persian slipper brought innocent questions to the former landlady, who seemed hesitant to answer them.
Indeed, the more observant of her visitors reported that Mrs. Hudson seemed quite hesitant to allow visitors to see Sherlock Holmes' quarters, even loathe to do so. Why she played at running a tourist business that she obviously uncomfortable with was a question she answered with a curt dismissal. Some believed that the woman didn't feel safe letting strangers into her home, even those with children. Before allowing visitors in, she always arranged for a policeman to stand outside within earshot, to discourage souvenir hunters. The sign proclaiming the address of the great detective would often be absent, returned to the door with great reluctance after a stubborn tourist knocked and asked to see Sherlock Holmes' residence. The sign was almost always taken down right after the visitor left. Since she didn't take in any boarders, one could only wonder how she managed to make ends meet sabotaging her method of income.
One fine day in the spring of 1894, Mrs. Hudson left home after locking up and instructing the local bobby to keep an eye on the place. She was handsomely dressed, with a new hat, parasol, gloves, and jacket to complement her dress. Her somewhat ample frame was flattered by the corset underneath, and her hindquarters never had call for a bustle, even when she was a young woman. Those who knew her would need several moments to recognize the handsome fashionable woman as the boring and dowdy Mrs. Hudson they knew.
She hailed a cab and then visited the shopping district, where she peered into the windows of the stores displaying their wares on the street. Anyone who paid close attention to her would notice that she seemed to only peer into the windows that the morning sun was shining on as to create an almost mirrored surface that she could see the street behind her with perfect clarity. She did not seem to be interested specifically in any particular shop, for she would abruptly change directions or cross the street with little to no warning.
After perhaps a half hour of window shopping she hailed a cab and ordered the driver to stop when she spotted a hansom cab waiting for a fare. Without explanation she changed cabs and did so twice again that day. Finally she entered an apartment four blocks from her Baker Street address.
Inside a tall slender man her own age was waiting for her. The chamber he was in appeared to be the dressing room of a professional actor, for it was filled with wigs, costumes, and make up of all types, including false noses, prosthetic teeth, and four separate pairs of eyeglasses.
"Sherlock," she stammered, her voice faltering. "I followed your instructions. I'm here."
"Elizabeth," he gasped before taking her in his arms and kissing her passionately on the lips. "I've missed you so! Do you think you were followed?"
"I don't think so," she chirped. "I followed all your instructions. I looked in shop windows to see if anyone was following me, changed cabs, doubled back on my path and hid in crowds. If I was followed, my pursuer would have to be very clever." She hugged him and rested her head against his chest. "Oh Sherlock, I've missed you so! Your letters were all that kept me going on some days! You have no idea what it was like! Your friend, Doctor Watson started publishing your adventures in the Strand after you left, he insisted on honoring your memory! I wanted to tell him you were still alive so he would stop it! You have no idea how galling it was! The last thing I wanted was for him to tell the public all about you when you had to leave because people were hunting you! Thank God we never told him about us!"
"He should have been suspicious," Sherlock Holmes snickered. "Who else but a lover would allow a tenant to stink up the place with chemicals, shoot holes in the wall with his revolver and get mixed up in business so dangerous that he'd have to leave the country?"
"Were you able to find my no-good husband Sherlock?" she asked.
"No, blast him!" he grumbled. "I had his trail but I lost him in Tibet! I've got to find that scoundrel and get him to sign the divorce papers so we can be together!"
"And to think, you promised to take me away from London to someplace quiet in the country where we could raise bees," Elizabeth Hudson sighed. "At this rate we'll have to wait until he's gone so long that I can declare him legally dead before we can make our relationship public."
"Never fear my dear, this won't last forever," he assured her. "At least I should be able to cage Colonel Moran and be able to move back in at Baker Street. The old tiger was careless murdering Ronald Adair and exposing himself to danger! I swear that before the week is out I'll be able to emerge from hiding and show my face to the world once more!"
"Thank goodness, but promise me Sherlock, that you'll make Doctor Watson stop writing until we're married and you announce your retirement!" she insisted. "Sightseers are bad enough but I couldn't stand the thought of people out to get you!"
"Has Mycroft seen to all your financial needs?" he asked her. "You don't need anything?"
"No, really, I've told you a dozen times, he's paid a princely sum," she assured him. "I just wish we didn't have to have that silly tourist story to explain why I've kept your old room waiting for you exactly the way you've left it all this time. My neighbors think I'm a ghoul."
"Well your Sherlock Holmes exhibit will be gaining a new addition my dear!" he smiled as he released her and walked over to a bulky shape covered in a tarp. He removed it with a flourish. "May I introduce you to the masterpiece of Monsieur Oscar Meunier, of Grenoble, who spent some days in doing the molding. It is a bust in wax."
"It's uncanny!" Elizabeth Hudson gasped. "It looks just like you! Even the coloring is right! And it has what looks like real hair too! If I didn't know better it looks like Colonel Moran got you and stuffed your head for his wall!"
"When one hunts ducks one has to use the right decoy," Sherlock Holmes announced proudly. "Now pay close attention, my dear. You'll notice the small pedestal table it's on a turntable. We'll take it back to your house and put one of my old dressing gowns on it and place it in the window where it can be seen from the street." He crouched and placed his hands on the turntable at the base. "Now this is the important part darling. You need to crouch down close to the floor like so and turn it slightly every quarter hour or so. When they see my shadow on the curtain they mustn't think you put a statue in here must they? It's important that your shadow isn't seen so crouch down low and approach it from the front opposite the window. Can you do that for me?"
"Anything to have you back Sherlock," she patted his shoulder. "It will be nice to have you back like old times."
"If this works we shall have some new times my darling," he said as he held her hand and kissed her cheek. "But please, can't we tell Watson? He's always trying to fix me up with someone. Honestly the man must think I'm a great flaming whoopsie!"
"You can't possibly tell him I'm your sweetheart from school!" she protested. "Until we get my no good husband to sign the divorce papers I'm a married woman! He'd think it scandalous! And besides, what if he writes about us?"
"He never will, I promise you that," he assured her. "To his readers I shall remain a brain without a heart, a precision scientific instrument for solving crimes and nothing more. But I swear, someday we'll get married and retire to the country to raise our bees. Mycroft has inherited a lot of property in Sussex he has no intention of using. The house is already there."
"It will be worth the wait my love," she said as she stood on her tiptoes to give him another kiss. "Even if it takes ten more years it will all be worth it! In the meantime let's spend the time we have before we put your plan into operation!"
That afternoon Elizabeth Hudson returned home after changing cabs twice. The patrolman on the street assured her that all was well and she thanked him. He didn't ask her where she'd been but he noticed that she seemed more relaxed and even content. There was a trace of a smile on her lips and a cheerful gleam in her eye.
END