Sherlock Holmes Tales: Mrs Hudson

The doorbell rang at the early hours of the afternoon just when I was cleaning the dishes from lunch. I had prepared lunch early that morning, on the dire request of my tenant and his regular guest to the unit upstairs. I offered that unit for tenancy some years back and have my mixed concerns on it. After all, my tenant was peculiar in his eccentric manner. I had put up with the infernal person for some years then, and he pays well, if not timely. Not that I was in need of money; with my late husband’s estate, I am rather comfortable but the extra does pay for the sessions of bridge games with the old ladies from my boarding school. And they all adore hearing of my tenant’s adventures.

Who wouldn’t be when they have Sherlock Holmes staying at the upper level?

And he is the gentleman and me, the sweet widower; those tongues would whack for hours on the intermission during my bridge games routines. I have to admit that I feigned bashful denials but inside my heart, I was onto another Holmes. Unfortunately, he was aloft to my gazes and unbuttoned bodice (I had to admit the cleavage was more like the Red Sea parted by Moses now than the mounds of the Highlands.) I do my mutterings for my bull terrier, Billy who was my avid listener to my mutterings of the golden days when I was with a real lover. For all I could care while I am lamenting on my lost love, Mycroft could be smothering his lips at some harlot’s bosom.

The doorbell rang once more and I was back to reality.

“I am coming.” I stepped over the newspapers lined up on the flooring of my living room where I was painting the walls from the dreary pink shades to green. I heard pastel green apple was the shade of the society then. They said the shade blended in with the greens of the forest, and I was trying my artistic feels with the brush. What could be more artistic then applying strokes of straight lines on the wall?

“Good afternoon. Is this 22B Baker Street?” I looked at the lady standing there dressed in the Paris designed dress of high collared and tight bodice to the hoops within the skirt. She had with her the brolly with the delicate handle. However, I was not in the best of London, unless you considered the apron and the drably house frock from Portobello Market the design then. I looked over the lady’s shoulder and to her sides before I leaned over to her.

“Actually, it's 10, Downing Street but we are disguised today,” I whispered to her. The lady was taken aback and leaned out to look at the road sign. I knew then she was either daft like Laura from my Bridge game or Bertie who was from the stage, imitating my silliness.

“I think you are doing a good task there.” The lady smiled at me. “I never thought they needed a paint over at Downing Street, or perhaps the Ministers there needed one hogwash to their speeches.”

I laughed and invited her in. After all, it was Scottish manners and the skies were downcast outside. London never rains, it pours those days.

“Thank you.” The lady stepped in. She smelled nice with her choice of perfume, unlike mine which was a blend of paint and kerosene. She stood there at the corridor while I closed the door. I then introduced myself.

“Martha Hudson.” I extended my right hand.

“Irene…. Anther.” The lady replied. “I am looking for a Mister Holmes. I was told he stayed here.”

“Holmes….” I had to bite my tongue there. I should have known. Most of my visitors to my house were never for me unless it’s the milkman or the occasional salesman with those awful products. I once had to kick one of those infernal persons trying to sell me the Windsor Castle.

“Yes, Holmes lived here. Unfortunately, you missed him. He was called away to…. God, I know not where. I am his landlady.” That last bit came off with a tinge of “why would I care where he is”.

“And Doctor Watson was with him.” I was not being rude but I knew Holmes’ visitors came not for him alone but also the Doctor. The later was once my tenant too, before he got married and moved out. He moved back for a while when his wife died and then out again when he re-married. I did wonder if he and Holmes were at stage lovers but if there was any preference, they won’t include me. God forbid me, I was not envious. I do have my preference.

Mycroft was his name. If only he chooses to remember me.

“Ms. Hudson, if I am trouble you. Could I use the privy room?” I could not refuse the lady. After all, I am a lady and we can’t just stand behind the lamp post for that relief. I showed her the direction and then stepped back to my living room. The green was coming in fine, like the patches of the lawn during the summer. I knew it was not an easy task trying to cover the previous coat of shade. And the flooring was a mess; I am sure the Thames River looked better at low tide compared to my room.

“Ms. Watson. I think I have to go.” I heard the lady but the Merciful had his way with our choices. It rained then. I offered the lady some refreshment. I thought of my kitchen but it was piled with buckets and brushes too. I could think of one other place to have tea. After all, he was not around. I did wish then it was hospitable.

“Shall we do tea upstairs? My place here is a mess.” I told the lady and proceeded to the upper level. I have opened the door many times; announced and unannounced to deliver tea there. Holmes was a tea person with scones for his afternoon rest or discussion with the Doctor. If I had my way, I would have sent in Billy to tear a path for me to walk in but after several attempts, I had resolved to serve it by the door. The good Doctor was always kind to take the tray and poor man, he will limp on his bad foot to place the tray on the table. The Doctor was used to holding his balance while pacing his way across the flooring of papers. It must have been his experience at the Frontier then.

When I opened the door, I was surprised. It was not immaculate but tidy clean. Okay, I did exaggerate on my tenant. He was a good tenant with the occasional eccentric need to holler out at odd hours, or whine with the violin, or do some pistol practice on the stuffed parrot by the wall. Maybe I was patronaging to hide that bedeviled gentleman of the real Holmes.

“Ms Hudson?” I was brought back my senses then. I looked at the lady who standing behind me at the doorway. I guess the ingredients of the paint have made me light-headed.

“I am sorry, my dear. It’s Mrs. Hudson to be precise. I am a widow.”

“How unfortunate. I am too. My husband dies last month and which is why I am here.” The lady named Irene replied. I excused myself to go back to my opium scented kitchen to prepare the tea I promised. While waiting for the water to boil, my mind questioned why do husbands have to die before us. Well, the Doctor was an exception. He survived one and took on another to challenge himself. It then Dawns to me that we may be to blame. I could not think of many reasons; we did what we could, heck, we even fake our orgasm. Well, mine anyway sometimes. I am being honest.

“Mrs. Hudson?”

“Oh, I am unwell today.” I had to excuse myself for I was still holding the tray on my hands. The lady assisted me and offered me the seat. I declined for that was Holmes’ high back seat.

“I can’t. Not there. That is Holmes.” I took the other seat usually occupied by the Doctor. The lady took the other seat designated ‘for use by guest only’. She served tea to me while I looked at the room I was seated. It was my upper level, my fireplace, the shelves and the reading table with the gas lamp. And the curtains I have sewn myself prior to listing the unit for tenants.

Damn, Holmes has added in the birdcage and the awful violin was by the window sill. There was the bullet riddled picture of a bespectacled gentleman with the mustache over the fireplace. God knows, Holmes was shooting at someone he disliked. The poker by the fireplace side was bent at an angle; I would not imagine what he has done to that. I did see the syringe beneath yesterday’s paper. It was advised to me by the good Doctor of Holmes’ ailment and he was treated then.

“Ms. Anther, was it not your name? I meant maybe I got it wrong.” I sat there with my legs closed and my back firmed up on the hard leather back of the seat. I felt as if I was the good Doctor doing the opening words to the discussion with a potential client of Holmes.

“Uh, yes. I am …. Anthere actually. It’s a family name. I am from … Wales.” The lady replied.

“I am curious. Is that a Welsh name? I have….”

“Yes, my grandfather was a stranger to the village and soon married my grandmother and named themselves the Anthere like in ‘And here’.” The lady hid her laugh behind her right hand. “I was told of that by my grandmother. God bless her soul.”

“Well, mine was Hudson and it was not the river it was named after, but the family name was Hudson for generations.” I defended my family name and then changed the subject matter.

“How may Holmes assist you? Is there a case he was to know about? Or…” I was cut off.

“No, I am not here on the need for his expertise. I am here to …. Meet an old friend. Childhood to be exact.” The lady explained. “We were once neighbors.”

That took me by surprise for all I ever knew of my tenant besides his prompt payments to occupy the upper level, and the afternoon tea, with occasional; I am being modest here, he has a stream of visitors daily as if I was the marketplace for victims and enforcers.

“Yes, I knew Holmes when he was in school days. He was staying in a modest house next to mine. His father was a medical doctor, I think. I hardly asked then but we used to meet on the street. He was with his mother most times. He has a brother Mycroft was his name but the other was at the Boarding School. So, it was always me and him.” The lady smiled. “We studied together until he went to the Medical School while I did … other subjects. Our place of study was not far apart and I do see him occasionally.”

“You knew Holmes when he ….. How as he then as a child?” I had to jump into the subject. Holmes had intrigued me of how he was brought up. I was keen on Sherlock for Mycroft was differently seen by me.

“Oh, Sherlock. He was a normal child. He was polite but it was his glare that scared me then. He will stare at you and it could be eerie. I got to know much later, that he likes to study the person personality. He scared his relatives away. I recalled one day my mum said Sherlock scared his Aunt Mabel who was there for a stay but left early. He had literally stared at her at every occasion and kept a detailed diary of the events.”

“Diary…” I was wondering if there was one on me. I mean I was the landlady and it has been years since he moved in. Suddenly then, I felt as if I was stripped and tied down on the floor. Oh, it was terrifying and sexy too.

“Diary? Yes, he showed me one day when we were studying together. He told me of the diary and we discussed the contents. He had some notes on me too. I was dismayed on what he had written but he later told me, it was his deduction of the matters when he views it. I was not offended then, but actually had an affection for him.”

An affection she said. I was impressed. I thought Holmes will die a virgin.

“Well, we split later in our life. I was in the college doing my studies and were courted by some others.” The lady blushed. “I did see him on the streets but he was always carrying a load of books. He looked like a bookish person compared to myself. I was the … society girl.”

“I heard he had no admirers and was a loner mostly in the labs. He did not do Medical like his father. He wanted to be in Scotland Yard as a detective.  He could not do that as his father had forbidden him.”

“How did you know this? You never ….. hardly meet him then?” I was inquisitive then.

“Sherlock writes to me weekly. He was not to know that I was in the same town as himself. So, he wrote to me and my Mum forwarded the mails to me.” The lady drew a sigh then. “We were corresponding like daily mails and not a word he ever said whether he likes me or not. I was …. To shy ask him.”

“Gracious me. A lady asking the Man. That will be the day when we wore the pants and hold the whip.” She smiled at my remark. The only request of mine on Man was ‘are you done yet? I got a household to take care’. I had to admit it was a harsh remark but harsher was the bucket of unwashed laundry.

“Yes, I did like him but there was no passage towards him at all. I did wonder if he was …. You know.” The ladies understand each other like the pages to the book.

I nodded.

“Was he?” The lady looked distraught at my nod.

“I wouldn’t know. I had my thoughts but the Doctor was with him and he does not look like them. And he has been seen alone with any his gender. I have not seen when he goes on his runs. He could be but I doubt so.” It dawned on me then that Mycroft could be one too. After all, he ignored my garters once I left on the staircase. He did pick it up and then left it on my kitchen table. And it was a clean one, mind you. I saw him when I was in the bathroom. I was short of that garter then.

“Tell me more of younger Holmes.” I had probed on.

“Well, he was a hard-working chap. I heard from his lecture mates,he was very diligent in his works towards  late nights and spend time at the Mortuary.” I heard the lady. Probably that was why Holmes likes to leave at night and back before dawn. I heard of such fixation … it was called … Heck! I was unsure but it involved sex. Wow! Big word for me. I had never thought I was to refer to that word in my mind. It was mind-blowing.

The rain then stopped.

The lady stood up and told me she was leaving. I smiled and then offered to walk her to the doorway but she refused.

“I will be fine.” The lady walked out while I stayed behind to clear the cups and saucers. I noticed then the picture frame above the fireplace was moved. I knew Holmes was particular in his arrangement. I moved the frame back to its original position but I could not help looking at the figure in the frame. I remembered there were some workings behind the frame. I turned to read it.

"Would she not have made an admirable queen? Is it not a pity she was not on my level?"

I remembered her name was Irene Adler. And she was just there.

Holmes living area.

I rushed to window and opened it. I saw Irene was about to step onto the hansom there on the street. I called out to her.

“Irene Adler.”

Irene turned her head to look at me. She smiled back at me before she boarded it. I turned back and then closed the window. It was later to see the note she left for Holmes.

“I was there but not seen by you for a long time. I am now a mist in the weather to you. Love, Irene.”

Days later, Holmes asked me whether anyone was here to see him when he was away. I had brought the afternoon tea to him and the good Doctor. Mycroft was there that afternoon.

“No, Mr Holmes. There was no one.” I replied.

“I am curious. I caught a scent not familiar to me.” Sherlock looked at Mycroft. “Can you?”

“I doubt Mycroft noticed anything.” I told the men and left. I heard the men asking each other if they had in any manner insulted me.

Men…. They are just dense between their ears. I had burned the note to save Holmes.

God bless the Men.