The Hudson Diaries

by Kara L. Barney

  “I’m not sure…but we are not finished yet. Are you sure there is no one else?”

  I nodded, sinking into a chair nearby. Mr. Holmes approached me. “Do not fear; there is still hope left.” Though he meant to hide his own feelings, I could see that he was as worried as I.

  Some weeks passed before anything of promise appeared; I had lost all hope of finding solace. Many friends came to my home more than once, offering their services, but though they meant well I refused them. Though I had not anywhere to go, I wished to remove myself from such a place of personal tragedy. One day, as I was packing my belongings, a light knock met my ears. I opened the door and William Hughes stood before me on the porch.

  “William,” I said, but he held up his hand. Surprised, I waited.

  “I came to offer myself to you.”

  “Thank you; you are very kind, but—”

  He held up his hand once more. “I offer myself completely, entirely to you. Will you take me, Martha?”

  “I do not know what you mean, sir.” We had grown up together as childhood acquaintances, even friends, but I had never felt more than friendship for the man standing before me. William was a man of means and reasonable success, but my mind as well as my heart were against any greater connection. We grew apart as we grew older, and I had never really missed his companionship.

  “I am a rich man; I could give you everything you have ever been denied.”

  “No. I could never… I will never see you in that way. You are a good friend, but no more. Good day, sir.”

  I heard his footstep on the pavement some time afterward, and once I knew he was gone, made my way to Baker Street to tell Mr. Holmes of this strange encounter. Once he had heard the tale, Mr. Holmes replied, “The next time your suitor comes to call, receive his advances and be sure to leave your pantry door unlocked.”

  “What? This is harboring on the ridiculous…” I answered hotly. Dr. Watson glanced at me nervously, sure of a row.

  “You would have me receive a man who makes marriage proposals only weeks after a man’s death?” I felt tears welling in my eyes.

  “Yes, I would,” said Mr. Holmes, somewhat nonchalantly.

  “Then you forget that the victim was my husband.” I rose and walked to the door. “Adieu, gentlemen.” I curtsied and left. As I shut the door, I felt some meager hope die within me, and found myself utterly alone.

  A week passed before I received a letter from William, saying that he would come again at eleven o’clock the next day hoping that I had changed my mind. After reading the letter, I sent a wire to Mr. Holmes relaying to him the letter’s contents, unsure of how he would receive it after I had argued with him so hotly the week before.

  At the appointed hour the next morning, I heard the knock at my door. William’s pale face appeared again before me.

  “Martha…” he began, but I cut him short.

  “Mr. Hughes, your dreams are nothing more than mere fancy. My husband was the love of my life. Though he is dead, I could never love another. Please do not come again.”

  As I made to close the door, he swung it lightly away. Always supposing him to be a weak man, this surprised me and I stepped back.

  “Do not deny me so quickly,” William answered hurriedly.

  “Sir, I must ask you to leave.”

  “You are a captivating woman,” he said hungrily. He snatched my wrist and kissed my hand; though I tried to pull away, William held tight.

  “William, leave this house at once!” I could feel my face flush with anger.

  As we inched toward the kitchen table, I saw a stray knife there. Reaching my fingers toward it, the knife slipped and fell, clattering, to the floor. William saw my attempt and laughed aloud. He continued to speak in soft, dangerous tones. “I have loved you for a long time, Martha. Why you chose Rupert over me I will never know. But I killed a man and would gladly do it again for a wife like you.”

  “You’re mad!” I whispered angrily.

  “Perhaps. But if I am mad, it is mad for love. Your love, Martha.”

  He took my face in his hands so that I could not move. Though I wrestled with all my might, it was useless. His lips were leaning closer to mine…

  “Stop!” I heard a familiar voice shout. “You are under arrest for the murder of Rupert Hudson, and for the harassment of his widow.”

  As this was being said, William let go and bolted for the door. A dash of brown flew past and Mr. Holmes was grappling with him on the ground. Dr. Watson approached, and before long they had him subdued and in handcuffs.

  I stood there, stunned. “But, how did you know?” I asked.

  “It was quite simple, really,” Mr. Holmes replied, “Once you told us the story of his proposal, your illustrious Mr. Hughes had practically given himself away.”

  Overcome with emotion, I burst into tears. Mr. Holmes stood amazed, even somewhat embarrassed. “Are you well, Martha?”

  I nodded, unable to speak. Then, in a moment of rashness I ran to him and embraced him. “Thank you,” was all I could whisper.

  At first he was speechless, and then when I let go, he took me by the shoulders as of old and said, “Now, Mrs. Hudson, we must find you a new place of residence and employment. Where do you wish to begin?”

  “Mr. Holmes,” I said, slightly taken aback, “you have done me a service for which I can never repay you. I thought that if I stayed on with you, in some way I might be able to aid you in preventing other tragedies such as mine.”

  “I am not a rich man.”

  “Wealth means nothing to me. I would gladly serve you that you might serve the greater England.”

  Mr. Holmes thought for a moment, and then said, “You may do so, then, under one condition. Think of me not as a debtor, but as a friend.”

  I nodded, and under this agreement I was reinstated under Mr. Holmes, and have been so ever since.