He stood. ‘I had better return to my office.’
I stood too. ‘I had better go and make ready.’ The enormity of it all had still not sunk in. I was to leave everything familiar, everything known, to be a servant. Not just a servant; a spy. ‘Goodbye, Mr Poskitt.’
‘Goodbye, Mrs Hudson, I hope to see you again soon.’ Mr Poskitt smiled warmly at me as he let himself out; and he was gone.
I gave him two minutes’ grace, then retraced my steps down the stairs, across the hall, and out of the little door, depositing poor Miss Jamieson’s undelivered envelope back into the trolley. I put several yards’ distance between myself and Somerset House before daring to slow my pace. Then I returned to Charing Cross, cut through the station, and got a cab from the rank. My head buzzed with things to do all the way home; but underneath a little voice whispered How will you leave Sherlock?, and another murmured A case of your own…
CHAPTER 24
Billy was loitering in the hall when I arrived home. ‘Did it go well, ma’am?’ he asked, eagerly.
‘It’s hard to say.’ I glanced up the stairs. Would Sherlock expect information?
‘Mr Holmes has gone out, ma’am. He said he was off to see Wiggins. He’ll be back for dinner, though.’
‘I am sure he will.’ I took off my hat and shawl and went upstairs. I had my own research to do. I found the battered, worn copy of Mrs Beeton’s Household Management stuffed into the bookcase, and began to read. Duties of the butler … duties of the lady’s maid … duties of the housemaid… it all blurred into one. I tried to recall the parlourmaids I had seen when accompanying Sherlock on a case. A black dress, a white apron and cap, quick and deft in movement, never looking directly at you. And so silent you forgot they were there. I sighed. Well, I could be silent, certainly for a pound a day.
I slipped the book back and went to the dressing-room. I was not sure why, but I had never thrown away my mourning outfit. It was all neatly folded in drawers. I had had a niggling feeling that perhaps it might be useful one day. However, today was not that day. The black dresses were too stiff, too fine for a maid. What else did parlourmaids wear? I longed to ring and ask Martha, but I might as well take out an advertisement for my intentions…
Evie! I grinned as inspiration struck me. Evie, with her obsessive interest in clothes, would know what parlourmaids wore. She might have friends in service. I would go to the department store early tomorrow, hand my notice in to Mr Turner, and spend some time with Evie. Perhaps I could even take her shopping…
My pleasant reverie was interrupted by the bang of the front door. Dr Watson never banged the door. I opened the wardrobe and took out my dark purple silk. Tonight I would dress for dinner, since it might be the last time I would be able to do so for weeks.
Sherlock’s light footsteps ran upstairs. ‘Nell! Where are you?’
‘In the bedroom,’ I called, unhooking my dress. ‘But I am not fit to be seen.’
‘Even better.’ Within seconds he was grinning at me in the connecting doorway. ‘What, do we have company?’
‘No.’ I smiled. ‘I just felt like dressing up, for once.’
‘Then I shall match you.’ He shrugged off his jacket and waistcoat, undid his tie, and began to unbutton his shirt. ‘Watson will wonder what on earth is going on.’ He pulled the shirt over his head. ‘So, do you have anything to tell me?’
I smoothed my skirts into place before I answered. ‘I’m afraid not. It was a summons from a friend which turned out to be no more than a gossip session.’
‘Ah.’ I watched him reach into the wardrobe for a fresh shirt — a dress shirt. ‘These cloak-and-dagger affairs often fizzle into nothing. It’s always the unpromising ones which yield gold. Now, where are my studs?’
‘Dressing-table tray, where you left them last.’ I had already replaced the key, mixing it back into the jumble. Sherlock swirled a finger through the mass, picking out his collar studs. ‘Did you get hold of Wiggins?’
‘I did. He’ll shadow Lawrence for me at the usual rate, but I shall be taking a hand myself too. Lawrence is too valuable a fish to let go, and I suspect he will lead us to the source of the trouble.’
‘I hope so.’ I sat down at the dressing table and unpinned my hair. Then I took up my brush. One … two… I doubted I would have time to brush to a hundred every night in my new occupation.
‘Are you all right, Nell?’
I froze. Sherlock was watching me in the mirror. ‘Yes, of course. Why do you ask?’
‘You’re frowning.’
‘Oh!’ I stuck a smile on my face and continued to brush. ‘I was thinking about the butcher’s order.’
‘Well stop it, or you will be late to dinner.’ Sherlock removed his tail suit from the wardrobe. ‘When I’ve dressed up for you, too.’
I began to coax my hair into a chignon. If I was going to dress up, I might as well go all out. Evie would have done a much better job, but eventually the last pin was in, and my hair was up. I added a gold necklace and earrings, and reached for the perfume bottle.
‘I’ll do it.’ Sherlock was behind me, fully dressed. He reached round me for the bottle, unstoppered it, and kissed my neck before stroking the cold glass on the place where he had kissed. ‘You look good enough to eat.’
‘I think you’ll find dinner even nicer,’ I replied. My pulse where he had kissed me beat hard and fast. You are leaving all this…
Sherlock grinned. ‘Stand up, Nell. You can’t wear those flat things on your feet, not in that dress.’ He went through to the dressing-room, returning with a pair of high-heeled black satin evening slippers dangling from his fingers. ‘Come, I shall be Prince Charming and see if they fit.’
I giggled as he knelt at my feet and slipped them on. ‘You do realise that I can scarcely walk in these? I shall probably fall downstairs.’
‘Then I shall catch you.’ He offered his arm. ‘Let us make our grand entrance.’
Martha hid a smile as we came downstairs at a stately pace befitting our attire. ‘If I had known we were so grand I would have changed the menu. It’s cottage pie and spotted dick.’
‘Delightful,’ Sherlock inclined his head, and we swept into the dining room.
‘Ah, there you a —’ Dr Watson began, before his mouth fell open and he fairly goggled at us. ‘Is there something I should know?’
‘Not at all.’ Sherlock shook out his napkin and took his seat with a flourish. ‘Just a fancy. How did you get on with Emmett Stanley today?’
‘It was fascinating.’ Dr Watson paused while Martha served us, and waited until the door had closed. ‘I believe Emmett Stanley to be in a catatonic state. He is largely motionless, responding to few external stimuli.’
‘Yes, but why?’ Sherlock leaned forward.
‘It is hard to say,’ Dr Watson replied composedly, toying with his fork. ‘I suspect it is a response to whatever ordeal he has endured. I obtained permission to examine him, and as far as I can tell, apart from the bruise on his head where he was knocked out, and the rope burns from his bindings, there is not a mark on him. You will have to bear in mind, though, that I could not make a full examination. His body is so stiff and twisted that I could not do more than unbutton his shirt and roll up his sleeves and trouser-legs.’
‘But you don’t think he’s shamming?’ asked Sherlock, his eyes gleaming.
‘I do not.’ Dr Watson said emphatically.
I ate my dinner in appropriately genteel small bites and listened to the two men talking shop. I wondered what Effie Stanley was doing at that moment. Perhaps she was dining in a great dining room; perhaps she was eating supper on a tray. But I felt sure that, wherever she was, the chatty, lively Effie I had known was all alone.
‘Will he recover, do you think?’ I asked.
Dr Watson looked at me with some surprise. ‘We cannot say, at this early stage. There are treatments … but I would not risk any of them. Mr Stanley’s health is too delicate. I believe it is a case of wait and s
ee.’
After dinner I went to the drawing room and took up my book; but the exploits of Paula Power could not hold my attention. The servants were washing up downstairs, while from above came the animated hum of Sherlock and Dr Watson’s voices in the consulting room. The dinner-time talk had shifted from Emmett Stanley to Thomas Palmer, and I suspected they were busy compiling a list of drugs. I sighed. Tomorrow evening, if all went to plan, I would not be here to listen.
CHAPTER 25
Sherlock murmured as I gently moved his arm. ‘Whassa —’
‘Ssh,’ I whispered, kissing his shoulder. ‘I am going to the bathroom.’
I could not see what time it was, but from the movements downstairs, and the grey light through the gap in the curtains, I suspected it must be around seven. So much to do; and I still was not sure how to tackle it. I locked the bathroom door, leaned my forehead on the cool white tiles, and thought. The store opened at nine o’clock; but the shopgirls would be there earlier, titivating themselves and their domains for the public. If I got there for eight o’clock I guessed I would be able to catch Evie.
I would need money for dresses and accessories. Some of my own, simpler, more worn items would do; but my hairbrush, an expensive one, could not come with me. I looked down at the ring on my finger. It was slim, and plain gold; but inside the band was engraved Nell, from Sherlock. A pang shot through me at the thought of leaving it behind. I could not — the message it would send! Perhaps I could entrust it to Evie … but no, it was not fair to expect her to keep a secret like that. I shall think about it later. I turned the taps on to wash the problem away. Goodbye, running hot water. Back to carrying cans up and down stairs, I suspected, although hopefully as I would be a parlourmaid, that task would fall to someone else.
It’s a good thing Mother doesn’t know. She would laugh herself silly. Mother’s opinion of my housekeeping skills was low at best. ‘I pity the poor woman who has to depend on your service,’ she would have said, an amused gleam in her eye. I must write and tell her — what? Perhaps that I was going away for a while and would not be able to write or visit. I could ask her to tell people I was visiting Clara, on the south coast — no. I did not want people to lie for me.
But I would write letters. Once my appointment was confirmed, I would write and post letters. That would take care of it all.
Sherlock was dressing when I returned to the bedroom. ‘I want to return to Ealing and have a proper look at the garden,’ he said, attaching his braces. ‘Will you come, Nell?’
‘I have a few domestic things to do,’ I said.
‘Oh, domestic things…’ Sherlock sounded deflated. ‘I wish you would leave that to the servants.’
‘Someone has to run the place,’ I said mildly, walking over to kiss him. ‘Will you be out all day?’
‘Probably. Tell Martha I shan’t want lunch.’ He kissed me on the mouth, a kiss without thought, and left the room.
I touched where his lips had been. I wanted to remember it. I did not know how long it would have to last me. If you only knew, I whispered, and shook myself. Sentimentality would do no-one any good.
I chose a plain grey dress, one I would not be sorry to lose, and when I was ready went down to the kitchen. ‘I shall be in trouble,’ I said lightly, taking down the housekeeping jar and extracting a ten-shilling note. ‘I have just remembered it is my mother’s birthday.’
‘Will you visit her today?’ said Martha.
‘I shall, and take a present — I do not know what, yet.’ I took another note from the jar. ‘Perhaps a poinsettia. She likes flowers.’ I filched a piece of toast from the rack on the kitchen table.
‘Aren’t you having a proper breakfast, ma’am?’
‘I don’t think I have time,’ I said. ‘There is the present to buy, and the visit, and my library book is due, and I shall be at work later…’ I bit into my toast and stood up. ‘I shall take this up while I finish getting ready.’
Five minutes later I was hatted, shawled, and walking out of the front door. Fifteen minutes later still, having taken a roundabout route, I was in Wigmore Street.
The shopgirls would use the back entrance. I loitered in an alley nearby, checking my watch — another luxury I would have to surrender. The more I thought about what I planned to do, the more unwise it seemed.
At last I was rewarded by the sight of Evie, tall, slim and elegant, strolling down the alleyway whistling.
‘I didn’t think ladies did that sort of thing,’ I grinned, stepping out.
Evie clutched at her chest. ‘Nell! I nearly had a fit!’ She leaned against the wall, surveying me head to foot. ‘What are you doing here at this hour?’
‘Never mind that.’ I beckoned her over. ‘I need your help,’ I whispered, ‘and you mustn’t tell a soul.’
Two minutes later Evie had secured Gladys, whispered a stream of words into her ear, and sent her in. ‘She’ll cover for me,’ Evie said, winking. ‘Come on, let’s get a cab.’ She led me down the alleyway and whistled for one. ‘Petticoat Lane, please.’
Evie took the lead, pushing and shoving through a scrum of humanity to examine heaps of shabby dresses. ‘I need to be presentable,’ I said hastily. ‘If plain.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Evie. ‘Well-worn but respectable is what I’m thinking. My older sister’s a lady’s maid, you know. It wouldn’t suit me, but it takes all sorts.’
A few minutes of snatching, comparing, and bargaining later, Evie had secured a black dress and a print one (‘for day’, she said), a flannel corset, a rusty black hat with a drooping artificial rose, and a straw hat with a blue ribbon (‘summer wear on your days off’).
‘I don’t plan on doing this next summer,’ I said.
‘It’s as well to be prepared,’ said Evie, picking up a pair of flat black boots. ‘What do you think of these?’
I examined them. ‘Won’t they be too big for me?’
Evie looked down at my feet. ‘Perhaps a bit, but you’ll have thick wool stockings, remember. Anyway, my sister says that if there’s one thing mistresses don’t like, it’s an attractive maid. Too much temptation for the men.’
I grimaced. ‘I can see I’m going to enjoy myself.’ I inspected a battered black suitcase.
Our purchases packed, we hailed another cab. ‘I’d take you back to my house,’ said Evie, ‘but my mother’s there, and she’s nosy. I’ll smuggle you into work, and you can sneak out the back way when we’re finished.’
‘You won’t be able to do much anyway, Evie. I mean, I can’t wear anything that could be discovered. No wigs, no rouge…’
Evie heaved a sigh. ‘You do make life difficult, Nell.’
I tried not to tremble as Evie sat me down in the ladies’ cloakroom. ‘Don’t do anything too terrible, will you?’
‘Just keep still.’
I sighed, and submitted. Evie took the pins from my hair, considered, and set to work. I noted that she had placed my chair so that I could not see a mirror. I closed my eyes so that I could not see her; but I felt her put something on my hair, and comb it back. ‘Pomade,’ she said. ‘I’ll plait and coil it, so it’s easy to keep neat.’ She worked for a few minutes. ‘There. What will you say when they ask you about yourself?’
I had been thinking this over. ‘I’ll tell them I worked as a maid till I got married; and then since my husband died I’ve been mending and taking in washing for a few years, but I’ve decided to go back into service.’
‘That will cover any mistakes you make, but your hands will give you away.’ Evie took my hand, then took her scissors and cut my nails down to the quick. ‘Now, scrub your hands hard while I finish your hair.’
I took the wet nailbrush and did as I was told, until my hands stung. Evie sorted through our purchases. ‘Here, put this one on, with the stockings and boots.’
I went into a stall and did as I was told. I exchanged my corset for the flannel one, which did nothing for my figure, and put on the itchy woollen stockings.
The dress was a reasonable fit, but too short in the arm, so that my wrists protruded, and my hands seemed redder than ever. The boots, as predicted, were a size too big, so that I clumped when I walked. My heart sank to the very bottom of them.
But Evie wasn’t finished. ‘Sit down and close your eyes.’
‘Don’t you think you’ve done enough?’ I snapped. ‘I’m pretty sure I won’t pose a risk to any eligible men.’
‘That’s as may be,’ said Evie, ‘but I can still see it’s you. I promise I won’t take too much off.’
‘Off what?’
‘Just hold still.’ Evie put her hand to my forehead, and I felt a little tweak at my eyebrow. ‘It will grow back.’ I didn’t dare move after that, though I winced as each hair was pulled out.
‘You can look now.’ Evie’s voice was flat. She laid a hand on my shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, Nell. It’s not the sort of help I would have liked to give, but I think you’ll pass.’
I opened my eyes. My hands were sore and red, but they were still mine. I stood up, and caught a glimpse in the long glass —
I closed my eyes and opened them again. This, now, was me. A thick-waisted, big-footed woman, red hands dangling, hair scraped back from her small head. I was out of proportion. I put a hand to my hair, and felt grease.
I took a step towards the mirror, and another. Evie had plucked off the ends of my eyebrows, and changed their shape so that I wore a perpetual frown. I could see the lines of the comb in my greased-down hair, which appeared to be dark brown. The lack of sleep showed under my eyes, and unsurprisingly my cheeks had lost their colour. I would have put myself at about forty.
‘I — I —’
‘Don’t say anything,’ pleaded Evie.
I smiled at myself in the mirror, but it looked wrong. Even my smile wasn’t my own any more.
‘You’ve done an excellent job, Evie.’ I tried to keep my voice steady. ‘I had better go.’ I reached for the rusty black hat and jammed it on my head.
In Sherlock's Shadow (Mrs Hudson & Sherlock Holmes Book 2) Page 13