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

by Liz Hedgecock

  I got up, and Ada helped me into my dress and bathed my face. ‘Leave your cap off,’ she ordered. ‘By the time I’ve finished, no-one will speak to her for a month.’ I allowed myself to be led downstairs. I felt naked, and ashamed.

  Ada flung open the door of the servants’ hall. ‘Look what that bitch Susan has done!’ she shrieked, holding up my plait. ‘Come in, Bessie, and show them.’

  I swallowed, felt the stump of hair at my neck once more, and entered the room, my eyes on the floor.

  No-one said a word. The silence grew thicker and thicker until I wanted to scream.

  I heard Mr Craddock cough. ‘You’re — sure it was Susan?’

  Ada snorted. ‘Who else would do such a thing?’

  It was as if a spring had been released. I felt arms around me, murmured words of sympathy, assurances that it would grow, that I just looked a little different, that was all, and before long I was weeping as though I would never stop. ‘It’s only hair,’ I choked. ‘I know it’s only hair, but —’

  ‘I’m going to fetch that girl.’ Cookie strode to the door, her mouth in a firm straight line. Two minutes later she marched Susan into the room and pushed her forward. ‘You wicked girl!’ she cried. ‘What business did you have to do a thing like that?’

  Susan’s eyes met mine, and an incredulous, joyful smile came over her face. She began to laugh, a giggle which built and built until she was on the verge of hysteria, tears springing to her eyes. I turned away, unable to bear it. I had not seen myself in a mirror yet, and from the reaction thus far I doubted I would want to.

  ‘You deserve a good beating, my girl,’ said Ada, grimly. ‘Whatever quarrel you have, that was a mean trick.’

  Susan hooted once more and wiped her eyes. ‘She looks so funny!’ she cried, pointing at me, and that set her off again.

  I stepped forward and slapped her grinning face. Susan’s laughter stopped immediately and she stared at me, a hand to her cheek. Her blue eyes brimmed with tears, and she made a low crooning sound which grew into a wail, staring at me all the while. No-one stepped forward to comfort her, and she wailed louder and louder, beating her fists against the table and working herself up. Perhaps I should have felt sorry; but I did not, not at all.

  ‘What the hell is going on?’ Milady was in the doorway with a face like thunder.

  ‘She hit me!’ wailed Susan, pointing an accusatory finger at me.

  ‘Susan cut her plait off!’ Ada cried, shaking my hair at Susan as if it would ward off evil.

  ‘I see,’ said milady, sitting down at the head of the table. ‘Susan, do you deny it?’

  Susan looked all around for a way out before muttering sulkily ‘No, milady.’

  Milady swivelled to face me. ‘And you, Bessie? Do you deny it?’

  I looked her in the eyes. ‘No milady, I do not.’

  ‘Susan wasn’t sorry at all!’ Ada interjected.

  Milady held up a hand. ‘That will do.’ She turned to me. ‘So you slapped her?’ She didn’t sound shocked. If anything, she sounded rather pleased.

  I nodded.

  ‘I would never have expected that from such a little mouse.’ A little smile nudged the corners of her mouth upwards. ‘I think you angered the farmer’s wife, blind mouse, and she cut off your tail with a carving knife to teach you a lesson. Am I right, Susan?’

  Susan, expressionless now, said nothing.

  ‘Am I right, Susan?’ Milady’s voice rang out.

  Susan, gulping, nodded.

  ‘Come and stand in front of me, Susan.’

  Susan took two steps forward. She was trembling, though milady’s voice was soft again.

  ‘So because Bessie waited on me while you were on your day off, you wanted to punish her?’

  A tear slid down Susan’s cheek.

  ‘So you thought up a plan to make her more of a fright than she already is.’ Angry muttering broke out behind her. ‘Be quiet, everyone. There has already been more than enough noise.’ She spoke with the reasonable tone of a nanny addressing her charges. ‘Susan, you forgot yourself. You forgot that in this house, I am the farmer’s wife.’

  Susan looked at the floor.

  ‘Susan, take down your hair.’

  Susan‘s hands flew to her head. ’Oh no, milady, not that! I’ll die of shame!’

  ‘Take it down, or I shall order someone to hold you while I do it.’

  Shaking, sobbing, Susan took out pin after pin until her golden hair flowed to her waist.

  ‘That wasn’t so hard, was it?’ Milady stood, walked round her, and gathered her hair into a tail. ‘Such pretty hair, too. Ada, fetch the scissors.’

  Ada rose at once, her eyes gleaming, and did as she was told. She offered the scissors to milady, who shook her head. ‘Mouse, come here.’

  Ada put the scissors into my hand. ‘Now you can cut off her tail, little mouse,’ said milady.

  I tested the action of the scissors before stepping forward. Susan was quivering like an animal in a trap.

  ‘Do it, Mouse,’ milady said. Was that a challenge in her voice? Did she think I wouldn’t do it?

  And something in me snapped. I took the tail of golden hair and cut it off with one snip.

  An Ahhh, almost of pleasure, crept round the room.

  Susan flung her hands to her head, stumbling forward as if her hair had anchored her to the spot.

  ‘I shall never ask you to trim my hair, Mouse,’ milady remarked. ‘It’s longer on one side than the other. Come here, Susan, and I shall neaten it for you.’ Milady motioned for the scissors. ‘Sit.’

  Susan stared straight ahead while milady walked around her, considering. ‘I know what to do,’ she said, running her fingers through Susan’s hair.

  The scissors flashed, and a large chunk of hair fell to the floor.

  Susan clapped a hand to where the hair had been and a look of horror, and of understanding, swept over her face.

  ‘Keep still, Susan,’ milady cautioned. ‘If you struggle, I shall ask Mr Craddock to shave you bald as an egg. Do you understand?’

  Susan nodded. Her eyes were squeezed tight shut and tears coursed down her face.

  ‘I am glad we understand each other,’ said milady.

  Humming to herself, she snipped and snipped until Susan’s golden hair was a ragged crop; till it was too short for milady to run her fingers through; till only a faint fuzz covered her skull. With every snip, as the scissors crept closer and closer to her skin, Susan flinched, but otherwise she was motionless. With every snip I saw the truth of my cruelty. I tried to tell myself that someone else would have done the deed if I had not, but it was no use. I had stepped forward and done the very thing which everyone had condemned Susan for. I, who thought myself superior.

  And why had Susan cut off my hair? Because milady had taunted her. Had set us against each other, for her amusement. In that moment the hatred I had felt for Susan vanished, and I felt sorry for her. If anything, I hated myself, for milady had tempted me, and had made me cruel. But I hated milady more. I remembered Emmett Stanley writhing terrified in his own bed, and now I could understand why.

  Without her hair Susan’s features were too small for her face, and she was pretty no longer. She resembled a frightened, overgrown baby. ‘Much better,’ said milady, smiling as she surveyed her handiwork. ‘Ada, bring a mirror.’

  Ada rose, but her previous eagerness had quite gone.

  ‘Close your eyes, Susan,’ sing-songed milady. Ada returned with a hand mirror, and milady positioned it carefully in front of Susan’s face. ‘Now open them, and see how pretty you look.’

  Susan opened an eye, shrieked, and hid her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook, and great sobs tore out of her.

  ‘I’m tempted to dismiss you and let you fend for yourself, but on this occasion I shall be kind.’ Milady stood up. ‘I don’t think you’ll do as a lady’s maid, though. Cookie, find her some work where I don’t have to look at her. And a mobcap for that big bald head.’
She sailed to the door. ‘I shall let you have your breakfasts now. No further noise, please; I intend to sleep late. Mouse, I shall expect you in my boudoir at ten o’clock. And do something with that hair first.’

  Milady’s light footsteps receded. Ada and I exchanged glances, and looked away again. I felt as if I had witnessed a crime, and done nothing.

  Then it hit me. Once, a lifetime ago, I had. I had watched milady steal a brooch. I could have brought her in then; I could have made sure that she was questioned, taken note of, made powerless. But I had let her go, for reasons I was still not sure of. That mercy had led to this, and to so much more, and so much worse.

  ‘Don’t cry, Bessie,’ said Cookie, putting an arm round me. ‘It’ll blow over, it always does.’

  I wiped my eyes, and tried to smile to please Cookie. But inside I was horrified at what I had done, and not done.

  CHAPTER 36

  Ada nudged me. ‘Get your breakfast, Bessie, do. It’s nearly seven. I know she doesn’t need you till ten, but —’ Her eyes lingered on my head.

  My hand went up automatically. I had been so shocked by Susan’s shearing that I had almost forgotten my own. ‘Is it really bad?’

  ‘No!’ Ada’s eyes were round. ‘No, no, it isn’t bad, just … it might look better if you washed it.’

  I fingered the stiff little queue which was all I had left. It didn’t feel much like hair. I tried to recall the last time I had washed it, and with horror I realised that it would have been at Baker Street. The rigours of our daily routine left no room for procuring enough hot water to wash three feet of hair, never mind the time to dry it.

  ‘I shall go and deal with this,’ I said, touching my head. ‘I may be some time.’

  ‘It really isn’t that bad —’ said Ada, as I picked up a can and went to the door. I closed it on her words. I didn’t want to know how bad it was. I could imagine, and I only hoped it couldn’t be worse.

  In the kitchen I filled the can and set it on the hearth to heat. I thought of the plaited snake I had plucked from my bed, and which Ada had brandished as a sign of Susan’s wrongdoing. It was no longer part of me. I sighed and touched a fingertip to the side of the can. What would Susan be doing? Cookie would not heap further punishments on her, she was too kind; yet she knew that milady would want Susan kept out of sight. Perhaps in the scullery, or the laundry, where she would not have to fear the gaze of strangers. I shivered at the memory of milady humming and cutting, cutting, cutting. And as I shivered, I determined that from now on, I would show no mercy to milady.

  At last the water began to sing. I fetched a towel and soap, then took the can to the deep sink in the scullery. Little Janey was already there, sighing at the mountain of dirty dishes from the servants’ breakfast.

  ‘Let me use the sink first, and I’ll help with the dishes,’ I bargained. She assented readily, and soon I had a sink full of suds. It was such a relief to plunge my head in and rub the stickiness away, to feel the strands separating and floating freely. I ran my fingers through my hair, which was a strange, abrupt experience. I rubbed my hair gently with a towel, and wrapped my head in it.

  Janey giggled. ‘You do look funny, Bessie! Like a lollipop on a stick.’

  ‘Thank you so much,’ I said, gravely. ‘Do you want me to help you with the dishes, or not?’

  Working together, the breakfast dishes were washed, dried and put away in half the time. ‘How do you think it will look, Bessie?’ said Janey, gazing at my towel-wrapped head.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Not too strange, I hope.’ And I hurried to my room before she had a chance to speculate further.

  I gave my hair a final rub with the towel — it was merely damp already — then closed my eyes and let the towel fall.

  I opened one eye and yelped. There I was in the mirror, but my new short hair was wavy, and shorter even than I had expected — around chin-length. What on earth shall I do with it?

  I pulled my hair to the nape of my neck. I had enough left to make a tiny tail. Then I took my hands away, and it sprang back into curls.

  I sighed, and picked up my hairbrush. It snarled in my hair at the first attempt. I got a comb and worked out the tangles, then tried again.

  It was not the satisfying experience it had been. At least it will be quick to deal with, I thought. I finished brushing, pulled the hair into a tail, and tied it with a ribbon.

  Two minutes later most of my hair had escaped and was hanging about my face. I sank onto my bed and clutched at it.

  You could grease it down. But I thought of the pathetic little stump I had been left with, and shook my head. I got up and gathered everything that might be of use — hairpins, ribbons, a couple of tortoiseshell combs, a length of elastic, my cap — and returned to the mirror. Eventually, with combs, pins and contrivance, my hair was up, apart from a few stray wisps, and I dared to approach the mirror. If anything, it was a distinct improvement on the scraped-back greasy bun I had condemned myself to for weeks. I smiled at myself as I settled my cap on top of my new hairstyle, then went downstairs.

  ‘Ooh!’ Cookie exclaimed as I came into the kitchen. ‘Show us the back.’ I grinned and obliged. ‘I never knew you had curly hair, dear. It takes years off you.’

  I came closer and lowered my voice. ‘How is Susan?’

  Cookie frowned. ‘I’ve told her I’ll put her in the scullery for now. If you’re to be milady’s maid then Ada can be you, and she can train up little Janey to be housemaid. But that’s when I can get Susan to come out of her room. I found her a mobcap, but she insisted on gathering all her hair and taking it upstairs with her. Maybe she’s crying over it.’ Cookie sighed. ‘She’ll have to come out some time, anyway. I’ve got a house to run.’

  ***

  I knocked on milady’s door at ten o’clock precisely. She was curled up in her kimono, reading a periodical. ‘Good Lord,’ she said, and laughed. ‘You look almost… So much better without that muck on your hair.’

  ‘Thank you, milady. Would you like breakfast?’

  ‘Yes, on a tray. Toast and scrambled eggs.’

  I made for the door. ‘Where are you going, Mouse?’

  ‘To tell the kitchen about your breakfast, milady.’

  ‘Noooo,’ she said, as if to a child. ‘You ring, and Ada will come up. Your job is to dress me. But I shall have a bath first. Go and run it, please.’

  I tugged the bell-pull, hoping that Ada would not resent my summons, and then went to the slipper bath which could be glimpsed through a door on the other side of the bedroom. Its taps were marked Hot and Cold, and immediately I was taken back to the first bath I had had at Baker Street after we had installed running water. And — I closed my eyes — to the last bath I had had at Baker Street, with Sherlock. Hastily I turned on the hot tap and put in the plug. A jar of bath salts stood on the windowsill, and I poured some in, mixing them round with my hand. Anything to distract myself from — oh, what would he be doing now? And was he thinking of me, too?

  The bath was a third full when a tap sounded at the boudoir door. Milady did not look up. ‘Come in!’ I called.

  ‘You can squeak louder than that,’ said milady.

  I cleared my throat and repeated the words, and Ada appeared. Milady had gone back to her magazine. ‘Milady would like scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast, please.’ I turned to milady. ‘Would you like a pot of tea as well, milady?’

  Milady nodded.

  ‘And a pot of tea, please.’

  ‘Tea, scrambled eggs, toast,’ said Ada, and bobbed.

  ‘Thank you so much,’ I said, feeling quite distressed at having to give an order to my friend.

  ‘You don’t have to please and thank her,’ observed milady, turning a page. ‘She’s here to do as she’s told. Like you.’

  ‘I will remember, milady.’ I felt my cheeks warming. ‘I will just go and see to your bath. How hot would you like it, please?’

  ‘Very.’

  The water was over ha
lfway up and steam was rising. I turned off the tap and tested it with my hand. It was as hot as I could bear. ‘It’s ready, milady,’ I called.

  ‘Come and put my hair up, then.’ I took combs and pins from the dressing table and plaited milady’s hair, winding it into a loose, high bun. She stood up and stretched. ‘Will you come and scrub my back, Mouse?’

  I took a step back. ‘I — I —’

  Milady giggled. ‘Have I shocked you?’ She turned, studying me. ‘Perhaps you have suffered enough this morning,’ she cooed. ‘Go and fetch two fresh, warm towels. I shall soak until breakfast arrives.’ She got up and strolled towards her bath, and giggled again as she closed the door behind her.

  Ada knocked perhaps five minutes later. I was relieved to see that Cookie had added jam and marmalade to the tray. ‘Is that breakfast?’ called milady.

  ‘Yes, milady,’ I replied.

  ‘Good. Towels, please.’

  Ada’s eyebrows shot under her cap. I shrugged, picked up the towels, and motioned to her to go, then scurried through, looking anywhere but at the bath, and put the towels down.

  Milady sighed. ‘Such a country mouse. Pour my tea, and bring my dressing gown.’

  Milady sipped her tea and took dainty mouthfuls of toast and scrambled egg while I redid her hair. ‘Now dress me.’ By this point, as I knelt and laced and fastened and buttoned, I was wondering how milady kept her slim figure when she did nothing for herself.

  ‘There,’ she said when I had put on her perfume. ‘Just in time for church too. You will have to hurry, Mouse.’ She shooed me out and I hurried to fetch my coat and best hat, with its stiff artificial flowers. Holding it on, I ran down the back stairs. ‘Bye, Cookie!’ I called.

  ‘Goodbye, dear,’ called Cookie, who always stayed behind to superintend the Sunday dinner. She would attend Evensong later, once high tea had been served to the family.

  My feet crunched on the drive. What time was it? I ran, my feet sinking into the gravel. Tom was waiting with the carriage. ‘Get up, then!’ he shouted, patting the box next to him.