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

by Liz Hedgecock

  I looked through the glass pane of the post-office door at the clock. Five minutes past eleven. I willed the horse through the streets, and if wishing could have given it wings at its heels, it would have flown. I longed to move, to pace, to get rid of my surplus energy, but I dared not. I could not move from the spot.

  A cab was coming at great speed. Suddenly I panicked. What if it was a trap? What if milady had had me followed, and the cab took me to Chiltern Square? I remembered Emmett Stanley screaming and writhing on his bed, and turned away. Milady would show no mercy.

  ‘Whoa, whoa there!’ The cabman hauled on the reins and the horse almost lifted off the ground. The cab jerked to a stop just past the post office. The blind flew up and Mr Poskitt stuck his head out. I stepped forward, more thankful than I had ever been to see him. He was looking up and down the street. ‘Madam, have you seen —’

  ‘Mr Poskitt, it’s me. Nell Hudson.’

  Mr Poskitt stared for a second, and his brow furrowed as if trying to make me out; then he smiled broadly. ‘Of course it is!’ He opened the door. ‘We’ll talk on the way.’ He helped me in, taking hold of my ungloved, battered hand as if he might break it. ‘Chiltern Square,’ he called to the driver, and we set off.

  ‘What is going to happen?’ I asked, pulling the shade back down.

  ‘As soon as I got your telegram I wired Scotland Yard. They are sending their best men down, and we shall take the pair of them in for questioning.’

  ‘In that case,’ I said, ‘there are some other things you should know.’ And leaning forward, I told him what I had seen, and what Susan had told me that morning. Mr Poskitt maintained his composure; but his hand gripped the top of his cane until the knuckles were white.

  ‘I see,’ he said. ‘I see.’

  ‘Will it be enough to clear Mycroft Holmes?’

  Mr Poskitt managed a smile weak as January sunshine. ‘More than enough.’ He tapped his cane on the panel. ‘Stop here, driver, and wait.’ He leaned over and drew up the blind.

  ‘Will my name come into this?’ I felt an icy hand squeezing my heart. What if, somehow, milady walked free? She would find me, and kill me, and it would not be an easy death.

  ‘Possibly.’ Mr Poskitt peeped out. ‘Ah, here we are. Now listen.’ Mr Poskitt knocked a rhythm on the side of the cab. ‘You will stay here. Lock yourself in, and do not open the door except to my knock. You may peep, if you wish, but do not raise the blind.’

  I caught a glimpse of another vehicle, further down the road, as he opened the door. It was not a cab, and that was all I could make out before the door slammed. I locked the doors, and raised the shade a quarter of an inch. I was scared to look; but not to look would be worse. I could see policemen now, some in uniform, one or two in plain clothes. Mr Poskitt was advancing towards one of them, signalling to the door, and as he turned I saw the profile of Inspector Lestrade. He knocked, the door opened, a badge was shown, and half the group, including Mr Poskitt, stepped in. The door closed behind them.

  I waited, my breath loud in the silent cab. Occasionally the horse harrumphed, and each time I started as if a gun had gone off. What time was it? How long had the policemen and Mr Poskitt been in there? I could not see the church clock from either side of the cab —

  A scream made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Another, and another. I knew it, though I had never heard her scream. I closed the blind — I could not be seen, I must not be seen.

  The scream turned into a gurgling laugh. I moved the blind a fraction and glimpsed a flurry of blue silk. Milady was between two policemen, one on each arm, who were half-carrying, half-dragging her down the street. ‘Take your damn hands off me!’ she shouted, struggling.

  As they neared the other vehicle, a policeman went ahead and opened the door, and two more came forward, lifted milady’s feet from the ground, and put her into the vehicle. The door slammed shut.

  But there was someone else; a tall, broad man with a high forehead, who walked unrestrained, talking to a stooped white-haired man in striped trousers. He reminded me a little of Mycroft save for his eyes, which were deep-set and dark. His expression seemed benign, amiable; but his gaze roved about the street. His eyes seemed to find the sliver of space I was peeping through, and I dropped the shade at once. I did not dare look again, and shrank back against the leather seat, panting.

  Professor Moriarty…?

  At last Mr Poskitt’s knock sounded, and I opened the door. ‘We have them,’ he said, smiling. ‘I shall go along with them, but I have an escort you will know.’ He stepped back, and Inspector Lestrade appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Inspector!’ I cried, holding out a hand. ‘It has been a long time since I saw you.’

  ‘And I you.’ The Inspector smiled; but I had already seen the flash of dismay in his eyes. ‘I should not have known you, Nell. And it seems that your hard work has paid off.’

  ‘Am I so changed?’ I knew it was not what I should be concerned with at this moment, but the reaction of both men to my appearance had shocked me.

  ‘It is superficial, I am sure,’ said the Inspector, soothingly. He banged on the roof, and the cab began to move.

  ‘Where are we going?’ I asked.

  ‘To Scotland Yard, Nell. You look as if you need a cup of tea, and I need a full statement from you before I take you back.’

  ‘Back?’ I raised my eyebrows. ‘To Baker Street?’

  ‘Hardly,’ said the Inspector, stretching his legs out. ‘Back to Chambers Hall. You have a job to do.’

  CHAPTER 41

  I stared at the Inspector. ‘I’m not going back,’ I said flatly. ‘I can’t go back.’

  ‘But there may be more to find out!’ said the Inspector. ‘You are in the best position to do it by far, Nell. Who else could we put in, at this point?’ Then he grinned. ‘The only alternative, really, would be to arrest you as a possible accomplice to milady.’

  I glared at him and he held his hands up. ‘For the record, only.’

  ‘You’ll take my statement at Scotland Yard, and then I am going home,’ I said firmly.

  The Inspector said no more until the carriage drew in under the familiar archway. I, however, thought a great deal, and marshalled my arguments in case they were needed. Going back to the Hall was both futile and dangerous — even assuming that Susan had not shared what she knew. Sir William would question me, and quite possibly suspect me. Ada, I felt, had noticed my interest in the newspaper, and it would not take her long to put two and two together. Everyone else would hate me for what had happened, and blame me for not taking better care of milady. And if she was somehow exonerated, and came back…?

  At Great Scotland Yard I gave as full a statement as I possibly could, hoping that would count in my favour. ‘Excellent,’ said the Inspector, blotting the last sheet and replacing the cap on his pen. ‘It isn’t absolutely conclusive, of course — your analytical eye will see that, Nell — but Lady Chambers’ remarks, as well as her actions, are most suggestive.’ He squared off the sheets. ‘Now, about what we discussed earlier —’

  ‘There is nothing to discuss,’ I said. ‘I have done what I was asked to do, and my employer — who is Mr Poskitt, not you — is satisfied. Going back would put me in danger, and achieve nothing.’ I got up from the table and opened the door. ‘Good day to you, Inspector.’

  ‘Nell, wait —’

  I stepped into the corridor and almost collided with Mr Poskitt, hurrying along with a policeman and —

  Sir William.

  ‘Oh — er — do excuse me,’ muttered Mr Poskitt.

  ‘What is she doing here?’ exclaimed Sir William. ‘Martha, what has happened? Why did you leave your mistress?’ His face showed more anger than confusion. This is what I can expect if I return, I thought.

  I heard footsteps behind me, and Inspector Lestrade joined us. ‘Well, Martha, what do you have to say for yourself?’

  Mr Poskitt caught my eye, and shook his head almost imperceptibly.
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  ‘I have told the Inspector everything I know, Sir William,’ I said.

  ‘And now you can tell me,’ he replied, drawing himself up.

  It was my turn to shake my head. ‘I’m sorry, Sir William.’

  ‘What do you mean, you’re sorry?’ His voice rose. ‘How dare you, a servant, speak to me like that? I’ve a good mind to —’

  ‘I am not your servant.’ Oh, the effort it cost me not to shout back at him. ‘I was engaged to pose as one.’

  ‘What?’ exclaimed Sir William. ‘That’s ridiculous.’ He began to laugh. ‘What’s the point of that? She can barely read!’ he said, turning to Mr Poskitt. ‘Who in their right mind would engage her?’

  ‘Who, indeed,’ murmured Mr Poskitt, looking exceptionally ill at ease.

  ‘I can read perfectly well, thank you, Sir William,’ I said. ‘I merely pretended I couldn’t when you caught me with the newspaper.’

  There was a distinctly unpleasant glint in Sir William’s eye. ‘So you lied to me, Martha, and you are a spy.’

  I met his eyes. ‘Yes, I am; and so is milady. But unlike her, I am on the right side of the law.’

  ‘I never heard such rubbish!’ scoffed Sir William. ‘My wife wouldn’t hurt a fly!’

  The Inspector coughed. ‘Excuse me, Sir William, but does the address 45 Chiltern Square mean anything to you?’

  Sir William shook his head. ‘I don’t recall anything. Should it?’

  Lestrade’s face was expressionless. ‘A man named Moriarty lives there, and your wife visited him today. We suspect that the purpose of her visit was to pass on classified information which she had obtained from you.’

  Sir William reeled backwards as if he had been punched. ‘Oh, my God.’ He put a hand on the wall to steady himself. He looked utterly stricken. ‘Last night —’

  ‘What happened last night?’ Lestrade prompted gently.

  Sir William’s dazed expression changed, and his mouth was set firm. ‘I shall say nothing further about the matter without a lawyer present.’ He frowned. ‘Does my wife have access to a lawyer?’

  ‘She has not been arrested, Sir William,’ the Inspector said smoothly. ‘She is merely helping us with our enquiries at present.’ He paused. ‘So you did not know that your wife was planning to go to London today?’

  ‘Of course not, man,’ said Sir William. ‘She was probably buying a present for me. Of course she wouldn’t tell me!’ His tone, though, was not exasperated, nor indignant. It was bitter, and defeated, and cornered.

  ‘If you’ll take a seat in here, Sir William,’ said the Inspector, ‘I have some questions which I would prefer to ask you in private.’

  ‘I should hope so,’ muttered Sir William. He glared at me. ‘You ought to be ashamed of yourself.’

  ‘Ought I?’ I faced him square on. ‘I have cleaned your house, prepared your food, and waited on you. I have borne your wife’s rudeness, and suffered at her hands. But through it all, I have done my duty.’ I glared at Sir William. ‘You, Sir William, have not.’

  Mr Poskitt appeared ready to faint. ‘Gentlemen, if you will excuse me.’ I nodded to him and to the Inspector, and walked down the corridor with my head held high.

  It is over, I thought, as I emerged into the vestibule of Scotland Yard. I can go home. I saw myself, in my best parlourmaid’s dress, knocking on the door at Baker Street. Yet I could not imagine what anyone would say, how they would look. Surely they would be pleased to see me? I shook the thought out of my head, and walked into the sunshine.

  I blinked, once, twice.

  Outside the entrance a man was loitering, watching the world go by. He had a stoop to his shoulders, and under his hat white hair stuck out. Moriarty’s servant. I looked away hurriedly, but fear made me look again, and when I did, he was staring right at me.

  ***

  How many stooped old men must there be in London? I asked myself, as my boots pounded the street. I glanced back once, and glimpsed him sauntering behind. If it isn’t him, it’s his twin brother. He leered at me, and it was all I could do not to break into a run.

  I could not go to Baker Street now, for it would draw Professor Moriarty there. He would know where I lived, and I would put Sherlock in danger, as well as myself.

  Where can I go? Where will I be safe?

  What would Sherlock do?

  He would find an advantage.

  With every step I took my brain jolted. I longed to stop, to compose myself, but there was no time —

  How could I lose him? I had but a few pennies left; not enough to get to Petticoat Lane, never mind buy a fresh disguise —

  I was on the Strand. Somerset House was out of the question; it would link me to Mr Poskitt and Mycroft Holmes. Charing Cross station loomed to my left and I plunged in, darting among the knots of people seeking their platform. He was not in the station yet…

  What is my advantage?

  I ran to the ladies’ conveniences and dashed in.

  The bright lights did me no favours in the mirror, but I did not care. I snatched off my hat and ripped the flowers off. ‘Do you have a pair of scissors?’ I asked the attendant, who was staring at me.

  She nodded, eyes wide, and handed a pair of small, sharp scissors to me. ‘Thank you,’ I said, and began to cut off the brim.

  She found her tongue. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m being followed by a man,’ I said, ‘and I’m scared. I’m trying to lose him.’

  ‘Oh,’ she whispered. She opened the drawer of her little stand and pulled out a red woollen shawl. ‘Here, someone left this —’

  I seized it gratefully, took off my coat, and settled the shawl in its place.

  A young woman dressed even less smartly than me came out of a cubicle as I changed. ‘You leavin’ that coat?’ she asked, not looking directly at me.

  ‘You can have it,’ I said.

  She grinned, slipped it on, and left hurriedly, I suspect in case I changed my mind. I would have felt guilty except that she was nothing like me, being dark-haired and buxom. The coat fitted her better, anyway.

  I washed my face, recalling how many times I had been excited to transform into someone else in the secrecy of a ladies’ room. Now it could mean life or death. A few minutes later I put two of my remaining pennies in the attendant’s dish, took the Bradshaw from my bag, and strolled out, pretending to look up a train. I peeped around the edge of my book many times; but as far as I could tell, Moriarty’s man had gone. And yet — I still did not dare to go to Baker Street.

  I took a roundabout route to my destination, though it was far away. I walked down side-streets, I cut through alleys, criss-crossing the district as the light faded. My mouth was so dry I could barely speak. At last it was fairly dark, and I dared to approach the place I sought; Portland Road.

  The rookery was just as I remembered, but quieter; it had not warmed up for the evening yet. I walked into the court, took a deep breath, and whistled as Sherlock had done. Someone leaned out of a window and swore at me. A dog barked. My eyes were wet. Had I come so far, to fall now? I took a shaky breath and whistled again. This time there was more shouting; but at last a door opened. I walked towards the sound; no light came from within. Whoever had opened the door did not step forward. They were waiting for me. As I approached, a small shaft of light appeared, and behind the dark lantern I glimpsed Wiggins.

  ‘You ain’t Sherlock.’ He laughed, then peered at me, frowning. ‘’Oo are you? ’Ow do you know the code?’

  I came closer, until the light shone on my face. ‘I remembered you, Wiggins, not so long ago. Don’t you remember me?’

  Wiggins’s face changed. He knew me, I could tell. ‘Bloody hell, ma’am,’ he whispered. He shut the dark lantern, pulled me into the doorway, and bolted the door behind us.

  CHAPTER 42

  Once the door was closed, Wiggins opened the dark lantern and took my hand. ‘Up the stairs, ma’am, to the top. Watch where you’re walking.’ I stumbled after h
im, up stairs which were missing pieces, and grew more crooked as we climbed, until we reached a bare room with a mattress on the floor. The room I had shared with Ada was a palace by comparison. Wiggins took off his coat and spread it on the bed. ‘Get some rest, ma’am, you look all in. I’ll go and scare up food. You’ll be safe here — I’ll lock you in.’ I was about to protest that I did not want to be locked in when I remembered my first reaction to the slum. Wiggins I trusted; everyone else was an unknown quantity, and if Wiggins thought I should be locked in, perhaps I should. I sat on the mattress, wrapping my shawl around me.

  ‘Wiggins…’ He paused on the threshold. ‘Don’t tell anyone where I am.’

  He leaned on the doorframe. ‘Why not, ma’am?’ His voice was perfectly reasonable.

  ‘I’m worried someone might have followed me. I want them to think they’ve lost the trail.’

  ‘Like I said, I’m only going for food.’ And he was gone. The key grated in the lock. I curled up on the mattress, and sighed.

  I was woken by a gentle shaking. At first I thought it was Ada. ‘Not time to get up,’ I murmured.

  ‘It’s morning, just,’ grinned Wiggins. ‘I looked in on you, but you was snoring fit to bust.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I rubbed my eyes and sat up.

  Wiggins put a paper bag on the bed. Inside I found an orange, a large piece of cake and some cabbage leaves. ‘I washed ’em best I could.’

  ‘Have you — have you seen a man with white hair and a stoop? And striped trousers?’

  Wiggins shook his head. ‘No ma’am.’

  I began to peel the orange. ‘What do I owe you?’

  Wiggins chuckled. ‘I didn’t get these with money.’ He wiggled his fingers. ‘I gotter go. Got work to do for a friend of yours.’ He grinned.

  I was wide awake in an instant. ‘How is he?’

  ‘’E’s well enough,’ said Wiggins. ‘Although he’d be better if he knew you were safe.’

  ‘Has he said anything about me?’

  Wiggins snorted. ‘He’s had me hunting for you for weeks. Can’t I drop a hint?’