The Hudson Diaries (6 page)

It was on one of these outings, as we were walking along the hills near the edge of town, that Rupert struck up a conversation with me.

“Martha,” he said nervously, “Do you enjoy living at Baker Street?”

“Yes, of course,” I answered without hesitation. “Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson are most generous and kind to me.”

He inhaled sharply and continued, “Could you be happier somewhere else…with someone else?”

“I suppose so,” I said, confused. “But why—” I turned my head to look at him and became instantly worried. He was deathly pale, and looked as if he might faint.

“Rupert, what is the matter? You look ill. Perhaps we should turn back.”

As I turned around to head off the hill, Rupert grasped my hand, kissed me hard upon the lips, and before I could gain my bearings, was kneeling on the ground before me.

“I wish for you to be my wife,” he said quickly, his hands trembling. “Oh Martha, you do not know how long I have loved and adored you. If you would agree to marry me, I would be the happiest man alive!”

As I stared down at him in disbelief, my head began to spin. Taking my lack of speech for a misstep, Rupert hung his head in shame. “I’m sorry, Martha, I only thought—”

I came to my senses, and after a moment’s pause took his face in my hands and kissed him lovingly on the mouth. “I will gladly be your wife.”

Rupert smiled and laughed, and I thought I had never heard a happier sound in all my life. He lifted me into the air, spun me around and set me gently down again. I embraced him tearfully, for never had I felt such joy.

“I have something for you,” he said when at last we parted. He dug into his jacket pocket, producing a tiny black box. I gasped as he flicked it open to reveal a ring that shimmered even in the dim, hazy sunlight.

“Oh Rupert,” I whispered, aghast. “It’s beautiful. But how did you ever pay for it?”

“It’s made of glass,” he answered as he slipped it carefully onto my finger. “But when we have enough, I shall get you a proper one.”

“I do not want a ‘proper one,’” I said adamantly as I turned my fingers in the light. “I like this one.”

It was dark before we returned to Baker Street, but not long had passed before I shared the news.

“Congratulations, old boy,” said Dr. Watson brightly as he and Rupert shook hands. Mr. Holmes had not moved from his chair by the fire. I approached him carefully, giving him my hand.

“It has happened at last,” he whispered. Whether this comment was to himself or for me, I could never be sure. His forehead creased for but a moment, then he looked up into my face and smiled. “I’ll wager some congratulations are in order.” He stood up, extending his hand toward Rupert.

When we had been sufficiently dined and toasted for our upcoming marriage, at Dr. Watson’s request I told the story of Rupert’s proposal. Mr. Holmes said not a word, only listened, blowing smoke rings toward the ceiling.

At last all conversation was exhausted, and the bright stars were once again fading into the pale colors of dawn; Rupert and I bid farewell to one another, and Dr. Watson took me by the shoulders.

“It is a lucky man who would have the chance to take you down the aisle.”

I smiled happily and then looked toward Mr. Holmes, who was asleep in his chair. I sighed and turned again to Dr. Watson. “My father is dead, sir,” I said carefully. “But—”

“Yes? What is it?” he urged.

“I was wondering if it might be too much trouble for you to serve in his place.”

Dr. Watson’s brow furrowed. “My dear girl, I could never replace your father…”

“No, you are not old enough to be my father,” I laughed quietly. “But I would like very much for you to walk with me down the aisle.”

He smiled, his eyes bright. “I would be honored.” Dr. Watson then took my hand, kissed it lightly and left the room.

The day passed without incident until darkness had once more spread over the sky. The moon shone brightly, but no stars were visible. I had only just extinguished my lamp when I saw a shadow move across my window. Standing at the ready without any further confrontation, I ventured to bed. Some minutes later, I heard footsteps in the hall near the far bedrooms. Fearing for the lives of my employers, I immediately grabbed up a candlestick and set out to follow the sound. I heard doors slowly open and close again, realizing that if the intruder continued in the same course, we would meet. I waited, candlestick raised. Suddenly without warning a black glove seized my throat. I choked, gasping for breath. The fingers finally released, spots of light appearing before my eyes. Before I could gather my thoughts to defend myself, the intruder hit me smartly over the head with a heavy object, and I fell senseless to the floor.

I awoke some time later where I had fallen. The house was still dark, though the light in front of my eyes did not cease. My head throbbed in pain, and the left side of my face was damp. I called out to Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson, but with no response. I attempted to get back to my rooms, but as soon as I stood, I could feel the floor slipping beneath me. I heard something shatter nearby and saw a lamp lit from inside a room. The door opened and I saw a silhouette standing over me. It bent forward and I fought to crawl away, sure the intruder had come to finish me.

“Martha, stop struggling,” said Mr. Holmes in a stern voice. He lit a lamp and I focused on his tall, thin profile.

“An intruder came to rob you, Mr. Holmes.” I held my head in my hands to block the pain, and I felt a weakness settling over my body.

“An intruder? How did you come to—” He faced me, and I saw his eyes widen. He walked quickly over to me, removing my hand from my face to find it was covered in blood.

Remaining calm, he asked if I could stand. When I responded in the negative, he wrapped his arms around me and lifted me gently from the floor. “Watson?” he called. Dr. Watson responded sleepily. When his drowsiness had left him, he quickly took me from Mr. Holmes and carried me to his own quarters.

Dr. Watson began to wash my face, while Mr. Holmes conducted a search of the house. He returned to the room puzzled. “Nothing is missing,” he said, his brow knitted.

“I swear on my life there was someone here,” I said in distress.

“That fact is obvious,” Mr. Holmes replied, examining me closely, “But what did they want?” He tapped his pipe against his jaw, staring blankly. Then he frowned slightly.

“It is not I, but you Miss Beauregard, who is the victim of this crime.”

“I only meant to save you from any harm.”

“Look down at your hand.”

I did so, and indeed, the ring that Rupert had given me was missing. “But why?” I asked in alarm. “Why would someone want to steal a ring made of glass?”

“Is it?” my master answered in some surprise. “If that is the case then it is our thief who has been deceived. I will call on Mr. Hudson to make certain of this fact.”

Within the hour Rupert was again at Baker Street. He ran up the stairs calling my name, and when he found me grasped my hands and kissed them.

“Mr. Hudson,” said Mr. Holmes interrogatively. “The ring you gave Miss Beauregard yesterday is missing. She insists, however, that the ring would be of little worth because it is made of glass. Is this true?”

Rupert grew pale again and was quiet for some minutes.

“Speak, man,” Mr. Holmes insisted impatiently.

Rupert stared at me intently, his eyes full of sadness. “No, it is not true.”

“What?” I whispered, stunned.

“I said it was glass so that you would not argue with me over its price,” he said. “But the ring is actually a diamond…a Giuliano diamond.”

I gasped, horrified, at this revelation. “How could you?” I asked, my anger mounting. “You have deceived me. How can I trust you if our marriage begins with lies?”

“Can you forgive me?” Rupert reached for my hand, but I pulled away. He shifted to the edge of the bed, head bowed.

A tense silence followed. Mr. Holmes said at last, “We will find the ring.” His eyes searched both of us in turn, his brow furrowed in concern. When I would not meet his gaze, he spoke to the room at large.

“Do you remember anything?”

“A black glove seized me by the throat, and let go just before I would have fainted away.”

“Yes.” Mr. Holmes lifted my chin and was examining my neck when Rupert suddenly stood up and left the room. I heard his footsteps on the stairs, the front door opened and closed, and he was gone.

Mr. Holmes watched him carefully, then turned back to me. “The marks on your neck indicate that our intruder was a woman.”

I looked at him incredulously. “Mr. Holmes, you would think that I would have strength over someone of my own sex.”

“It is not a question of strength,” he replied. “Watson, how would you account for the blood?”

In the events that had recently passed, I had entirely forgotten that Dr. Watson was present. He answered, “A heavy object came down upon the left side of her head. Am I correct, Martha?”

“Yes.”

Dr. Watson then continued, “I also heard something shatter in the hall before you brought her to me, Holmes. I was coming to investigate when you called out.”

I got up shakily from the bed, and with Dr. Watson’s help passed into the hall, where there were the remains of a shattered statue and, nearby, a small pool of blood.

“A miracle,” Dr. Watson whispered; Mr. Holmes bent low, turning the pieces over and over in his hands.

“What is—?” I turned to him, confused.

Mr. Holmes finished Dr. Watson’s thought. “Had you been hit over the head with this statue, as Watson surmises, you would have most likely not lived to see another day. That would have been a fatal blow indeed.”

I trembled as I gazed at the shattered statue on the floor.

“What happened before the gloved hand, Martha? Can you remember?”

I shook my head. “I came down the hall and—” My head began to throb as before, and my thoughts became clouded. I covered my eyes with my hands to shield them from the light.

“That’s enough, Holmes,” said Dr. Watson gently as he took me by the arm. “She needs to rest now.”

Mr. Holmes nodded and doused the light. Dr. Watson led me back to my room, ordering me to rest. “I do not want you to worry about what has passed tonight,” he said. “We will try again in the morning.” I nodded and as soon as the door closed I fell into a deep sleep.

When I awoke sometime in the late morning, the throbbing in my head had relieved somewhat. I passed my hands over my eyes, expecting my vision to clear. Though I rubbed them, my vision remained blurred. Frightened, I called out to Dr. Watson. He led me into the sitting room, where he examined my eyes.

“Sir,” I asked desperately, “am I going to lose my sight?”

His brow furrowed. “I don’t believe so. But you must tell me at once if your vision worsens.”

Just then Mr. Holmes opened the front door, looking agitated.

“Any luck?” asked Dr. Watson.

“We still definitely have a motive—that diamond was quite expensive—but when I spoke to the jewelers, they did not observe anything suspicious or remember anyone in particular.”

“Any ideas?”

“Theories, but not facts. Are you feeling better, Martha?”

When I did not answer, he turned to me. Distracted, I had not heard him. I was wondering if I would ever see Rupert again, literally and figuratively. He asked again and I replied, “Yes, I am well.” I stood up shakily and returned to my room. I did not come out again save to make meals for my masters, but even now I am unsure whether they were edible or not.

A few nights later, while my vision was still recovering, I went to light a candle to read by and discovered the candlestick was missing. Suddenly the night of the burglary was once again clearly before me in my mind. I went quickly to Mr. Holmes’s door and without knocking entered the room.

“Mr. Holmes, the candlestick!” I said excitedly.

“What?”

The candlestick,” I repeated feverishly. “It is missing. I grabbed it to defend myself when I heard the intruder.”

“So your own weapon was used against you,” Mr. Holmes said, his mind working quickly. “Then the intruder, seeing that you had fallen, took the weapon with her.”

“And the ring,” I said bitterly, looking down at my empty finger. Mr. Holmes looked up at me, but said nothing.

Over the next few days life resumed as usual, though Rupert did not come to visit me. The more time passed, the more depressed and bitter I became. I began to believe that Rupert’s proposal was nothing but a dream, and the reality was he felt nothing for me at all.

One day, as Dr. Watson and I were walking toward Regent’s Park—he said it would be good for my recovery—the doctor took me by the arm and whisked us suddenly into a jewelry shop.

“Sir, what are you doing?” I asked, alarmed.

“I’m not sure… Try to act naturally. Sherlock has some sort of plan working in his head; he asked me to follow his instructions to the letter.”

“And what were those instructions?” I whispered.

“To buy the most expensive object here, give it to you, and act as if we were husband and wife.” He smiled and called a clerk over to aid us.

I nearly laughed aloud. “That’s preposterous,” I could not help but smile. “I wonder if Mr. Holmes is watching us from afar, hidden, laughing at us even now.”

“Do you trust him?” Dr. Watson said more seriously.

I nodded, and the dealing commenced. When we had finished, I had an emerald pendant the size of my fist around my neck. As we left the jewelers, I felt like the wealthiest woman in the world. We headed back toward Baker Street at once, when Dr. Watson stiffened up.

He leaned close to my ear. “We’re being followed.”

“Take my hand,” I said suddenly, thinking quickly. He looked at me strangely.

“Take my hand… No one will believe we’re husband and wife if we walk apart after you bought this jewel.”

He did so. At last we arrived at Baker Street, and as soon as we entered the house we broke apart. Mr. Holmes had a sly look on his face.

“What was that about?” I asked, somewhat flustered.

Mr. Holmes put a finger to his lips and pointed to the window. I saw the flourish of a beautiful violet dress just before the street was empty once more.