Mrs. Hudson in the Ring

S Brown Barry

Description

Sherlock Holmes is goaded into a boxing match, in which his opponent, Sailor Mackenzie, loses both the bout and his life. All but Mrs. Hudson and her colleagues, Holmes and Watson, are convinced the fighter's death was an accident. The Baker Street trio travels to McLellan Manor in Yorkshire to sort through the numerous people who have reason to celebrate Mackenzie's death and the opportunity to cause it. Complicating their investigation, Holmes and Watson are asked to become protectors for Lily Langtry, and Mrs. Hudson to become her lady's maid, when the famous beauty is threatened by her latest paramour, the volatile George Baird. Before all can be resolved, Holmes will need to lead a seance in which he will call on a ghost to solve a 35-year old murder, and Mrs. Hudson will find herself in surprising alliance with the Jersey Lily.

Informations

• Publié par: Andrews UK
• Date de parution: 12 décembre 2018
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781787053625
• Langue: English

Extrait

Mrs. Hudson
in the Ring
Mrs. Hudson of Baker Street
Book 3
Barry S Brown




2018 digital version converted and published by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
Copyright © 2013, 2018 Barry S Brown
The right of Barry S Brown to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.
All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without express prior written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted except with express prior written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended). Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damage.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious or used fictitiously. Except for certain historical personages, any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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Cover design by Brian Belanger



Dedication
To Rebecca, David and Mariam
who have brightened and shortened my life



Acknowledgement
I am deeply indebted to Dr. Antje Almeida of the University of North Carolina at Wilmington who graciously shared her time and expertise in forensic chemistry without snickering even one time at the author’s abject ignorance.
I am grateful as well to Joel and Bonnie Egertson for their comments and suggestions, and for consistently providing the support that makes criticism tolerable.



Disclaimer
This story is a work of fiction and, although it makes use of real people and historic events, the situations described and the parts played by the story’s characters are drawn entirely from the mind of the author whose grasp on reality remains tenuous at best.



1. The National Sporting Club
Having completed the final passage of Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto, Holmes paused a reverent moment before pointing an accusatory bow at his colleague. “I tell you, Watson, our day is done. We are seen as no more relevant to modern criminal investigation than our poor dead friend lying there.” Holmes transferred the bow’s target from Watson to the bear rug lying between them, and resumed speaking without waiting for a response from either. “It’s been months since we’ve been given a problem worthy of the name. The public is content to take its troubles to the police, and the police feel no need to consult us about the troubles they bring.”
Watson pursed his lips, pulled a sheet of foolscap from a cubicle at his desk and placed it between the pages of Professor Murri’s report of “A Cure of a Case of Hydrophobia” in the June 4 issue of Lancet , resigned to postponing indefinitely a discovery of the Professor’s successful treatment. “Surely you exaggerate, Holmes, we’ve suffered through dry spells before and have always come on to cases that have demanded the best thinking of all of us.”
Holmes ignored Watson’s pointed reference to the leader of their team, preferring to draw attention to a member who was no longer with them. “As you know, Watson, I’m not a superstitious man, but I count our difficulties as starting from the time young Wiggins left us to become a printer’s devil. He was, one might argue, our talisman. We never lacked for opportunity while he was here, and when we lost our page this ‘dry spell,’ as you call it, began.”
Watson chose to let pass this line of discussion. Both men were well aware Wiggins had obtained his position through Watson’s intercession and at Mrs. Hudson’s urging. Watson had expressed his belief Wiggins was of an age to learn a trade, and Mrs. Hudson had expressed her concern that it was becoming increasingly difficult to hide from Wiggins the true nature of operations at 221B Baker Street.
“Holmes, this is simply intolerable. I’m going to call down for tea and the scones I’m certain Mrs. Hudson will have available. Over a pot of tea we can consider what’s on in the city and see if there isn’t something to tempt you.” And before Holmes could offer objection, Watson rang for the housekeeper. His haste was unnecessary. Whatever resistance Holmes might have offered was overcome by thoughts of freshly baked scones and the likelihood of their being accompanied by a bowl of strawberry jam.
In fact, Mrs. Hudson’s baking, and Watson’s sudden inspiration were the result of careful planning. They had their origins in a meeting early that morning in Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen in which Watson expressed the opinion that Holmes’s melancholia was unhealthy, and Mrs. Hudson decreed they had “to get Mr. ’Olmes outside of ’imself.” While they didn’t speak of it, neither thought they could take another night of Mendelssohn, and both feared the needle could become Holmes’s next source of diversion. Together, they devised a plan that would make use of Watson’s gentle encouragement to undertake some sort of action, and Mrs. Hudson’s firm insistence on a specific course of action. Both encouragement and insistence were to be leavened by a generous offering of scones and jam.
At the call from Watson, Mrs. Hudson mounted the stair with a tray laden with tea service, a quivering mound of strawberry jam nearly overlapping its bowl, and enough raisin-filled scones to satisfy the needs of a small contingent of the visitors wished for by Holmes. Mrs. Hudson had even fixed a frozen smile on her doughy face to suggest the good humor she did not feel. The smile was wasted on the figure now hunched over the violin on his lap, absently plucking its strings for their mournful vibrato.
She poured tea for each of the men and selected scones for Holmes and Watson, serving the larger one to Holmes. With seeming indifference, Holmes accepted the scone and took up the bowl of jam before turning his attention again to his colleague. “I don’t mean to stand in your way, Watson. I’m afraid I’d be poor company and, in any event, I’m certain there’s nothing in the City to attract me.” With that, the corner of his scone, now heavily anointed with strawberry jam, disappeared into his mouth.
Watson shook his head in vigorous disbelief. “Good Lord, Holmes, this is 1892, and we are privileged to live in the most vibrant city in the world. There are attractions enough to interest any man.”
Holmes gave his friend a tired smile. “I appreciate your concern, Watson, really I do, and I’m not saying there isn’t something that might interest me on another night, but tonight there’s nothing on any stage capable of luring me from these rooms.”
“I’m afraid you’ll ’ave to think otherwise, Mr. ’Olmes.” Without waiting or needing an invitation, Mrs. Hudson seated herself in an easy chair after first pouring her own cup of tea and selecting a scone. She elected to forgo the strawberry jam in the interest of obtaining a fair test of the scone’s quality.
“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Hudson; surely you’re not turning me out into the streets.”
“I’m doin’ just exactly that, Mr. ’Olmes, both you and Dr. Watson. Lord Lonsdale ’as been after the two of you to visit ’is Sports Club ever since it opened last year. Just today ’e sent a boy around askin’ you both to be ’is guests for dinner and a night of fisticuffs, and I told the boy you’ve been wantin’ to join Lord Lonsdale and would be delighted to accept ’is invitation. You can expect the Earl’s carriage at seven. We’ve been together more than ten years, Mr. ’Olmes, I know your ways better than you know them yourself, and I know that moonin’ around ’ere night after night is not good for you, and it’s no great shakes for the Doctor and me. Enjoyin’ a fine meal with a gentleman as jolly as ’Is Lordship, and then watchin’ two young men square off at each other could be just the ticket to get your spirits back up to where they ought to be.”
What Mrs. Hudson did not tell Holmes was that while Hugh Lowther, the 5th Earl of Lonsdale, had indeed sent frequent invitations to Holmes and Watson to be his guests at the National Sporting Club, this latest invitation had come in response to an inquiry sent in Holmes’s name to “my good friend Lord Lonsdale” asking if it would be convenient to join him at the Club for dinner and a night of boxing.
Watson, while not sharing Holmes’s enthusiasm for what some described as “the manly art,” nonetheless displayed the interest he had promised. “A superior suggestion, Mrs. Hudson. Holmes, it is past time to give Lonsdale’s club a try. You know you’ve been wondering about the Marquess of Queensberry rules and how things have changed from your own bare knuckles days. This will be a fine chance to learn. You say the Earl will be sending for us at seven, Mrs. Hudson?”
Holmes took the last bite of his scone, washed it down with a generous swallow of tea and, after dabbing his mouth with a napkin, appeared to address his response to the cloth he replaced on his lap. “I see that my evening has been carefully planned. I know you believe me to be in a mood and mean to shake me out of it. It will not work of course. Only a new challenge can transform me, but as you say the Earl is good company, and you’re quite right, Watson, I am curious about the Sporting Club and its Queensberry rules so I accept my fate as you’ve ordained it. For now, I will have another of your very passable scones, Mrs. Hudson, and I believe there is still time for Mendelssohn before dressing for the evening. Do please leave the strawberry jam, Mrs. Hudson.”
Promptly at seven, the Earl’s carriage, drawn by a team of perfectly matched chestnuts, pulled to a stop at 221B Baker Street. On the coach door, in a size meant to allow its recognit