The Hudson Diaries by Kara L. Barney Read Free Book Online Page A

on a case soon after you left me, but as soon as I returned to Baker Street, Watson was waiting for me. He apprised me of your situation, and we left for Charing Cross immediately… Alas, we were too late.”
    “There was nothing you could have done,” I said quietly, struggling to retain composure.
    “Still…” He paused, and a tense hush filled the room. He broke out of his reverie and said, “My wish is to help you in any way possible.”
    “You have already done so much,” I said in some distress. “I do not wish to burden you further.”
    “Burden? You have never been a burden,” Mr. Holmes replied with conviction. He coughed once more and shook his head to clear it.
    “Ah, Mr. Holmes,” I said. “I don’t know what is to become of me.” I fell, despairing, into the nearest chair.
    Taken aback, Mr. Holmes said nervously, “I had hoped that you would stay on at Baker Street…” I raised my head sharply, taking in his meaning. “Not as hired help but as a permanent resident.”
    Words failed me entirely. Unsure of my feelings, Mr. Holmes pressed on. “You can sell the house at Charing Cross… Watson needs the company, and Mr. Hudson would be welcome also.”
    “I fear, sir, that you are being far too generous with me.”
    “Not at all,” he assured me nonchalantly. “You have served me better than I deserve for quite some time, and it is high time I repaid you. Besides, considering your current situation, I thought it the most logical action.”
    Overwhelmed with gratitude, I whispered, “You are a noble soul, Mr. Holmes.”
    He inhaled deeply. “Well, I don’t know about that—I was only taking the most practical course.”
    I nodded, rose, and after a quiet “thank you” left the room. That night I slept in peace, grateful for angels in the guise of mortal men.
    Thus, it was through this event that I became a permanent fixture of Baker Street, bestowing my services on the home and its residents for many years to come.

The Diamond Thief
    Some weeks after my mother’s death, I had sold the house at Charing Cross and made Baker Street my home. I was well received by Dr. Watson, who one day privately assured me that I was a welcome addition to the family. After his initial proposal, Mr. Holmes had never since spoken of it, but I suspect that he enjoyed the prospect of a womanly influence in the house as well as anyone. As for myself, I soon became completely comfortable with my new life, save for times of extreme difficulty when meals went untouched or my masters were in physical danger. Rupert was also allowed to visit often, though he was significantly less comfortable with Mr. Holmes’s methods of interrogation, and so on occasion we left Baker Street for the outskirts of the city.
    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