54. THE CASE OF A CHANGE OF NAME

Those who love the great detective Holmes may well not like this....

“This is very nice, very nice indeed,” murmured Annabelle Hyde as Holmes showed her into 221b Baker Street. I was standing on the landing as they entered, for I had seen them leaving the motor vehicle that must have brought them from the station as I gazed through the window. I had not been long back myself and, looking round, thought I might have spent the few moments I’d had putting a few of Holmes’ piles of clutter out of sight.

“So there you are, Holmes,” I said, peering down the stairs that led to our first floor rooms.

“Ah, Watson, you’re back,” replied my friend and colleague, “it’s good to see you again! How did your conference and your speech go?”

“My thoughts were well received, as it happens, but it’s good to be back,” I replied. “Yet I have news you might find a little disappointing,” I added.

“Wait, and we will join you in our rooms,” replied Holmes, “and then you can tell me all about it. Meanwhile, let me introduce you to a good friend of the later Mrs Hudson. This is Mrs Hyde, and she is here in part to help sort through our late housekeeper’s personal effects. I do believe she is of the opinion that two middle-aged men can have no idea as to the worth of female trinkets!”

I noticed the two words “in part” and wondered what the other part might be.

“I think nothing of the sort,” protested the lady, “I am sure that Sherlock is fully au fait with most things, even those little things that we silly females choose to adorn ourselves with.”

The fact that she referred to him by his Christian name wasn’t lost on me. Very few people used that mode of address when referring to Holmes! Maybe only Mycroft, his brother, and myself on rare occasions. Other than that he was either Holmes or, where strangers and clients were concerned, Mr Holmes.

He allowed the lady to precede him up the stairs, another symbol of gallantry that he was usually blind to, and the two of them entered our rooms, which were, as I have already alluded, in their usual Holmesian chaotic state. I had not been back from my overseas conference long enough to do more than place my hat on the hat-stand and hang up my coat. I hadn’t even unpacked my suitcase!

“How was Rome, Watson?” asked Holmes when we were all three seated.

“I wanted to talk to you about that, Holmes,” I said. “You know my medical practice is little more than half a dozen elderly ladies afraid they might contract something unknown from spotty children playing on the streets? It’s not really enough to keep a doctor fully occupied...”

“We have our cases as a diversion,” Holmes pointed out.

“Agreed, but they’re not as plentiful as they once were, with no Moriarty left and half the criminals in London behind bars, thanks to your efforts, Holmes,” I said. “Anyway, I’ve been offered a chance in a lifetime and I intend to take it after fair consultation with you,” I told him. “It will mean me moving abroad...”

“Abroad, Watson? You mean not in England? Not in London? You mean...”

“Rome,” I said, trying not to flinch.

“Then you must take the chance, John,” he said. “It will be the making of you and be some small reward for the way you tended to your lovely Mary...”

He called me John! Holmes called me John!

“And,” he continued, “it will make my own news easier for you to swallow.”

“You have news as well?” he queried.

“You did, of course, receive my letter regarding the sadness of our losing dear Mrs Hudson,” he said.

“I was shocked, but there was no way I could have got back in time for the funeral,” I told him. “I was already in Rome, which is quite a delightful city despite the huge amount of religion in evidence.”

“Religion, Watson, is the main source of man’s greatest trouble,” muttered Holmes. “And I never expected you to be able to return in time. In fact I’m shocked that you’re back this soon: the funeral was only this morning!”

“I thought it only right to have a chance to pay my respects,” I told him.

“So we come to Mrs Hyde,” said Holmes, introducing the lady into the conversation for the first time. I looked at her and was impressed by what I saw. She was about the same age as Holmes (and myself, if the truth be told) yet had about her the beauty she had clearly displayed in abundance in her younger years, and her complexion was not spoiled by excesses of make-up. Her eyes, though showing a hint of the sadness we were all feeling, were none-the-less bright, and when she smiled her whole face lit up. As for her clothing, she was dressed simply yet fashionably, her skirt tending to rise above her ankles and she not bothered about it. A decade ago she would have been called a harlot displaying so much flesh, but today she is merely a beauty. I liked the look of her very much.

“It’s good to meet you, Mrs Hyde,” I said.

“Annabelle. You must call me Annabelle, Doctor Watson,” she said. Her voice was well modulated and yet it had a fascinating hint of the Scottish brogue to it. It was the kind of voice I could have listened to all day and found pleasure in the sound of it without needing to pay any attention to the meaning of the words she might utter.

“Sherlock has spoken of you a great deal, as did Martha Hudson in her many letters to me,” smiled Mrs Hyde. “I believe you are a highly skilled medical man?”

“I qualified as a doctor,” I told her, “and have endeavoured to keep up with the latest discoveries in the field of medicine.”

“Then I will know who to turn to if I get pains in the chest,” she said, shockingly, but her face told the truth: she was teasing me.

“And I will gladly offer you a vial of medication to calm it,” I told her.

“Touché!” she smiled, and laughed. I was beginning to like Mrs Hyde.

“Mrs Hudson and my good friend Annabelle were friends who communicated regularly,” Holmes said, breaking into our conversation.

He called her his good friend, yet they can’t have met more than a few hours ago, I thought.

“It is true we are relative strangers,” he continued, addressing my unspoken thoughts, “but sometimes it takes a mere moment for a decision to be made. We travelled by train back to London together and the few hours taken by the journey were enough for us to reach an understanding. Mrs Hyde is...” he paused.

“Going to replace Mrs Hudson?” I suggested.

He smiled that old impish smile of his. “Not quite,” he murmured, “Mrs Hyde is going to metamorphose. She is going to break forth from the constraints of widowhood and become Mrs Holmes!”

I was dumbfounded. If ever there was a confirmed bachelor it was Holmes! And now, in his middle age, he was planning to marry! You could have knocked me down with the proverbial feather!

“Golly me,” I spluttered.

© Peter Rogerson 01.10.17