Read Online The Hudson Diaries by Kara L. Barney - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kara L. Barney
Tags: Fiction
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our rooms, Rupert sighed in relief. “At last we can be alone together.” He came up behind me, and I stared at our reflection in the full-length mirror. Mr. Holmes’s warning came quickly to my mind. I turned to Rupert, worried.
“Mr. Holmes told me that we were being watched this evening,” I said nervously.
Rupert then did something unexpected; he laughed aloud. Seeing my look of consternation, he said, “Come now, Martha. You know how suspicious he becomes at social functions. Besides, logically ,” he smiled slyly, “we were being watched by everyone.”
Sensing my lingering fear, Rupert kissed me reassuringly and whispered, “Worry not, my dearest Martha; I shall protect you now and for ever after.”
I smiled and soon felt at peace again, falling asleep in Rupert’s arms. But oh, how I wish now that I had heeded that warning given so long ago!
Two Fatal Wounds
In a few short months upon my marriage to Rupert, and ending my employment with Mr. Holmes, we were settled in a comfortable, modest home. This particular evening, Rupert had not yet returned home from his work, and I was making supper. The rain poured heavily, and as the afternoon waned into twilight, Rupert opened the door.
“Rupert, my love,” said I, “I feared that you might have been swept away by some creature of the night.”
“No, my dear,” he answered as he took me up in his arms. “I shall always find my way back to you.” We began to dance, and as we laughed and twirled again and again, I suddenly remembered supper.
“Oh, the supper is burning!” I cried, and ran to fetch it.
Rupert took my hand and said, smiling, “Then we shall fast, for love is all the food we shall need tonight. Dance with me still, my darling!” We continued to do so, all else forgotten, until suddenly there was the sound of breaking glass and Rupert halted. “Martha,” he said as if strained; then a second shot rang out.
“Rupert?” I asked. Struck by this sudden change, I touched his back and realized he was bleeding. “Rupert? No!” He fell into my arms, and as I lowered him to the floor, he whispered “Martha,” once more and was gone. I sobbed over his lifeless form for what seemed like an age, unable to move or think. At last I collected myself enough to get to Baker Street.
Upon my arrival, Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson greeted me warmly, Mr. Holmes saying, “My dear Mrs. Hudson, how very good of you to call upon us this evening. What brings you here this hour?”
I cannot recollect how long I stood there in silence, but at last I said, “Rupert is… Rupert is…” and was in the next moment awakened by the pungent smell of salts.
“What has befallen your husband?” asked Mr. Holmes. “Is he ill?” His brow creased in worry.
“He is dead, Mr. Holmes—dead!” I wept continually for the next hour, while Mr. Holmes called on Inspector Lestrade from Scotland Yard and begged me to explain.
“We were dancing in the kitchen—I had let the supper burn—and then through the window two shots were fired… We have no enemies that I know of. Who would do this, Mr. Holmes?”
He shook his head, confused and disgusted, and began pacing the room. “The two shots hit Rupert in the back, I presume?”
I nodded, feeling the room spin around me. Dr. Watson held tight to my arm and I was glad he did so. Mr. Holmes continued, “Did he say anything to you before he…died?”
I sobbed anew at this, for hearing the news from someone else’s lips felt to me as though I had never heard it until that moment. A heavy silence pervaded the room and, except for my weeping, there was no other noise for a time. Mr. Holmes asked again, more gently, “Martha, did he say anything?”
“My name,” I attempted to breathe steadily, “twice. And then he was gone. Ah, my dearest Rupert is gone!” I cried out in agony. I still had not the faintest idea who would wish to murder my husband. Just then the inspector knocked at the door. He gave Mr.
“Mr. Holmes told me that we were being watched this evening,” I said nervously.
Rupert then did something unexpected; he laughed aloud. Seeing my look of consternation, he said, “Come now, Martha. You know how suspicious he becomes at social functions. Besides, logically ,” he smiled slyly, “we were being watched by everyone.”
Sensing my lingering fear, Rupert kissed me reassuringly and whispered, “Worry not, my dearest Martha; I shall protect you now and for ever after.”
I smiled and soon felt at peace again, falling asleep in Rupert’s arms. But oh, how I wish now that I had heeded that warning given so long ago!
Two Fatal Wounds
In a few short months upon my marriage to Rupert, and ending my employment with Mr. Holmes, we were settled in a comfortable, modest home. This particular evening, Rupert had not yet returned home from his work, and I was making supper. The rain poured heavily, and as the afternoon waned into twilight, Rupert opened the door.
“Rupert, my love,” said I, “I feared that you might have been swept away by some creature of the night.”
“No, my dear,” he answered as he took me up in his arms. “I shall always find my way back to you.” We began to dance, and as we laughed and twirled again and again, I suddenly remembered supper.
“Oh, the supper is burning!” I cried, and ran to fetch it.
Rupert took my hand and said, smiling, “Then we shall fast, for love is all the food we shall need tonight. Dance with me still, my darling!” We continued to do so, all else forgotten, until suddenly there was the sound of breaking glass and Rupert halted. “Martha,” he said as if strained; then a second shot rang out.
“Rupert?” I asked. Struck by this sudden change, I touched his back and realized he was bleeding. “Rupert? No!” He fell into my arms, and as I lowered him to the floor, he whispered “Martha,” once more and was gone. I sobbed over his lifeless form for what seemed like an age, unable to move or think. At last I collected myself enough to get to Baker Street.
Upon my arrival, Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson greeted me warmly, Mr. Holmes saying, “My dear Mrs. Hudson, how very good of you to call upon us this evening. What brings you here this hour?”
I cannot recollect how long I stood there in silence, but at last I said, “Rupert is… Rupert is…” and was in the next moment awakened by the pungent smell of salts.
“What has befallen your husband?” asked Mr. Holmes. “Is he ill?” His brow creased in worry.
“He is dead, Mr. Holmes—dead!” I wept continually for the next hour, while Mr. Holmes called on Inspector Lestrade from Scotland Yard and begged me to explain.
“We were dancing in the kitchen—I had let the supper burn—and then through the window two shots were fired… We have no enemies that I know of. Who would do this, Mr. Holmes?”
He shook his head, confused and disgusted, and began pacing the room. “The two shots hit Rupert in the back, I presume?”
I nodded, feeling the room spin around me. Dr. Watson held tight to my arm and I was glad he did so. Mr. Holmes continued, “Did he say anything to you before he…died?”
I sobbed anew at this, for hearing the news from someone else’s lips felt to me as though I had never heard it until that moment. A heavy silence pervaded the room and, except for my weeping, there was no other noise for a time. Mr. Holmes asked again, more gently, “Martha, did he say anything?”
“My name,” I attempted to breathe steadily, “twice. And then he was gone. Ah, my dearest Rupert is gone!” I cried out in agony. I still had not the faintest idea who would wish to murder my husband. Just then the inspector knocked at the door. He gave Mr.
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