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Authors: David Stuart Davies
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enough to your own name, but not traceable to the scoundrel who got drunk on duty, eh? Reed’s idea. Think of it, Watson, as a wonderful charade.”
“And what if I refuse?”
“The Thames is very cold at this time of year.”
“I see,” I said softly, my eyes misting with fear and frustration. I wanted to rush at the man and knock his brains out, but I was fully aware how futile such a gesture would be.
“My dear Watson, you were not chosen at random. I know you are the man for the job. You have many sterling qualities that are unique. And, of course, you will be rewarded handsomely for your services. Never again will you have to count your small change to ensure that you can pay for a meal or a room for the night. For the first time in your life, you will be self-sufficient.”
“What is there stopping me from telling this Sherlock Holmes or the police about your plan?”
“I doubt if the police would believe you. They lack the mental capacity to conceive of a criminal organisation almost as big as they are. As for Holmes, well, as soon as he finds out, he will be joining you in the morgue. His life is now in your hands.”
“You bastard.”
“Possibly, Doctor Watson — but a very clever and powerful bastard, all the same. I am sure you would agree.”
“Of course, as you well know, I have done little jobs for the Professor in the past—walk-on parts, as I like to think of them — but this seems like a major role.”
“One of the biggest, Kitty, and it is destined to be a long run,” agreed Reed, flashing one of his warm, friendly smiles.
Kitty Hudson matched it. “And here’s me thinking I’d said goodbye to the theatre. You know, the last time I was on a stage must have been over five years ago. They just don’t want scrawny widow-women, especially when they hit the fifty mark.”
“Well, you’re perfect for the part the Professor’s chosen for you to play — and no auditions.”
“Bliss.” Kitty Hudson closed her eyes to emphasise the emotion. Since she had been a child she had been fascinated by the theatre, by the whole process of dressing-up, putting on a performance and becoming someone else. It was an escape route, to leave drab reality behind. As a young girl, Kitty had joined the chorus in the music hall in her native Edinburgh and then progressed to being a member of a travelling troupe, Harry Saville’s Revels, which put on sketches and melodramas in the small provincial theatres around the country. It was while she was appearing in Liverpool that she met Frank Hudson, a burly good-looking sailor who was a steward on the Liverpool-Dublin Steam Packet Company. For a while the magic of romance and marriage lured heraway from the stage, but after her baby was stillborn, and Frank took to drinking and knocking her about, she escaped once more to the fantasy life behind the footlights. She left Liverpool and Frank Hudson, and eventually found herself in London acting as comic feed to Stanley Dawkins, “The Lambeth Layabout”, at the Craven Street Theatre. She was quite a success. Her comic timing was natural, and she became a favourite with the regulars. When in a good mood, Dawkins would let her have her own solo spot where she would sing a novelty song, ‘I’m Looking for the Vital Spark’.
It was at the Craven Street Theatre, a time that Kitty now remembered as being the best in her life, that romance and tragedy struck again. She formed a relationship with Ted Baldwin, the assistant stage manager, a kind and sensitive man, the exact opposite of her brutish husband, and they set up home together. As Kitty observed at the time, “all seemed pretty in our own little backyard”. Then one night Ted was set about by a gang of drunken roughs, who stole what little money he had about his person and left him with a cracked skull. He died two days later.
For a time Kitty was inconsolable, and eventually she left the Craven. The theatre reminded her too much of her kind and
“And what if I refuse?”
“The Thames is very cold at this time of year.”
“I see,” I said softly, my eyes misting with fear and frustration. I wanted to rush at the man and knock his brains out, but I was fully aware how futile such a gesture would be.
“My dear Watson, you were not chosen at random. I know you are the man for the job. You have many sterling qualities that are unique. And, of course, you will be rewarded handsomely for your services. Never again will you have to count your small change to ensure that you can pay for a meal or a room for the night. For the first time in your life, you will be self-sufficient.”
“What is there stopping me from telling this Sherlock Holmes or the police about your plan?”
“I doubt if the police would believe you. They lack the mental capacity to conceive of a criminal organisation almost as big as they are. As for Holmes, well, as soon as he finds out, he will be joining you in the morgue. His life is now in your hands.”
“You bastard.”
“Possibly, Doctor Watson — but a very clever and powerful bastard, all the same. I am sure you would agree.”
“Of course, as you well know, I have done little jobs for the Professor in the past—walk-on parts, as I like to think of them — but this seems like a major role.”
“One of the biggest, Kitty, and it is destined to be a long run,” agreed Reed, flashing one of his warm, friendly smiles.
Kitty Hudson matched it. “And here’s me thinking I’d said goodbye to the theatre. You know, the last time I was on a stage must have been over five years ago. They just don’t want scrawny widow-women, especially when they hit the fifty mark.”
“Well, you’re perfect for the part the Professor’s chosen for you to play — and no auditions.”
“Bliss.” Kitty Hudson closed her eyes to emphasise the emotion. Since she had been a child she had been fascinated by the theatre, by the whole process of dressing-up, putting on a performance and becoming someone else. It was an escape route, to leave drab reality behind. As a young girl, Kitty had joined the chorus in the music hall in her native Edinburgh and then progressed to being a member of a travelling troupe, Harry Saville’s Revels, which put on sketches and melodramas in the small provincial theatres around the country. It was while she was appearing in Liverpool that she met Frank Hudson, a burly good-looking sailor who was a steward on the Liverpool-Dublin Steam Packet Company. For a while the magic of romance and marriage lured heraway from the stage, but after her baby was stillborn, and Frank took to drinking and knocking her about, she escaped once more to the fantasy life behind the footlights. She left Liverpool and Frank Hudson, and eventually found herself in London acting as comic feed to Stanley Dawkins, “The Lambeth Layabout”, at the Craven Street Theatre. She was quite a success. Her comic timing was natural, and she became a favourite with the regulars. When in a good mood, Dawkins would let her have her own solo spot where she would sing a novelty song, ‘I’m Looking for the Vital Spark’.
It was at the Craven Street Theatre, a time that Kitty now remembered as being the best in her life, that romance and tragedy struck again. She formed a relationship with Ted Baldwin, the assistant stage manager, a kind and sensitive man, the exact opposite of her brutish husband, and they set up home together. As Kitty observed at the time, “all seemed pretty in our own little backyard”. Then one night Ted was set about by a gang of drunken roughs, who stole what little money he had about his person and left him with a cracked skull. He died two days later.
For a time Kitty was inconsolable, and eventually she left the Craven. The theatre reminded her too much of her kind and
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