A Clinking of Toasts 2002: Mrs. Hudson
Mrs. Hudson is a toast written by Doug Elliott and published in the Canadian Holmes (Vol. 25 No. 3, Spring 2002).
Mrs. Hudson
"Mrs. — er — Hudson, is it? I'm here about your rooms."
The white-haired woman with the bright, open face who had answered the door nodded. "Come with me, please," she said.
As she led me up to the first floor, I stole a glance at the notice I had clipped from The Times: Furnished rooms to be let. Conveniently located for the London Underground. Quiet, non-smoking gentleman tenant with regular habits wanted. Apply Mrs. Hudson, 221 Baker Street.
She ushered me into a cozy sitting room, furnished simply but comfortably.
"I've had it done up completely since the previous tenants left," she offered.
And indeed there was fresh paint throughout and the furniture was spotless and in good repair. Only the tiniest of details revealed a past life: new paint could not conceal that the centre of the mantle had been repeatedly stabbed by a pointed instrument; and the plaster on the wall near the entrance showed unmistakable signs of recent repair.
"Did your previous tenants live here long?" I asked.
The woman's business-like demeanour seemed to soften ever so slightly. "Yes, quite a long time indeed, sir," she answered.
"And were they quiet and non-smokers like me?"
"Oh, goodness, no!" she exclaimed with a laugh. "The air was usually so thick with cigarette and pipe smoke you could cut it with a knife. And that was without Mr. Holmes's vile-smelling chemical experiments he had going all the time. You see, sir, after so many years of that, one could be excused for wanting a bit of a change."
"And I suppose they weren't gentlemen of regular habits either," I suggested. She smiled. "Far from it, sir. Why, I could hear them coming and going at all hours, and Mr. Holmes pacing the floor in here day and night, or playing that violin of his."
I quickly assured her that I was very much a creature of routine. "Are you able to provide meals?" I asked.
"It'll be plain cooking, sir, but I've been complimented on my skills in that area more than once, particularly my breakfast. I would ask that you actually try to eat my meals, sir. The amount of food that went untouched, what with Mr. Holmes having no appetite for days on end or racing off somewhere on the spur of the moment, well, it was scandalous, sir."
"And would you be able to greet and announce my guests?" I asked.
"I do hope, sir," she said, "that your guests will be arriving at civilized hours. My goodness, hardly a day went by that I wasn't roused out of bed by someone who absolutely must see Mr. Sherlock Holmes on the most urgent matter. And the looks of them, sir. Rough diamonds, you might call some of them. And gangs of young ragamuffins - his 'irregulars,' he called them - and the police, too."
"Was this Holmes a criminal of some sort?" I asked.
Mrs. Hudson burst into laughter. "Not at all, sir. Mr. Holmes was always helping people who were victims of criminals or wrongly accused. And the police came round because they needed his help, too. I believe that there were fewer criminals about in London in those days because of Mr. Holmes. I like to think I helped him in some of his cases myself. He was a fine gentleman, and Dr. Watson too. They always treated me with the greatest respect."
"Mrs. Hudson, I believe you were sorry to see Mr. Holmes leave," I suggested.
"That's very true, sir," she said with feeling. "In spite of all their little foibles and the strange comings and goings around here, those were exciting times, sir. I had a feeling that I was playing a small part in a very big and important drama, if you see what I mean, sir, though I confess I understood very little of it all. Mr. Holmes retired this year and moved down Sussex way, bee-farming, I understand. And Dr. Watson is married and retired from medical practice; he has his own house now."
Having by this time decided that I would very much like to be a tenant of Mrs. Hudson there in Baker Street, I at last asked her what would be the rent. Alas, it was much more than a young doctor newly-established in London could possibly afford, and I was soon back in the street, filled with disappointment. But I was certain there had to be a solution, and I resolved to think upon the problem at length over a pint at the Criterion Bar.
Here's to Mrs. Hudson!
- Doug Elliott M.Bt. BSI
- At the annual dinner of The Baker Street Irregulars,
- New York, January 2001
- Article courtesy The Bootmakers of Toronto.
