Mrs. Hudson wiped her hands on her apron as she hurried to the front door of 221 Baker Street. The delicious scent of roasting chicken and rosemary wafted behind her as she rushed out of the kitchen to answer the persistent knocking.
“Half a moment,” she called irritably. If there was one thing she didn’t like, it was being interrupted when she was in the middle of preparing a meal for her tenants. After pausing to tuck a few stray hairs beneath her cap, she opened the door. To her surprise, a pretty young woman dressed in boys’ clothing was standing on the doorstep.
“May I help you?” Mrs. Hudson asked suspiciously. She scanned the woman’s attire, taking in her dyed wool jacket, checked trousers, and newsboy cap. Somehow, in spite of the unflattering clothing, the girl still managed to look feminine.
“You must be Mrs. Hudson! My name is Charlotte Pepper. It’s so very nice to meet you,” she said, extending her hand. Mrs. Hudson was taken aback for a moment, but then, seeing no other polite way around it, shook Charlotte’s offered hand.
“Ouch!” said Mrs. Hudson, releasing Miss Pepper’s grip. The ring the young lady wore was quite sharp.
“Oh! Please forgive me,” said Charlotte Pepper, and quickly removed the ring. “I didn’t mean to injure you. Sometimes I forget I have that old ring on.”
“And what can I do for you, Miss Pepper?” Mrs. Hudson asked impatiently.
“I heard that you were looking for a new tenant and have come to inquire about the apartment. How much rent do you require?”
Mrs. Hudson noticed that when she spoke, Charlotte Pepper didn’t make eye contact, but instead glanced everywhere else, including the hallway behind her.
A smile played around the young woman’s full lips, and her huge brown eyes danced with excitement. Turning back to the landlady, she asked, “Is it indeed the former residence of the famous Sherlock Holmes?”
“Until recently, yes,” Mrs. Hudson replied with a sigh. Ever since her favorite tenant had departed, she’d had no end of “lookie-loos” showing up, wanting to catch a glimpse of the great detective’s apartment.
“Wonderful! May I see it?” said Charlotte Pepper.
“Young lady,” Mrs. Hudson said. “I don’t wish to be rude, but the apartment in question is quite expensive.” She glanced at the young woman’s shabby clothing. “Mr. Holmes was an accomplished detective with a reliable income, and I mean for my new tenant to meet the same qualifications.”
If Charlotte Pepper was offended by the remark, she didn’t show it.
“Well, I assure you that money is no object,” she stated. “Simply name your price and I shall pay it.”
Mrs. Hudson started to reply, but Charlotte interrupted her, holding up a finger.
“I am absolutely without question the biggest fan of Sherlock Holmes who ever lived. I am a bit of an amateur detective myself and will treat the premises with the utmost care and respect. I am clean, decent, and well-mannered. In other words, I am the perfect tenant. I’m sure we’ll get along famously.”
She reached into her jacket pocket and removed the largest amount of British currency Mrs. Hudson had ever seen one person carry. After pressing it into the startled landlady’s hand, she stepped past her into the hallway.
“I believe my new rooms are right up these stairs, correct?”
Mrs. Hudson, feeling completely flummoxed, watched as the young woman charged down the hall and up the stairs. Another detective at Baker Street? she thought. First there was Mr. Holmes, then Mr. Snodgrass, and now this precocious female? And just who did Charlotte Pepper think she was, bossing her around, not asking but telling her that she was to accept her as her tenant?
But Mrs. Hudson didn’t express her feelings aloud. For one of the first times in her life, the landlady was left absolutely speechless. She felt quite dazed by Miss Pepper’s presence and persuasive speech, and decided that it was easier to comply with the woman’s demands than to resist. And she couldn’t help but think that her old tenant, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, would have enjoyed seeing that happen for once.
If only he were still here, she thought sadly.
Mrs. Hudson respected that Mr. Holmes had finally moved to Sussex to live a quiet life of retirement, but his absence at Baker Street was a loss that she felt deeply. And without Sherlock Holmes’s lanky figure patrolling the streets of London, the world felt much more dangerous. Even though Mr. Snodgrass and Master Sharpe had proven that they were capable detectives and lived next door, it just wasn’t the same. In her opinion, the boy and his uncle were “second best,” and that just wasn’t good enough.
She felt quite light-headed as she closed the front door, and failed to notice the disreputable character who was standing beneath the gaslight on the opposite side of the street. The huge man watched her with a twisted grin.
Right on schedule, he thought.
Then he reached up to the gaslight and opened one of the glass panes. After removing two small pieces of paper from a tiny metal box, he closed the pane again almost silently. Then, with hardly a backward glance, the man hurried into the shadows.