Free The Hudson Diaries by Kara L. Barney Page B

again,” Mr. Holmes said dangerously, shaking him like a limp doll. In his eyes was an anger I had never before seen, nor have I seen it since. “Why did you shed innocent blood?”
    “Get your hands off me!” John shouted, struggling beneath Mr. Holmes’s tight grip. Mr. Holmes pushed him against the wall, gave him a most burning stare, and released him. Guthrie dusted himself off and spoke, shaken. “I didn’t touch the man… I swear it!” He put up his hands as Mr. Holmes gave him a deep, interrogating look. A long silence prevailed; John crossed the room and headed for the door.
    “If I find that you are the man who committed this murder,” whispered Mr. Holmes, “more than the law will find you.”
    The door opened and closed, and there was quiet once more. “What are we going to do?” asked Dr. Watson tentatively.
    “I’m not sure…but we are not finished yet. Are you sure there is no one else?”
    I nodded, sinking into a chair nearby. Mr. Holmes approached me. “Do not fear; there is still hope left.” Though he meant to hide his own feelings, I could see that he was as worried as I.
    Some weeks passed before anything of promise appeared; I had lost all hope of finding solace. Many friends came to my home more than once, offering their services, but though they meant well I refused them. Though I had not anywhere to go, I wished to remove myself from such a place of personal tragedy. One day, as I was packing my belongings, a light knock met my ears. I opened the door and William Hughes stood before me on the porch.
    “William,” I said, but he held up his hand. Surprised, I waited.
    “I came to offer myself to you.”
    “Thank you; you are very kind, but—”
    He held up his hand once more. “I offer myself completely, entirely to you. Will you take me, Martha?”
    “I do not know what you mean, sir.” We had grown up together as childhood acquaintances, even friends, but I had never felt more than friendship for the man standing before me. William was a man of means and reasonable success, but my mind as well as my heart were against any greater connection. We grew apart as we grew older, and I had never really missed his companionship.
    “I am a rich man; I could give you everything you have ever been denied.”
    “No. I could never… I will never see you in that way. You are a good friend, but no more. Good day, sir.”
    I heard his footstep on the pavement some time afterward, and once I knew he was gone, made my way to Baker Street to tell Mr. Holmes of this strange encounter. Once he had heard the tale, Mr. Holmes replied, “The next time your suitor comes to call, receive his advances and be sure to leave your pantry door unlocked.”
    “What? This is harboring on the ridiculous…” I answered hotly. Dr. Watson glanced at me nervously, sure of a row.
    “You would have me receive a man who makes marriage proposals only weeks after a man’s death?” I felt tears welling in my eyes.
    “Yes, I would,” said Mr. Holmes, somewhat nonchalantly.
    “Then you forget that the victim was my husband.” I rose and walked to the door. “Adieu, gentlemen.” I curtsied and left. As I shut the door, I felt some meager hope die within me, and found myself utterly alone.
    A week passed before I received a letter from William, saying that he would come again at eleven o’clock the next day hoping that I had changed my mind. After reading the letter, I sent a wire to Mr. Holmes relaying to him the letter’s contents, unsure of how he would receive it after I had argued with him so hotly the week before.
    At the appointed hour the next morning, I heard the knock at my door. William’s pale face appeared again before me.
    “Martha…” he began, but I cut him short.
    “Mr. Hughes, your dreams are nothing more than mere fancy. My husband was the love of my life. Though he is dead, I could never love another. Please do not come again.”
    As I made to close the door, he swung it lightly