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Marie started to wear the Mask at Jim’s funeral.
When she was holding the urn with her husband’s ash (only ash remained, there was no body left to be buried, no remnants of Jim’s once wonderful airplane named after her, only the ash and distorted, melted metal frame) she wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and cry her heart out. But she couldn’t, her tears simply refused to come out in daylight anymore though she felt the river of them in her heart. And there were their friends, Jim’s friends, transformed into a faceless sombre crowd of fur of all colours shining brightly from black suits, a white noise in the background. She felt the Mask slipping over her own face, forestalling her desire to scream and break down completely.
Afterwards, she did not remove it.
On the contrary, she even made her cheerful and kind personality an essential part of the Mask.
Most of Marie’s friends said that it would be best for her to sell the house at Baker Street and move into something smaller, somewhere she wouldn’t see Jim in every piece of furniture, in every room, in the garden he helped to build from scratch.
But Elizabeth Turner knew better. She hugged Marie tightly, forehead to forehead and muzzle to muzzle, providing the warmth of another living being Marie so desperately sought, and whispered to her: “Find a lodger. Don’t stay all alone in here.”
At that inducement Marie agreed to quarter an acquaintance of Jim’s friend, a private detective with quite an unusual name - Sherlock Holmes. She didn’t know much about him, only that he helped Victor Trevor when no one else could, that he was the owner of a Benz prototype and that he had come to London recently, seeking for an inexpensive place to stay.
To help a friend in need seemed like a good idea.
But mainly, Marie dreaded her empty house.
Holmes arrived with the worst storm of the year, a terrible downpour which came with the east wind. Marie almost failed to hear his knocking. When she opened the door, she simply stared up at his tall figure without a word, taken completely aback. He was as tall as Jim was, dressed in a beige Inverness and hunting cape, both of which had turned dark brown from the soaking rain, unlit pipe sticking out of his mouth, and his fur, though wet and tousled, was the most radiant hue of red she ever saw.
And he was a fox.
“Oh my,” Holmes realised the reason behind her surprised look, “Victor didn’t tell you.”
“No,” answered the Mask before Marie managed to recollect her thoughts. “No, he didn’t.” She smiled at him, her Mask picking the most charming smile from the repertoire. “You can park your car in the cellar, Mr. Holmes.”
That was when Marie managed to take Holmes by surprise for the first time.
Holmes was truly an eccentric being, as one might expect from a fox. Private detective and police consultant who never refused any client. A heavy smoker and amateur mechanic able to repair own car. He played the violin or conducted chemical experiments (regularly ending up in clouds of noxious fumes) in his spare time. Absentminded, one might tend to say, but that wouldn’t be the right definition. He was always aware of his surrounding, constantly on the alert. But he had a heart of gold.
Marie was immediately fond of him.
Roughly two months after he started to live at Baker Street their coexistence of two solitary individuals turned into fellowship.
Holmes helped her with the Friday shopping, as always when he was not in the midst of a case. It was a wonderful spring day, children were playing outside, running around and shouting happily when one girl across the street, adorable pup with plaits adorned with pink ribbons, fell and burst out crying. Naturally, Marie hurried to her to see whether everything was all right. And Holmes followed, offering the girl an apple from their shopping with a conspiratorial smile which calmed her down almost magically. He had a way with children. Not only due to his unusual appearance, which frankly attracted attention everywhere, but he listened to them and cared for their own small problems. And children, not yet caring for the differences, loved him back.
But most grown-ups behaved somewhat oddly around Holmes. They became instantly suspicious of him, of a fox, a cunning fox with sly intentions. That girl’s mother was no exception. She thanked them, shaking Marie’s hands gratefully and bowing her head with deep gratitude towards Holmes. Yet unconsciously she tried to hide her daughter behind herself, out of the fox’s reach.
Though Holmes’ expression didn’t change, Marie saw a glimpse of deep sorrow in his eyes.
That was when she realised Holmes was also wearing the Mask.
Holmes was a genius.
No one could contradict that. No one would ever dare.
In spite of his fox origin he was sought after as the best criminology expert, the specialist offering his help every time and to everybody who needed it. His renown reached far and wide in no time. Marie was not surprised at all when he announced that his services were asked for in France.
Marie helped him with preparations for the journey, packed him twice as many things as he claimed he needed and bought him a brand-new hunting cap.
“But this one is still wearable.”
She took it from his hands and put the new one on his head. “Perhaps, but you need to look respectable. Besides, summer in France might be the warmest of all, but ear inflammation is truly terrible thing.”
Holmes chuckled. “I do not race against the wind in my Benz.”
“Only because you have had no opportunity so far.”
They grinned at each other.
After Marie saw her friend off for at least a whole month, she sauntered through empty rooms, picking up various decorations and repositioning them in different places. In the end, she took up knitting and crocheting, wishing for the time not to drag like a wet week.
That was when Marie understood how much she hated to be left alone.
The appearance of Doctor Watson was sudden and unexpected, but definitely not unwelcome.
Marie was glad to have another person around, another being to take care of. Another means of forestalling her mind from wandering towards memories of Jim.
Despite being a bit grumpy in the mornings, Watson turned out to be a really kind, charming Scottish terrier, trustworthy and loyal. She was delighted by his gallant behaviour towards her and she was glad for his support of Holmes.
One evening, when all three of them were sitting around the table in their living room, drinking tea while listening to Holmes’ recounting of his previous cases, Marie and Watson wordlessly agreed on protecting Holmes from such racist behaviour, each and every time they would be able to. After all, they shared the solicitude towards different beings, the need to protect those who, for any reason, could not defend themselves.
That was when Holmes unknowingly acquired more than he ever thought he could bargain for.
The kidnapping was not a horrid experience.
Meeting the infamous wolf, the distinguished Professor Moriarty was interesting. He was so much like Holmes, hid the same pain of being a genius beast of prey in a predominantly peaceful dog world.
Had the circumstances been different, couldn’t it have been Holmes in his place, a brilliant fugitive criminal mastermind?
Marie hoped not, she so desperately hoped not. And yet, yet ... In her mind she could see it clearly, that worst case scenario in nightmares.
She was grateful when she got back to Holmes and Watson, back to their familiar, brotherly love.
That was when Marie understood she was still able to love, even though it was not the same burning passion she felt for Jim, and that she was loved in return.
Her second encounter with Moriarty was not under the very best of circumstances.
When they discovered that the person responsible for all the sabotages of Air Mail planes was indeed the Professor she felt blinding white anger rising inside her. Marie wanted him to understood, to regret what he done. So she didn’t hold back, she drove at full throttle, leaving her worries and anxiety behind, not caring the slightest for proper appearance.
The bitter emptiness which had constantly accompanied her since Jim’s death left completely. Afterwards, while her good old friends gathered around and cheered her on, she noticed the happy grin of Holmes and the fond smile of Watson.
That was when the Mask slipped, allowing Marie to smile and laugh truly after an incredibly long time.
Holmes supported the decision to re-establish relations with her aviator friends.
A few days later Marie found a small package at the front door. It concealed an amethyst brooch and a sheet with a message. Merely forgive, but nothing more was needed.
That was when Moriarty learned to incorporate another factor into his scheming – the impact they could have at innocent bystanders.
That summer brought many cases and unveiled some mysteries.
Marie helped Watson into gardening getup, chatting light-heartedly with him. It was not the Mask doing, she laughed aloud of her own free will. Holmes was watering her flowerbeds, watching his friends with a contented smile, joining their debate occasionally. And then she caught his reflection in the window glass. Unguarded, his Mask absent, an expression of resignation and sadness with a tint of jealousy.
Before she could ask what was wrong a green balloon landed in the garden, giving him the perfect opportunity to rush away in pursuit of another mystery.
Marie’s contacts proved to be particularly useful. Not only to securing a plane for Holmes and Watson, but it also gave her the perfect opportunity for a quiet talk with Holmes.
She gathered her courage during the way back from the airport, sitting next to Holmes in his Benz. Watson was awaiting them in their home and she had few days to ponder over what she saw, what it could have meant.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Go ahead, Mrs. Hudson.”
“I’m afraid it is quite personal.”
“Is that so?” He chewed on his ever present pipe, raising his eyebrow quizzically. “Was it too daring for me to ask for a plane?”
“Oh no. Tommy was really glad he could be of use to you. After all you have done for the Air Mail.”
“Well, he certainly seemed happy to see you.”
She giggled and looked at the wide blue sky above. They enjoyed the comfortable silence between them, observing the approaching panorama of London. “Me or Watson?”
“Hm?”
She smiled at him. “Do you love me or Watson?”
Holmes nearly crashed the Benz into the nearest ditch as he jerked the lever in surprise. She reached over and pushed the brake, halting them crosswise the road.
“I didn’t want to frighten you like that.” She laid her hand on his shoulder.
“Ah, no,” he replied automatically, “That’s ...”
“You do not have to be ashamed.”
He looked at her guiltily, his Mask shattered to pieces.
That was when Marie realised what his answer was, what it would always be.
Holmes shook his head and whispered pleadingly: “He must never discover it.”
Marie found another small package at the front door the morning of her birthday. This one contained necklace and earrings adorned by amethysts, a set which would go well with the brooch.
She wore the complete set with pride that evening when Holmes and Watson took her to the theatre and dinner as part of their own gifts.
That was when Holmes started to suspect something.
“He was head over heels for her!” Holmes, throwing his hands up in exasperation, toppled down into Marie’s bed.
She was sitting at the foot of that bed, still somewhat surprised by his sudden late night appearance. Yet Marie understood his inner turmoil, understood it well, and she desperately wanted to help. But there was nothing she could do, nothing she could say, absolutely nothing which could soothe his aching heart.
So she only took his hand into hers and held him.
He gripped her back.
They both feared they will never get rid of their Masks.
Marie felt physically sick from hearing about all the accidents Holmes and Watson encountered while they escorted the cash shipment, particularly the explosion of Moriarty’s steam vehicle. She didn’t even realise that she was clutching her hands together over her chest until Watson’s doctor persona took charge of him.
“Are you all right, Mrs. Hudson?” asked Watson, motioning Holmes to bring him his doctor’s bag.
Holmes obeyed, smiling kindly at Marie. “You do not have to worry about the Professor and those two. I’m sure they are used to much bigger explosions. And the bath in the river certainly wouldn’t kill them either.”
She felt an enormous weight being lifted from her heart.
Later, she asked Holmes whether he didn’t know how to deliver a package to Moriarty. Underworld geniuses simply aren’t in the yellow pages, but nevertheless they would need a warm scarf, especially with autumn fast approaching.
That was when Holmes saw through her, understanding what Marie did not yet comprehend fully.
He didn’t even shrug his shoulders, merely giving her the address of the Professor’s most frequently used hideout.
Shortly after the curious incident with the river monster, which turned out to be nothing more than another of the Professor’s ingenious mechanical inventions, Marie had the most peculiar breakfast discussion with Watson while Holmes was at Scotland Yard dealing with some formalities.
“Say, Mrs. Hudson, do you know of anyone Holmes was interested in?”
“You mean romantically?”
“Yes.”
“I... Why do you ask?”
“Ah, it’s silly,” he stirred his tea. “This case just made me wonder...”
The sparkle of realisation, a faint flicker of hope, lit up in her mind. “I never thought you might be...”
He chuckled. “Just because I like to look at pretty girls?”
“Well, yes.”
Watson shook his head. “It is much more complicated.”
“Oh, I know. But you never gave the slightest indication.”
“Neither did he.”
Silly. Weren’t they all just silly?
“Why don’t you ask him directly?”
He looked at Marie, fear of rejection clearly visible on his face. “I don’t want to lose him.”
“You would not.”
That was when she knew there is always hope.
Things changed gradually and both Masks were more and more often laid aside, slowly gathering dust.
She got another package.
Inspector Lestrade handed it to her, clearly confused about its presence at the front door of 221 Baker Street.
“I’ll get them immediately,” she smiled brightly at him.
Marie opened it while ascending the stairs, humming softly to herself. This time the package contained a ticket to the opera. Lovely. She could go in the purple dress which Holmes gave her for her birthday. It would go well with the jewellery she had been given earlier.
It would go well with Moriarty’s fur.
“Inspector Lestrade came to pick you up.” Marie walked to Holmes and adjusted his collar, scolding him in a friendly fashion. “You simply cannot walk outside with a lovebite on your neck in plain sight.”
Watson nearly drowned in his tea and Holmes needed four whole minutes to overcome the blush which heated his cheeks and made his fur even redder.
He then looked at Marie guiltily. She was able to withstand his look for barely a minute before they both burst out laughing, their Masks broken and shattered for good.