Prompt from I'm Nova: Wishes

AN: As simple as this prompt seemed, it resulted in a rather long story. I am not displeased about that in the least.

The Curious Case of Davy Mathews

According to my notes, it was the fifth of December in 1891. Holmes and I were in the middle of our breakfast of kedgeree and strong black tea when a knock came at our door. It was most unusual for our landlady to interrupt our morning meal and I looked over my shoulder, puzzled.

"Mrs. Hudson has brought a visitor, Watson," Holmes said, setting his tea aside.

I wiped my mouth and went to answer the door. Not surprisingly, Holmes was correct. Our landlady stood a pace back from our threshold and slightly behind her was a young man of about twenty. He was peculiar looking. His clothes seemed both too large and too small. His trousers, for instance, were baggy and yet the cuffs did not reach his ankles. His jacket, though the arms were long enough, was too tight across his shoulders. Regardless of how well they fit and the many patches and repairs, they were clean. I noted, too, that he had not long before been in a fight. His left eye was still black and his lower lip was split and crusted with blood.

"I am sorry for interrupting you and Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson," Mrs. Hudson said. "This lad is in need of help and I thought it best to bring him up right away. And, sir, if you do not mind a guest over breakfast, I would like to fetch something for him. Will that be all right, sir?"

"Quite all right, Mrs. Hudson," said Holmes, coming up behind me. "You do not mind, do you, Doctor?"

Though it was not usual for us to have strangers to breakfast, I did not mind. Even had I, the sound of the lad's stomach growling would have decided me.

"I'll be back in a wink with some eggs and sausages," Mrs. Hudson said, bustling for the head of the stairs. "I'll bring fresh tea, as well."

"Won't you come in and join us, young man?" said Holmes as we made way for him.

"Thank you, sirs," said the lad, doffing his battered cap and stepping inside. He did not meet our eyes and seemed at a loss for what to do next.

"Come," said Holmes, taking the lad's cap and putting it on a peg. "Have a seat at the table, and when you have, pray, tell us your name and what brings you on such a cold morning."

Our guest smiled, though he directed it at the floor. His gaze then wandered over the sitting room before he crossed to one of the empty chairs and sat stiffly in it. I exchanged a glance with Holmes who seemed intrigued by our visitor. Returning to our chairs, we refrained from our meal, anticipating what our guest would tell us.

"I am Doctor Watson and this is Sherlock Holmes," said I, hoping to prompt the lad into speech.

"My name is David Mathews," he said in a monotone, eyes fixed on the tablecloth. "You can call me Davy. Everyone calls me Davy. I like that. Being called Davy, I mean."

"Very well. Davy it is," said Holmes. "What brings you into London? I see you come from a farm and your accent says it is one not far outside our metropolis."

"Yes sir. I work on my uncle's farm. Uncle James. Really, it's Gran's farm but Uncle James said it would be his one day."

"And the reason for your visit?" I prompted.

"Uncle James died." The boy bit his lip and his eyes shifted all around, though they did not meet Holmes's or mine. "Uncle James died and it is my fault."

"Your fault?" Holmes leaned an elbow on the table, regarding the lad closely. "Was there an accident?"

"No."

I was about to speak but Holmes cautioned me with a raised finger.

"Why do you believe your uncle's death is your fault?"

"I made a wish, sir."

In my many years associated with Sherlock Holmes, I have heard many peculiar reasons for causes of death, but never a wish. Had Davy Mathews been any other person, I would have laughed aloud but it was apparent this young man was in full earnest.

"Davy, turn your face to me, please," said Holmes in a gentle tone.

The lad obeyed, though he bit his lower lip in an apparent attempt to hide his injury and would not, perhaps could not, look at my friend.

"Your nose was broken some years ago. Did your uncle strike you?"

Davy nodded and squirmed in his seat.

"The scar over your left eye, did your uncle do that as well?"

"It was my fault. The fox got in with the chickens because I didn't make the shed good enough. I fixed it, though! The fox don't get in anymore."

I pressed my lips together rather than speak what was on my mind.

"And your broken nose? How did that happen?"

"I told Uncle James he was out of medicine. He'd drunk the last bottle and he was angry. I should have gone down to get another from Mr. Lake. Uncle James said if I had, he wouldn't have had to hit me."

"Mr. Lake is a publican?" Holmes asked evenly.

Davy nodded.

"Despicable," I murmured.

"Watson!" said Holmes and I subsided. Holmes addressed our guest, "Davy, why do you believe a wish from you resulted in the death of your uncle?"

"Because my wishes come true, sir," said the lad, glancing my way yet not looking me in the face. "It's true! Gran tells me I should only wish for good things because the wishes might come true and nobody should wish for bad things."

"What wishes have come true for you?" Holmes asked.

"When my old dog died, I wished I had him back, Mr. Holmes. Not like he was when he was old. Like he was when he was young and could run and help with the sheep. I told Eliza I wished for my dog back and she said I needed to wish very hard and maybe Ty would come back to me. So, I did. I wished every day I could have him back. Every day for two months. Sometimes twice a day."

"And did Ty return?" I asked.

"He did!" Davy's eyes lit up and a spark of spirit seemed to come into his words. "I was in the field near Mr. Stiles' pasture and out of the long grass I saw a black and white puppy come a running at me! And it was Ty! I know because he had the same markings, only his left front foot was black instead of his right, but Eliza said that was no surprise because maybe Ty liked the left one being black."

Holmes and I exchanged bemused glances and with a finger touched to his lips, he cautioned me to silence. It was then Mrs. Hudson returned with Davy's breakfast and we all turned to our meals. Davy ate as hungry boys do. He had little in the way of table manners, but he chewed with his mouth closed, which was a relief.

"Well, Davy," Holmes said when our plates were clean, "was that enough? Are you full?"

"Oh yes, sir," said Davy, inserting a finger into his mouth to winkle something from between his teeth. "As good as Gran's. Thank you."

"Be sure to tell Mrs. Hudson when you see her." Holmes poured the last of the tea into our cups and rose. "Won't you join us beside the fire so we can continue our talk?"

With Holmes in his usual chair and me in mine, Davy sat upon the settee, his gaze fixed on the head of one of the andirons. I watched as Holmes silently filled his pipe, scrutinizing our guest the whole while. After he lit his pipe, he settled back into his chair and puffed quietly.

"Davy, you were telling us about wishes of yours that had come true," said Holmes when it became obvious our guest would not begin on his own. "Your dog returned to you. What else?"

"Lots of things, Mr. Holmes."

"What is the first wish you can recall coming true?"

"The tree."

"What about the tree? What tree was it and what happened?"

"Uncle James cut down my favorite tree. I climbed it almost every day when the weather was nice. Uncle James said we needed new posts for the gate and he wanted firewood for winter and he said the sawyer would give him money for the trunk, so he had to cut it down."

"And what was your wish, Davy?"

"I wished I had the tree back. I missed climbing it and wanted to do it again."

"And that wish came true?" I asked doubtfully.

"It did!" said Davy, lifting his gaze from the andiron to look in my direction. "Near the end of summer, the old stump sprouted at least a dozen little saplings. I didn't say anything because I didn't want Uncle James to chop them down. The next spring, one of the saplings was three feet tall and by the end of summer, it was at least ten feet tall. Now it's going on twenty feet and getting thicker every year. It's almost large enough to climb and when spring comes, I am going to!"

Finding it difficult to believe anyone, even this boy, could be that credulous, I looked at Holmes for any indication of what he thought. Again, he touched a finger to his lips, cautioning me to silence.

"And once I wished I could make some money," Davy said. "Not a week later, Mr. Stiles asked Gran if I could help with the milking. He had bought two new cows and Eliza couldn't get them milked and finish her other chores. He said he would pay me four pence a week if I would help. Gran told me I was to keep it a secret and be back before Uncle James woke in the morning. Uncle James was never up before nine, so I knew I could and so I started milking Mr. Stiles' cows and he paid me. So that's another wish that came true, sir."

"Eliza is the young woman you told about wishing for your dog to return to you?" Holmes asked.

"Yes. She told me to wish very hard and I did, and Ty came back."

"I see." Holmes puffed on his pipe a moment then asked, "Did you tell Eliza any other wishes?"

"Yes."

"And did those wishes come true?"

"Yes. I told her I wished I had a new blanket because my room was so cold in winter. She said to wish very hard and I would get it."

"And you got a new blanket?"

"No, sir. I got a comforter filled with down. It is ever so warm, sir!"

Holmes straightened in his chair and regarded Davy keenly.

"How did this comforter arrive?" he asked.

"I went into my room one night and saw something different on my window. I went to the window to see what it was and there on the ledge was the comforter tied up with twine like a package. When I got it inside, there was a piece of card on the twine with my name on it. It was my comforter. It had my name on it."

"Indeed," I said.

"Davy, were you able to keep your secret? I mean, did your Uncle James ever learn of you milking the cows at Mr. Stiles' farm?"

Davy bit his lip and focused on the andiron once more. For a moment, I thought Holmes had pushed too much but Davy nodded.

"How did he learn of it?" asked Holmes.

"It was a Friday last summer and Uncle James hadn't come home Thursday night. I was on my way back to the farm after milking and he found me on the road. He asked what I was doing out so early and since Gran says I'm not to lie to anyone, I told him."

"What happened?" I asked.

Davy shook his head.

"Please tell us," said Holmes.

Davy began to shake and his words came out in a nervous quaver.

"He hit me and yelled at me. He said I wasn't to go to Mr. Stiles' farm anymore. I told him Eliza couldn't get all her chores done unless I helped and that Mr. Stiles was paying me."

Tears were on the boy's cheeks. It was truly a heart wrenching sight to see this innocent lad so distressed.

"Uncle James said I was to give him the money. He said if I gave him the money, I could keep helping Eliza. He said he wanted it for his medicine, and that was all right because I wanted the money to help pay for the things we needed and Uncle James needed his medicine."

"He certainly did," I said. Holmes shot me a look and I clamped my mouth shut. There was more I would have said and I swear, had James Mathews been there in our sitting room, I would have given him a dose he would have never gotten over.

"There were other wishes that came true, Davy?" Holmes asked.

Davy nodded and wiped the tears from his cheeks.

"Did you tell Eliza all of those wishes?"

Davy nodded, took a deep breath and said, "I tell Eliza every wish. She said when I told her wishes, they came true more often."

"Did you tell her about wishing your uncle were dead?" Holmes asked carefully.

"No."

"You didn't tell her that wish?"

"I never wished Uncle James was dead."

Holmes shot me a questioning look to which I responded with a shrug.

"Davy, did your uncle give you that black eye and split lip?" Holmes asked.

Davy nodded and focused his gaze on the teacup he held between his hands.

"Will you tell us about it?"

"We were getting gravel from the stream. The vicar wanted some for the path in the churchyard and he offered Uncle James three shillings if he would get some. We took Samson and our cart down to the stream and shoveled it full. Only, when we went to leave, the cart had sunk in the ground and Samson couldn't pull it out. Uncle James started hitting Samson. I tried to tell Uncle James that Samson was old and couldn't pull as much as he used to, but Uncle James just kept hitting him. I couldn't stand it, Mr. Holmes. I grabbed the stick from Uncle James and broke it."

"Your Uncle beat you?" I asked.

Davy nodded, tears on his cheeks.

"Did you strike him?" Holmes asked.

Davy shook his head.

"What was the wish that you think caused your uncle's death, Davy?" I asked.

"I wished Uncle James would never hit anyone ever again. I wished he would never kick any more dogs or beat any more horses or get into fights at Mr. Lake's or slap Gran or me ever again."

It is an odd thing how a man can feel a cold sort of anger. As I sat listening to Davy, such an anger built in me. For my sake, it was a good thing James Mathews was already dead.

"Davy," Holmes said. "Did you tell Eliza Stiles this wish?"

Davy nodded and wiped his cheeks. I handed him my handkerchief and he blotted his eyes and nose.

"Did Eliza say anything when you told her?" Holmes asked.

Davy shook his head and drew in a deep, steadying breath. He said, "She hugged me, Mr. Holmes. And, she kissed my cheek and hugged me more. It made it all better."

"How did your uncle die?" asked Holmes.

"He was run over by a cart."

"Where did this occur?"

"In the lane between the yew tree and the blackthorn hedge."

"What lane, Davy?"

"The lane that runs from the village to our farm."

"Does the lane pass the Stiles farm?"

"Yes. It runs between our farm and theirs."

"I see," said Holmes. "Does the lane stop at your farm?"

"No. It goes all the way to the next village."

"Who found your uncle?"

"The mail carriage. He comes on Thursday mornings. Passes our farm around eight of the morning."

"Your uncle had been at the public house the previous evening?"

Davy nodded.

"Was it the constable who said a cart had run him down?" Holmes asked.

"Yes. Constable Evans said it had to be a cart because the way he looked. He said Uncle James had been drinking and maybe fell asleep in the lane and the cart didn't see him and because it was dark, it ran him over."

"Davy, why did you come to see us this morning?" Holmes asked, reloading his pipe.

"Eliza reads to me. Sometimes she reads Doctor Watson's stories." For the first time Davy looked me in the eye, but only for the briefest instant. "I thought, since you have the greatest an… ana… lytic… al mind, you might be able to help me keep from getting arrested. I never wanted Uncle James to die. I only wished he would stop hitting people and hurting animals. I never wanted him to die, Mr. Holmes!"

"I am sure you did not," said Holmes quickly, leaning forward and placing a comforting hand on the lad's shoulder. "Davy, let me ask, what do you think of Eliza?"

Davy calmed instantly and blushed a deep red. A smile spread on his face and he looked down at his cup of tea again.

"Well, Davy?" Holmes prodded.

"She's ever so fine, Mr. Holmes. I think she's the most beautiful girl in all the world."

"I see," said Holmes, relaxing back into his chair. "And how old is she?"

"Oh, a couple of years older than me. I don't know for sure."

"Does your Gran like Eliza?" I asked.

Davy nodded, saying, "Gran told me Eliza is the kindest girl she knows. Gran says Eliza is like my mother was. She says she's a hard working girl and that's no small thing."

"And what does Eliza think of you, Davy?" Holmes asked.

Davy blushed a deeper shade of red, his grin wide and guileless, but he said nothing.

Holmes rose and disappeared out of our door. I heard his feet upon the stairs and then murmurs of conversation below. Shortly, he returned and sat once more in his chair.

"Davy, Mrs. Hudson is going to make you some sandwiches to take with you on the train. A young man is going to escort you to the station to make sure you get on the correct train to return home. His name is Billy and I believe you will like him. He's a good fellow."

"But, what about the police?"

"You have nothing to worry from the police, Davy," said Holmes, exuding confidence. "I shall take care of everything. Say nothing to anyone else about your wish. Understand?"

Davy nodded.

"Swear to it," Holmes commanded.

"I need a bible for that, Mr. Holmes."

I sprang to my feet and fetched my copy of the King James Bible from beside my bed.

"Place your right hand on it and raise your left, Davy," I said. The boy did. "Now swear to do as Mr. Holmes instructed. So help you God."

Davy looked up into my eyes earnestly and for once, held my gaze as he said, "I do."

"Now, Davy, when you return home, I want you to continue making wishes for good things to happen," said Holmes. "And when you do, you must always tell Eliza. Leave the rest to me."

When Billy came to take Davy to the station, Holmes and I resumed our seats by the fire and sat in silence for a time. Finally, I glanced at him. He raised an eyebrow in answer, saying, "I am not the police, Watson."

"Nor am I, Holmes. Nor am I."

~ 0 ~

AN: I am somewhat familiar with autism. A relative of mine lives with the condition and I have met other young men who are on the spectrum to one degree or another. The character Davy is based on what I have observed of these young men, but you should not take him as an example of what they are like. Everyone is an individual with individual traits and should be understood in that light.