From Stutley Constable: Lamplighter
There. Finally.
The last stitch tightened into place, then her sewing scissors cut the excess string. That sweater had taken far too long. While Abby's surprise would make up for the hours of work on such a complex design, she could not deny the relief at finally being done.
And just in time, too. The fading sun would have made her put the project aside soon anyway. Flickering glows glinted off a lamplighter doing his rounds as her knitting supplies fell back into their basket. She reached her feet with a stretch. This time of year, sundown meant suppertime. What had she planned for today?
Meat pie. Right. Something simple and warm, with enough extra to have leavings for luncheon tomorrow. The meat landed on the table with a crackle of paper, and footsteps crossed the sitting room above her as she started gathering the rest of the ingredients.
"Holmes, you do realize you have spent the first warm day in weeks at that chemistry set?"
The answering grumble sparked a grin. Mr. Holmes would spend day and night at his chemistry set if he decided to finish an experiment before leaving.
As Doctor Watson knew. The comment came more from indirect chiding—probably in relation to some postponed promise—than a true desire to inform. Rustling suggested he seated himself in his armchair as a question started Mr. Holmes describing his process, but she ignored them to roll out the dough. Did she want one large pie or many small ones?
One large, she decided, so a large, oddly shaped piece for the bottom and a simple circle for the top. The crust soon moved aside to let her start the filling.
Brown the meat. Drain the grease. Onions for flavor—finely chopped to avoid Mr. Holmes picking them out. Vegetables. Spices. Slowly stir everything together, then dump all into the waiting pie crust. A few slits in the top sent the pie into the oven. That would finish in about an hour.
And leave her to answer the door. She had just started cleaning when sprinting footsteps heralded an urgent visitor. Small fists beat against the wood hard enough to bruise.
"Mrs. Hudson!"
A soapy bowl splashed into the full sink at the terror in those words. The moment she turned the catch, the door impacted the wall behind a young boy's shove.
"Eddie?!"
No answer. The door slammed shut as he locked trembling arms around her legs and buried his face in her skirts, apparently never feeling the wet spot where she reflexively returned the hug.
"Eddie, what's wrong?"
His low mumble answered, but whatever he tried to say disappeared beneath his shaking and the two pairs of feet pounding the stairs. A nearby towel dried the suds from her hands to let her kneel to his level.
Or try to kneel. A polite double tap sounded on the door just as Mr. Holmes reached the kitchen. Eddie immediately tensed, then dove to hide behind her.
"Eddie, was someone following you?"
With fear and fabric still rendering his words unintelligible, she barely turned enough to see his nod. A glance at Mr. Holmes saw concerned curiosity flip to the protectiveness he displayed for all the Irregulars, and the doctor stationed himself in front of her as Mr. Holmes opened the door.
A young man stood well out of reach. Some ten years older than Eddie, hints of a patchy beard still put him several years away from adulthood, but the long pole balanced on one shoulder loudly declared his initial reason for being in the area. He tipped his hat with a faint smile of greeting.
"Good evenin', gov'nor. Name's Ray Richardson. Sorry for scarin' your boy. I don't think he heard me calling to him, but he looks just like my cousin. Is his name Eddie Richardson? Mi papa 'n I have been lookin' for my cousin for ages."
Mr. Holmes studied him for a long moment, that keen gaze undoubtedly seeing far more than she could.
"Why are you looking for your cousin?"
"Someone broke into mi uncle's house," he answered willingly. "Four, almost five months ago now. Police said the intruders killed my aunt and uncle and sacked the house, but the officers never found mi cousin, and Papa said Eddie's toy was in his favorite hiding place. We figured he prob'ly ran when he heard the screams."
He might have. She remembered Mr. Holmes discussing the double murder. Eddie had joined the Irregulars not very long after that, but the boy remained firmly behind her legs. Mr. Holmes kept his attention on the young lamplighter.
"What is your father's name?"
"Grant, sir, and mi mum is Lauretta. Please, can I see him? Is he mi cousin?"
Mr. Holmes hesitated, still studying the stranger. Mr. Richardson kept an honorable distance from the door and waited for permission, but they could not let him enter, either. Not with Eddie still so afraid.
"Mrs. Hudson?" he ultimately voiced without looking back. "Does he recognize Mr. Richardson?"
The young man's face fell even before Eddie shook his head into her leg.
"He does not," she confirmed.
"Because he's not seen me in over a year," the man agreed. "Can I send mi papa here? And mi mum? Eddie's more likely to know them, and Papa still has his toys. We packed everything of his and some stuff from his parents for him and stacked it in my room, hoping that someday we could bring him home."
Another long moment eventually produced a silent negative. "Give me his address," Mr. Holmes ordered instead. "I will speak to your father while you finish your rounds."
Disappointment quickly became relief. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." He slowly recited an address she vaguely recognized as being some three or four miles north, then another "thank you" and a few pleasantries shut the door behind him. Doctor Watson tore the page from his journal.
"Are you going now?"
Mr. Holmes nodded, once. The paper disappeared into a pocket as Eddie gradually peeked around her leg.
"He gone?"
"He is gone," Mr. Holmes promised. Two steps brought him three feet in front of her, where he knelt to reach Eddie's level. "Did Mr. Richardson's account match what happened to your parents?"
Eddie made a quiet sound of mixed distress and agreement.
"Told me ta run," he murmured, directing his reply at Mr. Holmes though he still leaned into her one-armed embrace. "Mum did. So's I ran and ran and ran, but then I couldn't find home. Or Father's brother. Or anyone. Then I got hungry. Arthur found me lookin' for food."
"Will you know your uncle if you see him?"
Eddie hesitantly nodded. "Think so. He 'n Aunt Etta comed for Father's birthday supper." He paused. "I hope he has my 'lephelant."
"What color is your elephant?"
"Grey with blue dots. Grandmama put pink stitches in it b'cuz she was out of black."
Mr. Holmes borrowed the doctor's pencil to note that, and she barely caught a hinted smile as he stood and brushed past his friend on his way out the door. Two or three older children would be joining them for supper, and sometime after that, Mr. Holmes would return with the elder Mr. Richardson—provided his story matched his son's.
She simply set out a couple of extra plates. After so many years, last minute company no longer surprised her.
Mrs. Hudson is a wonder, lol. Hope you enjoyed!
And thanks to Username Unknown404 for your review last chapter :)