I've had a crazy month of December, and haven't been able to write at all, but now I'm finally catching up. Thank you Hades for continuing to send me prompts even though I wasn't responding! I'm looking forward to catching up with everyone else's prompt responses too.
And thanks to Madam'zelleGiry for the prompt for this ficlet: Celtic Christmas
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It's a long way from Baker Street to Gravesend, where my sister Biddy lives, so I only go out there when I have a full day off. She married an Englishman, and they've three children already.
Last time I went out to see them was the morning after Christmas Day this year. I was humming to myself as I walked down from Gravesend railway station, my Christmas box tucked under my arm. I was that happy. I couldn't wait to see Biddy's face when I opened the box.
She lives near the riverfront. Her husband works in the port, you see. William is his name. It was still well before noon when I knocked on their door. I'd set off very early that morning, so's to make the most of my day off. On Christmas Day I had to wait on the two gentlemen upstairs, of course, but Mrs Hudson gave me Stephen's Day off. Or Boxing Day, as they call it over here in England.
One of the boys let me in. He'd grown almost two inches since I last saw him, but he remembered his Auntie Nora all right. I had a handful of bull's-eyes in my pocket for him, same as the last time I came round.
"A Nora, a chroi!" Biddy called out in Irish as soon as I'd crossed the threshold. "Come and help me with the dinner. Nobody's lifted a hand to help me all day."
That put a fierce scowl on William's face. He was sitting in the corner, working away at something, a piece of leather and a bradawl in his hands. He doesn't like her using the Irish, because she only does it when she wants to complain about him to me without him understanding. He had a polite nod and a word of welcome for me, however.
Biddy had just laid a big lump of black pudding on the table, and was cutting it into slices. There was a pot of boiled cabbage and potatoes on the fire in the corner.
They have only the lower two rooms of the house they're in. There's another family upstairs - a different one every time I come, it seems to me. The price of the rent drives them out. It's a lovely dry house, in good repair, not even so much as a hole in the roof or the door, and that drives up the rent. Thanks be to God William is in steady work.
Anyway, I was thinking about the neighbours because Biddy always has a few words of complaint about them as soon as she sees me, but this time she was more interested in the contents of my Christmas box.
I opened it proudly: an enormous fruit pudding, a tin of mince pies and best of all, two goose legs.
Those goose legs were a real stroke of luck. The two gentlemen upstairs were called away in the middle of dinner yesterday, and only Dr Watson came back. Mr Holmes is sometimes away for days on end, Lord knows why. All the better for us, this time, because Dr Watson may have an enormous appetite, but even he can't eat an entire goose by himself.
Biddy was over the moon with the goose. She drives me barney sometimes, and she has since we were children. But she's my sister, when all's said and done. And if it wasn't for her sending me the money to come over, I'd still be in Ballinascarty, and today I'd be eating from a pot of Indian meal, same as every day.
William got out his carving knife, and we all sat down to dinner. Biddy wanted to tell me the latest gossip on the street, but she was cried down by the boys. They wanted to hear new tales of the brave and handsome Constable George Merryweather, who has solved all of the most mysterious crimes in London over the past few years, with the occasional help of Mr Holmes and Dr Watson.
Constable Merryweather always takes a cup of tea in the kitchen with me, whenever he calls around to Baker Street. Or at least, whenever he's alone, and not with that Inspector who looks like a bulldog, I forget his name now. He's a very polite, very clever man - Constable Merryweather, I mean. I'm quite sure he'll be a Chief Inspector within a few years.
"This one is called the Adventure of the Norwood Builder," I began, "and it's about how Constable Merryweather made several very important discoveries, including trouser buttons in the woodpile, and a bloody thumbprint on the wall..."