Minutes after Becoming Irregular 5&6: Jacksons
"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson!"
The chorus echoed through the group of young ones—"littles," one of the Irregulars had termed—as they filed through the back door, sugar biscuits in hand or half-eaten. More than half lisped every word, and several skipped a syllable or two, but that did not matter. The thanks were genuine, and every small face had lit up when Mrs. Hudson started passing out the sweets. Jacob had apparently not told the youngest children just why they were going to Baker Street.
The surprise only made it more fun, and she smiled as childish glee sparked with every explosion of crumbs. Treat days indulged her just as much as they did the children.
The door closed behind them as she turned her attention to the oven. Luncheon would be ready shortly, and the final batch of biscuits would take its place. By her count, only five Irregulars had yet to show. She would divide the extra between upstairs and down—and take care to hide the ones she kept for herself. Mr. Holmes had a sweet tooth worse than most children. He would quickly demolish the supply upstairs and come hunting for more, to the doctor's chagrin.
"When do you expect the next group?"
She glanced at where her less eccentric tenant had pulled a chair to lean against the wall. "Five minutes ago."
He pushed away from the wall with a laugh, letting the chair legs hit the ground with a muted thump.
"I do believe you enjoy your 'treat days' more than those children," he announced. "Are you getting paid in smiles?"
She shook a finger at him. "Don't you give away my currency," she admonished. "If those boys and girls discover my true rates, I'll never hear the end of it."
"As if 'two for new' and 'eight under seven' were not clear enough," he shot back, still smirking. "You do not give them enough credit."
"Perhaps." The roasting pan clattered atop the oven, and the baking sheet replaced it over the heat. "I still enjoy it, though."
He did, too, though he did not say as much. Only that could keep him sitting in a hard chair in a hot kitchen when Mr. Holmes' absence had left the sitting room comfortably silent. She hoped the prolonged absence meant Mr. Holmes was growing close to solving his most pressing case. The doctor would probably enjoy a quiet evening just as much as she would.
She turned her focus to the cooling pan, and Doctor Watson leaned forward in his chair, belatedly registering the color and shape of the dish.
"Is that a roast? However did you fit that between the batches of sugar biscuits?"
"If you don't know, I'm not telling."
Another laugh filled the kitchen. "Fine. I will get you to share some of those cooking secrets eventually."
"Not likely."
A harrumph carried to her ears, but a knock cut off whatever he would have replied. She abandoned the steaming meat to open the door.
"Good—" Charlie glanced at the sky, "morning, Mrs. Hudson! Can we have some sugar biscuits? And maybe a meal? Jackson and Doris haven't eaten in a while."
A boy about eight or nine years old stood slightly behind the older girl, an oversized pack strapped tightly to his shoulders, and he eyed her warily. He must be 'Jackson,' but she had no idea who 'Doris' was.
"Of course," she replied instead of asking, waving them toward the table. "Our luncheon just came out of the oven. There should be plenty."
"Thank you! Hiya, Doctor!" Charlie bounced further into the room, moving to stand on the other side of the table to ask the doctor about an incident the previous week, but something caught her eye as Jackson wandered closer.
The patch of red she had thought to be a toy was a head of curly hair, and large eyes peeked at her over his shoulder. He carried a toddling girl, not a pack.
"It is nice to meet you, Jackson." She opened the door wider instead of voicing her surprise. The Irregulars had not gained a child that young in a while. "I just finished making a roast. Do you like beef?"
"Yes, ma'am," he answered quietly, purposely staying between Mrs. Hudson and his sister even as he cautiously entered. "Mum used to make it sometimes, when Father had a good day at work."
"Hopefully you will like this, then, though I won't try to compare it to your mum's. Mums are the best cooks."
That earned her a faint grin, and Jackson slowly passed her toward the table, now watching Doctor Watson, who nodded a greeting.
"Hello, Jackson," he said, his conversation with Charlie finished. "I am Doctor Watson. Mr. Holmes and I rent rooms from Mrs. Hudson, and many of the Irregulars work for one of us, though usually Mr. Holmes."
"Charlie mentioned somethin' about it," he replied with a glance at the older girl. "Sounds cool." He hesitated, obviously debating a question before he went any closer. "Doris will stay with me, right?"
"I told you that, Jackson," Charlie broke in before the doctor could reply. "We don't send kids to those nasty factories."
"She is correct," Doctor Watson answered. "Every child, Irregular or not, lives in the courtyard Charlie will show you later. They made alcoves and corners into beds, and you might be able to rotate sharing a cot. You will be together, and both of you will have plenty of friends. I believe there is even another child close to Doris' age."
The sentence trailed into more of a question as he glanced at Charlie, and the girl nodded a quick affirmative as she placed the block they used as a booster seat in one chair. "Arty is about three. He will love a playmate." She thought for a moment. "Jacob might not, though."
Mrs. Hudson allowed her laugh to escape. "Only because Jacob remembers how much trouble two toddlers can find together."
"Probably," Charlie agreed, but she looked at Jackson instead of continuing. "Com'on. Doris can sit here. Can she use a spoon and fork, yet?"
"Big girl!"
Jackson chuckled faintly, one smooth motion lowering Doris to the floor. "Yes, you are a big girl, Doris." He helped her climb to the chair before he looked at Charlie. "Kinda. I have her beginner's spoon that she uses most of the time, but we're still working on a fork. I'll shred the meat. She likes eating roast with her hands, anyway."
"Warm 'n sticky!"
"Pest." Two hands under her arms scooted her further into the seat, and he helped her adjust to reach the table. He had been parenting her for a while. "Big girls use a fork instead of their hands."
Her frown looked more like a pout. "But…warm 'n sticky!"
"You just like playing with your food," he said with a smile. "Again, pest."
He tapped her nose, making it wrinkle as she giggled, but she said nothing else as he took the seat next to her. A still-wary gaze focused on Mrs. Hudson when she carried the food toward the table.
"Thank you, ma'am," he said quietly.
"No problem at all," she assured him, setting the meat platter directly in front of his chair, mashed potatoes off to one side. "We like having company, don't we, Doctor?"
"Certainly, and you picked a good day to join us, Jackson. Mrs. Hudson makes a good roast."
Charlie knew where this was going, and she hid a smirk in her plate as Mrs. Hudson claimed the seat to the doctor's left.
"You should tell Mr. Holmes that."
"I have, many times." He pretended not to notice the way Jackson watched the interaction. "We established long ago that Holmes' taste in food is not only sporadic but strange as well."
Snickers came from where Charlie sat, but Mrs. Hudson kept her attention on the doctor's impish grin. "We did," she agreed, "like how he will go all day without a meal and necessitate cleaning the settee and rugs because he found a tin of sugar biscuits in the spare room."
"I thought adults were supposed to be better than two-year-olds?" Jackson chimed, watching to ensure his comment would be well-received. He gestured to where his sister played with the shredded roast before putting it in her mouth. "Mum made a pie a few weeks ago and left it on the counter. Two minutes later, she found a chair next to the counter and Doris fist-deep in the filling, with more spread over her face, front, and immediate area. She was sticky for days."
"Sticky!" A piece of roast made it to her forehead, and she crossed her eyes trying to look at it before carefully transferring it to her mouth. "Yummy!"
"Doris, wipe the juice off your forehead." He handed her a napkin, and she tried to scowl but clumsily scrubbed at her eyebrows. He smiled, gently directing her hand to the drop of juice.
"You're good with her," Charlie told him around her own bite.
"After two years, I hope so," he replied with mostly feigned irritation. "She has followed me around from the moment she learned how to crawl. I think she's spent more time with me than she did with our parents."
Memory, realization, then grief flickered in his face at the mention, and Mrs. Hudson quickly moved them away from the difficult topic. "Did she at least eat some of the filling instead of spreading it?"
The grief faded. "Some, I think. Her teeth were red from the cherries, but I would not expect a grown-up to do anything similar."
Charlie laughed again, plopping a scoop of potato on her plate. "Mr. Holmes is different from just about any grown-up you'll ever meet." She paused to swallow. "He's really smart and a great detective. Even the highest Yarders come to him with difficult cases, but he'll also eat an entire tin of biscuits in one sitting before complaining that he gave himself a stomachache. There are some days I swear he's a little kid in a grown-up's body."
Doctor Watson grinned widely. "I've told him as much. He grumbled something about not wanting to grow up."
"He would," Charlie said with a huff. "He decided he liked blanket forts after you made that one for Aiden. He claimed he was experimenting with shadows and heat retainment when I caught him."
Mischief sparked in the doctor's gaze, announcing he would be using that against Mr. Holmes at some point, but he directed them back to the original topic. "You are always welcome here, Jackson, whether for a meal, company, or something else."
"What'd I tell you?" Charlie announced around a large bite. Her pointed glance referenced a discussion on the way here, and the corners of Jackson's mouth rose as he nodded.
She could guess what they had discussed, but he did not specify, and conversation moved to other things. Time slipped by, spent watching two young children each devour a plate of meat, the older occasionally helping the younger. Jackson relaxed more and more over the meal, revealing a witty sense of humor that had all of them laughing multiple times, and Doris showed off being a "big girl" when Jackson dished her some potatoes and handed her a beginner's spoon from his pack. After the meal, Jackson's surprised pleasure matched Doris' squeal of happiness in intensity, if not volume, when sugar biscuits landed on their plates, and she sat back to watch the crumbs explode.
If an "excess of ingredients" could produce such large smiles, she would continue having random days with such "extra." The sight of so many happy children was payment enough.
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