December 13: Personal Favorites
From Wordwielder - The Irregulars have an argument.
A small brazier recently lit behind Delano's was the only indication that Wiggen's troop of irregulars were starting to congregate for the evening. The children, wild and unruly as they were, had their own internal code of discipline, which was strictly (even ruthlessly) enforced. They had to keep their location behind the deli neat and secure, safe from intruders, vermin, thieves, street predators – and other gangs. If they did this, and helped "Kind Sammy" whenever they could, they were assured of a place to camp out with a modicum of safety, security, and shelter from the elements. Sammy even provided them with bread, cheese, some meat, and apples, when there was no other food to be found elsewhere, at or below cost. All in all, it was a most ideal arrangement.
As the feeble light that passed for daytime in mid December quickly faded, the temperature dropped. The little fire provided not only warmth, but also the only light they had. Orange light flashed and leapt against the walls of the little shelter which protected the children from the rain, casting fantastic, ghostly shadows, and towering shadows made from the bodies of small children. The more senior children were experts at a game called 'Battle Giants,' where each person used their shadow to fight other shadows on the wall, with points given for creativity.
This evening, conversation naturally drifted to the upcoming Christmas celebration, and the food Mrs. Hudson would prepare for them. Three years earlier, the strict, no nonsense landlady of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson had unexpectedly provided a Christmas feast for the irregulars – to their surprise, joy, and eternal gratitude. Roast goose, honey baked ham, mashed potatoes, honey spiced carrots, Brussels sprouts, assorted breads and gravies made up the main meal. But it was the desserts: cake, plum pudding, mince pie, apple pie, and three types of Christmas biscuits (along with her famous holiday shortbread), which most delighted the children. In anticipation of the feast this year, the troop was engaged in a passionate discussion about which desserts were their personal favorites.
"The plum pudding and the chocolate cake, to be sure!" said Wiggins. He had been present at both of the previous feasts, and had the additional advantage of being associated with Sherlock Holmes the longest. Therefore, he had also known Mrs. Hudson longer – and had sampled her breads, pies, and sweet biscuits more often than all of them. "Don't get me wrong. Her biscuits are the very best, and her pies are amazing. But when the good lady makes a pudding or a cake…" Wiggins closed his eyes, and twisted his face in a caricature of gastronomic rapture.
"It's got to be her pies," especially her apple and blueberry", said Ally. "Nothing like them in the whole world!"
"What's blueberry?" asked Red Willy. Willy was only seven years old and had just joined the group four months before.
"It's a little round, sweet berry, and it's… blue. It tastes 'blue' I guess." This from Big Paul, the oldest and longest serving lieutenant besides Wiggins himself. "It tastes like summer."
"I like her apple pie" Willy replied with sincerity. "She let me have two pieces once!"
"Lucky sod!" said Stevie Adams.
Albert Pete had a rare moment of inspiration. "Let's vote on the dessert we like the best. Maybe Wiggins can let Doctor Watson know, and the Doc can tell Mrs. Hudson. Wouldn't that be grand!"
The idea proved satisfactory, or at least entertaining enough to distract the children from the cold. Several voting groups quickly formed; the pie lovers, who thought that mince and apple were ideal; the cake lovers: who wanted to try Mrs. Hudson's chocolate cake for the first time, and her spice cake as well; the plum pudding lovers: who wanted lots of pudding "because plum pudding means Christmas." A few, swept away with the utter grandeur of the very idea of several desserts at once, wanted a little bit of everything. The only thing they could agree on, at least in principle, was lots of Christmas biscuits of all sorts. This became an especially attractive proposition when Wiggins reminded them that biscuits were the one dessert Mrs. Hudson tended to make enough of, such that the children had some to take away for later.
The discussion gradually became more heated to the point where Wiggins had to put a stop to it. He realized they weren't really going to solve anything, and that calling someone a "cake headed ninny" wasn't going to get the group anywhere but resentment and bad feelings. He also was just old enough to now understand that the Mrs. Hudson's of their world were exceedingly rare – and very precious. The last thing he wanted to do was to have any of his tribe appear too greedy, grasping, or unappreciative of the kind woman's good nature. He also had one thing none of the others did not. He could well remember a time when any irregular, himself most of all, was not welcome at Mrs. Hudson's front door – or her back one either. Things had come a long way indeed over almost five years.
It was only after Mr. Holmes patiently explained the value of the irregulars to his work, and Mrs. Hudson herself got to understand their loyalty and dedication to her troublesome tenant, that she began to relent, even if it was only a little. Then there was the Scofield kidnapping case, when the two missing young boys had been found safe and unharmed, largely due to the irregulars' dogged pursuit of the Anderson Brothers' Gang. Mrs. Hudson had cried when Holmes and Watson had come home bloodied but triumphant that Friday night. She knew well that Wiggins, Paul, and Stevie's troop had not only led Holmes and Watson to the captured children's location but had also managed to alert Inspector Lestrade in time to prevent 'her boys upstairs' from receiving life altering injuries.
"Mates, this arguing is getting us nowhere," Wiggins flatly announced. "We can't be presenting ourselves to our good Mrs. H like this! She'll be thinking we're ungrateful, and greedy – wanting too much. Just be remembering that we have Sammy, Mr. Holmes, the Doctor, Mrs. Hudson, Pete Willers at the bakery, and Father McCormack's people at the Catholic Mission House. That's our family support. It's all we have. The mission house will give us soup, stew, bread, and cheese some days, but nothing fancy like. Sammy and Pete give us bread. But only Mrs. Hudson puts on a real feed – treats us like regular people. Treats us like she treats Mr. Holmes and Doctor Watson." He paused, realizing to his sudden shock and surprise how emotional he was getting. "We have got to love and be grateful for the ones who show us kindness. There's a whole city out there, millions of people, who only want to kick our arses to the curb…"
The group fell silent, except for some murmurings and guilty whispers. "I guess my good suggestion weren't so good after all," said Albert Pete. "Sorry. Didn't mean to be causing no dissent or disrespect to the good missus."
"We're all guilty," said Ally sadly. "We just got carried away like."
"Will Mrs. Hudson still love us?" asked Willy in a small, scared voice. "We got no ones else." He suddenly looked only his very few years old – far too young to be living out in the urban wilds of London.
"Of course she will!" said Ally gently, pulling the boy in for a hug.
"Never forget. We have each other!" Wiggins declared. He felt their normally amicable gathering had taken a dark turn, and he was eager to reaffirm the bonds of loyalty and brotherhood that kept them all together – and which helped keep the terrors of the streets at arm's length.
"We's gots each other's backs, always and forever!" said Albert Pete.
Wiggins put a few more pieces of packing crate scrap wood into the brazier and stirred it up with an iron stair rod. "Speaking of the good Mrs. Hudson, I believe Ally has got some news about her trips to the shops with Dr. Watson. With luck, we're close to finding her the perfect gift. Why don't you update everyone."
"Do you want more cheese?" Ally offered the last of her cheese to Willy, who took it gratefully. "I think we've got the perfect thing. It's a brooch, in the shape of a sun. Very exotic. Dr. Watson calls it a 'starburst.' It's got a big garnet in the middle…"
"What's a garnet?" asked Willy.
All animosity faded away as the children eagerly gathered closer to the fire to listen.
(The end.)
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