Christmas Story 1b/2
Title: Carrington Gale and Blakeney Barclay's Christmas Adventures
Fandom: Original fic, inspired by PG Wodehouse
Characters: Carrington Gale, Blakeney Barclay, Sylvia Dickinson
Pairing: none
Rating: G
Warnings: none at the moment, really. Pre-slash, although its one-sided
Summary: Carrington Gale and Blakeney Barclay's first Christmas together.
12 December
Mr Gale invited some of his friends from his club over for supper.
'What's on the menu, Barclay?' inquired Mr Gale, as I tied his white bow tie.
'Winter Squash soup, salad, a fruit and cheese platter, French style green beans, potatoes, mashed, a roast and gingerbread, sir,' I replied, brushing off the back of his dinner jacket.
***
Mr Gale's dinner party was a success. Laughter was heard from all, and bread and pieces of gingerbread flew through the air. While I cleared away the table, Mr Gale led his friends into the sitting room. I joined them shortly to pour their after-dinner drinks.
I was washing the supper dishes. A lively Christmas tune came from the piano. Loud, drunken singing accompanied the music. I went into the sitting room to investigate. As I had suspected, Mr Gale was playing at his piano and singing a rendition of We Wish You a Merry Christmas that he no doubt had learned at one of London's many music halls. His friends were singing along-some quite out of tune.
'Barclay! Come join us!' called Mr Gale, cheerfully.
'Pardon me for saying so, sir, but isn't it time for your guests to be leaving?' I asked.
'Perhaps you're right,' said Mr Gale, reluctantly, 'see you tomorrow, everyone!'
Mr Gale's friends groaned collectively, but they began to head to the front cupboard to collect their outerwear.
***
23 December
I accompanied Mr Gale as he did his Christmas shopping. We had began our journey back to Albemarle Street, when Mr Gale decided he wanted to get scones from a nearby bakery. When we entered, the baker was turning away a woman.
'Come back when you have enough money!'
The woman gathered up her coins from the counter and exited the bakery, tears in her tired eyes. Mr Gale handed me a handful of paper notes.
'Buy as much bread as you can carry and meet me outside,' he murmured, as he turned to follow the woman.
***
After I left the bakery, I saw Mr Gale standing beside the building with the woman and talking animatedly to her five children.
'Your bread, Mr Gale,' I said.
Mr Gale took some of the loaves and handed them to the woman.
'Give the rest to the children, Barclay!'
The woman politely tried to refuse, but Mr Gale insisted. The woman had tears in her eyes again, but this time, they were tears of gratitude.
'Thank 'ou, sir. Bless ya,' she said.
Mr Gale waved her off.
'It's nothing,' he said.
***
'You're staring, Barclay. Why are you staring?' Mr Gale asked, once the woman and her children were gone.
'That was extremely generous of you, sir,' I told him.
'It's Christmas, Barclay!' he answered, 'the least I could do is make sure that family has bread.'
I was touched by this act of goodwill on Mr Gale's part. Perhaps, I was being unfair to him by likening his enthusiasm and good humour to that of a child.
***
3 January
Mr Gale and I had returned to our flat, after spending the holidays in Shropshire with his Great-Aunt Sylvia and Great-Uncle Seamus.
'Before you start unpacking, Barclay, I want to play you something.'
Mr Gale sat at his piano, and instead of one of his usual spirited melodies, he played a piece by Chopin.
'Merry Christmas, Barclay. This was your present. I hope its to your liking.'
He gave me a nervous glance.
'Yes, thank you, sir,' I replied, 'you played beautifully.'
Mr Gale grinned widely.
Perhaps I'd have to change my mind on this particular holiday.
Fandom: Original fic, inspired by PG Wodehouse
Characters: Carrington Gale, Blakeney Barclay, Sylvia Dickinson
Pairing: none
Rating: G
Warnings: none at the moment, really. Pre-slash, although its one-sided
Summary: Carrington Gale and Blakeney Barclay's first Christmas together.
12 December
Mr Gale invited some of his friends from his club over for supper.
'What's on the menu, Barclay?' inquired Mr Gale, as I tied his white bow tie.
'Winter Squash soup, salad, a fruit and cheese platter, French style green beans, potatoes, mashed, a roast and gingerbread, sir,' I replied, brushing off the back of his dinner jacket.
***
Mr Gale's dinner party was a success. Laughter was heard from all, and bread and pieces of gingerbread flew through the air. While I cleared away the table, Mr Gale led his friends into the sitting room. I joined them shortly to pour their after-dinner drinks.
I was washing the supper dishes. A lively Christmas tune came from the piano. Loud, drunken singing accompanied the music. I went into the sitting room to investigate. As I had suspected, Mr Gale was playing at his piano and singing a rendition of We Wish You a Merry Christmas that he no doubt had learned at one of London's many music halls. His friends were singing along-some quite out of tune.
'Barclay! Come join us!' called Mr Gale, cheerfully.
'Pardon me for saying so, sir, but isn't it time for your guests to be leaving?' I asked.
'Perhaps you're right,' said Mr Gale, reluctantly, 'see you tomorrow, everyone!'
Mr Gale's friends groaned collectively, but they began to head to the front cupboard to collect their outerwear.
***
23 December
I accompanied Mr Gale as he did his Christmas shopping. We had began our journey back to Albemarle Street, when Mr Gale decided he wanted to get scones from a nearby bakery. When we entered, the baker was turning away a woman.
'Come back when you have enough money!'
The woman gathered up her coins from the counter and exited the bakery, tears in her tired eyes. Mr Gale handed me a handful of paper notes.
'Buy as much bread as you can carry and meet me outside,' he murmured, as he turned to follow the woman.
***
After I left the bakery, I saw Mr Gale standing beside the building with the woman and talking animatedly to her five children.
'Your bread, Mr Gale,' I said.
Mr Gale took some of the loaves and handed them to the woman.
'Give the rest to the children, Barclay!'
The woman politely tried to refuse, but Mr Gale insisted. The woman had tears in her eyes again, but this time, they were tears of gratitude.
'Thank 'ou, sir. Bless ya,' she said.
Mr Gale waved her off.
'It's nothing,' he said.
***
'You're staring, Barclay. Why are you staring?' Mr Gale asked, once the woman and her children were gone.
'That was extremely generous of you, sir,' I told him.
'It's Christmas, Barclay!' he answered, 'the least I could do is make sure that family has bread.'
I was touched by this act of goodwill on Mr Gale's part. Perhaps, I was being unfair to him by likening his enthusiasm and good humour to that of a child.
***
3 January
Mr Gale and I had returned to our flat, after spending the holidays in Shropshire with his Great-Aunt Sylvia and Great-Uncle Seamus.
'Before you start unpacking, Barclay, I want to play you something.'
Mr Gale sat at his piano, and instead of one of his usual spirited melodies, he played a piece by Chopin.
'Merry Christmas, Barclay. This was your present. I hope its to your liking.'
He gave me a nervous glance.
'Yes, thank you, sir,' I replied, 'you played beautifully.'
Mr Gale grinned widely.
Perhaps I'd have to change my mind on this particular holiday.