Kim

Pie

 

James looked at the tray in front of him, there was a whole piece of chicken on the plate, it didn’t look like it had been touched at all. He licked his lips, his tongue remaining between his teeth as he quickly glanced left and right up the corridor weighing it up. One way stood the big oak door, the other, there were stone steps leading downwards. He’d get into so much trouble if he was caught, but who was going to tell on him, there was noone there to witness. The footmen were hardly going to tell Mrs Drew even if they did see, they were not going to comment that the family had left some of her cooking, she’d accuse them of insolence and they were almost as scared of her as he was. She was sharp and her voice could penetrate the solid stone walls when she was giving someone a telling off downstairs. He picked up the piece of chicken from the plate between his fingers. It was cold now but his mouth began watering and his belly gurgled in anticipation. He lifted it to his nose and inhaled the scent of the buttery garlic sauce which clung to it. His belly gave another rumble, audible this time. “shhh!” he whispered to his navel. He knew he was supposed to just bring the trays down the steps to the scullery for washing up, but they wasted so much food here. They ate course after course and barely touched some of them. It would be hours before he got to sit down to his meagre bowl of stew, prepared by the kitchen maid. She was nicer than Mrs Drew, but by far the inferior cook. He glanced once more down the corridor before stuffing the chicken in his mouth and chewing quickly, it was glorious, the best thing he had tasted, possibly ever. The garlic danced on his tongue, the butter stuck to the roof of his mouth as the chicken melted between his teeth, but there was no time to savour it, he swallowed it before thoroughly chewing like a scavenging dog. The soft chicken suddenly felt like a pebble in his throat. Now he began to panic, it was a massive risk he was taking to be caught chewing in the corridor. Mrs Drew’s voice in his head booming ‘you’ll be heading for the workhouse boy!!’ He’d been working there for two years and she still refused to remember he had a name.

The chicken felt nice in his empty stomach, he’d been working so hard he’d not had any lunch and he’d eaten his breakfast before the sun had come up this morning. He grabbed the gilded handles of the tray and carried the now empty plates down the stone steps to the kitchens. The steps were worn in the middle from hundreds of years of feet just like his, scurrying up and down. He hurried, realising he had taken longer than he should have to collect them. He realised he was now more hungry than he had been before the chicken, how was that possible! That delicious morsel had awoken all the juices in his stomach and they were now gurgling and scrabbling around looking for more, threatening to dissolve his stomach. He turned to shoulder open the heavy wooden door with his hands full and shuffled into the kitchen. He was assaulted by a heavenly smell of apples and cinnamon. He could see the remains of a spectacular apple pie on the large oak table.  The family had evidently been served, there was one single slice remaining. He carried the tray over to the sinks and put them in the side. The maids didn’t even acknowledge him. There had to be some advantages to being almost invisible, he thought. He could smell the sweet sugar and caramelised butter in the pastry. As he edged closer to the table, hypnotized by the egg wash glaze glinting to him, whispering directly to his stomach. His mouth was so full of saliva he had to wipe his lips on his sleeve to stop a trail of drool escaping down his face. Just then there was a loud crash and a scream which continued. He glanced round behind him. One of the maids was frozen in fear. She had dropped a pan of hot water over another one who was screaming on the terracotta floor clutching her scolded arm. Mrs Drew marched across the room, her skirts swishing. She was shouting and cursing ‘you’ll both be in the workhouse if you have damaged that pan!’

There were scuffles and tapping of polished black shoes on the tiles all around him as the other people rushed to assist or came closer for a better look. James eyed the pie, a sliver of apple slid slowly down into the pie dish, glistening. It was beconning with its finger seductively.

Acting on impulse and taking advantage of the chaos all around, he grabbed the pie dish and ran for the courtyard door. He ran into the darkness clutching his prize. Ducking behind the coal shed he crouched listening… he hadn’t been followed. The pie was still warm and the aroma was heady, he couldn’t resist, he dived into the sticky substance with his dirty fingers and shovelled it into his mouth. The sweetness was alien to his tastebuds from his limited diet. The spicy cinnamon danced on his tongue and the buttery flaky pastry melted from crisp to smooth. He sighed with his eyes closed savouring the moment, this was worth risking the workhouse for!