Hope - Lesley Pearse [95]
The pies she and her friends normally ate were small with only a scraping of meat in them, and the pastry was dull and soggy and as far removed from Slater’s as Lamb Lane was from Briargate. Slater’s pies, four or five inches high, stuffed with high-quality meat and brushed all over with beaten egg, were intended for a big household of ten or twelve people. Hope had seen the old cook at Briargate make similar ones for harvest suppers and parties and they were usually served cold with chutney.
But what Hope wanted today was one of the hot pork pies. She had lain awake last night imagining eating one, till she could almost taste the buttery pastry, feel her teeth sinking into that rich, delectable pork. When she told her friends this morning what she intended to do, Gussie had warned her that few people he knew dared steal in Wine Street because it was so smart. But Hope’s view was that this gave her an advantage because Mr Slater probably wasn’t used to keeping an eye out for opportunists. But what if she was wrong?
It seemed a very good omen that an organ-grinder was playing just along from the pie shop. The man had a little monkey wearing a red jacket and little cap, which jumped up and down to the music. Everyone was stopping to look at him, so Hope didn’t seem out of place lingering by the window of the shop as she kept an eye on Mr Slater.
The wonderful smell of the cooking pies made her drool and her hunger pains came back stronger than ever. Mr Slater was packing four very big game pies into a box and tying it up with string. As she watched, he handed the box to a young lad who was clearly going to deliver it to a customer. He appeared to be cross with the boy as he was wagging a finger at him, perhaps telling him not to dawdle on the way.
The lad came out carrying the box and rushed off down Wine Street, not even pausing to look at the organ-grinder’s monkey. Mr Slater was alone in the shop now, and he was looking at a notebook, as if he had orders to fill.
There were five big pork pies at the end of the display, still steaming from the oven. Mr Slater came to the door and looked out, frowning; Hope thought he was irritated that the organ-grinder was spoiling his trade.
He stood in his doorway for a minute or two, checked his pocket watch, then turned and went straight out of the door at the back of the shop.
Hope’s heart began to race for she knew this was the moment and she had to seize it before any customers came in. Pulling a piece of cloth from around her waist, she took a deep breath and walked in. She deftly put the cloth over the pie nearest to her and scooped it up. But just as she was turning to leave the shop she heard the sound of returning footsteps and rushed out of the door.
She wasn’t quite quick enough, for just as she crossed the threshold she heard Mr Slater cry out, ‘Stop thief!’
Her bowels contracted with fear. She’d seen people running after thieves before and they usually caught them. But though Mr Slater’s cry was loud, the organ outside was louder, and she darted through the crowd clutching the pie closer to her. It was very hot, and she had to use her cloak to keep hold of it. She could smell it, and she was sure everyone she passed by could too.
‘Thief!’ she heard him yell again, louder this time. ‘That girl in the grey cloak, stop her!’
Hope hitched the hot pie into her arms and ran up Wine Street, not even turning her head to see if she was being pursued. She turned into the Pithay, a very narrow lane which ran down to the river Frome. It was the area where most of the second-hand clothes and furniture shops were and the kind of customers they had were far less likely to want to help catch a thief.
But from behind her she could hear hobnailed boots striking out on the cobblestones. She ran like the wind then, her heart thumping so hard and fast with terror she thought it might burst.