Chrimble Pie

CHRIMBLE PIE

The town of Fumbleton lay sparkling under a December frost which rimed each rooftop and glittered on the windowsills. The quaint old shops in the High Street displayed their wares for all to see and buy, much like the ladies in Tumbledown Street.

A young girl in a bright green dress and red felt tippet trotted from shop to shop, her blue eyes sparkling with the jollity she felt in being so close to Christmas.

She paused before the august exterior of Duckit and Fodge, the biggest olde shoppe in the town; she paused for a moment as if plucking up courage, took a deep breath, expanded her bosom and walked in through the main door.

Dillie was wide-eyed as she entered the old shoppe covered in holly and ivy. She brushed it off and fumbled in her reticule.

A middle-aged man in a fawn frock coat stared at her from atop a ladder as he tried to hook a rubber duck from the top shelf where it lay among a pile of magazines,

“Who be you, my little charmer?”

“My name is Dillie Doyley, an it please you, sir.”

She placed her pince-nez in position, squealing only slightly at the pinch and smiled,

“I’ve come about the position advertised in the Fumbleton Chronicle.”

“Ah, I’ve been looking for a girl like you to fill my position. My name is Mr Tuckitin and I run this establishment.”

“I’m sure I’m well qualified. I have experience of whatnots and curiosities, and I’m well able to polish and sell.”

“Sounds good to me. The wage is three farthings a week all in.”

“All in?”

“Yes, there’s only one room upstairs so we’re all in one bed.”

“I’m not sure about that,” Dillie demurred, but covered it with a cough, “Maybe I could have a mattress down here, behind the counter.”

Mr Tuckitin descended from his ladder and looked her straight in the décolletage,

“Very well, then - doesn’t bother me how you earn extra cash. Be here at six o’clock sharp tomorrow morning and I’ll outline your duties; then I’ll tell you what to do.”

Dillie tripped out of the shop with a light heart. After mopping the blood from her nose she continued on her way.

All the town was gay in readiness for Christmas and Dillie smiled at the assortment of soldiers and sailors with all their handsome friends who frequented the local hostelries, “The Bold Huzzah”, and “Madame Frufru’s”. How happy they all looked, even those who seemed to be somewhat sparsely dressed for the time of year.

She turned suddenly at the sound of a familiar voice,

“Dillie, girl, what are you doing in this neck of the woods?”

“Billy! My dear brother, I’ve been to get myself a Christmas job.”

“What a coincidence! I’ve been getting a Christmas goose.”

“Is it a big one? Will you be able to stuff it?”

“All taken care of, believe me, sis. So where’s this job of yours?”

“At Duckit and Fodge’s Olde Shoppe; I’m to be the new assistant and have my own mattress behind the counter.”

“What a coincidence! I’m doing something similar at “The Bold Huzzah”. Are you going to pop in with me for a quick Egg Nog?”

“No, I must get home to Auntie Maud. I promised we’d decorate the privy tonight. She was going to do it herself, but she’s got all behind.”

“Tell her I’ll be home later and not to put holly on the seat this year.”

And with that Billy disappeared back into the public house with a swish of his pink frock coat.

Mrs Grumblebub wasn’t a happy woman. All day long she had been knotting the sausages and her hands were numb with cold.

A stentorian voice boomed from the chopping room,

“Are them sausages ready yet? Only the bacon’s waiting here and I need to get them Pigs in Blankets done before tomorrow!”

Mrs Grumblebub threw a black look at the doorway,

“Cor blimey! Mr Merkin, a woman can only handle so many sausages in one day, and I’ve got a home to go to!”

“Just remember I pay by the yard and don’t think I’ll be tipping you extra for what’s not there.”

“I don’t want ye to tip me at all; you’ve done it before and there’s nothing to it.”

Mrs Grumblebub pulled her shawl tighter around her and got her head down ready so the butcher wouldn’t think she was slacking. Why couldn’t she find a job that was easier on the back?

“If you get them all done before tonight, there’s a black pudding in it for you.”

The old lady grinned, betraying a sad, but sometimes useful, lack of teeth,

“In for a penny, in for a pound – at least Christmas has some consolations.”

Dillie put down the candle and lit it so she could read until her Aunt came home. She must have had a long shift at the butcher’s, being this late of an evening.

She sighed a long sigh and decided to fiddle with the greenery instead. Before long she had woven a mistletoe wreath for the door and decked the hall with a bough of holly.

“Hey ho! Time for bed as I must be up betimes for my new job in the morning.”

The next day dawned bright, but not so early as it was December, and the aisles of Duckit and Fodge echoed to the calls of a brightly clad youth with short blond hair in leather breeches,

“Uncle Bob! Uncle Bob! The delivery man is here with the ribbons.”

“Tell him they don’t suit him and to unload round the back as usual.”

“He already has done, uncle, I saw to that. I’m just dealing with the new stock now. Shall I put the kettle on?”

“What a fine idea, Pip my boy, a cup of tea before the customers come a-rushing in for their Christmas finery and fripperies.”

The shop bell tinkled merrily as Dillie entered the emporium,

“Good morning, Mr Tuckitin! I’m ready to begin whatever you want me to do.”

“Get behind the counter and be ready to serve, then girl, and no slacking.”

“I’ve never been slack yet, sir, and I don’t intend that I ever should.”

“Tell me that when you’re forty-five!”

Pip came up behind her with a squeak of his breeches,

“Would you like a cup of tea and a chocolate finger?”

“Just the tea will do, thank you. I’m not ready for a finger this early in the morning.”

The morning passed as mornings do with the clock telling the time and customers coming in and out. Soon Dillie was well into the swing of things and a little weary from all the serving.

Just as she was about to go for lunch the door flew open and the shop bell rang imperiously. There stood a tall young lady dressed all in mauve with a large muff. She adjusted her dress and spoke,

“You’re new here, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am, just begun today, I did,” said Dillie as a blush tinged her cheeks and she made a mental note not to stand quite so near the wood stove.

Mr Tuckitin hurried forward,

“My lady, what an honour to see you grace my olde shoppe with your presence.”

“I haven’t got any yet. That’s what I’ve come for – presents.”

“Please feel free to browse.”

The lady turned her deep green eyes away from him, declaring,

“I’ll have the young lady to serve me, if you don’t mind. You men are all very well, but you never really understand a woman’s needs.”

“Very good, my lady, I shall leave you in Dillie’s capable hands.”

An hour, four pairs of bloomers, three corsets, two pairs of high heels and a partridge in a pear tree later (Lady Agnes de Futtle was very traditional that way) and Dillie was wrapping all the purchases with gusto.

“I’d rather you use wrapping paper and ribbon, if that’s all the same to you, my dear.”

“Certainly, my lady. Now is there anything else you’d like?”

“Well, I could do with a bit of Chrimble Pie. I always have some at this time of year. Do you think you could provide me with some?”

“I’m not quite sure, my lady. I don’t think I know what it is.”

“My dear, you have only to look about you. When you’re ready with the pie, come up to Futtle hall so I can have a munch for Christmas. Adieu.”

And with that Lady Agnes swept from the shop, pausing only to leave the broom by the door as she left.

“You’ve certainly made an impression there, Dillie,” remarked Mr Tuckitin, thoughtfully.

“Yes, indeed,” added his nephew, furiously Dubbin-ing as he spoke.

“But, Mr Tuckitins both,” exclaimed Dillie, “I really have no idea what this Chrimble Pie is she speaks of and wants me to bring to Futtle Hall. How on earth shall I satisfy my lady when I am completely ignorant?”

“If I were you, I’d ask around. “The Bold Huzzah” might be the place to start,” said Pip.

“You know the “Huzzah”? My brother Billy works there as a pot boy and carol singer.”

“Oh, yes, I know Carol the singer. He’s very good. I especially like his version of “While Shepherds Watched” – most stimulating,” Pip ejaculated.

Dillie looked askance at Pip, but decided he must have had a little too much egg nog in the back room. She continued thoughtfully,

“I shall go to see Billy on my way home from work this evening and see if he can clear up the mystery, then I can be sure to give my lady the pie she likes to munch on at Christmas.”

Mrs Grumblebub wished Christmas well and truly over; she’d had enough of stuffing.

Why couldn’t customers make their own, then she wouldn’t be up to her elbows in sage and onion all day, like today?

She’d finished the sausage knotting late last night, getting home well after her niece was abed and having to decorate the privy alone, whereas on previous Christmases they had had the fun of doing it together. But then Dillie was no longer a child and was now out in the wide world, much as her brother Billy who had seemed to grow up all too quick and now spent so much time with the lads at the tavern.

She did give thanks that they were both in gainful employment at this time of year, even if Billy did spend so much on silks and satins and yet never seemed to have a decent shirt.

Then she spied Mr Merkin’s red cheeks round the door,

“Oh, Mrs Grumblebub, while you’ve got a minute, just stuff this for me, will you.”

She sighed and put on a new rubber glove. A woman’s work was never done.

“Oh, sis, don’t bother me now. I’m on in five minutes.”

“Billy, I didn’t know they did pantomime here. Are you playing Widow Twankey?”

“No, Dillie. I’m Carol the singer. I do a spot full of Christmas songs and carols; it’s a tradition down here at the ‘Huzzah’.”

“Ah, dear brother, I love Christmas and all the dressing up. Maybe I should dress up as a boy to join in the fun.”

“If you want to do that you’d better go round for a gin at “The Whistling Chough”, the ladies there love that sort of thing.”

“Maybe I shall. And by the way, do you know what Chrimble Pie is? Only Lady Agnes de Futtle wants one for Christmas and I’ve to take it round on Christmas Eve so she can have a festive nibble.”

“Hmm, can’t say it’s something I’m familiar with; pork sword’s more in my line.”

“Now that’s something I’ve never had. Is it tasty?”

“Depends on who you get it from. Are you staying for my act?”

“Oh, yes, I love a good singalong.”

Dillie couldn’t remember when she’d last had such a good evening. All the folk in “The Bold Huzzah” seemed to spend their time laughing and carousing. She suspected the carousing was a little excessive because so many of them had to keep nipping out the back.

She was so busy enjoying herself that she forgot to pay a visit to “The Whistling Chough” and only remembered later when she was sitting with her cocoa at home.

Her aunt looked at her over her tatting,

“Didn’t Billy come home with you?”

“No, Aunt Maud, he said he was going out on a mission. I think he must be doing something for the militia.”

“He should take a job with them; he spends so much time at the barracks.”

“I think he may be doing some secret service, for he’s always very tight-lipped about what he does there.”

“He could do worse, for it is a respectable calling. I wouldn’t be ashamed to see him in a company of such bold, handsome men.”

“Aunt Maud, do you know anything about Chrimble Pie?”

“No, my dear, I can’t say it’s anything I’ve ever meddled with. Would you like me to ask Mr Merkin tomorrow? Although we shall be ever so busy, it being Christmas Eve and all.”

“No, it’s alright. I’ll ask a few of the customers at the shoppe in the morning. I do hope I find out, only I would hate to go to Lady Agnes with nothing to offer her.”

Dillie tossed and turned all night, racking her brain to think of the answer, but despite a feverish night she could come up with nothing.

Christmas Eve held the promise of more customers and a flurry of sales at Duckit and Fodge, and Pip was busy handling the merchandise,

“I’ve finished with the knobkerries, Uncle; shall I make a start on the sporrans for New Year?”

“No, Pip, I’d rather you help Dirk with his dirk; he’s in the changing room waiting.”

“Does he still tuck it down his sock?”

“Yes, but he needs a hand and his age, he can’t reach like he used to.”

Another merry tinkle came from the shoppe bell and in strode Billy Doyley, resplendent in new puce overcoat and eau-de-nil breeches,

“Aye, aye, Pip, lad. Another gay night at the ‘Huzzah’ last night.”

“It was fun, I have to admit. And such larks with the militia.”

Mr Tuckitin twinkled at them, but they pretended not to notice,

“You boys never stop enjoying yourselves; I don’t know how you have the energy!”

“It’s a gift, Mr Tuckitin. Time for a noggin, Pip?”

“I can’t just now, Billy, I’ve got to help a client with his dirk; it’s very short and he can’t reach it without help.”

“Good luck with that. Is Dillie around?”

“I’ve just sent her up to Futtle Hall. Sadly, she doesn’t have what Lady Agnes wanted.”

Billy grinned,

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that, Mr Tuckitin. I nipped into “The Whistling Chough” to see if I could help her out, and from what I found out there, I think she’s got just the thing Lady Agnes is looking for.”

Dillie stood before the door of Futtle Hall, her hand poised above the knocker.

Before she could grasp it, the door opened slowly and an elderly female retainer stood before her.

“And what might I do for you, young miss, with your hand poised on my knocker?”

“Sorry, you opened the door before I was expecting. Is my lady Agnes de Futtle at home?”

“Ah, you’re the likely lass she was a-talking about! Come in, my lady is in the kitchen. It’s where she likes to have her Chrimble Pie.”

“But I don’t –“

“Speak me no speeches, I pray you; my lady will have what she wishes, don’t you doubt it. Now follow me.”

Dillie diligently followed the elderly retainer down the corridor, a flight of steps and through a heavy oaken door. As she stepped into the kitchen she was met by the smell of mulled wine and haddock.

“Come in, my dear. So, you’ve brought me my Chrimble Pie?” beamed Lady Agnes.

The elderly retainer withdrew with a sniff.

Dillie looked deep into the green eyes and could not help herself blurting out,

“I’m afraid not, my lady. No matter how I tried, I just couldn’t find out what it was.”

Lady Agnes smiled beatifically and moved towards the nervous young girl,

“Never mind, I have everything I need here now. I’ll show you all about Chrimble Pie and by the time I’ve finished I’m sure you’ll want to eat it as much as I do.

My fingers are very nimble, see, and I already have one here ready and hot. I’ll just guide your hands and we can enjoy Chrimble Pie together, here on the kitchen table.”

And, of a sudden, Dillie was overcome by the spirit of Christmas, and from then on she never looked back.

A merry and gay Christmas to you, one and all.