The Countess

 The Countess of Pudding Lane

By Bob French

I was tired, soaked through, having just ran to the bank to deposit the days takings, and hungry as Scrooge made me do it during my lunch break. All I wanted to do was grab something to eat, dry out and get home to my bedsit and crash but, Scrooge wanted the accounts completed by the evening of Christmas eve. I knew I couldn’t do it in time and meet up with a couple of my friends down at the Rose and Crown, so grumbled to myself again, picked up my pen and started counting.

          “Have you finished with those figures yet?”  His rough sounding voice grated on me.

          “Nearly Sir.  Another ten minutes Sir.”

          He suddenly appeared from behind his curtain and came a round behind me to lean over my shoulder. “Hmm, See if you can get it done by seven.”

          I was really surprised.  “Are you sure Sir, you normally demand that I stay and finish the accounts.”

          “I know, I know, but it is Christmas in the morning and I am feeling kind hearted, so get on with it.”  He then turned and made his way to his cubical, pulling the curtain closed behind him.

          I glanced at the old office clock and noticed that it was nearly seven and I had about ten minutes work left.  I then heard the curtains being pulled aside angrily, and I looked up. Scrooge raised his voice.

          “Well! how much more have you got to do?”

          “About five minutes Sir.”  I lied,

          “Oh, leave it until tomorrow.”

          I suddenly felt relieved, but then realized that tomorrow was Christmas Day. 

          “But Sir, its Christmas day in the morning.”

          “Well then, you had better get a bloody move on.”

          I then realized why he was trying to get out of the office by seven, He must have a date.  God help the poor woman who has to spend the evening with him.

          I then slipped the last sheet of calculations under my accounting book and then looked up to Scrooge. “I’ve finished Sir.”

          “Well done, now leave your desk as it is and go off and enjoy Christmas, but I want you back here on the twenty sixth at seven sharp.”

          “Of course, Sir.”  As I hurried towards the office door, I turned and shouted over my shoulder, “And a merry Christmas to you Sir”

          The rain still had not stopped since lunch time and the thought of going home to a cold room with left-over stale bread and sour wine didn’t appeal to me. Then my curiosity got the better of me, and without thinking I snuck down Old Crompton Road and hid behind some discarded trash and waited for Scrooge to appear.

          Fifteen minutes later I saw him coming out of his office, lock the door, and carefully glance around to make sure that he was not being observed.  He then pulled his cape up to hide his ears and briskly walked down the street.

          It was not difficult to following him until he suddenly turned down Frogmore Street, a road I knew little about.  I kept my distance until he quickly glanced behind, then darted to his left and vanished through a door that had been held quickly open by someone.

          I walked past the black painted door and noticed that the window above the door had a man watching the street.  I knew that if I was to gain access to this obvious secret club, I had to have a disguise similar to old Scrooge.  As I turned away from the club door, I heard a scream, then laughter. So, I carefully approached to where the sounds came from and found a couple who were starting their Christmas celebrations a little early.  I stood in the shadows until things were getting out of hand then casually walked up picked up the woman’s dark brown cape, and vanished back into the shadows.

          It took me just a few minutes to retrace Old Scrooges foot steps, before I was walking down Frogmore Street. I remembered how Old Scrooge had walked down the street and how he lifted his cloak and wrapped it around himself just as he approached the door.  So, as I approached the black door, I threw my cloak over my shoulder and just as I did, the door on my left suddenly opened.  Before I knew where I was, someone had greeted me as ‘brother’ and whisked off my cloak, thrust a mask into my left hand and a glass of something into my right hand.  I was then propelled into a smoke-filled room.  There was music in the background and women of varying ages, mingling, chatting and laughing with the men who were all wearing suites and masks.  Before I could take stock of where I was, a distinguished gentleman, who I recognized as the local circuit judge, and a customer of Scrooge’s, approached me.  He nodded to me and slipped his mask on, so I followed suite.  He then nodded to the back door of the large room. 

          To my surprise, I was met by a waft of warm sweaty air that rushed over me. Before I could customize my surroundings, I was grabbed by a heavily made-up woman who planted a wet drunken kiss on my cheek and spoke loudly at me.

          “Ellow luv, ain’t seen you ear before.  You new then?”

          The mask I had been given was just a bit too big and slipped down over my nose and mouth.  I cursed and rather than give into this woman, I tried to take a sip of my drink, but the two functions were too much for me and I spilt the warm drink down the front of my shirt. Quietly cursing I thanked the old lady and made my way towards the back door. A tall man with jet black hair eased himself in front of me and reached the door before me.  I watched him knock on the door with three nocks, the four nocks.  The door to the room opened just like Aladdin’s cave and I followed the man inside.  It was very dark and the atmosphere stank of stale perfume and drink.  I slowly wandered around the room taking in the small cubicles cordoned off with curtains and judging from the sounds that emanated from behind the curtains, there were things going on that a nineteen year old apprentice should not know about.

          “Can I help you young man?”  The voice was soft and had a local accent.

          “Yes please.  Where can I get a drink?  This stuff burns my tongue.”

          She laughed and took the glass from my hand.  “Follow me.”

          I started to follow her and was pleasantly surprised to see that she had a good figure, and thought I might ask her name.  It took us a good few minutes to get to the front of the bar and the young lady leant forward to speak to one of the bar staff, who once she understood what she was being asked glanced at me, and grinned.

          I had this strange feeling that my next drink was going to be something disgusting.  But to my surprise, it was sweet lemon and water drink.  I took a sip and thanked her. She then ushered me to one of the corners of the room where conversation could be heard.

          “Thank you, that was very kind of you Miss.”

          “Olive, Olive Harrison. I think I know you?”

          “My name is Bob Cratchet, and yes, I think I know you.  Didn’t you work for Mr. Marley?” 

          “Yes, until he passed away.  He was such a nice man.”

          I thought, 'she couldn't be talking about the same man who made my life a hell every time he entered the offices,' surely not!”

          “Oh, do you want another drink?  If you don’t catch the countess as she passes, it may be hours before the bar is clear again.”

          I smiled, “Who is the countess?”

          “The Countess of Pudding Lane,” Olive nodded to the woman who was holding a silver tray with drinks on it.  To my surprise it was old Scrooge dressed up as a woman of the night.  A plan flashed across my mind on how I could force Old Scrooge to give me my pay rise.

          On the 26^th of December I opened the shop at exactly eight o’clock and started to clean out the fire grate.  A few minutes later old man Scrooge came in and I could see that he was suffering a hangover.  I had to make sure my timing was right so pretended to clean out the fire grate.  I could see him stumbling around behind his curtain, so I suddenly pulled back this curtain and spoke to him loudly.

          “Morning Sir, the fire is nearly lit and I have started to boil the water for a nice cup of tea.”

          He grunted, then opened his ledger.  I thought to my self that this was the right time and approached him.

          “Mr Scrooge, before you settle down to work, do you want to discuss my salary?”

          “Not now.  There is too much work to do.”

          Ten minutes later I gently put down his tea.  “There you go Countess of Pudding Lane.”

          The expression on Scrooges face turned white and his hands began to shake.

          “How do you know that?”  His voice grew in volume until he was screaming at me.  “How do you know that!  I demand you tell me.”

          “After we have discussed my wages Sir…”

Copyright Bob French