Breakfast

…some work in progress from the Cazique of Poyais story…

With the noise that Mrs. Pevershem was making throughout the building and the lack of real beds, it was impossible to oversleep past what she had defined as daybreak.  It felt very early to all three, though that was partially down to the exhaustion caused by the events of the previous day.  Gathering their things, as few as they were, they made their way down to the front room, where they supposed Mrs. Pevershem might be.

They creaked down the stairs making certain that Mrs. Pevershem would know of their presence and yet she was no where to be seen when they arrived into the front room.  Jose half expected her to be hiding behind a curtain or plant pot, so duly walked around the room poking his nose around to see what was what.  Mrs. Pevershem was not present in any of Jose’s imagined hiding places.  The poking bore some fruit in terms of knowledge however as he saw a letter on Mrs. Pevershem’s desk from Sam to MacGregor offering his banking services, though it was dated some five years pervious.  Presumably it had meant to be found.  Before he could pick it up and ask Noemi and Emma what they thought, Mrs. Pevershem burst into the room, in her own gliding manner and shouted, “What are you doing poking about in here you lot of thieves!?  This is my office and the sitting room.  Breakfast isn’t served here.  I told you as much last night, but you don’t listen.  No one listens.”

“I don’t think you said that,” barbed Noemi in return.

“Do you want something to eat or not, thief?”

“Why do you call us thieves?  I think we made it pretty clear yesterday, and so did your employer, that we were nothing of the sort.”

“Oh really?  Well, what was your man there going to do with that piece of paper?  Either he was going to steal the thing or at least he was going to steal the the information contained in it.  Steal equals thief in my book.  Now do you want that food.”

They all shrugged, appreciating her blunt logical to a certain degree, but with stomach’s ruling to current roost, it was telepathically decided that it was best to leave this particular debate for another time and get to the business of eating.  Mrs. Pevershem understood all too well and so about faced and marched them all down the hall, behind where the stairs up  stood to a smaller set of down stairs that lead to the lower ground and the kitchen.  The space was somewhat under dressed as was the rest of the house that they had seen.  All of essentials of a kitchen where there including stove and ovens, with a island table in the middle of the room that looks much like a great butchers block.  It was where Mrs. Pevershem directed them to stand.  There were no stools or seats at 11 Fox Lane’s kitchen.

Nearly everything in Fox Lane could be criticised, at least what they had all seen up to this point.  The food however, could not be criticised.  Mrs. Pevershem made it out to be nothing of anything special.  There is chance that it wasn’t purely objectively so.  Objectivity doesn’t matter much when it comes to food though.  Each person experiences the same meal differently.  What you have previously eaten, how you feel, your mood and a host of other factors will all effect how your taste buds react and send their signals to your brain on a given day for a given meal.  Emma, Noemi and Jose had spent months eating hard tac and other such delicacies of the seafarer’s cupboard, so the softly boiled eggs, doorstop bread, butter and smoked kippers were a delight to the senses.

Nodding vigorously whilst consuming this and their morning tea, they left Mrs. Pevershem unsure of how to react.  It was her natural state to be upset rather than pleasantly surprised. They hadn’t even complained about the lack of stools, they were so hungry and pleased.  This displeased Mrs. Pevershem.  Were they too low to even care.  She smiled at herself, knowing she could always turn a good situation around to allow her to be grumpy at it.  The thought centred her as she made her way around the table topping up teas for the final time.

After their feast, all stood around the table, wishing very much that there were now stools or chairs of some description to sit on.  Though any ideas of having a relaxing period in which to digest their food were quickly rectified by Mrs. Pevershem.

“There’s a door on this level.  Gather your things and off on your errands, thieves.”

“Err, good-bye then,” Emma and Jose said in turn before gathering their things.

“Not quite the send off I had hoped for Mrs. Pevershem.  Nonetheless, thank you for your hospitality.  It was quite a relief after the time and journey that we’ve had,” Noemi added, feeling that there was no need to be angry with the woman.  Maybe they would find their way back here and there was no sense in creating an enemy.  At least, no sense in creating a worse enemy.

Mrs. Pevershem corralled the three out through the lower ground entrance and spat them out onto the street.  As she closed the door she breathed a small sigh of relief.  It was nice to get back to one’s own business.

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