A Christmas Promise (6 page)

“Yeah,” Gracie answered, and gritted her teeth. Tucking her skirt up, she went down the steps with barely a hesitation.

“This way,” Minnie Maude said, and started across the floor, kicking the straw out of the way with her scuffed boots. There was a half archway leading into another room where bales of straw were stacked on one side, and harnesses hung on hooks on the wall on the other side.

“They’re extra,” Minnie Maude said, swallowing back a sudden rush of tears. “Yer always need extra pieces, in case summink gets broke. Charlie’ll ’ave the real harness on ’im.”

Gracie looked at the worn leather, the old brasses polished thin, the rings, buckles, and bits, and felt the overwhelming loss wash over her. These were like the clothes of a person who was missing, maybe even hurt or dead. She stared at the objects, trying to think of something to say, and she noticed the scars on the whitewash of the wall. It looked as if somebody had banged against
it, and then drawn something sharp for a couple of inches, digging into the stone. The white of the lime covering it was cut through and flaking.

She turned slowly. Minnie Maude was staring at it too.

Gracie’s eyes went to the floor. It was flat cement, uneven, half-covered now with loose pieces of hay from the bales. There were more scuff marks, scratches, and brown stains, as if something wet had been spilled, and then stood in. Whatever it was had been smeared. Perhaps someone had slipped.

“Gracie…,” Minnie Maude whispered, putting out her hand. “Summink bad ’appened ’ere.”

She was cold when Gracie touched her. Gracie meant to hold Minnie Maude’s hand gently, but found she was gripping, squashing Minnie Maude’s thin little fingers. It did not even occur to her to lie. This was not the time or the place for it.

“I know.” She thought of telling her that it
might not have been Charlie’s blood, but it didn’t need saying. Somebody had been hurt here.

“Gold’s precious,” Minnie Maude went on. “Lot o’ money. But it must a bin more ’n that, eh?”

“Yeah,” Gracie agreed. “Summink inside it.”

“A present for God?”

“Mebbe.”

“Wot d’yer give God, then? In’t ’e already got everyfink’?” Minnie Maude asked.

Gracie shook her head. “I dunno. Mebbe it in’t fer ’im.”

Minnie Maude’s eyes widened. “I never thought o’ that. Wot d’yer think it could be?”

“It must be summink very precious,” Gracie replied. “And I think we gotta find it.”

“Yeah.” Minnie Maude nodded vigorously. “We ’ave.”

Minnie Maude turned toward the door just as it flew open and Stan strode in, broad, bowlegged, his face twisted with anger.

“Wot yer doin’ in ’ere, missie?” he demanded of Minnie Maude. Then, swinging around to Gracie, he said, “An’ you don’t belong ’ere neither! Leave! Out of ’ere!” He waved his arms as though to force them out.

Minnie Maude stood as if frozen.

“Go on!” Stan shouted. “In’t yer got no chores ter do, yer lazy little girl? Think yer ’ere fer us ter feed yer gob while yer sit ’ere in the ’ay day-dreamin’?”

Minnie Maude started to say something, then saw his hand swinging wide to clip her round the side of the head, and ducked out of his way. She turned to stare at Gracie. “C’mon!” she warned, making for the door, and escape.

Gracie wanted to stay and argue, but she knew better. There was an anger in Stan’s face that was deeper than mere temper. There was a shadow of fear in it also, and she knew that people who were frightened were dangerous. Something very bad indeed had happened in this place, and the taste
of it put wings on her feet. She veered sideways and shot past his outstretched hand, through the open door, and down the path to the alleyway.

Through the back gate she nearly bumped into Minnie Maude.

“Yer all right?” Minnie Maude asked anxiously.

“Yeah.” Gracie pushed her hair back and straightened her rumpled skirt, then picked a few pieces of hay from her shawl.

“Wot are we gonna do?” Minnie Maude asked.

Gracie felt as if she were jumping into a fast, icy river. The only thing worse would be being left on the bank.

“We’re gonna find out exactly where Uncle Alf went the day ’e were killed,” she answered, as if that had been her decision all along.

“’ow are we gonna do that?”

“We’re gonna ask Jimmy Quick wot way ’e went, an’ then foller it an’ find out ’oo saw Uncle Alf the same way. They might know, cos of it bein’ someone diff’rent than Jimmy.”

“Then wot?” Minnie Maude’s eyes did not flicker an instant.

Gracie’s mind raced. “Then we’ll find out where ’e were killed, exact like, an’ ’oo ’e saw, an’ ’oo ’e di’n’t.”

Minnie Maude gulped. “Then we’ll know ’oo killed ’im?”

The thought was enormous, and terrifying. Suddenly it did not seem so clever at all. In fact it seemed the depth of stupidity. “No we won’t,” Gracie said sharply. “We’ll just know where ’e might a picked up the casket … an’ o’ course where ’e couldn’t’ve, since ’e in’t bin there yet.”

Minnie Maude looked hopeful. “We’ll go and see Jimmy Quick.” She squinted up at the sky. “We could get there now, but ’e won’t be ’ome yet.”

Gracie was more concerned with thinking of a good reason to go back to ask Jimmy Quick about the route he took, so they could explain why they asked.

“Wot’s the matter?” Minnie Maude demanded, the fear back in her voice.

“Nuffink,” Gracie said immediately, wondering why she was suddenly putting off telling the truth. “Jus’ planning wot ter say, cos why we want ter know? Jimmy Quick in’t silly. ’e’s gonna ask. We gotta ’ave summink ter say as could be true.”

“We wanna know w’ere me Uncle Alf died,” Minnie Maude said, watching Gracie carefully. “I’m gonna put a flower there.”

“’ave yer got one?” Gracie said reasonably. “I got twopence. We could buy some …if yer like?”

Minnie Maude nodded. “Thank yer. That’s …” She searched for a word for the complicated emotion. “Good,” she finished, unsatisfied.

Gracie smiled at her, and suddenly Minnie Maude beamed back, her whole face lit with gratitude. They had a plan.

“We’ll go ter see Jimmy Quick this evening,” Gracie said decisively. “If we wait till termorrer,
’e’ll mebbe take us, an’ we don’t want ’im ter, cos we need ter ask questions it’s better as ’e don’t know.”

Minnie Maude nodded vigorously.

“I’ll meet yer ’ere, at ’alf past lights on,” Gracie went on. She looked up at the lamppost just above where they stood. “Watch for the lamplighter. ’e’s usually reg’lar. Yer wait, if I in’t ’ere right away.”

Minnie Maude nodded again.

G
racie continued with her duties for the day, missing some out and working double speed at others. She tried not to think of the wild promises she had made to Minnie Maude Mudway. She must have lost all the sense she’d ever had! Now she was scrubbing the kitchen bench, lye stinging her hands, fingers wet and cold. The sleet outside was turning to snow, everyone else was thinking of Christmas, and she was planning to go and ask a
rag and bone man what his route was, so she could look for the people who had murdered Alf Mudway for a casket! Oh—and the real purpose of the whole thing was to find a donkey, who was probably as right as rain somewhere else, and not sparing them a thought in its head. If donkeys had thoughts.

Then on the other hand, he might be wandering around alone, lost, scared stiff, knowing his master was dead, because he had seen it happen. He could be shivering, wet and frightened, not knowing what to do about it—and hungry. She imagined him, standing in the dark and the rain, ears down, tail down, slowly getting wetter and wetter. She really didn’t have any choice.

Added to which, if she didn’t help, then Minnie Maude would go off and do it on her own. Gracie knew that without doubt, because Minnie Maude was only eight, and had no idea what she was doing. And Aunt Bertha didn’t care. Somebody had to look after Minnie Maude, just like Minnie Maude had to look after Charlie. Some things
couldn’t be helped, no matter how daft they were, and how much you knew better.

Which is why she kept running out at the back to see if the lamplighter had been yet, and when she saw the light in the distance, she lied to her gran that she had promised old Mrs. Dampier to run an errand for her. Mrs. Dampier never remembered anything, so she wouldn’t know. Gracie slipped out of the kitchen into the rain before she could answer the inevitable questions.

Minnie Maude was waiting for her, standing huddled in the shadows, her shawl wrapped around her head and shoulders, skirts flapping damply in the gusty wind, boots soaked. But her face lit with happiness when she saw Gracie, and she darted out of the shelter of the wall and fell in step beside her without giving her time to hesitate or say anything more than “’ello.”

“’e’ll be ’ome now,” Minnie Maude said, skipping a step to match her stride with Gracie’s. “’avin’ ’is tea. We’ll ask ’im.”

They walked in silence, their feet echoing on the cobbles. The snow had almost stopped, and it was beginning to freeze hard in the few places where it lay. It was wise to watch for icy patches, so as not to slip. Most of the lamps were lit, and there was a yellow warmth to them, like lighted windows to some palace of the mind. There was a slight fog rising, muffling the sound of distant wheels, and every now and then the mournful bellow of a foghorn sounded somewhere down on the river.

There wasn’t much to show that Christmas was only a couple of days away, just the occasional wreath of leaves on a door, some with bright berries; or someone passing by singing a snatch of a song, happy and lilting, not the usual bawdy version of the latest from the music halls. In daylight, of course, there might have been a barrel organ, but this was far too late.

They reached Jimmy Quick’s gate and made their way across the yard carefully to avoid the
clutter, not wanting either to knock anything over or to bash their shins on a crate or old chair.

Jimmy was not pleased to see them. He stood in the doorway, looking immense, with the kitchen candles wavering in the draft behind him and making his shadow loom and bend.

“What d’yer want now, Minnie Maude? Yer get-tin’ ter be a nuisance,” he said angrily. “I can’t tell yer nothin’, ’ceptin’ I’m sorry Alf’s dead. I dunno wot ’appened ter ’im. I only know it in’t my fault, an’ yer can come as many times as yer like, it still in’t. I don’t owe yer a bleeding thing!”

“Course,” Minnie Maude said generously. Standing behind her, Gracie could see that she was shaking, but she kept her eyes on Jimmy’s. “I jus’ wanted ter ask yer wot way yer goes, so I can find the place ’e died, exact like.”

“Wot for?” he said with amazement. “’e’s dead, girl. Goin’ starin’ at a place in’t gonna change nothin’.”

Minnie Maude took a deep breath. “I know that. But I wanter put a flower there. ’e should a bin with us for Christmas,” she added.

Jimmy Quick swore under his breath. “Yer don’t never let go, do yer? I already told yer where ’e were found. Yer got ’oles in yer ’ead, yer don’t remember? ’e were in Richard Street, like I said.”

Minnie Maude was temporarily speechless.

Jimmy stepped back to close the door.

“’ow d’yer get there?” Gracie asked him.

“Yer ’ere an’ all?” He peered at her as if, in the shadows, he had not seen her. “Why d’yer care?”

Gracie decided to attack. “Look at ’er!” she told him angrily. “Size of ’er. She’d make a twopenny rabbit look good. Can’t go an’ leave ’er ter do it on ’er own, can I? She in’t got no ma, ’er aunt Bertha don’t wanna know—she’s got ’er own griefs—an’ Stan wouldn’t throw a bucket o’ water on ’er if she were on fire, let alone take ’er ter Richard Street. Alf were all she ’ad. Wot’s the matter wif yer?
Can’t yer jus’ tell ’er which way ter go?” She scowled as if she found him highly suspicious. “Summink wrong wif it, then?”

“Course there in’t, yer daft little girl,” he said sharply, then he rattled off a list of streets, and she closed her eyes, concentrating on remembering them, before she looked back at him and thanked him. Then she grabbed Minnie Maude by the hand and retreated into the darkness and the jumble of the yard, pulling Minnie Maude with her. She was not ready to speak yet. She needed to concentrate on memorizing the streets, before they went out of her head. She wished she could write, then they could be kept safe longer. She could bring them back anytime she wanted—days from now, weeks even. One day she would learn, then she’d be able to keep every idea that mattered, forever. That would be like owning the whole world! You could always have people talking to you, telling you their dreams, their ideas. She would do it, absolutely definitely—one day.

She repeated the street names one more time, then turned to Minnie Maude.

“We’ll go termorrer,” she told her. “You say the streets over an’ over, too, case I forget.”

“I got ’em.” Minnie Maude nodded. “When termorrer?”

Gracie started to walk briskly back toward their own streets, Minnie Maude’s first, then hers. They were facing the wind now, and it was colder. “Termorrer,” she said.