A Christmas Promise (5 page)

She blinked, staring back at him. “’ow’ll I know if yer do?”

“Because I shall send a message to you in Heneage Street.”

“Oh. Thank you…Mr. … Balthasar.”

G
racie completed her work as soon as possible, knowing she was skimping, and telling herself she would make a better job of it tomorrow. As soon as the cleaning looked finished, at the quickest glance, no rubbing fingers over things to make
sure, she wrapped herself up in her heavy brown wool shawl. Tying it tight under her chin so it was thick and lumpy to keep the rain out, she raced into the street holding her head down against the wind and the sleet. She knew the way to Minnie Maude’s house even without having to look, never mind ask, and she was there inside ten minutes.

She stopped well short of the house itself. She was a little bit in awe of Aunt Bertha, and she definitely did not want to encounter Stan again. Although since he was a hansom cabbie and it was a bitter day just short of Christmas, there should have been any amount of trade for him in the streets a little farther west, so he was unlikely to be home.

Still she waited, shivering in a doorway opposite, holding her shawl tighter and tighter around her, in spite of the fact that it was wet most of the way through. Eventually she saw Minnie Maude opening the door. She stepped out, her pale, little
face bleak, looking one way and then another as if perhaps Charlie might come down the cobbles, in spite of all reason.

“Stupid little article!” Gracie said savagely to herself. “’e in’t comin’ ’ome!” She found her own voice choking, and was angry. It wasn’t her donkey! She’d never even seen him.

She moved out of the doorway and marched across the uneven road, her boots sloshing in the puddles where stones were missing and the water had collected.

Minnie Maude saw her immediately, and her face brightened into a wide smile.

Gracie’s heart sank. She could do nothing to justify it. She waited while Minnie Maude went back inside and then barely a moment later opened the door again and came clattering across the road.

“Yer find out summink?” she said eagerly, her eyes bright.

Gracie hated it. “Nuffink for certain sure,” she
replied. “But I told a wise man about it, an’ ’e thinks as there could be summink bad. ’e said ter leave it alone.”

Minnie Maude’s eyes never left Gracie’s. “But we in’t goin’ ter …”

Gracie shivered. The wind was cutting down the street like a knife.

“Come up inter the stable,” Minnie Maude said quickly. “It’s warm in there, up where the pigeons are. Anyway, I gotta feed them, since Uncle Alf in’t ’ere anymore.” There was only a slight quiver in her voice, and she turned away from Gracie to hide the look on her face. Because she concealed it, it was even more telling.

Gracie followed her back across the street, tugging at her shawl to keep it around her shoulders. They went around and in through the back gate, then across the cobbles to the stable door. This was where Charlie had lived, and Gracie stared at the rough brick walls and the straw piled on the floor. She noticed that Minnie Maude walked
through so quickly that she could hardly have seen anything but a blur of familiar shapes.

In the next tiny room, half-filled with hay, a rough ladder was propped up against the edge of the loft, and Minnie Maude hitched up her skirts and scrambled up it. “C’mon,” she invited encouragingly. “I’ll ’old the top fer yer.” And as soon as she reached the ledge of the upper floor, she rolled over sideways and then knelt, gripping the two uprights of the ladder and hanging on to them. She peered down at Gracie, waiting for her.

Wondering where her wits had gone to, Gracie grasped her skirts halfway up her legs and climbed up, hanging on desperately with her other hand. She reached the top white-knuckled and cursing under her breath. Some days she doubted she still had the sense she was born with.

“Careful!” Minnie Maude warned a trifle sharply as Gracie swayed. “Yer don’ wanna tip it off. We’d ’ave ter jump, and there in’t nuffink ter land on.”

Gracie clung on desperately, feeling her head whirl and her stomach knot. She said nothing, concentrating fiercely on what she was doing. She couldn’t let Minnie Maude see how scared she was. Minnie Maude would lose all trust in her. She took a deep breath and drew herself up onto the ledge, teetering for a moment, her legs in the air, then scrambled forward and fell flat on her face. She sat up, trying to look as if nothing at all had happened.

“’is name was Mr. Balthasar,” she said solemnly.

There was a kind of whir of wings and a clatter as a pigeon burst through the narrow entrance in the roof and landed on the wood. Minnie Maude ignored it. Gracie felt her heart nearly burst out of her chest.

“Did ’e say as summink ’ad ’appened ter Uncle Alf?” Minnie Maude asked.

“’e di’n’t rightly know,” Gracie said honestly. “But ’e reckoned as it were bad, cos o’ them takin’ the cart, an’ all.” She lowered her voice. “Minnie
Maude, ’e said as ’e thought the golden box were a casket, an’ could be summink really important, an’ mebbe that’s why Uncle Alf were killed. ’e said as we shouldn’t go on lookin’ fer it, in case we get ’urt as well.”

“But wot about Charlie?” Minnie Maude asked.

“’e said as donkeys are useful, so they’ll prob’ly look after ’im, feed ’im, an’ give ’im somewhere ter stay.” She remembered Mr. Balthasar’s face as he had said it, the dark, sad look in his eyes. She had seen that look before. He did not mean it. He had said it to comfort her. Now she was saying it again, to comfort Minnie Maude.

Minnie Maude stared in front of her. “’s all right,” she said quietly. “Yer don’t ’ave ter look fer Charlie. I un’erstand.”

“I di’n’t say I weren’t gonna look fer ’im!” Gracie retorted with indignation. “I’m jus’ tellin’ yer wot ’e said!”

Minnie Maude raised her eyes very slowly, bright with hope.

Gracie could have kicked herself, but there was no escape. “We gotta think fast,” she warned.

“It’s cold,” Minnie Maude replied, as if it were the natural thing to say. “Let’s go over inter the ’ay.” And without waiting for agreement, she tucked her skirt up again and crawled back into the dark, rich-smelling crowded space in the corner. She went into it headfirst, then swiveled around, and a moment later her face appeared and she smiled encouragingly, a long wisp of hay behind her ear.

Gracie had no dignified choice but to follow her. She tucked her skirts up also and crawled across the space to the bales, then pushed her way in, twisted around, and sat down. It was prickly, but it smelled nice, and it brought back dim memories of the past, of being in the country, long ago. She imagined in time it would be quite warm where they were, compared with the stone floor below.

“Summink really important,” Minnie Maude said thoughtfully. “S’pose it would ’ave ter be, ter
put it in a casket, an’ all.” She sat motionless, her eyes very wide. “D’yer think it’s magic?”

“What?”

“Magic,” Minnie Maude repeated, her voice hushed with awe.

“Wotever put that inter yer ’ead, yer daft little article?” Gracie demanded. “In’t no such thing.” Then the minute she had said it, she wished she hadn’t. Minnie Maude was only eight. Gracie should have let her have a year or two more of dreams.

“There’s Christmas,” Minnie Maude whispered, her eyes brimming with tears.

Gracie struggled desperately to retrieve the loss. “That in’t magic,” she answered. “That’s… that’s God. It’s diff’rent.”

Minnie Maude blushed. “Is it?”

“Course it is.” Gracie’s mind was whirling like the wind.

Minnie Maude waited, staring at her.

“Magic don’t ’ave rules,” Gracie explained. “An’
bad people can do it as well as good. It in’t always nice. Wot God does is always nice, even if it don’t look much like it at the time.”

“’ow d’yer know?” Minnie Maude asked reasonably.

Gracie was not going to be careful this time. “I dunno,” she admitted. “I jus’ know.”

“Is it an ’oly casket?” Minnie Maude asked her.

“Wot would an ’oly casket be doin’ out in the street fer a rag an’ bone man ter pick up?” Gracie tried to put the conversation back into some kind of reality.

“Jesus were born in a stable,” Minnie Maude pointed out. “Like wot we’re in.”

“This is a dovecote,” Gracie replied.

“It’s a stable downstairs, cos Charlie lived in it.” Minnie Maude sniffed.

Gracie felt an overwhelming helplessness. She longed to be able to comfort Minnie Maude, but did not know how to. “Yer right,” she agreed, avoiding Minnie Maude’s eyes. “I forgot that.”

“Mebbe it’s a present?” Minnie Maude went on. “Mr. Balthasar’s a wise man. Yer said so. It could a got stole, an’ that’s why ’e knows about it. ’e said it were bad, I mean real bad. Ter steal from God, in’t that about as bad as yer can be?”

Her logic was faultless. Gracie felt a chill run through her, as if some inner part of her had been touched by ice. She hugged her arms closer around her, and the pigeons cooing seemed louder, as though the birds too were afraid.

“We gotta get it back,” Minnie Maude said, moving a little closer to Gracie. “Mebbe Christmas won’t ’appen if we don’t—”

“Course it’ll ’appen!” Gracie said instantly, her voice sharp, too positive.

“Will it?” Minnie Maude whispered. “Yer sure? Even if it were stole by someone wicked? I mean not just bad, but terrible … like …the devil?”

Gracie had no opinion on that. It was something she had not even thought of. It was a child’s imagination, and she was old enough to face the
real problems in the world, like cold and hunger, illness, and how to pay for things. She had grown out of fairies and goblins a long time ago, about the time when she’d left the country and had come to live in London. But Minnie Maude was years younger, a child still. Her neck was so pale and slender it was surprising it could hold her head up, and not all her teeth were fully grown in. She believed in magic, good and bad, and in miracles. It would be like breaking a dream to tell her differently.

“Yeah,” Gracie answered, her fingers crossed under the hay, where Minnie Maude couldn’t see them. “But if ’ooever took it is real bad, then we gotta be careful. We gotta think ’ard before we do anyfink daft.”

“If they’re real bad, they might ’urt Charlie,” Minnie Maude said with a wobble in her voice.

“Wot for? A sick donkey in’t no use. Bad in’t the same as stupid.” Gracie said it with far more conviction than she felt. She had to add something
else quickly, before Minnie Maude had time to argue. “If Uncle Alf took the box wot’s a casket, Mr. Balthasar said, then wot did ’e do with it?”

“Nuffink,” Minnie Maude answered straightaway. “They come after ’im an’ took it.”

“Then why’d they kill ’im?” Gracie said reasonably. “An’ why take Charlie and the cart? That’s stupid. Then they got a dead body, an’ a donkey an’ a cart wot’s stole. Fer what?” She shook her head with increasing conviction. “They di’n’t find the gold box, or they’d a left the cart. They took Charlie cos they ’ad ter take the cart an’ they couldn’t pull it without ’im.”

“Why’d they kill Uncle Alf? ’e should a jus’ give it back ter ’em.”

“I dunno. Mebbe they di’n’t mean ter,” Gracie suggested. “Mebbe ’e argued wif ’em, cos ’e wanted ter keep it.”

Minnie Maude shook her head. “’e weren’t like that. Less, o’ course, ’e knew as they were wicked?” Minnie Maude blinked. “D’yer reckon as
’e knew? ’e were wise. ’e knew when people told the truth an’ when they was lyin’, even strangers. An’ ’e could tell the time, an’ wot the weather were gonna do.”

Gracie had no idea. She tried to visualize Uncle Alf from what Minnie Maude had told her, and all she could see was a man with white hair and blue eyes who liked to make children laugh, who did a favor for Jimmy Quick, and who kept his donkey in a warm stable that smelled of hay—and pigeons. What kind of person understood evil? Good people? Wise people? People who had faced it and come out hurt but had ultimately survived?

“Mebbe,” she said at length. “If ’e ’ad it, an’ ’e knew wot it were, then wot’d ’e do wif it?”

Minnie Maude thought about it for so long that Gracie had just about decided she was not going to answer, when finally she did. “’e ’ad a special place where ’e put secret things. We could look there. If ’e got ’ome wif it, ’e’d a put it there.”

Gracie thought it unlikely that poor Alf had
ever reached his home, but it would be silly not to at least try. There might be something else that would give them a clue.

Minnie Maude stood up and went back to the ladder.

Gracie’s stomach clenched at the thought of going down it again. It would be even worse than going up. She watched Minnie Maude’s hands on the uprights. She was holding on, but her knuckles were not white. She moved as easily as if it were a perfectly ordinary staircase. Gracie would have to do the same. If Minnie Maude knew she was afraid, how could the little girl have any confidence in her? How could she feel any better, and believe Gracie could fight real evil, if she couldn’t even go backward down a rickety ladder?

“Are yer comin’?” Minnie Maude called from the stable floor.

There was a flurry of wings, and another pigeon landed and strutted across the floor, looking at Gracie curiously.