Anne Perry - A Christmas Promise

Everyone seemed busy about their own business, buying and selling to get ready for Christmas. People were talking about geese, puddings, red candles and berries, spices and wine or ale, happy things, once-a-year sort of things to celebrate. There were no church bells ringing now, but Gracie could hear them in her mind: wild, joyful—there for everyone, rich or poor, freezing or warm beside a fire.

They just weren’t there for Alf, or for lost donkeys by themselves in the rain, and hungry.

It was late and heavy with dusk when they found the roasted-chestnut stand, on Lower Chapman Street. The brazier was gleaming red and warm, sending out the smell of coals burning.

“’e’d a stopped ’ere,” Minnie Maude said with certainty. “If ’e’d a come this way. ’e loved chestnuts.”

Gracie loved them too, but she had already spent too much. Still, they had to ask.

“Please, mister,” Gracie said, going right up to the stand. “Did yer see the rag an’ bone man three days ago, ’oo weren’t Jimmy Quick? ’e were Uncle Alf, an’ ’e did Jimmy’s round for ’im that day, cos Jimmy asked ’im ter. D’yer see ’im?”

“’im wot died? Yeah, I saw ’im. Why?” The man’s face reflected a sudden sadness, even in the waning light.

“’e were me uncle,” Minnie Maude told him. “I wanna know w’ere ’e died, so I can put a flower there.”

The man shook his head. “I know w’ere ’e died, but I’d leave it alone, if I was you.”

Suddenly Gracie’s attention was keen again. “Why? D’yer reckon summink ’appened ter ’im? We gotta know, cos we gotta find Charlie.”

The man’s eyebrows rose. “’oo’s Charlie?”

“’is donkey,” Minnie Maude said quickly. “’e’s missin’, an’ ’e’s all by ’isself. ’e’s lorst.”

The man looked at her, puzzled.

“We can’t ’elp Uncle Alf,” Gracie explained. “But we can find Charlie. Please, mister, wot did Uncle Alf say to yer? Did ’e say anyfink special?”

“Me name’s Cob.” Wordlessly he passed them each a hot freshly cooked chestnut. They both thanked him and ate before he could change his mind.

Then Gracie realized what he had said. Cob! Was this the same Cob that Dora and Jimmy Quick had spoken of that Alf had shown the golden casket to? She swallowed the chestnut and took a deep breath.

“Did ’e tell yer wot ’e’d picked up?” she asked, trying to sound as if it didn’t matter all that much.

“Yeah,” Cob replied, eating a chestnut himself. “’e said as ’e’d got summink real special. Beautiful, it were, a box made o’ gold.” He shrugged. “Course it were likely brass, but all carved, an’ ’e said it were a beautiful shape, like it were made to ’old summink precious. I told ’im no one puts out summink like that. It’d be cheap brass, maybe over tin, but ’e said it were quality. Wouldn’t be shifted. Stubborn as a mule, ’e were.”

Minnie Maude’s face was alight. “’e ’ad it? Yer sure?”

“Course I’m sure. ’e showed it to me. Why? Weren’t it wif ’im when ’e were found?”

“No. ’e were all alone in the street. No cart, no Charlie.”

Cob’s face pinched with sadness. “Poor ol’ Alf.”

“’e di’n’t steal it. It were put out.” Minnie Maude looked at Cob accusingly.

Gracie’s mind was on something more important, and that didn’t fit in with any sense. “But ’oo knew as ’e ’ad it?” she asked, looking gravely at Cob. ’e wouldn’t tell no one, would ’e? Did you say summink?”

Cob flushed. “Course I di’n’t! Not till after ’e were dead, an’ Stan come around askin’. I told ’im cos ’e ’ad a right, same as you.” He addressed this last to Minnie Maude.

“Yer told ’im as Uncle Alf got this box?” Gracie persisted.

“Di’n’t I jus’ say that?” he demanded.

Gracie looked at him more carefully. He wasn’t really lying, but he wasn’t telling the truth either, at least not all of it.

“’oo else?” she said quietly, pulling her mouth into a thin line. “Someone else ’ad ter know.”

Cob shrugged. “There were a tall, thin feller, wif a long nose come by, asked, casual like, after Jimmy Quick. I told ’im it wasn’t Jimmy that day, an’ ’e di’n’t ask no more. Di’n’t say nuffink about a gold box.”

“Thin an’ wot else?” Gracie asked. “Why were ’e lookin’ fer Jimmy Quick?”

“’ow’d I know? ’e weren’t a friend o’ Jimmy’s, cos ’e were a proper toff. Spoke like ’e ’ad a plum in ’is mouth, all very proper, but under it yer could tell ’e were mad as a wet cat, ’e were. Reckon as Jimmy ’ad some trouble comin’.”

“Jimmy, not Uncle Alf?” Gracie persisted.

“That’s wot I said. Yer got cloth ears, girl?”

“Wot else was ’e like?”

“Told yer, tall an’ thin, wif a long nose, an’ a coat that flapped like ’e were some great bird tryin’ ter take off inter the air. An’ eyes like evil ’oles in the back of ’his skull.

Gracie thanked him as politely as she could, and grasping Minnie Maude by the hand, half-dragged her away along the darkening street.

“Were ’e the one?” Minnie Maude asked breathlessly. “The toff wi’ the long nose? Did ’e kill Uncle Alf?”

“Mebbe.” Gracie stepped over the freezing gutter, still pulling Minnie Maude after her.

It was almost fully dark now, and the lamplighter had already been through. The elegant flat-sided lamps glowed like malevolent eyes in the growing mist. Footsteps clattered and then were instantly lost. There was hardly anyone else around. Gracie imagined them all sitting in little rooms, each with a fire, however small, and dreaming of Christmas. For women it might be flowers, or chocolates, or even a nice handkerchief, a new shawl. For men it would be whisky, or if they were very lucky, new boots. For children it would be sweets and homemade toys.

They stopped at the next corner, looking at the street sign, trying to remember if the shape of the letters was familiar. Gracie wasn’t even sure anymore if they were going east or west. One day she was going to know what the letters meant, every one of them, so she could read anything at all, even in a book.

It was then that they heard the footsteps, light and easy, as if whoever made them could walk for miles without ever getting tired. And they were not very far away. Gracie froze. She was thinking of the man Cob had described, tall, with a long nose. That was silly. Why would he be there now? If he had killed Uncle Alf, he must already have the golden casket.

Nevertheless she turned around to stare, and saw the long figure in the gloom as it passed under one of the lamps. For a moment she saw quite clearly the flapping coat, just as Cob had said.

Minnie Maude saw the figure too, and stifled a shriek, clasping her hand over her mouth.

As one, they fled, boots loud on the stones, slipping and clattering, jumping over gutters, swerving around the corner into an even darker alley, then stumbling over loose cobbles, colliding with each other and lurching forward, going faster again.

The alley was a mistake. Gracie crashed into an old man sleeping in a doorway, and he lashed out at her, sending her reeling off balance and all but falling over. Only Minnie Maude’s quick grasp saved her from cracking herself on the pavement.

Still the footsteps were there behind them.

The two girls burst out into the open street again, lamps now seeming almost like daylight, in spite of the thickening swathes of fog. The posts looked like elongated women with shining heads and scarves of mist trailing around their shoulders. The light shone on the wet humps of the cobbles and the flat ice of the gutters. Dark unswept manure lay in the middle of the road.