Anne Perry - A Christmas Promise

Stan was shaking, but he kept his eyes on the toff, never once turning to look at Balthasar behind him. “An’ ’e’ll kill me if I do,” he said. “’e di’n’t never want ter be seen. I ’ave ter leave it where ’e can watch me put it, then go, so ’e can creep out an’ get it in private, like. Only that damn’ Alf did Jimmy Quick’s route all arse about-face, an’ took it before ’e could come out.”

“Yes, I had deduced that,” Balthasar answered.

A slight wind blew through the open doors, and the lantern light wavered again.

“Give it to me, or I’ll kill the girl!” the toff said more sharply. His patience was paper-thin, the pain of need twisting inside him.

“Then you will have nothing to bargain with!” Balthasar snapped, his voice the crack of a whip. “Stanley has the box, and he will give it to you.”

The toff’s eyes shifted from one man to the other, hope and desperation equally balanced.

The silence was so intense that Gracie could hear the horses moving restlessly in the stalls at the far side of the partition, and somewhere up in the loft there was the scrabble of clawed feet.

They waited.

Gracie stared at Minnie Maude, willing her to trust, and stay still.

Stan’s eyes were fixed on the toff. “If I give it yer, ’ow do I know yer’ll let ’er go?”

“You know I’ll kill her if you don’t,” the toff replied.

“Then yer’ll never get it, an’ yer can’t live without it, can yer!” Stan was jeering now, had become ugly, derisive, as if that knowledge gave him some kind of mastery.

The toff’s body was shaking, the skin of his face gray and sheened with sweat where the lantern light caught him. He took a step forward.

Stan wavered, then stood his ground.

Minnie Maude whimpered in terror. She knew the toff was mad with need, and she had no doubt he would kill her, perhaps by accident if not intentionally.

“Give it to him,” Balthasar ordered. “It is of no use to you, except to sell. There is your market standing in front of you. If he kills Minnie Maude, you can never go home! Have you thought of that? You will be a fugitive for the rest of your life. Believe me, I will see to it.”

Something in his tone drove into Stan’s mind like a needle to the bone. His shoulders relaxed as if he had surrendered, and he turned away from the toff toward the nearest bale of straw. He pushed his hand into it in a hole no one else could see, and pulled out a metal box about eight inches long and four inches deep. Even in the dim and wavering light the gold gleamed on the finely wrought scrollwork, the small fretted inlays, and the elaborate clasp. Gracie had never seen anything so beautiful. If it wasn’t a gift for the Christ child, it should have been.

The toff’s eyes widened. Then he hurled himself at it, his hands out like claws, tearing at Stan, kicking, gouging, and butting at him with his head, top hat rolling away on the floor.

Stan let out a cry of fury, and his heavy arms circled the man, bright blood spurting from Stan’s nose onto the man’s pale hair. They rocked back and forth, gasping and grunting, both locked onto the golden casket.

Then with a bellow of rage Stan arched his back, lifted the toff right off his feet, whirled him sideways, and slammed him down again as hard as he could. There was a crack, like dry wood, and the toff lay perfectly still.

Very slowly Stan straightened up and turned not to Minnie Maude but to Balthasar. “I ’ad ter do it! You saw that, di’n’t yer.” It was a demand, not a question. “’e were gonna kill us all.” When Balthasar did not answer, Stan turned to Minnie Maude. “’e’d a killed you, an’ all, fer sure.”

Minnie Maude ran past him, evading his outstretched arms, and threw herself at Gracie, clinging on to her so hard it hurt.

It was a pain Gracie welcomed. If it had not hurt, it might not have been real.

“Yer stupid little article!” she said to her savagely. “Why di’n’t yer wait fer me?”

“Just wanted to find Charlie,” Minnie Maude whispered.

“I ’ad ter!” Stan shouted.

“Possibly,” Balthasar replied with chill. “Possibly not.” He held out his hand. “You will give me the casket.”

Stan’s face hardened with suspicion. He looked at Balthasar, then at Gracie and Minnie Maude standing holding on to each other.

“Like that, is it? Give it ter you, or you’ll kill both of ’em, eh? Or worse? Do wot yer bleedin’ want ter. I don’ need two little girls. Blood’s on yer ’ands.” There was almost a leer on his face. “I should a known that’s wot you were. Thought for a moment you was after saving Minnie Maude. More fool me.”

Could that really be what Balthasar had wanted all the time—the gold casket, and the poisonous dreams inside it?

Balthasar looked at Stan as if he had oozed up out of the gutter. “I will give the opium back to those who gave it to you,” he replied icily. “To save your life—not because you deserve it, but it is still a life. I will tell them it was not your fault, you are incompetent, not dishonest. You would be well advised not to seek them out again. In fact, it would be to your advantage if they did not remember your name, or the place where you live.”

Stan stood with his mouth open, halfway between a gape and a sneer.

“As for the casket,” Balthasar continued, “I shall give that to Gracie and Minnie Maude. I think they have earned it, and its owner no longer has any use for it.” He glanced down at the toff, his face gaunt, oddly vacant now, as if his tortured spirit had left it behind.

“If you go immediately,” Balthasar went on, still speaking to Stan, “you may not be found to blame for this, and the police do not need to know that you were here. Nor do the gentlemen who deal in opium.”

“’ow do I know I can trust yer?” Stan asked, but the belligerence was gone from his face and he spoke quietly, as though he would have liked an answer he could cling on to, one to save his pride.

“You don’t,” Balthasar said simply. “But when the police do not trouble you, and you never see or hear from the opium dealers again, you will know then.”

Stan gave him the casket.

Balthasar opened it very carefully, but there was no secret catch to it, no needles to prick or poison. Inside was a fine silk bag full of powder, which he took. He put it into the pocket on the inside of his coat. Then he examined the box carefully, blew away any suggestion of powder or dust from every part of it, and wiped it with his handkerchief. He held it out to Gracie.

“I know that all you wanted was to save Minnie Maude, but I think you have earned this. You and Minnie Maude will decide what is best to do with it. But it is very precious. Do not show it to people or they may take it, although it has nothing inside it now.”

Gracie reached out slowly, afraid to touch it, afraid even more to hold it in her hands.

“Take it,” he repeated.

She shook her head, putting the tip of one finger gently on the shining surface. It was smooth, and not really cold. “It shouldn’t be fer me,” she said huskily.

“What would you like to do with it?” he asked.

“When I first ’eard about it, I thought it were a present—cos it’s Christmas. Yer know—like wot the Wise Men brought for Jesus.”

“Gold for the king, because He is king of all of us,” he agreed. “Frankincense because He is priest, and myrrh because He is the sacrifice that redeems all of us from the death of the soul. Is that what you would like to do with it?”

She nodded. “Yeah. But I don’t know ’ow. An’ it’s empty.”

“Christ will know what it cost you to get it,” he told her. “And it doesn’t matter a great deal where you go. Christmas is everywhere. But I do know of a place where some people are holding a very special Christmas Eve party, with a nativity scene. I can’t take you, because I have to get rid of this poison, back to the people who own it, before they find Stan and take their price in his blood. But I can show you the direction to go.”