Anne Perry - A Christmas Promise

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.

“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.