Anne Perry's Christmas Vigil

by Anne Perry

  The man pursed his lips. “Well ’e were fine when I saw ’im, an’ ’e di’n’t say nuffink.” He hesitated for a moment. “ ’E were late, though, fer this end o’ the way. Jimmy Quick’s round ’ere a couple of hours sooner … at least.”

  “Yer sure?” Gracie asked, puzzled. She did not know if it meant anything, but they had so little to grasp on to that everything could matter.

  “Course I’m sure,” the man replied. “Mebbe ’e were lorst. ’E was goin’ that way.” He pointed. “Or ’e forgot summink an’ went back on ’isself, like.”

  Gracie thanked him, and she and Minnie Maude continued along the way that he had indicated.

  “Wot’s ’e mean?” Minnie Maude said with a frown.

  “I dunno,” Gracie admitted, but she was worried. It was beginning to sound wrong already. Why would anyone change the way he went to pick up old things that people put out, even good things? She tried to keep the anxiety out of her face, but when she glanced sideways at Minnie Maude, she saw the reflection of the same fear in her pinched expression, and the tightness of her shoulders under the shawl.

  A couple of hundred yards farther on they found a girl selling ham sandwiches. She looked tired and cold, and Gracie felt faintly guilty that they had no intention of buying from her, not that they wouldn’t have liked to. The bread looked fresh and crusty, but they had no money to spare for such things.

  “D’yer know Jimmy Quick?” Gracie asked her politely.

  The girl gave a shrug and a smile. “Course I do. Comes by ’ere reg’lar. Why?”

  “Cos me Uncle Alf did it fer ’im three days back,” Minnie Maude put in. “Did yer see ’im?” She forced a smile. “Wot’s yer name?”

  “Florrie,” the girl replied. “Ol’ geezer wi’ white ’air all flying on top o’ ’is ’ead?”

  Minnie Maude smiled, then puckered her lower lip quickly to stop herself from crying. “Yeah, that’s ’im.”

  “ ’E made me laugh. ’E told me a funny story. Silly, it were, but I in’t laughed that ’ard fer ages.” She shook her head.

  “Was ’e goin’ this way?” Gracie pointed back the way they had come. “Or that way?” she turned forward again.

  Florrie considered. “That way,” she said finally, pointing east.

  “Are yer certain?” Gracie said to Florrie. “That’d mean ’e were goin’ backward ter the way Jimmy Quick’d do it. Yer real certain?”

  Florrie was puzzled. “Yeah. ’E come that way, an’ ’e went up there. I watched ’im go, cos ’e made me laugh, an’ ’e were singin’. I were singin’ along wif ’im. A man wif a long coat got sharp wif me cos I weren’t payin’ ’im no ’eed when ’e asked me fer a sandwich.”

  “A man wif a long coat?” Minnie Maude said instantly. “Did ’e go after Uncle Alf?”

  Florrie shook her head. “No. ’E went the other way.”

  “We’ll ’ave a sandwich,” Gracie said quickly, feeling rash and expansive. She fished for a coin and passed it over. Florrie gave her the sandwich, and Gracie took it and carefully tore it in half, giving the other piece to Minnie Maude, who took it and ate it so fast it seemed to disappear from her hands.

  It was much more difficult to find the next person who had seen Alf and Charlie. Twice they got lost, and they were still west of Cannon Street. The wind was getting colder, slicing down the alleys with an edge, like knives on the skin. It found every piece of bare face or neck, no matter how carefully you wound a shawl or how tightly you pulled it. The wind stung the eyes and made them water, spilling tears onto your cheeks, then freezing them.

  Horses and carts passed, with hooves sharp on the ice and harnesses jingling. Shop windows were yellow-bright as the light faded early in the afternoon. It was just about the shortest day, and the lowering sky made it even grayer.

  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 l
ong 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.

  Gracie grabbed at Minnie Maude’s hand and started running again. Any direction would do. She had no idea where she was. It could not be very far from Commercial Road now, and from there she could find Whitechapel Road, and Brick Lane. But this part was so unfamiliar it could have been the other end of London.

  Somewhere down on the river a foghorn let out its mournful cry, as if it were even more lost than they were. Gracie’s breath hurt in her chest, but the footsteps were still there behind them. Minnie Maude was frightened. Gracie could feel it in the desperate grasp of her thin, icy fingers.

  “C’mon,” Gracie said, trying to sound encouraging. “We gotta get out o’ the light. This way.” She made it sound as if she knew where she was going, and charged across the road into the opening of a stable yard. She could hear shifting hooves behind doors, and she could smell hay and the warm animal odor of horses.

  “We could stay ’ere,” Minnie Maude whispered, her voice wavering. “It’d be warm. ’Orses won’t ’urt yer. ’E wouldn’t find us in ’ere.”

  For a moment it sounded like a good idea, safe, no more running. But they were trapped. Once inside a stable, there would be no way to get out past him. Still, even if he looked, he wouldn’t see them in the dark, not if they got into the hay.

  “Yeah …,” she said slowly.

  Minnie Maude gripped her hand tighter. As one they turned to tiptoe across the yard toward the nearest stable door.

  “Next one,” Gracie directed, just so as not to be obvious, in case the man did come in there. Although what difference would one door along make, if he really did look for them?

  Then there he was, in the entrance, the street-lamp behind him making him look like a black cutout figure without a face. He was tall, and his chin was impossibly long, way down his chest.

  “Gracie …” His voice was deep and hollow. “Gracie Phipps!”

  She couldn’t even squeak, let alone reply.

  He walked toward them.

  Minnie Maude was hanging on to Gracie’s hand hard enough to hurt, and she was jammed so close to her side that she was almost standing on top of Gracie’s boots.

  The man stopped in front of them. “Gracie,” he said gently. “I told you not to go after the casket. It’s dangerous. Now do you believe me?”

  “Mr.… Mr. Balthasar?” Gracie said huskily. “Yer … di’n’t ’alf scare me.”

  “Good! Now perhaps you will do as you are told, and leave this business alone. Is it not sufficient for you that poor Alf is dead? You want to join him?”

  Gracie said nothing.

  Mr. Balthasar turned his attention to Minnie Maude. “You must be Minnie Maude Mudway, Alf’s niece. You are looking for your donkey?”

  Minnie Maude nodded, still pressing herself as close to Gracie as she could.

  “There is no reason to believe he is harmed,” he said gently. “Donkeys are sensible beasts and useful. Someone will find him. But where will he go if in the meantime this man who murdered Alf has killed you as well?”

  Gracie stared at him. There was not the slightest flicker of humor in his face. She gulped. “We’ll go ’ome,” she promised solemnly.

  “And stay there?” he insisted.

  “Yeah … ’ceptin’ we don’ know w’ere ’ome is. I’m gonna learn ter read one day, but I can’t do it yet.”

  He nodded. “Very good. Everyone should read. There is a whole magical world waiting for you, people to meet and places to go, flights of the mind and the heart you can’t even imagine. But you’ve got to stay alive and grow up to do that. Make me a promise—you’ll go home and stay there!”

  “I promise,” Gracie said gravely.

  “Good.” He turned to Minnie Maude. “And you too.”

  She nodded, her eyes fixed on his face. “I will.”

  “Then I’ll take you home. Come on.”

  The next day was just like any other, except that Gracie had more jobs to do than ever, and her gran was busy trying to make a Christmas for them all. Gracie got up early, before anyone else was awake, and crept into the kitchen, where she cleared out the stove, and tipped the ashes on the path outside to help people from slipping on the hard, pale ice. Then she laid the wood and lit the new fire. She balanced the sticks carefully and blew a little on them to help the fire take. First she put the tiniest pieces of coal on and made sure they took as well. The small flames licked up hungrily, and she put on more. It was alarming how quickly they were eaten an
d gone. Lots of things went quickly. One moment they were there, and the next time you looked, they weren’t.

  It would be Christmas in two days. There would be bells, and singing, lots of lights, people would wear their best clothes, and ribbons, eat the best food, be nice to one another, laugh a lot. Then the next day it would all be over, until another year.

  The good things ought to stay; someone ought to make them stay. The dresses and the food didn’t matter, but the laughing did, and you didn’t wear the bells out by ringing them. Did happiness wear out? Maybe things didn’t taste so sweet if you had them all the time?

  She was still thinking about that when Spike and Finn came stumbling in, half-awake. Reluctantly they washed in the bucket of water in the corner. Then, wet-haired and blinking, they sat down to the porridge, which was now hot. They left plates almost clean enough to put away again.

  By the end of the afternoon, Gracie’s chores were finished, and her mind kept going back to Minnie Maude. She had to be worrying about Charlie. What kind of a Christmas would it be for her if he was not found? If they went looking around the streets, just for Charlie, not asking about Uncle Alf, or the golden casket, would that be breaking their promise to Mr. Balthasar? It was the casket the toff wanted, not a donkey who really wasn’t any use to him.

  She did not sleep very well, tossing and turning beside her gran, listening to the wind whistling through the broken slates. She woke up in the morning tired and still more worried. It was Christmas Eve. There was no reason why she should not at least go and see Minnie Maude and ask her how she felt about things.

  She made sure the whole house was tidy, the stove backed up, the flatirons put where they could cool without scorching anything. Then she wrapped herself in her heaviest shawl, with a lighter one underneath, and set out in the hard sleet-edged wind to find Minnie Maude. Although she knew what Minnie Maude would say. Donkeys had hair all over them, of course, but it wouldn’t be much comfort in this weather. When she had wet hair, she froze!

  Bertha was in her kitchen, her face red, and she looked flustered. She opened the door, and as soon as she saw Gracie on the step, she put out a hand and all but hauled her inside, slamming the door shut after her.