Anne Perry's Christmas Vigil

BOOK: Anne Perry's Christmas Vigil
8.87Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Praise for
Anne Perry's Christmas Mysteries

A Christmas Secret
“Anne Perry has crafted a finely written Christmas puzzle that has a redemptive seasonal message woven within its solution.”
—The Wall Street Journal

A Christmas Beginning
“Intriguing … Perry's use of period detail is, as always, strong and evocative.”
—The Seattle Times

A Christmas Grace
“Perry effortlessly evokes the region's insularity and isolation while imbuing religious themes into a whodunit without being preachy.”
—Publishers Weekly

A Christmas Promise
“Read Anne Perry's latest and your spirits will be lifted. That's a promise.”
—The Wall Street Journal

A Christmas Odyssey
“Perry again delivers a seasonal tale affectingly celebrating the miraculous transformation of despair into hope.”
—The Richmond Times Dispatch

Anne Perry's
A Christmas Vigil
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

2011 Ballantine eBook Edition

A Christmas Promise
copyright © 2009 by Anne Perry
A Christmas Odyssey
copyright © 2010 by Anne Perry

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

Originally published in hardcover as two separate works entitled
A Christmas Promise
A Christmas Odyssey
by Ballantine Books in 2009 and 2010.

eISBN: 978-0-345-53132-2

Cover design: Ruby Levesque
Cover image: Jon Paul


A Christmas Promise

The week before christmas, the smell and taste of it were in the air, a kind of excitement, an urgency about everything. Geese and rabbits hung outside butchers' shops, and there were little pieces of holly on some people's doors. Postmen were extra busy. The streets were still gray, the wind still hard and cold, the rain turning to sleet, but it wouldn't have seemed right if it had been different.

Gracie Phipps was on an errand for her gran to get a tuppence worth of potatoes to go with the leftovers of cabbage and onion, so Gran could make bubble and squeak for supper. Spike and Finn would pretty well eat anything they could fit into their mouths, but they liked this especially. Better with a slice of sausage, of course, but there
was no money for that now. Everything was being saved for Christmas.

Gracie walked a little faster into the wind, pulling her shawl tighter around her. She had the potatoes in a string bag, along with half a cabbage. She saw the girl standing by the candle makers, on the corner of Heneage Street and Brick Lane, her reddish fair hair blowing about and her arms hugged around her as if she were freezing. She looked to be about eight, five years younger than Gracie, and as skinny as an eel. She had to be lost. She didn't belong there, or on Chicksand Street—one over. Gracie had lived on these streets ever since she had come to London from the country, when her mother had died six years before, in 1877. She knew everyone.

“Are yer lorst?” she asked as she reached the child. “This is 'Eneage Street. Where d'yer come from?”

The girl looked at her with wide gray eyes, blinking fiercely in an attempt to stop the tears
from brimming over onto her cheeks. “Thrawl Street,” she answered. That was two streets over to the west and on the other side of Brick Lane, out of the neighborhood altogether.

“It's that way.” Gracie pointed.

“I know where it is,” the girl replied, not making any effort to move. “Me uncle Alf's bin killed, an' Charlie's gorn. I gotta find 'im, cos 'e'll be cold an' 'ungry, an' mebbe scared.” Her eyes brimmed over, and she wiped her sleeve across her face and sniffed. “ 'Ave yer seen a donkey as yer don't know? 'E's gray, wi' brown eyes, an' a sort o' pale bit round the end of 'is nose.” She looked at Gracie with sudden, intense hope. “ 'E's about this 'igh.” She indicated, reaching upward with a small, dirty hand.

Gracie would have liked to help, but she had seen no animals at all, except for the coal man's horse at the end of the street, and a couple of stray dogs. Even hansom cabs didn't often come to this part of the East End. Commercial Street, or
Whitechapel Road, maybe, on their way to somewhere else. She looked at the child's eager face and felt her heart sink. “Wot's yer name?” she asked.

“Minnie Maude Mudway,” the child replied. “But I in't lorst. I'm lookin' fer Charlie. 'E's the one wot's lorst, an' summink might 'ave 'appened to 'im. I told yer, me uncle Alf's bin killed. Yesterday it were, an' Charlie's gorn. 'E'd 'ave come 'ome if 'e could. 'E must be cold an' 'ungry, an' 'e dunno where 'e is.”

Gracie was exasperated. The whole story made no sense. Why would Minnie Maude be worrying about a donkey that had wandered off, if her uncle had really been killed? And yet she couldn't just leave the girl there standing on the corner in the wind. It would be dark very soon. It was after three already, and going to rain. “Yer got a ma?” Gracie asked.

“No,” Minnie Maude answered. “I got an aunt Bertha, but she says as Charlie don't matter. Donkeys is donkeys.”

“Well, if yer uncle got killed, maybe she don't care that much about donkeys right now.” Gracie tried to sound reasonable. “Wot's gonna 'appen to 'er, wif 'im gone? Yer gotta think as she might be scared an' all.”

Minnie Maude blinked. “Uncle Alf di'n't matter to 'er like that,” she explained. “ 'E were me pa's bruvver.” She sniffed harder. “Uncle Alf told good stories. 'E'd bin ter places, an' 'e saw things better than most folk. Saw them fer real, wot they meant inside, not just wot's plain. 'E used ter make me laugh.”

Gracie felt a sudden, sharp sense of the girl's loss. Maybe it was Uncle Alf she was really looking for, and Charlie was just an excuse, a kind of sideways way of seeing it, until she could bear to look at it straight. There was something very special about people who made you laugh. “I'm sorry,” she said gently. It had been a little while before she had really said to herself that her mother wasn't ever coming back.

“ 'E were killed,” Minnie Maude repeated. “Yest'day.”

“Then yer'd best go 'ome,” Gracie pointed out. “Yer aunt'll be wond'rin' wot 'appened to yer. Mebbe Charlie's already got 'ome 'isself.”

Minnie Maude looked miserable and defiant, shivering in the wind and almost at the end of her strength. “No 'e won't. If 'e knew 'ow ter come 'ome 'e'd a bin there last night. 'E's cold an' scared, an' all by 'isself. An' no one but 'im an' me knows as Uncle Alf were done in. Aunt Bertha says as 'e fell off an' 'it 'is 'ead, broke 'is neck most like. An' Stan says it don't matter anyway, cos dead is dead jus' the same, an' we gotta bury 'im decent, an' get on wi' things. Ain't no time ter sit around. Stan drives an 'ansom, 'e goes all over the place, but 'e don't know as much as Uncle Alf did. 'E could fall over summink wifout seein' it proper. 'E sees wot it is, like Uncle Alf said, but 'e don't never see wot it could be! 'E di'n't see as donkeys can be as good as a proper 'orse.”

Not for a hansom cab
, Gracie thought. Who ever saw a hansom with a donkey in the shafts? But she didn't say so.

“An' Aunt Bertha di'n't 'old wif animals,” Minnie Maude finished. “ 'Ceptin' cats, cos they get the mice.” She gulped and wiped her nose on her sleeve again. “So will yer 'elp me look for Charlie, please?”

Gracie felt useless. Why couldn't she have come a little earlier, when her gran had first told her to? Then she wouldn't even have been here for this child to ask her for something completely impossible. She felt sad and guilty, but there was no possible way she could go off around the wet winter streets in the dark, looking for donkeys. She had to get home with the potatoes so her gran could make supper for them, and the two hungry little boys Gran's son had left when he'd died. They were nearly old enough to get out and earn their own way, but right now they were still a considerable responsibility, especially with Gracie's
gran earning only what she could doing laundry every hour she was awake, and a few when she hardly was. Gracie helped with errands. She always seemed to be running around fetching or carrying something, cleaning, sweeping, scrubbing. But very soon she would have to go to the factory like other girls, as soon as Spike and Finn didn't need watching.

“I can't,” she said quietly. “I gotta go 'ome with the taters, or them kids'll start eatin' the chairs. Then I gotta 'elp me gran.” She wanted to apologize, but what was the point? The answer was still no.

Minnie Maude nodded, her mouth tightening a little. She breathed in and out deeply, steadying herself. “ 'S all right. I'll look fer Charlie meself.” She sniffed and turned away to walk home. The sky was darkening and the first spots of rain were heavy in the wind, hard and cold.

When Gracie pushed the back door open to their lodgings in Heneage Street, her grandmother
was standing with a basin of water ready to wash and peel the potatoes. She looked worn-out from spending all day up to her elbows in hot water, caustic, and lye, heaving other people's wet linen from one sink to another, shoulders aching, back so sore she could hardly touch it. Then she would have to lift the linen all again to wind it through the mangles that would squeeze the water out, and there would be some chance of getting it dry so it could be returned, and paid for. There was always need for money: rent, food, boots, a few sticks and a little coal to put on the fire, and of course Christmas.

Gracie hardly grew out of anything. It seemed as if she had stopped at four feet eleven, and worn-out pieces could always be patched. But Spike and Finn were bigger every time you looked at them, and considering how much they ate, perhaps no one should have been surprised.

The food was good, and every scrap disappeared, even though they were being careful and
saving any treats for Christmas. Spike and Finn bickered a bit, as usual, then went off to bed obediently enough at about seven. There wasn't a clock, but if you thought about it, and you were used to the sounds of the street outside, footsteps coming and going, the voices of those you knew, then you had a good idea of time.

They had two rooms, which wasn't bad, considering. There was the kitchen, with a tin bowl for washing; the stove, to cook and keep warm; and the table and three chairs and a stool. And there was the bench for chopping, ironing, and baking now and then. There was a drain outside the back door, a well at the end of the street, and a privy at the bottom of the yard. In the other small room, Gracie and her gran had beds on one side, and on the other they had built a sort of bed for the boys. They lay in it, one at each end.

But Gracie did not sleep well, in spite of being very nearly warm enough. She could not forget Minnie Maude Mudway, standing on the street
corner in the dusk, grieving for loneliness, death, a donkey who might or might not be lost. All night it troubled her, and she woke to the bleak, icy morning still miserable.

BOOK: Anne Perry's Christmas Vigil
8.87Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

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