Anne Perry's Christmas Vigil (10 page)

She tried turning him around, but that didn't work either. He had definitely pointed the way Alf was still going, not where he had been. She recited the order of the streets Jimmy had told them. Then she tried to say them backward, and got them jumbled up.

There was only one answer—Alf had done them the other way around. He had started at the end, and worked back to the beginning. The same circle—but backward.

Had someone counted on him doing it the same way as always? They would have expected him to be at a certain place at a certain time. The casket had been left for someone else. Alf had taken it without realizing it was important. Whoever it was—the toff—had gone after him to get it back, and by that time Alf had decided he wanted to keep it. Perhaps there had been a
fight, and Alf had been killed because he wouldn't give it up?

Then why take Charlie? Why take the cart? And whose blood had it been on the stable floor?

It was getting colder. There was no answer that made sense of everything. The only things that seemed certain were that Alf was dead, Charlie and the cart were missing—and Alf had taken Jimmy Quick's route backward, being just about everywhere when nobody expected him.

Oh, and there was one other thing—the casket was missing, too. If it hadn't been, then the toff wouldn't still be looking for it. And worst of all, Minnie Maude was missing now too. That was Gracie's fault. She had left her alone when she knew how much the little girl cared. If she'd thought about it, instead of how tired and cold she was, and how much help her gran needed, then she would have seen ahead. She'd have gone to Minnie Maude's earlier, in time to stop her from wandering off and then getting taken by the toff.

Well, Gracie would just have to find her now. There wasn't anything else she could possibly do. She had to use her brains and think.

There was more traffic in the street, people coming and going, carts, wagons, drays, even one or two hansoms. Who had left the casket out with the old things for the rag and bone man, not expecting him to come by for hours? Why would anybody do that? For somebody else to pick up, of course. That was the only thing that made sense.

Who would that be? The toff, naturally. But who'd left it? And why? If you wanted somebody to have something, wouldn't you just give it to them? Leaving it on the side of the street was daft!

Unless you couldn't wait? Or you didn't want to be seen? Or somebody was chasing you?

Only, Alf had come along instead, and too soon. Perhaps it had been hidden inside an old piece of carpet, or inside a coal scuttle, or something like that. Then no one else would even have known it was there.

What did Alf do with it? He'd had it when he'd stopped for hot chestnuts, because Cob had seen it. Then where had Alf gone? He couldn't have had it when he was killed, or whoever killed him would have taken it away—wouldn't they?

Maybe it wasn't the toff who'd killed him?

But if somebody else had, then why? Because of the casket—it was the only thing special and different. Then what on earth was inside it that was worth so much—and was so dangerous? It must have been something very powerful, but not good. Good things, a real gift from the Wise Men for Jesus, wouldn't make people kill one another like this. Alf was dead, Bertha was frightened stiff, and Stan was angry enough to hit her in the face, probably because he was scared as well.

And Gracie was so afraid for Minnie Maude that she felt a kind of sickness in her stomach and a cold, hard knot inside her, making it difficult to breathe. Every time she thought she had made sense out of it all, it slipped away. She needed to
get help. But from who? None of the people she knew would even understand, and they all had their own griefs and worries to deal with. They would just say that Minnie Maude had run off, and she'd come back when she got cold or hungry enough. They'd tell Gracie to mind her own business, look after Spike and Finn, and do as her gran told her.

She looked up and down the street as it grew busier. People hurried along the pavement, heads bent, the rain and sleet pounding. Many of the people were carrying parcels. Were they presents for Christmas? Nice food—cakes and puddings? There'd be holly with red berries, and ivy, maybe mistletoe, and ribbons, of course.

There was one person she could ask. He'd be very angry, because she had promised to stop asking questions, but this was different. Minnie Maude was gone. He could be angry later.

She straightened up, turned back the way she had come, and started walking into the wind. It
stung her face and seemed to cut right through her shawl as if her shawl had been made of paper, but she knew where she was going.

M
r. Balthasar looked at her grimly. His dark face, with its long, curved nose, was set in lines of deep unhappiness.

Gracie swallowed, but the lump in her throat remained.

“Will yer please 'elp me, mister, cos I dunno 'oo else ter ask. I think Minnie Maude's in trouble.”

“Yes,” he agreed quickly. “I think she probably is. You look frozen, child.” He touched her shoulder with his thin hand. “And wet through. I will find you something dry, and a cup of tea.” He started to move away.

“There in't time!” she said urgently, panic rising in her voice. Warm and dry would be wonderful, but not till Minnie Maude was found.

“Yes, there is,” he replied steadily. “A dry shawl will take no time at all, and you can tell me everything you know while the kettle is boiling. I shall close the shop so we will not be disturbed. Come with me.”

He locked the door and turned around a little sign on it so people would not knock, then he found her a wonderful red embroidered shawl and wrapped it around her, instead of her own wringing-wet one. Then, while she sat on a stool and watched him, he pulled the kettle onto the top of the big black stove, and cut bread to make toast.

“Tell me,” he commanded her. “Tell me everything you have done since you last spoke to me, where you went and what you have discovered.”

“First day I 'elped me gran, then terday I went ter see Minnie Maude, an' she weren't at 'ome,” Gracie began. “ 'Er aunt Bertha tol' me as she'd gorn out, after Stan shouted at 'er. 'E were real mad, an' Bertha were scared. There were red marks on 'er face where 'e'd 'it 'er.” It sounded silly now
that she told him, because she hadn't actually seen it and couldn't explain any of her feelings. People did hit each other, and it didn't have to mean much.

He did not point out any of that. Turning over the toast to brown the other side, he asked her how Bertha sounded, what she looked like.

“And so you went looking for Minnie Maude?” he said when she had finished. “Where?”

“I thought as she must 'ave remembered summink,” she replied, breathing in the smell of the crisp toast. “Or understood summink wot didn't make no sense two days ago.”

“I see.” He took the toast off and spread a little butter on it, then jam with big black fruit in it. He put it on a plate, cut it in half, and passed it to her.

“Is that all for me?” Then she could have kicked herself for her bad manners. She wanted to push the plate away again, but that would have been rude too, and the toast was making her mouth water.

“Of course it is,” he replied. “I shall be hurt if
you don't eat it. The tea will be ready in a minute. What did she realize, Gracie?”

“Well, we knew Alf went the wrong way,” she said, picking up a piece of the toast and biting into it. It was wonderful, crisp, and the jam was sweet. She couldn't help herself from swallowing it and taking another bite.

“The wrong way?” he prompted.

She answered with her mouth full. “Jimmy Quick always goes round 'is streets in one way. Uncle Alf went the other way. 'E started at the end, an' did it backward, so 'e were always everywhere at the wrong time.” She leaned forward eagerly. “That were when 'e picked up the casket, nobody were expectin' 'im even ter be there. It were put fer someone else!”

“I see.” The kettle started to whistle with steam, and Balthasar stood up and made the tea. “Do you know why he did that?”

“No.” Now she wondered why she didn't know, and she felt stupid for not thinking of it.

“I shall inquire,” he replied. “If something caused him to, such as a carriage accident blocking a road, or a dray spilling its load so he could not get past, that might be different from his deliberately choosing the other way around. Presumably this man, the toff, went to collect the casket, and found that it was gone. How did he know that the rag and bone man had taken it?” He put up his hand. “No, no need to answer that—because all the stuff for the rag and bone collection was gone. But he caught up with poor Alf—so if Alf was going the wrong way round, how did the toff know that?” He brought the teapot to the table and poured a large mug full for her. He passed the mug across, his black eyes studying her face.

“I dunno,” she said unhappily. “D'yer think as 'e worked it out? I mean that Alf 'ad gone the wrong way round?”

“How did he know it was Alf, and not Jimmy Quick, as usual?” Balthasar asked. “No, I rather
think he was waiting and watching, and he saw what happened.”

“Then why di'n't 'e go after 'im straigh'away?” Gracie asked reasonably. “In fact, if the casket were left there for 'im, why di'n't 'e take it before Alf even got there? That don't make no sense.”

Balthasar frowned, biting his lip. “It would if he did not wish to be seen. Whoever left it there for him would know what was in it, and that it was both valuable and dangerous. It might be that the toff could not afford to have anyone see him with it.”

Gracie gulped. “Wot were in it?”

“I don't know, but I imagine something like opium.”

“Wozzat?” she asked.

“A powder that gives people insane dreams of pleasure,” he replied. “And when they wake up, it is all gone, and so they have to have more, to get the dreams back again. Sometimes they will pay a great price, even kill other people, to get it. But it
is not something to be proud of, in fact very much the opposite. If the toff is an addict, which means that he can no longer do without it, then he will do anything to come by it—but he will take great care that none of his friends know.”

For a moment she forgot the toast and jam.

“Someone put it there for him, in the casket,” Balthasar went on. “And he waited out of sight, to dart out and pick it up when they were gone. Only this time Alf came by before he could do that. Continue with your tea, Gracie. We have business to do when we are finished.”

“We 'ave?” But she obeyed and reached for the mug.

“We have a little more thinking to do first.” He smiled bleakly. “I would tell you to go home, because I believe this will be dangerous, but I do not trust that you would obey. I would rather have you with me, where I can see you, than following after me and I don't know where you are and cannot protect you. But you must promise to do as I
say, or we may both be in great danger, and Minnie Maude even more so.”

“I promise,” she agreed instantly, her heart pounding, her mouth dry.

“Good. Now let us consider what else we know, or may deduce.”

“Wot?”

He half-concealed a smile. “I apologize—what we may work out as being true, because of what we already know. Would you like another piece of toast? There is sufficient time. Before we do anything, we must be certain that we have considered it all, and weighed every possibility. Do you not agree?”

“Yeah. An' … an' I'd like another piece o' toast, if you please.”

“Certainly.” He stood up quite solemnly and cut two more slices of bread and placed them before the open door of the oven. “Now, let us consider what else has happened, and what it means. Alf had the casket at the time he spoke to the chestnut
man—Cob, I believe you called him? If we know the route that Mr. Quick normally took, then we know what the reverse of it would be, with some amendments for traffic. Hence we know where Alf is most likely to have gone next. And we know where his body was found.”

“Yeah, but it don't fit in, cos 'oo's blood is it on the stable floor? An' 'oo fought there an' bashed up the wall? An' why'd 'e take Charlie an' the cart as well?” She drew in her breath. “An' if 'e killed Alf an' took the casket, wot's 'e still looking for? That's stupid. If I done summink wrong, I don't go makin' a noise all over the place. I keep me 'ead down.” She colored with shame as she said it, but right then the truth was more important than pride.

“You have several good points, Gracie,” Mr. Balthasar agreed. “All of which we need to address.” He turned the toast over and filled her mug with fresh, hot tea.

“Thank you,” she acknowledged. The heat was
spreading through her now, and she looked forward to more toast and jam. She began to realize just how cold she had been.