Free Anne Perry's Christmas Vigil by Anne Perry

days back,” Minnie Maude put in. “Did yer see ’im?” She forced a smile. “Wot’s yer name?”
    â€œFlorrie,” 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.”
    â€œÂ â€™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.
    â€œWas ’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.
    â€œAre 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 cosI weren’t payin’ ’im no ’eed when ’e asked me fer a sandwich.”
    â€œA 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.”
    â€œWe’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 youpulled 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 LowerChapman Street. The brazier was gleaming red and warm, sending out the smell of coals burning.
    â€œÂ â€™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.
    â€œPlease, 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?”
    â€œÂ â€™Im wot died? Yeah, I saw ’im. Why?” The man’s face reflected a sudden sadness, even in the waning light.
    â€œÂ â€™E were me uncle,” Minnie Maude told him. “I wanna know w’ere ’e died, so I can put a flower there.”
    The