Free Christmas Tales of Terror by Chris Priestley Page B

like the kind of thing a pirate might wear in bad weather. On her head – for Miranda realised that, despite the clay pipe and heavy riding boots, the pedlar was indeed a woman – she wore a wide-brimmed hat, her hair gathered into a matted pigtail behind.
    She had a cart, pulled by an old nag who looked on the verge of collapse. The cart was loaded down with a pile of disparate items – none of which Miranda could imagine anyone in their right mind would want – and one of these items was this very toy.
    When Mrs Harper, the housekeeper, had told the pedlar to be off, the woman had refused and become increasingly agitated, shouting words that Miranda assumed, by Mrs Harper’s expression, must have been swear words of the very worst kind.
    Mrs Harper had disappeared inside the house while the pedlar continued her rant. She reappeared with a bucket and, without warning, threw the cold water therein straight at the pedlar, drenching her from head to foot.
    The pedlar had stared, open-mouthed, water dripping from her hat and from her extinguished pipe. Miranda hadn’t been able to stop herself. She’d burst into loud laughter as Mrs Harper shouted, ‘Now be off with you!’
    The pedlar, Miranda remembered with a shudder, had turned slowly to look at her, with a cold fury burning in her eyes. Mrs Harper bustled Miranda inside and slammed the door. She ran upstairs and watched from her bedroom window as the pedlar drove her cart away. Safely inside, Miranda had laughed again, until the pedlar turned as though hearing her. She’d been happy to see the cart disappear from view.
    Later that day, when Miranda had gone for a walk in the garden, she’d seen something in the gravel of the drive and had discovered it to be the drummer boy.
    She’d picked him up and, seeing how ugly he was and how he reminded her of the pedlar, she’d thrown him over the wall into the chalk pit on the other side.
    The toy was the same one; Miranda was sure of it. How on earth had it got from the chalk pit to being wrapped up and placed under the Christmas tree? Maybe her mother was right. Maybe one of the silly servants had found it. But who was it meant to be for?
    ‘Mama!’ said Ralph. ‘Can I have it?’
    ‘Well . . . I suppose so . . .’ said Miranda’s mother. ‘Unless Miranda –’
    ‘Certainly not,’ said Miranda. ‘It’s horrid. Ralph is more than welcome to it.’
    Ralph picked the drummer boy up eagerly and then gave a little cry of pain.
    ‘Ow!’ he said, sucking his finger. ‘He bit me!’
    ‘Don’t be silly, darling,’ said his mother.
    ‘But, Mama . . .’ said Ralph.
    Everyone chuckled and Ralph joined in.
    ‘It really did feel like he bit me,’ he said.
    His father leaned forward and tousled his hair.
    ‘Look, Papa,’ said Ralph. ‘It’s meant to have a key. Oh – I wish it did have a key. It’d make a real din, I shouldn’t wonder.’
    Miranda noticed her parents exchange a look that made it clear they did not regard that ‘din’ with the same enthusiasm and were not especially upset that it might not be forthcoming.
     
    Miranda worried about whether or not she ought to tell someone about the pedlar and the drummer boy, but she quite liked the idea that Ralph was playing with a flea-bitten present from an old tramp. Why should she say anything?
    Ralph had grated on her nerves all morning. Not only had he taken the job of handing out presents from her, but he seemed to have taken her share of family affection and interest too.
    She might as well have been invisible. Everything Ralph did was cooed over and applauded, while Miranda’s piano playing had received a decidedly lukewarm response. And she’d played the piece perfectly.
    It was also very clear to Miranda that Ralph had been given presents that were far more expensive than those she had received. It was all very vexing. Miranda could feel her cheeks going red and she hated how she looked when that happened.
    Eventually, the whole family sat