Free A Christmas Promise by Anne Perry Page B

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 herselfin 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.
    “Yer seen Minnie Maude?” she said angrily. “Where’d that stupid little thing go now?”
    Gracie’s heart beat wildly, and her breath almost choked her. There was something badly wrong; she hardly dared even think how wrong. She could see that the red marks on Bertha’s face were weals from someone’s hand striking her, and Bertha held one shoulder higher than the other, as if even when she wasn’t thinking of it, it hurt her and she needed to protect it.
    “I in’t seen Minnie Maude since two days ago,” Gracie answered, looking straight into Bertha’s red-rimmed eyes. “We said as we wouldn’t look anymore ter see wot ’appened to ’er uncle Alf, cos it were too dangerous—” She knew immediately that she had made a mistake, but there was no way to take it back. Bertha would know the moment she lied. If you weren’t used to lying, and the lie mattered, it always showed in your face.
    “Wot d’yer mean, dangerous?” Bertha asked,her voice dipping very low. “Wot yer bin askin’? Wot’ve yer done?”
    Something near the truth was best. “Where ’e were killed,” Gracie replied. “Minnie Maude wanted ter put a flower there.” She kept her eyes steady, trying not to blink too much. Bertha was watching her like a cat studying a mouse hole in the wall.
    “Well, it don’t matter,” Bertha said at last. “Put it anywhere. Alf won’t care. ’e’s dead an’ gorn. You tell ’er that. She don’t listen ter me.”
    “I will,” Gracie promised. “Where is she?”
    Bertha’s face was white beneath the red weals. “I thought as she’d gorn ter sleep in the stable, but she in’t there. Then I thought as she’d mebbe gorn fer you.”
    “No! In’t seen ’er since two days ago.” Gracie heard her own voice touched with panic. “When d’yer see ’er terday?”
    Bertha’s voice was husky. “I di’n’t see ’er terday.”
    A dark fear fluttered in the pit of Gracie’s stomach. “Wot did she take a miff about? Were it summink ter do wi’ Jimmy Quick, or the chestnut man?”
    “It were summink ter do wif ’er always meddlin’,” Bertha replied. “Stan lost ’is temper wif ’er summink awful. I were afeared ’e were gonna ’it ’er, but ’e di’n’t. ’e jus’ lit out, white as paper, swearin’ witless, an’ next thing I know, she were gorn too.”
    Gracie was too frightened to be angry, and she could see that beneath Bertha’s arrogance and self-defense, she was frightened also. There was no point in asking her for help.
    “Well, if she in’t ’ere, no point in me lookin’,” Gracie said, as if that were some kind of reason.
    Bertha opened her mouth as if to answer, then closed it again without