A Christmas Promise - Anne Perry [22]
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 Lower Chapman Street. The brazier was gleaming red and warm, sending out the smell of coals burning.
“’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.
“Please, 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?”
“’im wot died? Yeah, I saw ’im. Why?” The man’s face reflected a sudden sadness, even in the waning light.
“’e were me uncle,” Minnie Maude told him. “I wanna know w’ere ’e died, so I can put a flower there.”
The man shook his head. “I know w’ere ’e died, but I’d leave it alone, if I was you.”
Suddenly Gracie’s attention was keen again. “Why? D’yer reckon summink ’appened ter ’im? We gotta know, cos we gotta find Charlie.”
The man’s eyebrows rose. “’oo’s Charlie?”
“’is donkey,” Minnie Maude said quickly. “’e’s missin’, an’ ’e’s all by ’isself. ’e’s lorst.”
The man looked at her, puzzled.
“We can’t ’elp Uncle Alf,” Gracie explained. “But we can find Charlie. Please, mister, wot did Uncle Alf say to yer? Did ’e say anyfink special?”
“Me name’s Cob.” Wordlessly he passed them each a hot freshly cooked chestnut. They both thanked him and ate before he could change his mind.
Then Gracie realized what he had said. Cob! Was this the same Cob that Dora and Jimmy Quick had spoken of that Alf had shown the golden casket to? She swallowed the chestnut and took a deep breath.
“Did ’e tell yer wot ’e’d picked up?” she asked, trying to sound as if it didn’t matter all that much.
“Yeah,” Cob replied, eating a chestnut himself. “’e said as ’e’d got summink real special. Beautiful, it were, a box made o’ gold.” He shrugged. “Course it were likely brass, but all carved, an’ ’e said it were a beautiful shape, like it were made to ’old summink precious. I told ’im no one puts out summink like that. It’d be cheap brass, maybe over tin, but ’e said it were quality. Wouldn’t be shifted. Stubborn as a mule, ’e were.”
Minnie Maude’s face was alight. “’e ’ad it? Yer sure?”
“Course I’m sure. ’e showed it to me. Why? Weren’t it wif ’im when ’e were found?”
“No. ’e were all alone in the street. No cart, no Charlie.”
Cob’s face pinched with sadness. “Poor ol’ Alf.”
“’e di’n’t steal it. It were put out.” Minnie Maude looked at Cob accusingly.
Gracie’s mind was on something more important, and that didn’t fit in with any sense. “But ’oo knew as ’e ’ad it?” she asked, looking gravely at Cob. ’e wouldn’t tell no one, would ’e? Did you say summink?”
Cob flushed. “Course I di’n’t! Not till after ’e were dead, an’ Stan come around askin’. I told ’im cos ’e ’ad a right, same as you.” He addressed this last to Minnie Maude.