A Christmas Promise - Anne Perry [24]
Somewhere down on the river a foghorn let out its mournful cry, as if it were even more lost than they were. Gracie’s breath hurt in her chest, but the footsteps were still there behind them. Minnie Maude was frightened. Gracie could feel it in the desperate grasp of her thin, icy fingers.
“C’mon,” Gracie said, trying to sound encouraging. “We gotta get out o’ the light. This way.” She made it sound as if she knew where she was going, and charged across the road into the opening of a stable yard. She could hear shifting hooves behind doors, and she could smell hay and the warm animal odor of horses.
“We could stay ’ere,” Minnie Maude whispered, her voice wavering. “It’d be warm. ’orses won’t ’urt yer. ’e wouldn’t find us in ’ere.”
For a moment it sounded like a good idea, safe, no more running. But they were trapped. Once inside a stable, there would be no way to get out past him. Still, even if he looked, he wouldn’t see them in the dark, not if they got into the hay.
“Yeah …,” she said slowly.
Minnie Maude gripped her hand tighter. As one they turned to tiptoe across the yard toward the nearest stable door.
“Next one,” Gracie directed, just so as not to be obvious, in case the man did come in there. Although what difference would one door along make, if he really did look for them?
Then there he was, in the entrance, the street-lamp behind him making him look like a black cutout figure without a face. He was tall, and his chin was impossibly long, way down his chest.
“Gracie …” His voice was deep and hollow. “Gracie Phipps!”
She couldn’t even squeak, let alone reply.
He walked toward them.
Minnie Maude was hanging on to Gracie’s hand hard enough to hurt, and she was jammed so close to her side that she was almost standing on top of Gracie’s boots.
The man stopped in front of them. “Gracie,” he said gently. “I told you not to go after the casket. It’s dangerous. Now do you believe me?”
“Mr.…Mr. Balthasar?” Gracie said huskily. “Yer … di’n’t ’alf scare me.”
“Good! Now perhaps you will do as you are told, and leave this business alone. Is it not sufficient for you that poor Alf is dead? You want to join him?”
Gracie said nothing.
Mr. Balthasar turned his attention to Minnie Maude. “You must be Minnie Maude Mudway, Alf’s niece. You are looking for your donkey?”
Minnie Maude nodded, still pressing herself as close to Gracie as she could.
“There is no reason to believe he is harmed,” he said gently. “Donkeys are sensible beasts and useful. Someone will find him. But where will he go if in the meantime this man who murdered Alf has killed you as well?”
Gracie stared at him. There was not the slightest flicker of humor in his face. She gulped. “We’ll go ’ome,” she promised solemnly.
“And stay there?” he insisted.
“Yeah… ’ceptin’ we don’ know w’ere ’ome is. I’m gonna learn ter read one day, but I can’t do it yet.”
He nodded. “Very good. Everyone should read. There is a whole magical world waiting for you, people to meet and places to go, flights of the mind and the heart you can’t even imagine. But you’ve got to stay alive and grow up to do that. Make me a promise—you’ll go home and stay there!”
“I promise,” Gracie said gravely.
“Good.” He turned to Minnie Maude. “And you too.”
She nodded, her eyes fixed on his face. “I will.”
“Then I’ll take you home. Come on.”
The next day was just like any other, except that Gracie had more jobs to do than ever, and her gran was busy trying to make a Christmas for them all. Gracie got up early, before anyone else was awake, and crept into the kitchen, where she cleared out the stove, and tipped the ashes on the path outside to help people from slipping on the hard, pale ice. Then she laid the wood and lit the new fire. She balanced the sticks carefully and blew a little on them to help the fire take. First she put the tiniest pieces of coal on and made sure they took as well. The small flames licked up hungrily, and she put on more. It was