A Christmas Promise - Anne Perry [29]
She looked up and down the street as it grew busier. People hurried along the pavement, heads bent, the rain and sleet pounding. Many of the people were carrying parcels. Were they presents for Christmas? Nice food—cakes and puddings? There’d be holly with red berries, and ivy, maybe mistletoe, and ribbons, of course.
There was one person she could ask. He’d be very angry, because she had promised to stop asking questions, but this was different. Minnie Maude was gone. He could be angry later.
She straightened up, turned back the way she had come, and started walking into the wind. It stung her face and seemed to cut right through her shawl as if her shawl had been made of paper, but she knew where she was going.
Mr. Balthasar looked at her grimly. His dark face, with its long, curved nose, was set in lines of deep unhappiness.
Gracie swallowed, but the lump in her throat remained.
“Will yer please ’elp me, mister, cos I dunno ’oo else ter ask. I think Minnie Maude’s in trouble.”
“Yes,” he agreed quickly. “I think she probably is. You look frozen, child.” He touched her shoulder with his thin hand. “And wet through. I will find you something dry, and a cup of tea.” He started to move away.
“There in’t time!” she said urgently, panic rising in her voice. Warm and dry would be wonderful, but not till Minnie Maude was found.
“Yes, there is,” he replied steadily. “A dry shawl will take no time at all, and you can tell me everything you know while the kettle is boiling. I shall close the shop so we will not be disturbed. Come with me.”
He locked the door and turned around a little sign on it so people would not knock, then he found her a wonderful red embroidered shawl and wrapped it around her, instead of her own wringing-wet one. Then, while she sat on a stool and watched him, he pulled the kettle onto the top of the big black stove, and cut bread to make toast.
“Tell me,” he commanded her. “Tell me everything you have done since you last spoke to me, where you went and what you have discovered.”
“First day I ’elped me gran, then terday I went ter see Minnie Maude, an’ she weren’t at ’ome,” Gracie began. “’er aunt Bertha tol’ me as she’d gorn out, after Stan shouted at ’er. ’e were real mad, an’Bertha were scared. There were red marks on ’er face where ’e’d ’it ’er.” It sounded silly now that she told him, because she hadn’t actually seen it and couldn’t explain any of her feelings. People did hit each other, and it didn’t have to mean much.
He did not point out any of that. Turning over the toast to brown the other side, he asked her how Bertha sounded, what she looked like.
“And so you went looking for Minnie Maude?” he said when she had finished. “Where?”
“I thought as she must ’ave remembered summink,” she replied, breathing in the smell of the crisp toast. “Or understood summink wot didn’t make no sense two days ago.”
“I see.” He took the toast off and spread a little butter on it, then jam with big black fruit in it. He put it on a plate, cut it in half, and passed it to her.
“Is that all for me?” Then she could have kicked herself for her bad manners. She wanted to push the plate away again, but that would have been rude too, and the toast was making her mouth water.
“Of course it is,” he replied. “I shall be hurt if you don’t eat it. The tea will be ready in a minute. What did she realize, Gracie?”
“Well, we knew Alf went the wrong way,” she said, picking up a piece of the toast and biting into it. It was wonderful, crisp, and the jam was sweet. She couldn’t help herself from swallowing it and taking another bite.
“The wrong way?” he prompted.
She answered with her mouth full. “Jimmy Quick always goes round ’is streets in one way. Uncle Alf went the other way. ’e started at the end, an’ did it backward, so ’e were always everywhere at the wrong time.” She leaned forward eagerly. “That were when ’e picked up the casket, nobody were expectin’ ’im even ter be there. It were put fer someone