A Christmas Promise - Anne Perry [33]
Gracie glowed with momentary pride, until she thought of Minnie Maude again. Then it vanished. “’as ’e got Minnie Maude?” she asked, afraid of the answer.
“I don’t know, but we will get her back. If he took her, it is because he still doesn’t have the casket, so he will not harm her until he does. We must find it first.”
“Well, if the toff don’t ’ave it, then Alf must a given it ter someone else between Cob an’ wherever ’e were killed.”
“Indeed. And we must find out where that is. It is unfortunate that we know so little about Alf, and his likes and dislikes. Otherwise we might have a better idea where to begin. Perhaps we should assume that he is like most men—looking for comfort rather than adventure, someone to be gentle with him rather than to challenge him. Tell me, Gracie, what did Minnie Maude say to you about him? Why did she like him so much? Think carefully. It is important.”
She understood, so she did not answer quickly, knowing her response would dictate where they would begin to look, and it might make the difference in terms of finding Minnie Maude in time to save her. It was silly to think Minnie Maude couldn’t be hurt. Alf was dead—and they knew the toff was out there. She could well believe that the powder he was addicted to had driven him mad to the point where he had tasted evil, and now could not rid himself of it.
“’e were funny,” she said, measuring her words and still skipping the odd step to keep up with him. “’e made ’er laugh. ’e liked ’orses an’ dogs, an’ donkeys, o’ course. An’ ’ot chestnuts.”
“And ale?”
“Cider.” She struggled to recall exactly what Minnie Maude had said. “An’ good pickle wif ’am.”
“I see. A man of taste. What else? Did she ever speak of his friends, other than Jimmy Quick? Tell me about Bertha.”
“I think as Bertha is scared.”
“She may well have reason to be. Who is she scared of, do you think? Stan? Someone else? Or just of being cold and hungry?”
She thought for a few moments. “Stan… I think.” She thought back further, into her own earlier years, to when her father was alive. She remembered standing in the kitchen and hearing her mother’s voice frightened and pleading. “Not scared ’e’d ’it ’er, scared o’ wot ’e might do that’d get ’em all in trouble,” she amended aloud.
“And Bertha is frightened and tired and a little short of temper, as she has much cause to be?”
“Yeah …”
“Come, Gracie. We must hurry, I think.” He grasped her hand and started to stride forward so quickly that she had to run to keep up with him as he swung around the corner and into a narrower street, just off Anthony Street—the way Jimmy Quick’s route would have taken them. They were still two hundred yards at least from where Alf’s body had been found. Balthasar looked one way, then the other, seeming to study the bleak fronts of the buildings, the narrow doorways, the stains of soot and smoke and leaking gutters.
“Wot are yer lookin’ fer?” she asked.
“I am looking for whatever Alf was seeking when he came here,” Balthasar replied. “There was something, someone, with whom he wanted to share this casket he had found. Who was it?”
Gracie studied the narrow street as well. There was no pavement on one side, and barely a couple of feet of uneven stones on the other. Yet narrower alleys that led into yards invited no one. The houses had smeared windows, some already cracked, and recessed doorways in which the destitute huddled to stay out of the rain.
“It don’t look like nowhere I’d want ter be,” she said miserably.
“Nor I,” Balthasar agreed. “But we do not know who lives inside. We will have to ask. Distasteful, but necessary. Come.”
They set out across the road and approached the old woman in the first doorway.
Later, they were more than halfway toward