A Christmas Promise - Anne Perry [6]
“Minnie Maude Mudway,” she replied. “It were me uncle Alf as yer found in the street.” She hesitated. “An’ this is me friend,” she added.
“Gracie Phipps,” Gracie said.
“We’re lookin’ fer Charlie,” Minnie Maude went on.
Jimmy Quick frowned at them. “I dunno no Charlie.”
“’e’s a donkey,” Gracie explained. Someone needed to talk a little sense. “’e got lost, along wif Uncle Alf’s cart, an’ everyfink wot was in it.” She glanced around the yard and saw three old bicycles whose wheels had missing spokes, several odd boots and shoes, kettles, pieces of china and pottery, some of it so beautiful she stared at it in amazement. There were old fire irons, a poker with a brass handle, ornaments, pots and pans, pieces of carpet, a cabin trunk with no hinges, unwanted books and pictures, all the things a rag and bone man collects, in with the actual rags or bones for glue.
Minnie Maude stood still, ignoring the scattered takings around her, just staring solemnly at Jimmy Quick. “’ow’d yer find ’im, then?”
Jimmy seemed to consider evading the question, then changed his mind. “’e were jus’ lyin’ there in the road,” he said sadly. “Like ’e fell off, ’cept o’ course ’e’d never ’ave done that, if ’e’d bin alive. I’ve seen Alf as tight as a newt, an’ ’e didn’t miss a step, never mind fell. ’e knew ’ow ter wedge ’isself, like, so ’e wouldn’t—not even if ’e were asleep.” He shook his head. “Reckon as ’ow ’e must ’ave just died all of a sudden. Bin took, as it were. Visitation o’ God.”
“No ’e weren’t,” Minnie Maude contradicted him. “If ’e ’ad bin, Charlie’d ’ave brought ’im ’ome. An’ wot were ’e doin’ way out ’ere anyway? This in’t ’is patch.” She sniffed fiercely as if on the edge of tears. “Someone’s done ’im in.”
“Yer talkin’ daft,” Jimmy said dismissively, but his face was very pink. “’oo’d wanter ’urt Alf?” He looked uncomfortable, not quite meeting Minnie Maude’s eyes. Gracie wondered if it was embarrassment because he did not know how to comfort her, or something uglier that he was trying not to say.
Gracie interrupted at last. “It in’t daft,” she told him. “Wot ’appened ter Charlie, an’ the cart? ’e di’n’t go ’ome.”
Now Jimmy Quick was deeply unhappy. “I dunno. Yer sure the cart’s not at yer aunt Bertha’s?” he asked Minnie Maude.
She looked at him witheringly. “Course it in’t. Charlie might get lorst, cos this in’t where ’e usually comes. So why was ’e ’ere? Even if Uncle Alf died an’ fell off, which ’e wouldn’t ’ave, why’d nobody see ’im ’ceptin’ you? An’ ’oo took Charlie an’ the cart?”
Put like that, Gracie had to agree that it didn’t sound right at all. She joined Minnie Maude in staring accusingly at Jimmy Quick.
Jimmy looked down at the ground with even greater unhappiness, and what now most certainly appeared to be guilt. “It were my fault,” he admitted. “I ’ad ter go up ter Artillery Lane an’ see someone, or I’d a bin in real trouble, so I asked Alf ter trade routes wi’ me. ’e’d do mine, an’ I’d do ’is. That way I could be where I ’ad ter, wi’out missin’ an ’ole day. That’s why ’e were ’ere. ’e were a good mate ter me, an’ ’e died doin’ me a favor.”
“’e were on yer round!” Gracie said in sudden realization of all that meant. “So if someone done ’im in, p’raps they meant it ter be you!”
“Nobody’s gonna do me in!” Jimmy said with alarm, but looking at his face, paler now and a little gray around his lips, Gracie knew that the thought was sharp in his mind, and growing sharper with every minute.
She made her own expression as grim as she could, drawing her eyebrows down and tightening her mouth, just as Gran did when she found an immovable stain in someone’s best linen. “But yer jus’ said as ’e were alone cos ’e were doin’ yer a favor,” she pointed out. “If nobody else knew that, they’d a thought as it were you sittin’ in the cart!”
“I dunno,” Jimmy said unhappily.
Gracie did not believe him. Her mind raced over how it could matter, picking up people’s odd pieces of throwaway, or the things they might buy or sell, if they knew where. What did rag and bone men pick up, anyway? If you could