A Christmas Promise - Anne Perry [9]
A thin woman with a plain face stood over a chopping board slicing carrots and turnips, her large-knuckled hands red from the cold. She had the most beautiful hair Gracie had ever seen. In the lantern light it was burnished like autumn leaves, a warm color, as if remembering the sun. She looked up as Minnie Maude came in, then her pale eyes widened a little as she saw Gracie, and her hands stopped working.
“W’ere yer bin, Minnie Maude?”
“Lookin’ for Charlie,” Minnie Maude replied. “This is Gracie, from ’eneage Street. She’s ’elpin’ me.”
Aunt Bertha shook her head. “In’t no point,” she said quietly. “’e’ll come ’ome by ’isself…or ’e won’t. In’t nothing yer can do, child. An’ don’t go wastin’ other folks’ time.” She regarded Gracie with only the tiniest fraction of curiosity. There were dozens of children up and down every street, and there was nothing remarkable about her. “Good o’ yer, but in’t nothin’ yer can do. ’e must a got a scare when poor Alf died.” She started chopping the turnip again.
“’e wouldn’t be able ter find ’isself,” Minnie Maude agreed. “’e weren’t on ’is own route. ’e were on Jimmy Quick’s.”
“Don’t talk nonsense, Minnie,” Bertha said briskly. “Course ’e weren’t. Why’d ’e be down there?” She chopped harder, drawing the knife through the tough vegetables with renewed force. “Yer got chores ter get on with.” She looked at Gracie. “Yer got ’em too, I ’spec.”
It was on the edge of Gracie’s tongue to say to Bertha that she’d sold Charlie, and why couldn’t she just be honest enough to tell Minnie Maude so. Then at least she wouldn’t be worrying about him being lost and hungry, wandering around in the sleet, wet and maybe frightened.
The outside door opened again, and Stan appeared. He looked at Minnie Maude, then at Gracie. “Wot yer doin’ back ’ere again?” he said sharply.
“She’s ’elpin’ me look fer Charlie,” Minnie Maude told him.
“She’s jus’ goin’,” Bertha interrupted soothingly. Her face was pinched, her eyes steady on Stan. “She were only ’elpin’.”
“Well, yer shouldn’t bother folks,” Stan told Minnie Maude. “Yer looked. ’e ain’t around. Now do like yer told.”
“’e’s lorst,” Minnie Maude persisted.
“Donkeys don’t get lorst,” Stan said, and shook his head. “’e’s bin doin’ these streets fer years. ’e’ll come ’ome, or mebbe somebody took ’im. Which is stealin’, an’ if I find the bastard, I’ll make ’im pay. But that’s my business. It in’t yers. Now go and do yer chores, girl.” He looked at Gracie. “An’ you do yers, an’ all. Yer must ’ave summink ter do better ’n wanderin’ round the streets lookin’ fer some damn donkey!”
“But ’e’s lorst!” Minnie Maude protested again, standing her ground even though she must have been able to see as well as Gracie could that Stan was angry. “’e weren’t wi’ Uncle Alf’s—”
“Don’t talk nonsense!” Bertha snapped at her, putting the knife down and raising her hand as if she would slap Minnie Maude around the ears if she did not keep quiet. But it was not anger Gracie could see in her eyes. Gracie was suddenly, in that instant, quite sure that it was fear. She lifted her foot and gave Minnie Maude a sharp kick on the ankle.
Minnie Maude gasped and turned sharply.
“I’m lost an’ all,” Gracie said. “An’ yer aunt Bertha’s right, I got chores, too. Can yer show me which way I gotta go? If yer please?”
Shoulders slumped again, wiping her face with her sleeve to hide the tears, Minnie Maude led the way out the back door, past Charlie’s empty stable, and into the street.
“Yer right,” Gracie said when they were beyond where Bertha or Stan could hear them. “There’s summink wrong, but yer uncle Stan don’t like yer pokin’ inter it, an’ I think yer aunt Bertha’s scared o’ summink.”
“She’s