Anne Perry - A Christmas Promise (The Christmas Stories, Book 7)

BY ANNE PERRY
Published by The Random House Publishing Group

F EATURING W ILLIAM M ONK

The Face of a Stranger
A Dangerous Mourning
Defend and Betray
A Sudden, Fearful Death
The Sins of the Wolf
Cain His Brother
Weighed in the Balance
The Silent Cry
A Breach of Promise
The Twisted Root
Slaves of Obsession
Funeral in Blue
Death of a Stranger
The Shifting Tide
Dark Assassin
Execution Dock

F EATURING C HARLOTTE AND T HOMAS P ITT

The Cater Street Hangman
Callander Square
Paragon Walk
Resurrection Row
Bluegate Fields
Rutland Place
Death in the Devils Acre
Cardington Crescent
Silence in Hanover Close
Bethlehem Road
Farriers Lane
The Hyde Park Headsman
Traitors Gate
Pentecost Alley
Ashworth Hall
Brunswick Gardens
Bedford Square
Half Moon Street
The Whitechapel Conspiracy
Southampton Row
Seven Dials
Long Spoon Lane
Buckingham Palace Gardens

T HE W ORLD W AR I N OVELS

No Graves As Yet
Shoulder the Sky
Angels in the Gloom
At Some Disputed Barricade
We Shall Not Sleep

T HE C HRISTMAS N OVELS

A Christmas Journey
A Christmas Visitor
A Christmas Guest
A Christmas Secret
A Christmas Beginning
A Christmas Grace

T HE WEEK BEFORE CHRISTMAS, THE SMELL and taste of it were in the air, a kind of excitement, an urgency about everything. Geese and rabbits hung outside butchers shops, and there were little pieces of holly on some peoples doors. Postmen were extra busy. The streets were still gray, the wind still hard and cold, the rain turning to sleet, but it wouldnt have seemed right if it had been different.

Gracie Phipps was on an errand for her gran to get a tuppence worth of potatoes to go with the leftovers of cabbage and onion, so Gran could make bubble and squeak for supper. Spike and Finn would pretty well eat anything they could fit into their mouths, but they liked this especially. Better with a slice of sausage, of course, but there was no money for that now. Everything was being saved for Christmas.

Gracie walked a little faster into the wind, pulling her shawl tighter around her. She had the potatoes in a string bag, along with half a cabbage. She saw the girl standing by the candle makers, on the corner of Heneage Street and Brick Lane, her reddish fair hair blowing about and her arms hugged around her as if she were freezing. She looked to be about eight, five years younger than Gracie, and as skinny as an eel. She had to be lost. She didnt belong there, or on Chicksand Streetone over. Gracie had lived on these streets ever since she had come to London from the country, when her mother had died six years before, in 1877. She knew everyone.

Are yer lorst? she asked as she reached the child. This is eneage Street. Where dyer come from?

The girl looked at her with wide gray eyes, blinking fiercely in an attempt to stop the tears from brimming over onto her cheeks. Thrawl Street, she answered. That was two streets over to the west and on the other side of Brick Lane, out of the neighborhood altogether.

Its that way. Gracie pointed.

I know where it is, the girl replied, not making any effort to move. Me uncle Alfs bin killed, an Charlies gorn. I gotta find im, cos ell be cold an ungry, an mebbe scared. Her eyes brimmed over, and she wiped her sleeve across her face and sniffed. ave yer seen a donkey as yer dont know? es gray, wi brown eyes, an a sort o pale bit round the end of is nose. She looked at Gracie with sudden, intense hope. es about this igh. She indicated, reaching upward with a small, dirty hand.

Gracie would have liked to help, but she had seen no animals at all, except for the coal mans horse at the end of the street, and a couple of stray dogs. Even hansom cabs didnt often come to this part of the East End. Commercial Street, or Whitechapel Road, maybe, on their way to somewhere else. She looked at the childs eager face and felt her heart sink. Wots yer name? she asked.

Minnie Maude Mudway, the child replied. But I int lorst. Im lookin fer Charlie. es the one wots lorst, an summink might ave appened to im. I told yer, me uncle Alfs bin killed. Yesterday it were, an Charlies gorn. ed ave come ome if e could. e must be cold an ungry, an e dunno where e is.

Gracie was exasperated. The whole story made no sense. Why would Minnie Maude be worrying about a donkey that had wandered off, if her uncle had really been killed? And yet she couldnt just leave the girl there standing on the corner in the wind. It would be dark very soon. It was after three already, and going to rain. Yer got a ma? Gracie asked.

No, Minnie Maude answered. I got an aunt Bertha, but she says as Charlie dont matter. Donkeys is donkeys.

Well, if yer uncle got killed, maybe she dont care that much about donkeys right now. Gracie tried to sound reasonable. Wots gonna appen to er, wif im gone? Yer gotta think as she might be scared an all.

Minnie Maude blinked. Uncle Alf dint matter to er like that, she explained. e were me pas bruvver. She sniffed harder. Uncle Alf told good stories. ed bin ter places, an e saw things better than most folk. Saw them fer real, wot they meant inside, not just wots plain. e used ter make me laugh.

Gracie felt a sudden, sharp sense of the girls loss. Maybe it was Uncle Alf she was really looking for, and Charlie was just an excuse, a kind of sideways way of seeing it, until she could bear to look at it straight. There was something very special about people who made you laugh. Im sorry, she said gently. It had been a little while before she had really said to herself that her mother wasnt ever coming back.

e were killed, Minnie Maude repeated. Yestday.

Then yerd best go ome, Gracie pointed out. Yer auntll be wondrin wot appened to yer. Mebbe Charlies already got ome isself.

Minnie Maude looked miserable and defiant, shivering in the wind and almost at the end of her strength. No e wont. If e knew ow ter come ome ed a bin there last night. es cold an scared, an all by isself. An no one but im an me knows as Uncle Alf were done in. Aunt Bertha says as e fell off an it is ead, broke is neck most like. An Stan says it dont matter anyway, cos dead is dead jus the same, an we gotta bury im decent, an get on wi things. Aint no time ter sit around. Stan drives an ansom, e goes all over the place, but e dont know as much as Uncle Alf did. e could fall over summink wifout seein it proper. e sees wot it is, like Uncle Alf said, but e dont never see wot it could be! e dint see as donkeys can be as good as a proper orse.

Not for a hansom cab, Gracie thought. Who ever saw a hansom with a donkey in the shafts? But she didnt say so.

An Aunt Bertha dint old wif animals, Minnie Maude finished. ceptin cats, cos they get the mice. She gulped and wiped her nose on her sleeve again. So will yer elp me look for Charlie, please?

Gracie felt useless. Why couldnt she have come a little earlier, when her gran had first told her to? Then she wouldnt even have been here for this child to ask her for something completely impossible. She felt sad and guilty, but there was no possible way she could go off around the wet winter streets in the dark, looking for donkeys. She had to get home with the potatoes so her gran could make supper for them, and the two hungry little boys Grans son had left when hed died. They were nearly old enough to get out and earn their own way, but right now they were still a considerable responsibility, especially with Gracies gran earning only what she could doing laundry every hour she was awake, and a few when she hardly was. Gracie helped with errands. She always seemed to be running around fetching or carrying something, cleaning, sweeping, scrubbing. But very soon she would have to go to the factory like other girls, as soon as Spike and Finn didnt need watching.