A Christmas Promise

Gracie continued with her duties for the day, missing some out and working double speed at others. She tried not to think of the wild promises she had made to Minnie Maude Mudway. She must have lost all the sense she’d ever had! Now she was scrubbing the kitchen bench, lye stinging her hands, fingers wet and cold. The sleet outside was turning to snow, everyone else was thinking of Christmas, and she was planning to go and ask a rag and bone man what his route was, so she could look for the people who had murdered Alf Mudway for a casket! Oh—and the real purpose of the whole thing was to find a donkey, who was probably as right as rain somewhere else, and not sparing them a thought in its head. If donkeys had thoughts.

Then on the other hand, he might be wandering around alone, lost, scared stiff, knowing his master was dead, because he had seen it happen. He could be shivering, wet and frightened, not knowing what to do about it—and hungry. She imagined him, standing in the dark and the rain, ears down, tail down, slowly getting wetter and wetter. She really didn’t have any choice.

Added to which, if she didn’t help, then Minnie Maude would go off and do it on her own. Gracie knew that without doubt, because Minnie Maude was only eight, and had no idea what she was doing. And Aunt Bertha didn’t care. Somebody had to look after Minnie Maude, just like Minnie Maude had to look after Charlie. Some things couldn’t be helped, no matter how daft they were, and how much you knew better.

Which is why she kept running out at the back to see if the lamplighter had been yet, and when she saw the light in the distance, she lied to her gran that she had promised old Mrs. Dampier to run an errand for her. Mrs. Dampier never remembered anything, so she wouldn’t know. Gracie slipped out of the kitchen into the rain before she could answer the inevitable questions.

Minnie Maude was waiting for her, standing huddled in the shadows, her shawl wrapped around her head and shoulders, skirts flapping damply in the gusty wind, boots soaked. But her face lit with happiness when she saw Gracie, and she darted out of the shelter of the wall and fell in step beside her without giving her time to hesitate or say anything more than “’ello.”

“’e’ll be ’ome now,” Minnie Maude said, skipping a step to match her stride with Gracie’s. “’avin’ ’is tea. We’ll ask ’im.”

They walked in silence, their feet echoing on the cobbles. The snow had almost stopped, and it was beginning to freeze hard in the few places where it lay. It was wise to watch for icy patches, so as not to slip. Most of the lamps were lit, and there was a yellow warmth to them, like lighted windows to some palace of the mind. There was a slight fog rising, muffling the sound of distant wheels, and every now and then the mournful bellow of a foghorn sounded somewhere down on the river.

There wasn’t much to show that Christmas was only a couple of days away, just the occasional wreath of leaves on a door, some with bright berries; or someone passing by singing a snatch of a song, happy and lilting, not the usual bawdy version of the latest from the music halls. In daylight, of course, there might have been a barrel organ, but this was far too late.

They reached Jimmy Quick’s gate and made their way across the yard carefully to avoid the clutter, not wanting either to knock anything over or to bash their shins on a crate or old chair.

Jimmy was not pleased to see them. He stood in the doorway, looking immense, with the kitchen candles wavering in the draft behind him and making his shadow loom and bend.

“What d’yer want now, Minnie Maude? Yer get-tin’ ter be a nuisance,” he said angrily. “I can’t tell yer nothin’, ’ceptin’ I’m sorry Alf’s dead. I dunno wot ’appened ter ’im. I only know it in’t my fault, an’ yer can come as many times as yer like, it still in’t. I don’t owe yer a bleeding thing!”

“Course,” Minnie Maude said generously. Standing behind her, Gracie could see that she was shaking, but she kept her eyes on Jimmy’s. “I jus’ wanted ter ask yer wot way yer goes, so I can find the place ’e died, exact like.”

“Wot for?” he said with amazement. “’e’s dead, girl. Goin’ starin’ at a place in’t gonna change nothin’.”

Minnie Maude took a deep breath. “I know that. But I wanter put a flower there. ’e should a bin with us for Christmas,” she added.

Jimmy Quick swore under his breath. “Yer don’t never let go, do yer? I already told yer where ’e were found. Yer got ’oles in yer ’ead, yer don’t remember? ’e were in Richard Street, like I said.”

Minnie Maude was temporarily speechless.

Jimmy stepped back to close the door.

“’ow d’yer get there?” Gracie asked him.

“Yer ’ere an’ all?” He peered at her as if, in the shadows, he had not seen her. “Why d’yer care?”

Gracie decided to attack. “Look at ’er!” she told him angrily. “Size of ’er. She’d make a twopenny rabbit look good. Can’t go an’ leave ’er ter do it on ’er own, can I? She in’t got no ma, ’er aunt Bertha don’t wanna know—she’s got ’er own griefs—an’ Stan wouldn’t throw a bucket o’ water on ’er if she were on fire, let alone take ’er ter Richard Street. Alf were all she ’ad. Wot’s the matter wif yer? Can’t yer jus’ tell ’er which way ter go?” She scowled as if she found him highly suspicious. “Summink wrong wif it, then?”

“Course there in’t, yer daft little girl,” he said sharply, then he rattled off a list of streets, and she closed her eyes, concentrating on remembering them, before she looked back at him and thanked him. Then she grabbed Minnie Maude by the hand and retreated into the darkness and the jumble of the yard, pulling Minnie Maude with her. She was not ready to speak yet. She needed to concentrate on memorizing the streets, before they went out of her head. She wished she could write, then they could be kept safe longer. She could bring them back anytime she wanted—days from now, weeks even. One day she would learn, then she’d be able to keep every idea that mattered, forever. That would be like owning the whole world! You could always have people talking to you, telling you their dreams, their ideas. She would do it, absolutely definitely—one day.

She repeated the street names one more time, then turned to Minnie Maude.

“We’ll go termorrer,” she told her. “You say the streets over an’ over, too, case I forget.”

“I got ’em.” Minnie Maude nodded. “When termorrer?”

Gracie started to walk briskly back toward their own streets, Minnie Maude’s first, then hers. They were facing the wind now, and it was colder. “Termorrer,” she said.