A Christmas Promise

Mr. Balthasar looked at her grimly. His dark face, with its long, curved nose, was set in lines of deep unhappiness.

Gracie swallowed, but the lump in her throat remained.

“Will yer please ’elp me, mister, cos I dunno ’oo else ter ask. I think Minnie Maude’s in trouble.”

“Yes,” he agreed quickly. “I think she probably is. You look frozen, child.” He touched her shoulder with his thin hand. “And wet through. I will find you something dry, and a cup of tea.” He started to move away.

“There in’t time!” she said urgently, panic rising in her voice. Warm and dry would be wonderful, but not till Minnie Maude was found.

“Yes, there is,” he replied steadily. “A dry shawl will take no time at all, and you can tell me everything you know while the kettle is boiling. I shall close the shop so we will not be disturbed. Come with me.”

He locked the door and turned around a little sign on it so people would not knock, then he found her a wonderful red embroidered shawl and wrapped it around her, instead of her own wringing-wet one. Then, while she sat on a stool and watched him, he pulled the kettle onto the top of the big black stove, and cut bread to make toast.

“Tell me,” he commanded her. “Tell me everything you have done since you last spoke to me, where you went and what you have discovered.”

“First day I ’elped me gran, then terday I went ter see Minnie Maude, an’ she weren’t at ’ome,” Gracie began. “’er aunt Bertha tol’ me as she’d gorn out, after Stan shouted at ’er. ’e were real mad, an’Bertha were scared. There were red marks on ’er face where ’e’d ’it ’er.” It sounded silly now that she told him, because she hadn’t actually seen it and couldn’t explain any of her feelings. People did hit each other, and it didn’t have to mean much.

He did not point out any of that. Turning over the toast to brown the other side, he asked her how Bertha sounded, what she looked like.

“And so you went looking for Minnie Maude?” he said when she had finished. “Where?”

“I thought as she must ’ave remembered summink,” she replied, breathing in the smell of the crisp toast. “Or understood summink wot didn’t make no sense two days ago.”

“I see.” He took the toast off and spread a little butter on it, then jam with big black fruit in it. He put it on a plate, cut it in half, and passed it to her.

“Is that all for me?” Then she could have kicked herself for her bad manners. She wanted to push the plate away again, but that would have been rude too, and the toast was making her mouth water.

“Of course it is,” he replied. “I shall be hurt if you don’t eat it. The tea will be ready in a minute. What did she realize, Gracie?”

“Well, we knew Alf went the wrong way,” she said, picking up a piece of the toast and biting into it. It was wonderful, crisp, and the jam was sweet. She couldn’t help herself from swallowing it and taking another bite.

“The wrong way?” he prompted.

She answered with her mouth full. “Jimmy Quick always goes round ’is streets in one way. Uncle Alf went the other way. ’e started at the end, an’ did it backward, so ’e were always everywhere at the wrong time.” She leaned forward eagerly. “That were when ’e picked up the casket, nobody were expectin’ ’im even ter be there. It were put fer someone else!”

“I see.” The kettle started to whistle with steam, and Balthasar stood up and made the tea. “Do you know why he did that?”

“No.” Now she wondered why she didn’t know, and she felt stupid for not thinking of it.

“I shall inquire,” he replied. “If something caused him to, such as a carriage accident blocking a road, or a dray spilling its load so he could not get past, that might be different from his deliberately choosing the other way around. Presumably this man, the toff, went to collect the casket, and found that it was gone. How did he know that the rag and bone man had taken it?” He put up his hand. “No, no need to answer that—because all the stuff for the rag and bone collection was gone. But he caught up with poor Alf—so if Alf was going the wrong way round, how did the toff know that?” He brought the teapot to the table and poured a large mug full for her. He passed the mug across, his black eyes studying her face.

“I dunno,” she said unhappily. “D’yer think as ’e worked it out? I mean that Alf ’ad gone the wrong way round?”

“How did he know it was Alf, and not Jimmy Quick, as usual?” Balthasar asked. “No, I rather think he was waiting and watching, and he saw what happened.”

“Then why di’n’t ’e go after ’im straigh’away?” Gracie asked reasonably. “In fact, if the casket were left there for ’im, why di’n’t ’e take it before Alf even got there? That don’t make no sense.”

Balthasar frowned, biting his lip. “It would if he did not wish to be seen. Whoever left it there for him would know what was in it, and that it was both valuable and dangerous. It might be that the toff could not afford to have anyone see him with it.”

Gracie gulped. “Wot were in it?”

“I don’t know, but I imagine something like opium.”

“Wozzat?” she asked.

“A powder that gives people insane dreams of pleasure,” he replied. “And when they wake up, it is all gone, and so they have to have more, to get the dreams back again. Sometimes they will pay a great price, even kill other people, to get it. But it is not something to be proud of, in fact very much the opposite. If the toff is an addict, which means that he can no longer do without it, then he will do anything to come by it—but he will take great care that none of his friends know.”

For a moment she forgot the toast and jam.

“Someone put it there for him, in the casket,” Balthasar went on. “And he waited out of sight, to dart out and pick it up when they were gone. Only this time Alf came by before he could do that. Continue with your tea, Gracie. We have business to do when we are finished.”

“We ’ave?” But she obeyed and reached for the mug.

“We have a little more thinking to do first.” He smiled bleakly. “I would tell you to go home, because I believe this will be dangerous, but I do not trust that you would obey. I would rather have you with me, where I can see you, than following after me and I don’t know where you are and cannot protect you. But you must promise to do as I say, or we may both be in great danger, and Minnie Maude even more so.”

“I promise,” she agreed instantly, her heart pounding, her mouth dry.

“Good. Now let us consider what else we know, or may deduce.”

“Wot?”

He half-concealed a smile. “I apologize—what we may work out as being true, because of what we already know. Would you like another piece of toast? There is sufficient time. Before we do anything, we must be certain that we have considered it all, and weighed every possibility. Do you not agree?”

“Yeah. An’…an’ I’d like another piece o’ toast, if you please.”

“Certainly.” He stood up quite solemnly and cut two more slices of bread and placed them before the open door of the oven. “Now, let us consider what else has happened, and what it means. Alf had the casket at the time he spoke to the chestnut man—Cob, I believe you called him? If we know the route that Mr. Quick normally took, then we know what the reverse of it would be, with some amendments for traffic. Hence we know where Alf is most likely to have gone next. And we know where his body was found.”

“Yeah, but it don’t fit in, cos ’oo’s blood is it on the stable floor? An’ ’oo fought there an’ bashed up the wall? An’ why’d ’e take Charlie an’ the cart as well?” She drew in her breath. “An’ if ’e killed Alf an’ took the casket, wot’s ’e still looking for? That’s stupid. If I done summink wrong, I don’t go makin’ a noise all over the place. I keep me ’ead down.” She colored with shame as she said it, but right then the truth was more important than pride.

“You have several good points, Gracie,” Mr. Balthasar agreed. “All of which we need to address.” He turned the toast over and filled her mug with fresh, hot tea.

“Thank you,” she acknowledged. The heat was spreading through her now, and she looked forward to more toast and jam. She began to realize just how cold she had been.

“I think it is clear,” he continued, sitting down again, “that the toff does not have the casket, or at the very least, he does not have whatever was inside it. If he did, he would not only, as you say, keep his head down, he would be enjoying the illicit pleasures of his purchase.”

She did not know what “illicit” meant, but she could guess.

“So where is it, then? ’oo’s got it?” she asked.

“I think we must assume that Alf did something with it between speaking to Cob and meeting whoever killed him presumably the toff. Unless, of course, it was not the toff who killed him but someone else. Although to me that seems rather to be complicating things. We already have one unknown person …”

“We ’ave? ’oo?”

“Whoever passed that way just before Alf, and left the casket,” he replied. “Have you any idea who that could be?”

She felt his eyes on her, as if he could will her to come up with an answer. She wished she could be what he expected of her, and even now she wished she could think of something that really would help Minnie Maude.

“Is it someone ’oo knew where Charlie’s stable is?” she asked, wondering if it was silly even as she said it. “Cos somebody ’ad a fight there. We saw the marks, an’ the blood on the floor.”

“Indeed. And do you know if it was there before Alf went out with Charlie the day he was killed?” he asked with interest.

She saw what he was thinking. “Yer mean if it weren’t Alf or Charlie, then it ’ad ter be ter do wi’ the casket?”

“I was assuming that, yes. What does this Stan do for a living, Gracie? Do you know?”

“Yeah. ’e’s a cabbie …”

Mr. Balthasar nodded slowly.

“An’ ’e’s mad, an’ scared,” she added eagerly. “D’yer think Minnie Maude worked that out too?” Her eyes filled with tears at the thought of what violence might have happened to Minnie Maude, if Stan were the one who had left the casket for the toff.

“I think we had better finish our tea and go and speak to Cob,” Balthasar answered, rising to his feet again. “Come.”

“I gotta get me own shawl, please?” she said reluctantly. Compared with the thick red one, hers was plain, and wet.

“I will return it to you later,” he replied. “This one will keep you warm in the meantime. Come. Now that we have so many clues, we must make all the haste we can.” And he strode across the wooden floor and flung open the back door, grasping for a large black cape and swinging it around his shoulders as he went.

Outside in the street he allowed her to lead the way, keeping up with her easily because his legs were twice the length of hers. They did not speak, simply meeting eyes as they came to a curb, watching for traffic, then continuing.

They found Cob on his corner, the brazier giving off a warmth she could feel even when she was six or seven feet away.

Balthasar stood in front of Cob, half a head taller and looking alarmingly large in his black cape. He seemed very strange, very different, and several people stared at him nervously as they passed, increasing their pace a little.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Cob,” Balthasar said gravely. “I must speak to you about a very terrible matter. I require absolute honesty in your answers, or the outcome may be even worse. Do you understand me?”

Cob looked taken aback. “I dunno yer, sir, an’ I dunno nothin’ terrible. I don’t think as I can ’elp yer.” He glanced at Gracie, then away again.

“I don’t know whether you will, Mr. Cob. You may have black reasons of your own for keeping such secrets,” Balthasar answered him. “But I believe that you can.”

“I don’t ’ave no—” Cob began.

Balthasar held up his hand, commanding silence. “It concerns the murder of a man you know as Alf, and the abduction of Minnie Maude Mudway.”

Cob paled.

Balthasar nodded. “I see you understand me perfectly. When Alf left you, on the day he died, which way did he go?”

Cob pointed south.

“Indeed. And it was two streets farther than that where someone caught up with him and did him to death. Somewhere in that distance Alf gave the casket to somebody. Who lives or works along those streets, Mr. Cob, that Alf would know? A pawnshop, perhaps? A public house? An old friend? To whom would such a man give a golden casket?”

Cob looked increasingly uncomfortable. “I dunno!” he protested. “’e di’n’t tell me!”

“How long after Alf spoke to you did this gaunt gentleman come by?”

Cob moved his weight from one foot to the other. “Jus’…jus’ a few moments.”

“Was he on foot?”

“Course ’e were,” Cob said derisively. “Yer don’t go ’untin’ after someone in a carriage!”

“Hunting,” Balthasar tasted the word. “Of course you don’t. You don’t want witnesses if you catch him, now, do you?”

Cob realized that he had fallen into a trap. “I di’n’t know ’e were gonna kill ’im!” he said indignantly, but his face was pink and his eyes too fixed in their stare.

Gracie knew he was lying. She had seen exactly that look on Spike’s face when he had pinched food from the cupboard.

“Yer mean yer thought as the toff, all angry an’ swearin’, were one of ’is friends?” she said witheringly. “Knows a lot o’ rag an’ bone men, does ’e?”

“Listen, missy …,” Cob began angrily.

Balthasar stepped forward, half-shielding Gracie. He looked surprisingly menacing, and Cob shrank back.

“I think you would be a great deal wiser to give an honest answer,” Balthasar said in a careful, warning voice. “How long after Alf was here did the toff come and ask you about him?”

Cob drew in breath to protest again, then surrendered. “’Bout five minutes, I reckon, give or take. Wot diff’rence does it make now?”

“Thank you,” Balthasar replied, and taking Gracie by the arm, he started off along the street again.

“Wot diff’rence does it make?” Gracie repeated Cob’s question.

“Five minutes is quite a long time,” he replied. “I do not think he would have run. That would draw too much attention to himself. People would remember him. But a man walking briskly can still cover quite a distance in that time. Alf would be going slowly, because he would be keeping an eye out for anything to pick up.”

“Then why di’n’t ’e catch up wif Alf sooner?” Gracie asked.

“I think because Alf stopped somewhere,” Balthasar answered. “Somewhere where he left the casket, which is why he didn’t have it when the toff killed him. And that, of course, is why the toff also took Charlie and the cart, to search it more carefully in private. He could hardly do it in the middle of the street, and with poor Alf’s dead body beside him.” He stopped speaking suddenly, and seemed to lapse into deep thought, although he did not slacken his pace.

Gracie waited, running a step or two every now and then to keep up.

“Gracie!” he said suddenly. “If you were to kill a rag and bone man, in the street, albeit a quiet one, perhaps a small alley, and you wished to take away the man’s cart in order to search it, what would you do to avoid drawing attention to yourself and having everybody know what you had done?”

She knew she had to think and give him a sensible answer. She had to try not to think of Minnie Maude and the trouble she was in; it only sent her mind into a panic. Panic was no help at all.

“Cos I di’n’t want nobody to look at me?” she pressed, seeking for time.

“I don’t care if they look,” he corrected. “I don’t want them to see.”

“Wot?” Then suddenly she had an idea. “Nobody sees rag an’ bone men, less they want summink. I’d put ’is ’at on an’ drive the cart meself, so they’d think I was ’im!”

“Magnificent!” Balthasar said jubilantly. “That is precisely what a quick-thinking and desperate man would do! In fact, it is not necessarily true that he was killed where his body was found. That too could have been carried a short way at least, and left somewhere to mislead any inquiry. Yes, that is truly a great piece of imaginative detection, Gracie.”

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 the arch and gate at the end of the road when they found something that seemed hopeful.

“Took yer long enough,” a snaggletoothed man said, leaning sideways in the twelfth doorway. He regarded Gracie with disfavor. “I ’ope yer in’t expectin’ ter sell ’er? Couldn’t get sixpence for that bag o’ bones.” He laughed at his own wit.

“You are quite right,” Balthasar agreed. “She is all fire and brains, and no flesh at all. No good to customers of yours. I imagine they like warm and simple, and no answer back?”

The man looked nonplussed. “Right, an’ all,” he agreed slowly. “Then wot der yer want? Yer can’t come in ’ere wif ’er. Put people off.”

“I’m looking for my friend, Alf Mudway. Do you know him?”

“Wot if I do? Won’t do me no good now, will it! ’e’s dead. Yer wastin’ yer time.” The man stuck out his lantern jaw belligerently.

“I know he is dead,” Balthasar replied. “And I know he was killed here. I am interested that you know it too. I have friends to whom that will be of concern.” He allowed it to hang in the air, as if it were a threat.

“I dunno nuffink about it!” the man retaliated.

“One of my friends,” Balthasar said slowly, giving weight to each word, “is a tall man, and thin, as I am. But he is a little fairer of complexion, except for his eyes. He has eyes like holes in his head, as if the devil had poked his fingers into his skull, and left a vision of hell behind when he withdrew them.”

The color in the man’s face fled. “I already told ’im!” he said in a strangled voice. “Alf come in ’ere ter see Rose, an’ ’e went out again. I di’n’t see nuffink! I dunno wot ’e done nor wot ’e took! Nor the cabbie neither! I swear!”

“The cabbie?” Balthasar repeated. “Just possibly you are telling the truth. Describe him.” It was an order.

“’e were a cabbie, fer Gawd’s sake! Cape on for the rain. Bowler ’at.”

Gracie knew what Balthasar had told her, but she spoke anyway.

“Wot about ’is legs?” she challenged. She knocked her knees together and then apart again. “Could ’e catch a runaway pig?”

Balthasar stared at her.

“Not in a month o’ Sundays,” the man replied. “Bowlegged as a Queen Anne chair.”

Balthasar took Gracie by the arm, his fingers holding her so hard she could not move without being hurt. “We will now see Rose,” he stated.

The man started to refuse, then looked at Balthasar’s face again and changed his mind.

The inside of the house was poorly lit, but surprisingly warm, and the smell was less horrible than Gracie had expected. They had been told that Rose’s was the third room on the left.

“I’m sorry,” Balthasar apologized to her. “This may be embarrassing for you, but it will not be safe to leave you outside.”

“I don’ care,” Gracie said tartly. “We gotta find Minnie Maude.”

“Quite.” Unceremoniously Balthasar put his weight against the door and burst it open.

What met Gracie’s eyes was nothing at all that she could have foreseen. What she had expected, after Balthasar’s words, was some scene of lewdness such as she had accidentally witnessed in alleys before, men and women half-naked, touching parts of the body she knew should be private. She had never imagined that it would be a half-naked woman lying on the floor in a tangle of bedclothes, blood splashed on her arms and chest, staining the sheets, bruises all over her face and neck.

Balthasar said something in a language she had never heard before, and fell onto the floor on his knees beside the woman. His long brown fingers touched her neck and stilled, feeling for something, waiting.

“Is she dead?” Gracie said in a hoarse whisper.

“No,” Balthasar answered softly. “But she has been badly hurt. Look around and see if you can find me any alcohol. If you can’t, fetch me water.”

Gracie was too horrified to move.

“Gracie! Do as I tell you!” Balthasar commanded.

Gracie tried to think where she should look. Where did people keep bottles of whisky or gin? Where it couldn’t be seen. In the bottom of drawers, the back of cupboards, underneath other things, in bottles that looked like something else.

Balthasar had Rose sitting up, cradled against his arm, her eyelids fluttering as if she were going to awaken, when Gracie discovered the bottle in the bottom of the wardrobe, concealed under a long skirt. She uncorked the top and gave it to him.

He said nothing, but there was a flash of appreciation in his eyes that was worth more than words. Carefully he put the bottle to Rose’s lips and tipped it until a little of the liquid went into her mouth. She coughed, half-choked, and then took in a shaky breath.

“Rose!” he said firmly. “Rose! Wake up. You’re going to be all right. He’s gone and no one is going to hurt you again. Now breathe in and out, slowly.”

She did so, and opened her eyes. She must have known from his voice that he was not whoever had beaten her. He had a slight foreign accent, as if he came from somewhere very far away.

“Rose,” he said gently. “Who did this to you, and why?”

She shook her head a little, then winced at the pain. “I dunno,” she whispered.

“It is too late for lies,” he insisted. “Why?”

“I dunno.” Tears slid down her cheeks. “Some geezer just went mad an’ …”

Gracie bent down in front of her, anger and fear welling up inside her. “Course yer know, yer stupid mare!” she said furiously. “If yer don’t tell us about the casket, an’ ’oo took it, Minnie Maude’s going ter be killed too, jus’ like Alf, an’ it’ll be on yer ’ead. An’ nobody’s never gonna fer-give yer! Now spit it out, before I twist yer nose off.”

Balthasar opened his mouth, and then changed his mind and closed it again.

Rose stared in horror at Gracie.

Gracie put her hand out toward Rose’s face, and Rose flinched.

“A’ right!” she squawked. “It were a toff with mad eyes, like a bleedin’ lunatic. Proper gent, spoke like ’e ’ad a mouth full of ’ot pertaters. ’e wanted the gold box wot Alf gave me, and when I couldn’t give it to ’im, ’e beat the ’ell out o’ me.” She started to cry.

Gracie was overcome with pity. Rose looked awful, and must have been full of pain in just about every part of her. Balthasar had wound the end of a sheet around the worst bleeding, but even the sight of so much scarlet was frightening. But if the toff had Minnie Maude, then obviously he could just as easily do the same to her, or worse. And Alf was already dead.

“Why di’n’t yer give ’im the box?” Gracie demanded, her voice sharp, not with anger but with fear. “Wot’s in it worth bein’ killed fer?”

“Cos I don’t ’ave it, eedjit!” Rose snapped back at her. “Don’t yer think I’d ’ave given ’im the bleedin’ crown jools, if I’d ’ave ’ad them?”

Gracie was dismayed. “Then ’oo ’as?” she said hollowly.

“Stan. Cos them Chinamen came to ’is place and beat the bejesus out of ’im for the money. ’e came ’ere jus’ before. I reckon the bastard knew that lunatic were be’ind ’im, an’ ’e went out the back. Then a few minutes after, this other geezer came in the front an’ started in on me as soon as I din’ give ’im the box.”

“That is not the complete truth,” Balthasar said quietly. “It makes almost perfect sense. Clearly Alf gave you the box, just before he was killed. At the time, no one else knew that, but Stan worked it out. I daresay he knew Alf well enough to be aware of his association with you, so it was only a matter of time before he came here. We may assume that the toff was aware of this also, but not where you were, and therefore he followed Stan.”

“‘ Ow’d ’e know about Stan?” Rose looked at him awkwardly. Her cheek where she had been struck was swelling up, and one eye was rapidly closing. In a day or two the bruises would look much worse.

Balthasar glanced at Gracie, then back to Rose. “I think we can deduce that Stan was the one who placed the casket and its contents on the road near where the toff was waiting for the opportunity to pick it up. He hid in order that whoever dropped off the box would not see him. His addiction is not something he would care to have widely known, or his association with such people. When his addiction is under control, I daresay he is a man of some substance, and possibly of repute, and would then look much like anyone else. We are seeing him when he has been deprived of his drug and is half-insane for the need of it.”

Gracie shivered involuntarily. It was a thing of such destructive force that the evil of it permeated the room. “If ’e were followin’ Stan, Minnie Maude weren’t wif ’im, were she?” She swung around and stared accusingly at Rose. “Well, were she?”

“No! ’e were by ’isself!”

Gracie looked at Balthasar, desperation swelling into panic inside her. “If the toff’s got ’er, why’d ’e chase after Stan? Where is she now? Is she … dead?”

Balthasar did not lie to her. “I don’t think so. All the toff wants is the casket. He needs what is inside it as a drowning man needs air. Minnie Maude is the one bargaining piece he has. He will return to get her before he goes to where he expects to find Stan, then he will offer a trade—Minnie Maude for the casket.”

Gracie gulped. “And Stan’ll give it to ’im, an’ Minnie Maude’ll be all right?”

“I hope so. But we must be there to make sure that he does, just in case he has it in mind to do otherwise.” He looked at Rose. “We will send for a doctor for you.” He took a coin out of his pocket. “Where would Stan go, Rose?”

She hesitated.

“Do you want this ended, or shall we all come back here again?” he asked.

“Oriental Street, down off Pennyfields, near Lime’ouse Station,” she said, her eyes wide with fear. “There’s a stable there … it’s—”

“I know.” Balthasar cut her off. He put the shiny coin into her hand. “Pay the doctor with this. If you choose to spend it other than on your well-being, or lack of it, it is your own fault. Take care!” He stood up and went to the door. “Come on, Gracie. We have no time to waste.”

At the entrance he told the snaggletoothed man to send for a doctor, or he would risk losing good merchandise. Then, outside in the alley, Balthasar marched toward the larger road, swung to the right, and continued on at such a pace that Gracie had to run to keep up with him. At Commercial Road East he hailed a cab, climbed up into it, pulling her behind him, and ordered the driver to go toward Pennyfields, off the West India Dock Road, as fast as he could.

“’ow can we catch up wif ’im?” Gracie asked breathlessly as she was being thrown around uncomfortably while the cab lurched over icy cobbles, veered around corners, and jolted forward again. She was pitched from one side to the other with nothing to hang on to. “’e must be ages ahead of us.”

“Not necessarily,” Balthasar insisted. “Stan will be ahead of us, certainly, but he does not know anyone is following him.”

“But the toff’ll catch up wif ’im long before we do!” She was almost pitched into his lap, and scrambled awkwardly to get back straight on her own seat again. If this was what hansoms were like usually, then she was very glad she didn’t ride in them often. “’e could kill ’im too, ter get the casket. Then wot’ll ’appen ter Minnie Maude?”

“I don’t think Stan will be so easy to kill,” Balthasar answered grimly. “He must know what is in the casket, and be used to dealing with the kind of men who trade in opium, and who buy it. The toff will know that, which is why he will take Minnie Maude with him. Stan will have to see her alive before he passes over anything.” He touched her arm gently. “At least until then, Minnie Maude will be safe. But that is why we must hurry. Stan is a very frightened man, and the toff is a very desperate one.”

Gracie turned and looked out the window. The houses were strange to her. Long windows had cracks of bright yellow light behind them, curtains drawn against the moonlit sky. She could see nothing beyond, as if the windows were blind, closed up within themselves. Maybe everyone inside the houses was all together, drinking tea by the fire, and eating toast and jam.

“Where are we?” she asked a few minutes later.

“We are still on Commercial Road.” He rapped on the front wall of the cab with his fist. “Turn left into Pennyfields, just before you get to the West India Docks Station. Halfway along it is Oriental Street. Now hurry!”

“Right you are, sir!” the cabby answered, and increased speed again.

Gracie looked out of the window again. There seemed to be traffic all around them, carriages, other cabs, a dray with huge horses with braided manes and lots of brass, a hearse, carts and wagons of all sorts. They were barely moving.

“We gotta go faster!” she said urgently, grasping Balthasar’s arm. “We won’t get there in time like this!”

“I agree. But don’t panic. They are stuck just as we are. Come, we shall walk the rest of the way. It is not far now.” He pushed the door open and climbed out, passing coins up to the startled driver. Then, grasping Gracie by the arm again, he set off, head forward, pushing his way through the crowds.

Gracie wanted to ask him if he was certain he knew where he was going, but the noise was a babble like a field full of geese, and he wouldn’t have heard her. It was hard enough just to keep hold of him and not get torn away by the people bumping and jostling their way, arms full of bags and boxes. One fat man had a dead goose slung over his shoulder. Another man had his hat on askew and a crate of bottles in his arms. There was a hurdy-gurdy playing somewhere, and she could hear the snatches of music every now and then.

She lost count of how far they went. She felt banged and trodden on with every other step, but if they could just find Minnie Maude in time, the rest was of no importance at all.

Here in the crowd it was not so cold. There was no space for the wind to get up the energy to slice through your clothes, and the shawl Mr. Balthasar had given her was much better than her own. Her boots were sodden, but perhaps it was as well that her feet were numb, so she couldn’t feel it every time a stranger stepped on them.

She did not know how long it was before they were gasping in a side alley, as if washed up by a turbulent stream into an eddy by the bank.

“I believe we have not far to go now,” Balthasar said with forced optimism.

She followed him along the dark alley, their footsteps suddenly louder as the crowd fell behind them. Ahead the cobbles looked humpbacked and uneven, the little light there was catching the ice, making it glisten. The doorways on either side were hollow, the dim shadows of sleeping people seeming more like rubbish than human forms. In a hideous moment, Gracie felt as if the sleepers were waiting for someone to collect them—someone who never came.

Ahead there was a sound of horses shifting weight, hooves on stone, a sharp blowing out of breath. It was impossible to see anything clearly. Lights were as much a deception as a help, a shaft of yellow ending abruptly, a halo of light in the gathering mist, a beam that stabbed the dark and went nowhere.

“Tread softly,” Balthasar whispered. “And don’t speak again. We are here, and both Stan and the toff will be here soon, if they are not already. Please God, we are soon enough.”

Gracie nodded, although she knew he could not see her. Together they crept forward. He was still holding on to her so hard she could not have stayed behind even if she had wanted to.

Foot by foot they crept across the open space, through the wide gates and into the stable yard. Still they could see only tiny pools of light, the edge of a door, a bale of hay with pieces sticking out of it raggedly, the black outline of a cab and the curve of one wheel. There was a brazier alight. Gracie could smell the burning and feel the warmth of it more than see it. A shadow moved near it, a man easing his position, turning nervously, craning to catch every sound. She had no idea if it was Stan or not.

Balthasar kept hard against the wall, half-hidden by a hanging harness, its irregular shape masking his and Gracie’s beside him. The tightening grasp of his hand warned her to keep still.

Seconds ticked by. How long were they going to wait? Somewhere ten or twelve yards away a horse kicked against the wooden partition of its stall with a sudden, hollow sound, magnified by the silence and the cold.

Stan let out a cry of alarm and jerked around so violently that for a moment his face was lit by the coals of the brazier, his cheeks red, his eyes wide with fear.

Nothing else moved.

Gracie drew in her breath, and Balthasar’s fingers tightened on her arm.

From the shadows at the entrance a figure materialized, long and lean, its face as gaunt as a skull, a top hat at a crazy angle over one side of the brow. Deep furrows ran from the nose around the wide mouth, and the eyes seemed white-rimmed in the eerie light as the brazier suddenly burned up in the draft.

Stan was rigid, like a stone figure. From the look on his face, the man in the doorway might have had death’s scythe in his hands. But it was nothing so symbolic that stirred beside the figure’s thin legs and the skirts of the man’s black frock coat. It was Minnie Maude, her face ash-pale, her hair straggling in wet rats’ tails onto her shoulders. He had hold of her by a rope around her neck.

Gracie felt the cold inside her grow and her own body tighten, as if she must do something, but she had no idea what. She felt Balthasar’s grip on her arm so hard it brought tears prickling into her eyes. She pulled away, to warn him, and he loosened it immediately.

“You did not deliver my box,” the toff said quietly, but his perfect diction and rasping voice filled the silence, echoing in the emptiness of the stable. Somewhere up in the loft there would be hay, straw, probably rats. “Give it to me now, and I will give you the girl. A simple exchange.”

“I left it fer yer,” Stan retorted with a naked fear one could almost smell. “In’t up ter me ter ’old yer ’and while yer sneak out an’ pick it up. In fact, yer’d prob’ly cut me throat fer seein’ yer if I did.”

“I would have preferred that we not meet,” the toff agreed with a ghastly smile. His teeth were beautiful, but his mouth twisted with unnameable pains. “But you have made that impossible.” He gave a quick tweak to the rope around Minnie Maude’s neck. “I have something that belongs to you. I will trade it for what you have that belongs to me. Then we will part, and forget each other. I imagine the men who supply you, and pay you whatever pittance it is, are not happy with you.”

Stan’s breath wheezed in his throat, as though the whole cage of his chest were too tight for him. “I in’t got it!”

“Yes, you have! Those who supply it want their money, and I want what is in my box. You want the child.” He made it a statement, but there was an edge of panic in his voice now, and his eyes were wild, darting from Stan to the shadows where the light from the lanterns flickered.

Gracie was motionless, afraid that even her blinking might somehow catch his attention.

“Yer’ve always ’idden,” Stan argued. “Now I’ve seen yer, wot’s ter say yer won’t kill me, like yer killed Alf?”

The toff drew in a quick breath. “So you do have it. Good. This is a beginning. You are quite right. I will kill to get what I need. With regret, certainly, but without hesitation.” He pulled Minnie Maude a little closer to him, using the rope around her neck. She looked very thin, very fragile. One hard yank could break the slender bones. The end of her life would be instantaneous.

Balthasar must have had the same conviction. He let go of Gracie’s arm and stepped forward out of the shadows.

“Do not lie to the man, Stanley.” He spoke quietly, as if he were merely giving advice. If he was afraid, there was nothing of it in his voice, or in the easy grace with which he stood. “Alf gave it to Rose, perhaps as a gift. He had no idea what was inside it, simply that it was pretty. When you realized where it was, you took it from her, as he”—he gestured toward the toff, “knew you would. He followed you and beat that information out of Rose. He will not pay the suppliers until he has his goods, as you well know, which is why you are afraid of them. They will surely hold you accountable, possibly they already have. I imagine it is your blood on your stable floor, which is why you are terrified now.”

Stan was shaking, but he kept his eyes on the toff, never once turning to look at Balthasar behind him. “An’ ’e’ll kill me if I do,” he said. “’e di’n’t never want ter be seen. I ’ave ter leave it where ’e can watch me put it, then go, so ’e can creep out an’ get it in private, like. Only that damn’ Alf did Jimmy Quick’s route all arse about-face, an’ took it before ’e could come out.”

“Yes, I had deduced that,” Balthasar answered.

A slight wind blew through the open doors, and the lantern light wavered again.

“Give it to me, or I’ll kill the girl!” the toff said more sharply. His patience was paper-thin, the pain of need twisting inside him.

“Then you will have nothing to bargain with!” Balthasar snapped, his voice the crack of a whip. “Stanley has the box, and he will give it to you.”

The toff’s eyes shifted from one man to the other, hope and desperation equally balanced.

The silence was so intense that Gracie could hear the horses moving restlessly in the stalls at the far side of the partition, and somewhere up in the loft there was the scrabble of clawed feet.

They waited.

Gracie stared at Minnie Maude, willing her to trust, and stay still.

Stan’s eyes were fixed on the toff. “If I give it yer, ’ow do I know yer’ll let ’er go?”

“You know I’ll kill her if you don’t,” the toff replied.

“Then yer’ll never get it, an’ yer can’t live without it, can yer!” Stan was jeering now, had become ugly, derisive, as if that knowledge gave him some kind of mastery.

The toff’s body was shaking, the skin of his face gray and sheened with sweat where the lantern light caught him. He took a step forward.

Stan wavered, then stood his ground.

Minnie Maude whimpered in terror. She knew the toff was mad with need, and she had no doubt he would kill her, perhaps by accident if not intentionally.

“Give it to him,” Balthasar ordered. “It is of no use to you, except to sell. There is your market standing in front of you. If he kills Minnie Maude, you can never go home! Have you thought of that? You will be a fugitive for the rest of your life. Believe me, I will see to it.”

Something in his tone drove into Stan’s mind like a needle to the bone. His shoulders relaxed as if he had surrendered, and he turned away from the toff toward the nearest bale of straw. He pushed his hand into it in a hole no one else could see, and pulled out a metal box about eight inches long and four inches deep. Even in the dim and wavering light the gold gleamed on the finely wrought scrollwork, the small fretted inlays, and the elaborate clasp. Gracie had never seen anything so beautiful. If it wasn’t a gift for the Christ child, it should have been.

The toff’s eyes widened. Then he hurled himself at it, his hands out like claws, tearing at Stan, kicking, gouging, and butting at him with his head, top hat rolling away on the floor.

Stan let out a cry of fury, and his heavy arms circled the man, bright blood spurting from Stan’s nose onto the man’s pale hair. They rocked back and forth, gasping and grunting, both locked onto the golden casket.

Then with a bellow of rage Stan arched his back, lifted the toff right off his feet, whirled him sideways, and slammed him down again as hard as he could. There was a crack, like dry wood, and the toff lay perfectly still.

Very slowly Stan straightened up and turned not to Minnie Maude but to Balthasar. “I ’ad ter do it! You saw that, di’n’t yer.” It was a demand, not a question. “’e were gonna kill us all.” When Balthasar did not answer, Stan turned to Minnie Maude. “’e’d a killed you, an’ all, fer sure.”

Minnie Maude ran past him, evading his outstretched arms, and threw herself at Gracie, clinging on to her so hard it hurt.

It was a pain Gracie welcomed. If it had not hurt, it might not have been real.

“Yer stupid little article!” she said to her savagely. “Why di’n’t yer wait fer me?”

“Just wanted to find Charlie,” Minnie Maude whispered.

“I ’ad ter!” Stan shouted.

“Possibly,” Balthasar replied with chill. “Possibly not.” He held out his hand. “You will give me the casket.”

Stan’s face hardened with suspicion. He looked at Balthasar, then at Gracie and Minnie Maude standing holding on to each other.

“Like that, is it? Give it ter you, or you’ll kill both of ’em, eh? Or worse? Do wot yer bleedin’ want ter. I don’ need two little girls. Blood’s on yer ’ands.” There was almost a leer on his face. “I should a known that’s wot you were. Thought for a moment you was after saving Minnie Maude. More fool me.”

Could that really be what Balthasar had wanted all the time—the gold casket, and the poisonous dreams inside it?

Balthasar looked at Stan as if he had oozed up out of the gutter. “I will give the opium back to those who gave it to you,” he replied icily. “To save your life—not because you deserve it, but it is still a life. I will tell them it was not your fault, you are incompetent, not dishonest. You would be well advised not to seek them out again. In fact, it would be to your advantage if they did not remember your name, or the place where you live.”

Stan stood with his mouth open, halfway between a gape and a sneer.

“As for the casket,” Balthasar continued, “I shall give that to Gracie and Minnie Maude. I think they have earned it, and its owner no longer has any use for it.” He glanced down at the toff, his face gaunt, oddly vacant now, as if his tortured spirit had left it behind.

“If you go immediately,” Balthasar went on, still speaking to Stan, “you may not be found to blame for this, and the police do not need to know that you were here. Nor do the gentlemen who deal in opium.”

“’ow do I know I can trust yer?” Stan asked, but the belligerence was gone from his face and he spoke quietly, as though he would have liked an answer he could cling on to, one to save his pride.

“You don’t,” Balthasar said simply. “But when the police do not trouble you, and you never see or hear from the opium dealers again, you will know then.”

Stan gave him the casket.

Balthasar opened it very carefully, but there was no secret catch to it, no needles to prick or poison. Inside was a fine silk bag full of powder, which he took. He put it into the pocket on the inside of his coat. Then he examined the box carefully, blew away any suggestion of powder or dust from every part of it, and wiped it with his handkerchief. He held it out to Gracie.

“I know that all you wanted was to save Minnie Maude, but I think you have earned this. You and Minnie Maude will decide what is best to do with it. But it is very precious. Do not show it to people or they may take it, although it has nothing inside it now.”

Gracie reached out slowly, afraid to touch it, afraid even more to hold it in her hands.

“Take it,” he repeated.

She shook her head, putting the tip of one finger gently on the shining surface. It was smooth, and not really cold. “It shouldn’t be fer me,” she said huskily.

“What would you like to do with it?” he asked.

“When I first ’eard about it, I thought it were a present—cos it’s Christmas. Yer know—like wot the Wise Men brought for Jesus.”

“Gold for the king, because He is king of all of us,” he agreed. “Frankincense because He is priest, and myrrh because He is the sacrifice that redeems all of us from the death of the soul. Is that what you would like to do with it?”

She nodded. “Yeah. But I don’t know ’ow. An’ it’s empty.”

“Christ will know what it cost you to get it,” he told her. “And it doesn’t matter a great deal where you go. Christmas is everywhere. But I do know of a place where some people are holding a very special Christmas Eve party, with a nativity scene. I can’t take you, because I have to get rid of this poison, back to the people who own it, before they find Stan and take their price in his blood. But I can show you the direction to go.”

“Wot’s that wot you said?”

“A nativity scene? It is people creating a little play, like the first Christmas all over again. It’s very special, very holy. Come.” He looked at Minnie Maude. “Are you able to come too? It has to be done tonight, because this is Christmas Eve. This is the night when it happened in the beginning and created a whole new age, an age of hope, and a new kind of love.”

Minnie Maude nodded slowly, gripping on to Gracie’s hand.

“Can you walk a little?” Balthasar asked anxiously. “I can get you a hansom cab to ride in, but you will still have to walk at the far end.”

“I in’t got no money fer an ’ansom,” Gracie told him. “I could pay for an omnibus, if there is one, mebbe?”

“I shall pay for it, and tell him exactly where to go. But I think you had better wrap up the casket in the edge of your shawl. We do not want to draw people’s attention to it.”

She took the casket from him and obediently wound the end of the red shawl around it until the box was completely hidden. “I’ll bring the shawl back to yer after Christmas,” she promised.

“If you wish,” he said solemnly. “And I shall return you your own one, clean and dry. But if you prefer this one, we can leave matters as they are.”

It was a wonderful thought. This one was warmer, and far prettier. But it must also have been expensive. She resisted the temptation. “That wouldn’t be fair.”

“As you wish. Now come. It is late and there is no time to spare. In less than an hour it will be Christmas Day.”