The Case of the Stolen Sixpence

by Holly Webb

The sweet, nice-mannered, ladylike Sally. But why? And how on earth was Maisie going to prove it?

  “Er, is Maisie there, please?”

  “Who wants to know?” Sarah-Ann giggled at the boy on the doorstep. It was late the next day. “Maisie! You’ve got an admirer at the door!” she called.

  “Am not,” George muttered.

  “You’ve got the bicycle!” Maisie shrieked as she saw it in the yard. “They gave you the job back!” She almost hugged him, but decided he would die of embarrassment. Eddie twirled happily around their feet, and George even patted him.

  “Don’t know what you said to Mr. Harrowby yesterday, but it worked. He came around to ours last night and offered me the job back. Thanks, Maisie.”

  “So, who did take the money, then?” Maisie asked thoughtfully. “Has he found that out?”

  George shrugged. “Nope. No one knows.” He eyed her anxiously. “Don’t go snooping around, Maisie. I’ll lose my job again if Mr. Harrowby works out you aren’t really an old lady.”

  Maisie frowned. “But don’t you want to find out? What if they do it again?”

  George shuffled his feet and sighed. “Suppose so. Just be careful, though, Maisie, please?”

  “You can help,” Maisie pointed out. “You’re on the spot. You can gather the evidence.”

  George didn’t look very excited about this idea. “I can’t go asking questions, Maisie. I already got Sally crying all over me, because I told her there was a rip in her skirt. Thought she’d like to know, that was all! I’m keeping my mouth shut—it’s safer.”

  “Her skirt’s torn . . .” Maisie muttered. “And her boots are all worn out. She needs money, doesn’t she? But why? If she’s the one who took the money, wouldn’t she have used it to get her nice boots mended?”

  “You don’t suspect Sally, do you?” George asked.

  “I don’t know,” Maisie sighed. “It’s all such a mystery. I know you said she’s very proper and fussy, but there really isn’t anyone else. I dropped a shilling in front of Frank and he gave it back to me. He even polished it first! If he won’t even take money that someone’s dropped, I can’t see him stealing from the shop.”

  “I suppose so,” George said. “Maybe Sally could have spent the money on something else,” he added, shrugging.

  “I know that!” Maisie rolled her eyes. “What, though? That’s what we have to find out.”

  “Well, you can ask her,” George said firmly. “I’m not. She’s scary. She takes after her mother.”

  “Her mother? What do you mean?” Maisie looked at him in surprise.

  “Sally’s mother. She’s a right old witch. She used to come to the shop sometimes to fetch Sally. She works at the grocer’s down the road, or she used to, anyway. Sally’s little sister’s ill, I think, and she has to stay at home to look after her. Haven’t seen her in a while.”

  Maisie stared at him. “But that’s it!”

  George looked blank. “What is?”

  “It’s expensive to be ill.” Maisie shuddered, remembering last winter when Gran had a cough that wouldn’t get better. That was when Gran had first kept her home from school to help in the house, because she couldn’t manage with just herself and Sarah-Ann. “Doctors cost a lot. Ever such a lot.”

  “You mean she could have stolen the money to pay for a doctor?” George muttered, frowning. “You might be right. Makes sense. She’s got to keep them all now, hasn’t she? Now her mum’s not earning.”

  “I bet if we could find out which doctor it was and get into his house, or look in his pockets, we’d find the rest of those marked coins . . .” Maisie looked thoughtful, and George stared at her in horror.

  “Maisie Hitchins! I’ve only just got my job back. I’m not going pickpocketing a doctor!”

  “But one of us could pretend to be ill, and . . . Maybe not.” Maisie stopped for a moment. “And we can’t tell anyone, George. If Sally loses her job, what’s going to happen to her mother, and her sister?” Maisie sighed. It was a great pity to solve a mystery so nicely and not be able to boast about it. “And we haven’t any proof, anyway. It’ll just have to stay a mystery.”

  George nodded. “Not sure how long that’ll work, though. Mr. Harrowby, he’s sniffing about . . . now that he doesn’t think it was me after all.”

  “Maisie! Are you still gossiping with the butcher’s boy?”

  “That’s Gran,” Maisie said apologetically. “I’ve got to go. Look, do me a favor, will you?”

  George looked at her suspiciously. “What sort of favor?”

  “Just ride back down Laurence Road, that’s all. And when you get to the big house on the corner with Charwell Row, go slow and wave. A friend of mine lives there.” Maisie smiled to herself. Hopefully Alice would be looking out the window.

  “Can I go too, Gran?”

  Maisie’s grandmother paused in the middle of tying on her bonnet and turned around to stare at her. “Go shopping? You want to go shopping?”

  Maisie nodded. She’d known Gran wouldn’t believe her.

  “Maisie Hitchins, if you’re sweet on that butcher’s boy, I shall send you to stay with your great-aunt in Devonshire.”

  “I’m not!” Maisie sighed. “Honestly!” But she could tell that her grandmother wasn’t convinced. “There’s something funny going on at Harrowby’s. Someone stole some money. It’s interesting . . .”

  “In other words, you’re nosing,” Gran snapped. “Still, anything to teach you how to shop properly, Maisie. Get your hat.” She glared at Eddie, who was sitting by the stairs looking hopeful. “I suppose that creature can come with us.”

  “Oh, thank you, Gran! He’s got a proper lead now—I bought him one with the money Professor Tobin gave me for cleaning out Jasper.” She showed off the thin leather lead—she’d bought it at the saddler’s. It had only cost fourpence, so she’d slipped the other two pennies into the best teapot, where Gran kept her housekeeping money. Luckily she hadn’t complained about the extra sausages on the butcher’s bill, and now they were paid for.

  On the way to Harrowby’s, Maisie tried to explain about the money, and how George had lost his job and got it back. It was quite hard to tell the story without mentioning being a boy, or borrowing Gran’s old dress and bonnet!

  “So you think it was this girl? Poor child.”

  “But she let George get sacked!” Maisie pointed out.

  “Because she was trying to do her best for her sister, Maisie!” Gran sniffed. “Of course she shouldn’t have done it, but still. Goodness, what’s happening here!”

  They could hear the shouting from halfway down the street. Several passersby were lingering outside the butcher’s shop, peering in curiously.

  Mr. Harrowby was standing in the middle of the shop, bellowing like a bull. His black mustache was shooting up at the ends as he yelled, and Sally was huddled back against the window, crying, while a couple of fascinated customers stared.

  Maisie hurriedly tied Eddie’s lead to the ring outside the butcher’s and then darted in after Gran.

  “A common thief!” the butcher roared.

  “Oh, no! I’m so sorry . . . I never meant to—I wanted to give it back. I’ve saved my wages. I thought I could put it back before anyone really noticed. Elsie’s getting ever so much better now . . .” Sally sobbed, holding out a battered little leather purse.

  Maisie caught George’s eye—he was standing at the door out to the back of the shop, watching. They nodded to each other. Elsie must be her little sister. They’d been right. But poor Sally . . .

  “Mr. Harrowby!” Gran snapped. “What’s the use of shouting at the poor creature?”

  “Poor creature? She’s a criminal. I won’t have her working here.” The butcher snatched the purse, and then folded his fat arms and glared. “Get her coat, Alfred!” he cried. “There. Out!”

  Gran shook her head crossly, and flapped her skirts at Alfred when he dared to come close to Sally. “Her little sister’s been ill!” she sna
pped. “The girl was only trying to protect her family.”

  “With my money!” the butcher growled.

  “She was going to pay it back!” Maisie put in. “You’ve got your money now!”

  But Mr. Harrowby turned on her, still roaring so loudly that Maisie felt as if she might blow over. “She should have asked for help! Not stolen my money in the first place!”

  “I did try to . . .” Sally gasped. “You said I’d have to wait to buy a new dress next payday—you wouldn’t listen when I tried to explain about Elsie.”

  “She has given it all back . . .” Alfred started to say. “Perhaps we should let bygones be bygones . . .”

  But Mr. Harrowby went even redder and let out a furious snort. “Nonsense! No such thing! Get out of here, girl!”

  “Ridiculous. The man clearly won’t listen to reason. Come along, girl.” Gran took Sally’s arm and marched her out of the shop and down the road a little. “Here, have a handkerchief.”

  “What am I going to do?” Sally wailed.

  “You’re going to come back home with us and have a nice cup of tea,” Gran said firmly. “Stop that crying, it’s not doing you any good at all.”

  She hurried them all back to Albion Street and through the backyard into the kitchen. “Get that kettle on the stove, Sarah-Ann!”

  Sarah-Ann stared as Maisie and her gran pushed Sally into a chair. “Isn’t that the girl from the butcher’s?” she murmured to Maisie. “What’s happened to her?”

  “I’ve lost my job!” Sally whispered miserably. “And now I’ll never find another one . . .” She buried her face in the handkerchief Maisie had passed her from the ironing pile.

  “Can you cook? And wash dishes?” Gran eyed her thoughtfully as she fetched milk from the larder. “Sweep floors? It’s not what you’re used to, but needs must, dear.”

  Sally glanced up from the handkerchief and nodded tearfully. “I’ll do anything. Elsie’s better, but she still needs looking after. Ma can’t work. I need to be earning.”

  “Someone to take Sarah-Ann’s place!” Maisie gasped, seeing what Gran was thinking. “I never thought of that.”

  Her grandmother turned from the hot plate on the stove, and smiled. “No, Maisie. But you don’t have all the brains in the family, dear. And don’t think that this means I approve of you poking your nose into other people’s business!”

  Maisie smiled at her. Gran sounded sharp, but Maisie knew she didn’t mean it. If she’d really been cross, she wouldn’t have been making Maisie cocoa, which was a special treat. Gran handed her the steaming cup and poured out tea for herself, Sally, and Sarah-Ann.

  Maisie sipped her chocolate, looking down as Eddie nudged against her feet. He’d gone to fetch his bone, and now he was watching Gran carefully, to see if she would send him out of the kitchen. But she was pretending she hadn’t noticed him, so he slumped down on Maisie’s boots, with one paw stretched lovingly around his precious bone.

  Maisie smiled to herself and listened to Gran telling Sally the long list of jobs she would have to do as a maid. She and her faithful assistant had solved their first two cases. They didn’t sound quite as dramatic as Gilbert Carrington’s adventures, of course. They’d hardly get written up in the newspapers, like the Larradine Rubies. But Maisie was sure that they were every bit as important. And that Gilbert Carrington would have been impressed with her detecting.

  She reached down to stroke Eddie’s ears and sighed happily. She hoped that there would be another mystery to solve soon . . .

  The Case of the Vanishing Emerald

  Lila Massey, famed star of the stage, is distraught—her beau, a mysterious young man, gave her a priceless emerald necklace, and now it’s missing! Maisie is instantly intrigued and decides to investigate the suspects at the theater. But nothing is what it seems in this world of make-believe . . .

  About the Author

  HOLLY WEBB is a former children’s book editor who has written more than eighty books for children. Webb lives in Berkshire, England, with her husband, three boys, and her cat, Milly. This is her first book with Houghton Mifflin Harcourt.

  Visit her website at www.holly-webb.com.

  About the Illustrator

  MARION LINDSAY is a graphic designer and illustrator of picture books and novels for children. Her work has been published in nine countries. This is her first book with Houghton Mifflin Harcourt.

  Visit her website at www.marionlindsay.co.uk.