She made her way quickly around to the back of the crowd. The pickpocket was a ragged sandy-haired boy of about eleven years, just the age Maisie had been when she ran away from home. He was delicately drawing Hugh's watch chain out of his waistcoat. There was a burst of uproarious laughter from the audience watching the show, and at that moment the pickpocket edged away with the watch in his hand.
Maisie grabbed him by the wrist.
He gave a small cry of fear and tried to wriggle free, but she was too strong for him. "Give it to me and I'll say nothing," she hissed.
He hesitated for a moment. Maisie saw fear and greed at war on his dirty face. Then a kind of weary resignation took over, and he dropped the watch on the ground.
"Away and steal someone else's watch," she said. She released his hand and he was gone in a twinkling.
She picked up the watch. It was a gold hunter. She opened the front and checked the time: ten past three. On the back of the watch was inscribed:
Tobias Pilaster
from your loving wife
Lydia
23rd May 1851
The watch had been a gift from Hugh's mother to his father. Maisie was glad she had rescued it. She closed the face and tapped Hugh on the shoulder.
He turned around, annoyed at being distracted from the entertainment; then his bright blue eyes widened in surprise. "Miss Robinson!"
"What's the time?" she said.
He reached automatically for his watch and found his pocket empty. "That's funny ..." He looked around as if he might have dropped it. "I do hope I haven't--"
She held it up.
"By Jove!" he said. "How on earth did you find it?"
"I saw you being robbed, and rescued it."
"Where's the thief?"
"I let him go. He was only a wee lad."
"But ..." He was nonplussed.
"I'd have let him take the watch, only I know you can't afford to buy another."
"You don't really mean that."
"I do. I used to steal, when I was a child, any time I could get away with it."
"How dreadful."
Maisie found herself once again becoming annoyed by him. To her way of thinking there was something sanctimonious in his attitude. She said: "I remember your father's funeral. It was a cold day, and raining. Your father died owing my father money--yet you had a coat that day, and I had none. Was that honest?"
"I don't know," he said with sudden anger. "I was thirteen years old when my father went bankrupt--does that mean I have to turn a blind eye to villainy all my life?"
