Snowflakes, Silver and Secrets

by Tracey Corderoy

  ‘I’m sorry!’ said Bryony quickly. ‘But Mr Thimblefold, um – he’s not feeling well so he’s closing early.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ replied the lady. ‘I hope he’s better soon. How grim getting ill in Christmas week.’

  Her little boy had gone over to watch the train clock.

  ‘We can’t stay, George,’ the lady called to him. She turned to Bryony. ‘It’s his birthday,’ she said, ‘on the 28th of December.’

  ‘Oh, wow!’ replied Bryony. ‘Not long to go then.’

  ‘I know,’ the lady nodded. ‘He’ll be five. That’s why I’ve come today.’

  She lowered her voice. ‘I’d hoped to get him that train clock. The one he’s watching now. George is mad on trains, you see. So I thought I might buy it, then come back to collect it when I’m on my own. You have to be prepared when Christmas and birthdays come at once, otherwise you get in a dreadful muddle, you see.’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ said Bryony. Although her birthday didn’t clash with any other special event, her mum always got in a bit of a flap, what with her and Josh being twins and Mum having to buy for both of them at the same time. Bryony felt terrible that George’s mum couldn’t sort his birthday present now. And she could see how train-mad little George was, she herself being just as mad on ponies. But clearly something serious had just happened to make Mr Thimblefold so upset. She didn’t feel she could bother him about the clock now. Especially as he’d just asked for the shop to be closed.

  George’s mum went over and retrieved him. Then they made their way back to the door. As they did Bryony wondered if she could sell the clock and arrange for it to be collected. Then she could give Mr Thimblefold the lady’s money later on.

  ‘Just a sec!’ said Bryony. George’s mum stopped and George skipped off to the skeleton. ‘I’ll see if the clock has a price,’ Bryony whispered.

  Hurrying over, she checked all round it, even the little train chuffing in and out of the tunnel. But sadly there was no price anywhere.

  She returned to George’s mum and shook her head.

  ‘Thanks so much for looking though,’ the lady replied. ‘Do you think the shop will open again over the holidays – any day before the 28th?’

  ‘Um . . .’ Bryony had no idea. ‘Fingers crossed,’ she said.

  George’s mum nodded, herded him up yet again and guided him out of the door.

  ‘Bye then,’ said Bryony, and they waved from the pavement.

  ‘Let’s choo-choo home, Mummy!’ giggled George. ‘Just like that clock!’ And together they shuffled off down the snowy street, hissing.

  Bryony sighed as she locked the door and turned the sign around. She couldn’t bear to see Mr T so upset, or for George to miss out on his train clock. Last week she had no mysteries to solve but, like buses, they seemed to come in pairs. First Georgina Brook’s argument with Amber, and now whatever had happened here. But this mystery seemed so serious, and sad, it easily trumped Georgina’s. Bryony felt desperate to help sort things out but she didn’t have any facts yet.

  Turning, she hurried to the back room again where Josh was handing Mr Thimblefold his tea.

  ‘Ah, thank you, Joshua,’ Mr Thimblefold said.

  ‘No worries,’ replied Josh. ‘And, um – here. I found a little chocolate hedgehog in my pocket just now. It might make you feel a bit better.’

  Carefully he put it down on the counter, and Bryony glimpsed the snowflake ribbon from the chocolate shop trailing from his trouser pocket.

  ‘Oh, that’s so kind of you,’ Mr Thimblefold said as Josh went to stand beside Bryony.

  ‘Mum would be proud of you,’ Bryony whispered.

  ‘He just . . . well, looks like he needs it.’ Josh shrugged.

  ‘Now, about that silver, Sam,’ Grandpa said. ‘Tell me exactly what happened . . .’

  Bryony perched on a nearby chair to listen to Mr Thimblefold’s story, while Josh knelt down on an old Persian rug on the floor.

  ‘Well,’ said Mr Thimblefold, from his stool behind the counter, Grandpa still at his side.

  ‘It was like I just told those two police officers – I’ve no idea where the silver came from. It just, well . . . appeared late yesterday afternoon.’

  ‘Um, when you say appeared,’ Grandpa said, ‘someone must have brought it surely?’

  ‘But that’s the baffling thing,’ Mr Thimblefold replied. ‘You’re right! Someone must have brought it. But I didn’t actually see them come or go.’

  Mr Thimblefold took a sip of tea which steamed up his little round spectacles. He wiped them with a small red polka-dot hanky poking out of his top waistcoat pocket. Replacing the hanky, he stroked his long white beard thoughtfully.

  ‘So, Sam,’ said Grandpa, ‘are you saying that whoever brought the silver just left it here and went? I mean, surely they’d want paying for it, wouldn’t they?’

  ‘I definitely would,’ piped up Josh.

  Mr Thimblefold nodded. ‘Yes, me too. And so has everyone else in the past. Folk come with their treasures for me to buy – and, if those treasures are legitimate, I pay them. Then I clean, or restore, the things I’ve bought, and finally pop them in the shop to sell.’

  ‘What does legitimate mean?’ asked Josh.

  ‘Not fake,’ replied Bryony. She’d once seen an Ebony Swann mystery where someone had robbed a bank vault and replaced the gold bars with fake ones made of metal and sprayed gold.

  ‘Exactly so!’ Mr Thimblefold nodded. ‘Things that are not imitation. I also check – before I buy – that what I’m offered isn’t stolen property. The police send out lists of stolen items, you see.’ He patted a black folder on the counter. ‘And I always keep it up-to-date and check it first.’

  Bryony nodded. It all sounded clear and logical – apart from the ‘appearance’ of the box of silver. This didn’t make sense and was niggling away in her mind.

  ‘So, Mr Thimblefold,’ said Bryony gently, ‘if you don’t mind me asking, how did you not see the person who left the silver? Did you leave the shop at any point, and leave someone else in charge?’

  ‘Oh, no.’ Mr Thimblefold shook his head. ‘No, no, I was here all the time. But like I told the police, who asked the same question, it all happened very quickly at the very end of the day. Oh dear, I’m not explaining this at all well!’

  ‘It’s okay,’ said Bryony kindly. ‘Just take your time.’

  With a nod, Mr Thimblefold took another sip of tea, then quietly cleared his throat.

  ‘So here I was, at this very counter,’ he said, ‘yesterday afternoon, a few seconds after five – I know this as my many clocks had only just stopped chiming. I was sitting counting my takings for the day when ting ting! went my little brass doorbell. Clearly I can’t see the front door from round here, so I finished totting up my money, which only took a few moments, and then I got up to tootle off to see my customer.’

  He picked up the little chocolate hedgehog, then put it down again.

  ‘So what happened next?’ Grandpa asked.

  ‘Well, I’d barely taken three steps,’ said Mr Thimblefold, ‘when ting ting! the doorbell went again. Hmm, either my customer has gone, I thought, or now I have two! So I wove my way round the chairs and trunks, then battled past the hatstand nighties. But when I emerged in the front room, I saw that there was no one there. Through the window the lane looked rather busy – people bustling by under the street lamp – but inside my little shop was as quiet as the grave.’

  Bryony shot Josh a look before he said anything about skeletons. But Josh looked concerned for Mr Thimblefold.

  ‘So you went into the front room,’ Grandpa repeated, ‘there was nobody there, and . . .?’

  ‘And then I saw it!’ Mr Thimblefold cried. ‘The box of expensive silver bits and bobs perched on the sofa next to Barry.’

  ‘Barry?’ gasped Bryony. ‘You said no one was there?’

  ‘No one was,’ said Mr Thimblefold.

  ‘Then who’s Barry?’

  ‘Ooo!
Is he the skeleton?’ Josh blurted out, and Mr Thimblefold nodded . . .

  ‘Barry-the-Bones.’

  ‘So he’s a witness!’ cried Josh, completely carried away. ‘Like – Barry saw the whole thing!’

  Bryony caught her brother’s eye. ‘He’s dead,’ she mouthed.

  ‘Oh, yeah.’

  Mr Thimblefold looked as flummoxed as Bryony felt. Why would anyone leave a big box of silver without waiting to be paid for it?

  ‘So my plan,’ said Mr Thimblefold, ‘was to wait and see if whoever left the silver yesterday afternoon came back for it today. If they didn’t come by closing time, I was going to call the police. But then – lo and behold – the police appeared! They said they were checking all the antique shops round about, searching for the box of silver. Its owner must have reported it stolen last night, I expect.’

  Mr Thimblefold finished his tea and looked up at Grandpa.

  ‘So you see, Albie, I had nothing to do with it.’

  ‘I believe you!’ Grandpa nodded. ‘And I bet the police did too.’

  ‘Yes, I think they did,’ Mr Thimblefold replied. ‘I mean, they’ve known me for years. But they said I should have called to inform them that it had been left here right away.’

  ‘So, did the police say to close your shop too?’ asked Bryony.

  Mr Thimblefold shook his head.

  ‘Why not keep it open then?’ Grandpa asked.

  ‘Oh, Albie, the whole thing was such a terrible shock!’ Mr Thimblefold now got to his feet. ‘And people talk . . . oh, yes, they talk. Until the police find out who stole the silver and dumped it in my shop, my customers will never believe that I had nothing to do with it.’

  Bryony was convinced that Mr Thimblefold was wrong. His customers would be loyal to him. They liked him very much!

  But he looked so sad and worried as he gathered up his bow tie that Bryony knew when to say no more.

  Mr Thimblefold put on his coat and hat. Then he stepped across to a set of drawers, opened one and took out a small box. It was beautifully wrapped in gold paper with a shiny pale green ribbon.

  ‘I matched the ribbon to the gems in the brooch,’ said Mr Thimblefold. ‘It’s for your Elizabeth.’

  ‘Oh, Albie!’ said Grandpa. ‘Thank you so much.’ Grandpa put his hand in his pocket to get out the money for Mum’s lovely brooch but Mr Thimblefold raised a hand.

  ‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘This is on me.’

  ‘Sam! I couldn’t possibly,’ Grandpa began.

  ‘Yes . . . please,’ said Mr Thimblefold and Bryony felt her eyes well up. ‘You’ve all been so kind to me today, I will pay for it myself – and I won’t hear any more on the subject!’

  Mr Thimblefold took out his old brown leather wallet. Counting out the exact money for the brooch, he opened the till and put it in.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Thimblefold,’ Bryony said. ‘My mum’s going to love it so much.’

  ‘Come back on the bus with us?’ said Josh.

  ‘Only,’ said Mr Thimblefold, ‘if you have this back.’ And he held out the little chocolate hedgehog.

  ‘Give it to someone for Christmas,’ he said with a wink.

  They made their way to the door very quietly. As Mr Thimblefold stopped to turn off a few lamps, Bryony took Grandpa aside.

  ‘Gramps, I hope you don’t mind me asking,’ she said, ‘but do you think I could quickly buy those?’ She pointed to the three tiny picture frames she’d seen for the Coopers earlier.

  ‘You certainly can.’ Mr Thimblefold had returned. His voice was quiet but he didn’t look offended that Bryony had asked at such a delicate time.

  ‘Oh, thank you!’ said Bryony. And although he was reluctant to take her pocket money, it was Bryony’s turn now to insist that he did.

  They walked back through town, along the snowy streets filled with happy, busy shoppers. The bus was crowded. Mr Thimblefold sat beside Grandpa, and Bryony and Josh sat behind them. Mr Thimblefold seemed quiet and on edge.

  Halfway through the journey, ‘Folk are looking at me, Albie,’ Bryony heard him whisper.

  ‘They’re not, Sam,’ Grandpa quickly whispered back.

  ‘They’ll never come to my shop again.’

  ‘They will. Chin up. You did nothing wrong.’

  Bryony decided to forget the ‘Georgina Brook Mystery’. Who cared why she was at the stables last night? ‘The Mystery of the Silver’ was far more important. Mr Thimblefold’s happiness depended on it. He was such a lovely old man, and his shop was so interesting. It had been his life for so many years too . . .

  ‘Josh, we have to find out who did it,’ said Bryony quietly. ‘Who stole and dumped that silver.’

  ‘If anyone can find out, it’s you, Bry,’ whispered Josh.

  ‘No, it’s us. The Super Six.’ Bryony looked determined. ‘I want us to do it together.’

  Presents were great, and plays were fun. But Christmas was about more than that. It was about friends, and family, and caring.

  *

  Back in Brook Dale, snow was falling lightly as the bus dropped them off on the seafront as the town’s main street was closed off for the Christmas Market.

  ‘See you later, Gramps,’ Bryony said.

  ‘Aye, you will,’ Grandpa winked. He popped his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a couple of five pound notes.

  ‘Here,’ said Grandpa, holding them out to the twins. ‘Some pocket money for the Market.’

  ‘Thanks, Gramps!’ said Josh.

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked Bryony.

  ‘Certainly!’ Grandpa smiled. ‘Now, off you go and I’ll see you later on.’

  Before Grandpa joined them at the Market he was going to walk Mr Thimblefold home and check he settled okay.

  ‘Bye then, Mr Thimblefold,’ Bryony said.

  ‘Yeah, and take care,’ said Josh.

  ‘Thank you both for everything,’ Mr Thimblefold replied. ‘Oh, and Joshua, you make an excellent cup of tea.’

  ‘I . . . thanks,’ said Josh. He shuffled, looking pleased. ‘I put in tons of sugar!’

  Bryony and Josh crossed the road and headed up the snowy hill to town. Bryony breathed in the scent of her special blue scarf that was keeping the chill off her neck. It smelled of past winters and big warm hugs from her dad.

  But Josh, quite clearly, had smelled something else as they reached the top of the hill.

  ‘Burgers!’ he cried. ‘Bry, quick before they all sell out!’

  They quickened their pace. Snow was falling like feathers and the old-fashioned street lamps were glowing. The white crooked shops patterned with black timbers wove their way up into the dark grey sky and overhung the winding cobbled street. Their snow-covered rooftops, earlier iced smooth, were now patterned with trails of tiny bird footprints. Bryony spotted two fat fluffy robins perched on the post office chimney. Town always looked magical, but especially tonight. ‘Josh, I really love this place,’ she sighed.

  The shops were all open and the lights from their windows cast a dreamy golden glow on the snowflakes. Miss Parsley was in the hairdresser’s under a very big dryer.

  ‘She must be getting it done for the Christmas play,’ grinned Bryony. ‘As she’s a Very Beautiful Sister!’

  ‘Uh-oh!’ Josh sniggered. ‘Wait till Miss Pigeon sees that!’

  The closer they got to Market Square, the busier it became. The brass band struck up ‘Jingle Bells’ as people bustled by, laden down with all kinds of gifts.

  The ‘Wonder Welly Socks’ seemed very popular, judging by all the bags. As did the metal bird feeders in the shape of black cats and squirrels. There was also fudge – so much fudge – in cellophane bags tied neatly with bright starry ribbons.

  Jed Jenkins then came clumping up, looking pleased. ‘Yak socks!’ he boasted, waving a hairy pair right in front of Bryony’s nose. ‘Fit in me wellies for the play, these will!’

  ‘But you’re Prince Charming!’ gasped Bryony. ‘You can’t wear wellies to the Ball!’r />
  ‘Huh!’ said Jed with a determined nod. ‘Let Pettifour try and stop me!’

  He clumped off and Bryony looked around.

  ‘Right, I need to find the wood sculptures,’ she said.

  ‘Burgers first!’ nodded Josh, and he pointed across the street. ‘Over there!’

  In front of the butcher’s, hanging over the pavement was a red and white striped canopy. Under it, Jacob Jenkins the butcher (son of Jasper the farmer, and father of Jed) was barbecuing sausages and burgers on a big steel drum.

  ‘I’ll be quick,’ said Josh.

  ‘Go on then,’ grinned Bryony.

  ‘Thanks!’

  Josh wove through the crowds, and when he wasn’t looking, Bryony quickly bought his Christmas present. Nearby was the balloon man selling kits to make animals. Josh had seen him at the gymkhana last spring and had seemed really enthusiastic.

  She’d only just got back to the spot where Josh had left her when he reappeared with a burger and a hot dog.

  ‘You’ll be sick,’ laughed Bryony, but Josh passed her the hot dog.

  ‘Here,’ he said. ‘Your favourite, right? And it’s not your Christmas present!’ he added.

  Bryony beamed. ‘Oh, thanks Josh!’ He’d even got her onions!

  ‘No worries,’ said Josh, looking really pleased with himself.

  By the time they reached Market Square they felt happy, and very full.

  ‘Wow!’ gasped Bryony, looking around. ‘Amazing!’

  There were stalls all around the square’s perimeter. Above it was a building held up by stone pillars and there looked to be stalls up there too.

  ‘It’s like Lapland!’ gasped Josh. It was different to last year – even better!

  The outside stalls were housed in quaint wooden huts that looked like giant gingerbread houses. They were decorated with strings of twinkling fairy lights, and little wooden stars. Some of the huts had silver hearts around their eaves dangling from gingham ribbons, while others had dried oranges and popcorn threaded onto twine.

  Each of the huts was selling something different. ‘But how to choose!’ laughed Bryony. There were stained-glass robins and bright angels that spun. There were furry earmuffs and teddies on sleighs. There were wooden toy soldiers holding small painted drums, and ballerinas on strings that danced! There was fudge, toffee, Turkish delight and little sugar mice – pink and white, and the prettiest primrose yellow!