The Magnificent Lizzie Brown and the Devil's Hound (11 page)

Still nothing happened.

Perhaps it had just been a fluke that she'd been able to see Becky's father. Or worse, what if her mother had forgotten about her? She was up in heaven, after all. Why should she care about her daughter stuck down here on earth?

“I will never forget you, Lizzie.” It was her mother's voice — strong, clear, and calm.

Lizzie sat bolt upright. She clutched the comb as if it were her mother's own hand. “Mum?”

“I couldn't be prouder of you, love,” her mother's voice continued. “You found a new family. And you did it all by yourself.”

Lizzie couldn't speak. She could see her mother in her mind now, but only dimly, as if through clouded glass. But she could tell she was smiling.

“I always knew you would come to stand on your own two feet,” her mother said. “My brave, clever girl. I'm with you every moment of every day.”

Right then, Lizzie realized she'd never truly doubted it. The warmth of her mother's love surrounded her like a halo. It had always been there, even during the very worst times.

“Excuse me? Hello?” A gray-haired customer was peering into the tent, holding the flap back with a worried look on his face.

Lizzie's mother's presence vanished as quickly as a snuffed-out candle flame. Lizzie was suddenly aware of the tears streaming down her face. She'd been crying tears of joy, and she hadn't even realized. Thank goodness for the veil that hid her tears from view.

“Come in,” she said, her voice still shaking with emotion.
This won't do
, she thought.
Pull yourself together, Lizzie. Remember who they've come to see. The Magnificent Lizzie Brown isn't a quivering heap of jelly, is she?

Lizzie coughed and spoke more clearly. “Do take a seat. How can I assist you?”

“I thought I'd disturbed your trance,” the customer said, looking awkward.

Lizzie waved his concerns away. “Sometimes I commune with the spirits before I gaze into the future.” It was something Madame Aurora used to say.

Funny thing is, this time I really was communing with a spirit
, she thought.
My mum's!

Lizzie took the customer's hand, found his lifeline, and traced a finger down it. Instantly a vivid scene appeared in her mind. She saw a little cottage under a stormy sky. Rain was lashing down, and wind tore through the trees.

“I can see a thatched cottage, somewhere out in the country,” Lizzie began. “Windows with diamond-shaped lead in the panes. And a great oak tree in the front garden.”

“That's Summerfield!” the man said, amazed. “It's where Jocelyn and I live.”

Lizzie gasped as a violent gust of wind swayed the oak tree. But instead of swaying back the other way, it kept falling. There was a dreadful tearing sound as the roots came out of the ground. The tree smashed down on the cottage, collapsing the thatched roof and crumbling the front wall. From inside the house came the sound of despairing screams.

“What is it? What can you see?” the man said. “Tell me, for heaven's sake!”

Lizzie tightened her grip on his hand. “That oak tree. Is it still there?”

“Why, yes. It's been there for hundreds of years.”

“Then there's still time. You have to chop it down!” Lizzie said.

The man blinked. “But why? It's not doing any harm.”

“It ain't right now, mister, but it will! I'm telling you, if you don't chop that tree down, there's going to be a storm and it's going to fall right on your house! I saw it happen. And someone was hurt. Hurt bad.”

“Are you saying that's my future?” the man asked.

“It will be unless you do something,” Lizzie warned.

The man left in such a hurry that he almost forgot to pay. He promised, several times, to chop the tree down.

Alone again, Lizzie let herself relax. Her gift had helped her save someone — probably Jocelyn, the woman the customer had mentioned. She'd heard screaming as the tree came down. Now those screams would never need to be uttered. That gave her a good feeling.

Once Lizzie's shift was over, it was time for yet another change of clothing, this time into Erin's costume. Ma Sullivan prepared her like she had before, but there was a suspicious look in her eye. Lizzie wondered if the woman knew what she'd been up to in the cemetery the night before — and what she was planning to do again tonight.

On her way to the main tent, Lizzie saw Fitzy talking to two men. One was lean, with a top hat and strands of greasy black hair poking out from under it. The other was stockier, with thick, muttonchop whiskers, a badly healed broken nose, and a bowler hat. The lean man had a notebook out and was sucking the end of a fountain pen.

“You have to understand, Mr. Fitzgerald, it's not personal,” said the pen-sucker.

“Not personal,” echoed the whiskery one. “Just business.”

“I just need another week!” Fitzy pleaded. “You understand unforeseen circumstances, don't you, Leonard?”

“‘Mr. Crake,' if you please,” the lean man said. “Let's keep it formal, under the circumstances.”

“Formal,” agreed Whiskers, sounding like a parrot.

“But we've always been able to work things out before. We've been doing business together for so long.” Fitzy took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “Can't we at least wait until after tonight's show?”

Malachy suddenly appeared behind Lizzie and tapped her on the shoulder. “Those two are loan sharks,” he whispered. “They lent Pop the cash for the horses and the posters. Now they want it back, with interest.”

“I don't like the look of 'em,” Lizzie whispered back.

“The tall one's Crake, known as Calculating Crake because he works out his profits to the last cent. The other one's Persuading Harry. He used to be a boxer.”

“He ‘persuades' people to pay up, does he?” Lizzie guessed.

Malachy nodded, looking grim. “He hasn't got his brass knuckles on yet. That's something, I suppose.”

“Is your father going to be able to pay them?”

“With ticket sales as bad as they are?” Malachy shook his head. “If it goes on like this, he'll be lucky to get half of what he owes. We just have to hope for a miracle tonight.”

* * *

But there was no miracle. What followed was one of the worst nights anyone in Fitzy's circus could remember. Lizzie watched from behind the beaded curtain. All of the customers had come in, but the big tent was still half empty.

“Word must have gotten out after last night,” said Malachy.

“People must have said not to bother going,” Nora agreed.

Lizzie winced, still feeling like it was her fault. Maybe if she'd put on a better show, the audience would have gone away happier.

Fitzy managed to stir up some half-hearted applause for the Boissets' opening act. Usually the family's polished skill got the audience gasping in wonder, but this time it fell flat. People folded their arms, talked amongt themselves, smoked pipes, and even read newspapers.

It's like they've made up their minds to have a bad time, no matter what we do
, Lizzie thought.

Dru took it personally. As he strode out onto the high wire, he looked determined to impress the audience. Halfway through his routine with Collette, he performed a backflip with far too much flashy showmanship, botched the landing completely, and nearly fell off the high wire. He landed straddling the wire, his face contorted with pain.

“I can't bear to watch,” Lizzie whispered.

The next acts were no better. Without JoJo, the clowns couldn't perform their normal routine. Their usually hilarious stunts were met with stony silence. Then, the wild animals were skittish and snarling. Akula the elephant trumpeted and stamped her feet instead of balancing on a ball like a gigantic ballerina. And even Fitzy couldn't get Leo the lion to jump through hoops.

As Lizzie braced herself to go on and face the crowd, Nora came running up to her. “You may as well go and get changed,” she said.

“What?” Lizzie asked. “Why?”

“We can't perform tonight. Victoria's just too wild! She won't calm down no matter what Hari does.”

Lizzie felt relieved, though she tried to look disappointed. “Poor Fitzy. He's going to burst a blood vessel.”

Although it wasn't her fault, Lizzie felt terrible when she saw Fitzy after the show. He was handing out refunds to customers who had hoped to see the famous Sullivan sisters. After word got out that the ringmaster was giving people their money back, the line of “disappointed customers” suddenly got a lot longer.

“That's all he needs,” Lizzie muttered. “He probably hasn't made a penny tonight.”

The Penny Gaff Gang and a handful of circus folk gathered in the tea tent after the show, still shocked by how badly the evening had gone. They drank their tea in silence, nobody wanting to be the first to speak.

Eventually, Didi the clown leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “There's one advantage to a half-empty house,” he said. “Fewer people to see the circus fall flat on its face.”

“Was it really that bad?” Ma Sullivan asked.

“It was terrible!” Didi exclaimed. “The baker's shop routine just doesn't work without old JoJo. We clowns barely got a giggle out of the crowd.”

“At least they liked you!” Collette snapped. “And clowns are supposed to make fools of themselves — unlike some people!”

Dru glared at her and muttered something in French that Lizzie didn't understand. By the look on Collette's face, it was something rude.

“There's no sense in blaming one another,” Ma Sullivan said. “It's this site that's to blame.”

Malachy rested his head on his arms. “I reckon our problems started sooner than that. Back when my dad splashed out all that money on those two horses. It was a gamble that hasn't paid off.”

“You can't go blaming the poor horses neither, Mally! Poor dumb beasts. It's the Devil's Hound that's spooked them, and we all know it. Not to mention the restless souls from that wretched cemetery.” Ma Sullivan came and gave Malachy a pat on the shoulder to show there were no hard feelings. “The sooner we move on from this site, the better.”

“Pop won't like it,” Malachy said.

“Ma's only saying what we're all thinking,” grumbled Erin.

“Now, Mally, you'll be a good boy and talk to your father, won't you?” said Ma Sullivan sweetly.

Good thing she doesn't know what the Penny Gaff Gang is planning tonight
, thought Lizzie.
If she knew we were heading up to the cemetery, she'd have a fit.

The gang gathered in Lizzie's caravan for a quick meeting before the cemetery trip.

“Don't go,” begged Nora. “It's not worth the risk! Especially if we're moving on soon anyway.”

“I suppose that means neither of you are coming?” Lizzie hadn't really expected the twins to come, but it still felt like a let down.

“Are you joking? Of course we're not,” Nora said.

“Scared of the Devil's Hound?” joked Dru.

“You bet I'm scared of it,” Nora said. “But I'm even more scared of my ma.”

“She's got a fearsome temper,” added Erin. “If she thought either of us had gone anywhere near that cemetery . . . I can't even imagine the trouble we'd be in.”

“You think I'm not scared too?” Lizzie snapped. “Of course I am. But we've got to go. Nobody else cares about the poor dead people. Nobody else even knows.”

“That's too bad,” Erin said, “but we can't help. The dead will have to look out for themselves. Let's go, Nora.”

With that, the twins left the trailer. Nora glanced over her shoulder and whispered, “Sorry.”

“I can't come either,” Malachy said after an awkward silence.

“Oh, that's just fantastic,” Lizzie muttered.

“Don't look at me like that,” Mal said. “I have to help Pop look through the accounts.”

“Because of the debts.” Lizzie understood. “Sorry, Mal.”

“He thinks we might figure something out,” Malachy said, shrugging. “Who knows? Maybe we'll find a solution.”

Malachy got up to leave. As he opened the caravan door, a startled Becky stood there, about to knock. She looked nervously from Lizzie to Dru and Hari. “Are we still going?” she said. “I thought there'd be more of us.”

“So did I,” Lizzie said. “Look, if you've changed your mind, it's okay. You don't have to come.”

“I haven't changed my mind,” Becky said, and Lizzie knew right then that the girl was brave enough to face grave robbers and ghosts alike.

“Okay!” Dru said, rubbing his hands in excitement. “We have a team, and we have a plan.”

“Plan?” Lizzie had missed that part.

Hari held up a length of rope. “We borrowed this from the spare tent rigging,” he explained. “We climb over the wall, sneak up on the grave robbers, and catch them in the act.”

“What about the dog?” Lizzie asked nervously.

Hari gave her a calm, knowing smile. “Leave that to me.”

* * *

As they approached the cemetery, Lizzie kept a careful watch for any telltale glimpse of light that might be the grave robbers. Nothing showed. The moon was hidden behind clouds tonight, and the darkness was almost total.

“We should have brought a light of our own,” Lizzie muttered. “A lantern or a candle. Anything.”

“Let your eyes get used to it,” Hari said. “Learn to see in the dark. Like a cat.”

Dru reached the wall and began to climb. “Better . . . that we didn't bring . . . a light.”

“How so?” Lizzie asked.

“They won't see us coming.” Dru tied the rope around the branch of a nearby tree, then threw it over for the others to use. In moments they were cautiously picking their way through the cemetery, alert to any sight or sound that might mean trouble.