The Magnificent Lizzie Brown and the Mysterious Phantom (13 page)

“Thanks!” Lizzie shot off down the street, hoping the next face she met would be just as friendly.

But though many of the East End folk were happy to give her the time of day, none of them could point her to a golden dragon. Lizzie was growing uneasy. The more she ran from street to street, the more paranoid she felt. Any moment now, Pa might lurch out from behind a door, full of fury. Madame Aurora could swoop in and grab her.

Or the police might see her. She must have spoken to over a dozen people, Lizzie realized with a sickly feeling. That was surely enough to get her arrested for begging.

I want to go home
, Lizzie thought.
Back to my caravan. Forget the Phantom.
But just as she was about to turn around, a sudden tingle in her palms stopped her. It felt like a nudge. “Maybe just one more, then,” she whispered to herself. “One more can't hurt.”

By now, Lizzie's feet were aching. A woman in a back alley was sweeping dust out of her house in great clouds and squinted at her as she came close. The man lying in the gutter opposite gave her a wave and a drunken grin. His hat was missing its top.

“Golden dragon?” the woman said as if Lizzie had asked for the moon on a stick. “Get on out of here.”

“'Ere!” called the drunkard. “I can show yeh! Golden dragons, is it? I see one every day.”

“Pink elephants is what he sees,” the woman said, slamming the door.

Lizzie helped the drunk to his feet. “Follow me!” he said. He burped, then took off through the streets like a hot air balloon come loose from its tether. Lizzie almost ran into him when he stopped to think.

“Are we there?” Lizzie asked. She couldn't see the spire anywhere.

Deep creases appeared on his brow. Then he held his finger up. “This way!” With a huge stride, he fell over.

Lizzie helped him up again, wishing there weren't so many people watching her. This was taking too long and attracting too much attention. But she continued to follow the drunk from street to street, glancing over her shoulder, wondering how much time she had left.

The drunk repeated “golden dragon, golden dragon” in a singsong voice. Perhaps he was crazy. Perhaps she was wasting her time.

“Hurry up!” Lizzie begged.

“Madam,” he told her with great dignity, adjusting his hat, “the game is afoot!” They rounded a corner, and the man suddenly flung his arm out to the side. “Here 'tis! Just like I told yeh!”

Lizzie covered her face with her hand. He was pointing at a pub. The sign over the door showed a yellow dragon with a barbed tail. She read the name aloud. “The Golden Dragon.”

“So,” the drunk said, grabbing her arm, “have you got a penny for me?”

Lizzie shook him off. His angry yells followed her as she stomped back down the street, picking up speed.
Nothing to do but to go back to the circus. Wasted a whole day.
But at the end of the street, Lizzie stopped dead. The church in front of her looked familiar. Her gaze moved up the elegant stonework, up the long, narrow spire, all the way up to the weathervane at the very top. There it was, glinting in the sunlight — the golden dragon!

Lizzie stopped a passerby. “Please, sir, what church is that?”

“Saint Mary's-le-Bow,” the man replied.

Now I can find my way back
, Lizzie thought.
I'm not losing this place again!

The alley had to be close by. Sure enough, she quickly found it, snaking around the back of the church. She felt a thrill as she saw the house, in the plain light of day, exactly as it was in her vision. She wanted to go up and touch it, to prove it was real, but she didn't dare.

“He's coming,” Lizzie whispered to herself. “P'raps he don't even know it yet. P'raps he's still choosing the house he wants to rob. But
I
know. And I'll be ready for him!”

* * *

Once she was back at the circus, though, Lizzie found there was nothing to do but wait. Her friends were busy with their acts. With no work to do and nobody she could talk to, the afternoon passed slow and thick as molasses. She lay in her stifling caravan with the door and window open and listened to the oohs and aahs coming from the show tent.

Finally, the roar of applause told her that the afternoon show was over at last. The whole gang was soon crammed into Lizzie's caravan, eagerly listening to her story.

“We need to come up with a plan,” Malachy said, leaning forward from a corner full of shadows. “I say we all get down to the house and find somewhere to hide, then once the Phantom shows his face — well, his mask — then we jump him.”

“We can't go,” Erin and Nora said together.

Malachy sighed. “Oh, right. You missed it, Lizzie. My dad wasn't happy with the bullwhip routine.”

“She messed it up!” Nora jabbed a thumb at her sister. “Came too close.”

“By a whisker!” Erin argued.

“Nearly clipped my head off, she did. So now we've
both
got to practice,” Nora complained.

“I made it look like I meant to do it!” Erin protested. “Anyway, the audience loved it, so there.”

“I cannot come either,” Hari said with sad eyes. “My girls are in the show tonight. The elephants need me. If I am not there, they will fret.”

Lizzie felt like her chance was slipping away.
This is never going to work. They're all so busy. Why did I even bother?

Dru stretched like a cat. “I am in the show too, but on last. I will come, so long as I can be back by ten o'clock.” It was as if he was talking about going for a picnic. “I think it will be
amusant
.”

“You, me, and Lizzie then.” Malachy grinned. “Should be enough to catch a Phantom.”

Outside, in the humid evening air, they heard a nearby clock strike six. They agreed to meet up in an hour so they could be in Cheapside in plenty of time to set up watch.

“Remember, the cry for the last show is at eight,” Malachy told them. “That's when the Phantom arrives, and we spring the trap.”

Malachy and Dru went to the tea tent to grab an early dinner, but Lizzie — for once — couldn't face eating a mouthful. Excitement had tied her stomach in a tight knot.

It was time for the hunt to begin, and this time the criminal was the prey.

Lizzie glanced back over her shoulder and caught a final glimpse of the tops of the circus tents before the London streets swallowed them up. Even with Dru walking on one side of her and Malachy hurrying along with his stick on the other, she still felt nervous. It must have shown on her face.

“Would you like to hold my hand?” Dru teased.

“Get off!” Lizzie waved him away. She caught the eye of a stubble-faced man who glared back at her, and she quickly looked away. Was he following them? She put on a burst of speed to leave him behind.

“Hold up,” Malachy gasped. His club foot was slowing him down.

“I don't like being out here,” Lizzie admitted. “I keep thinking I see . . . people.”

“Worried about Aurora?” Malachy said. “She won't lay a finger on you. We won't let her, will we, Dru?”

Dru cracked his knuckles. “I can take her down if I have to. Don't worry.”

But Lizzie couldn't shake the cold blanket of fear that had settled over her shoulders. Pa might rough her up a bit, but he needed her alive. But Aurora had promised, “You're dead meat.” Whatever else she might have lied about, Lizzie was certain the furious fortune-teller had meant every word of that threat.

“We've got worse than Aurora to deal with if the Phantom shows up,” Lizzie said. “He's a nasty piece of work.”

“If we're going to get cold feet, then we shouldn't have come!” Malachy snapped. Then, seeing the look of dismay on Lizzie's face, he added, “You're right, though. He did batter that one bloke half to death. We need to be careful.”

They turned into Leman Street and passed the police station Lizzie had been thrown out of. An officer was standing outside, but Lizzie didn't recognize him. They kept up a brisk walk until they were far past.

“He might not be so keen to batter us, though, right? After all, we are just kids. . . .” Lizzie's voice trailed off.

Dru snorted. “The Phantom is a criminal. If we get in his way, he'll punish us. So we watch out for one another,
oui
?”

Not another word passed between them as Lizzie led them down street after street, until at last they stood at the end of the alleyway. Lizzie pointed out the tall house with the lion's head knocker, feeling strangely like she was unveiling a monument. “There it is!”

The house stood by itself with narrow alleyways along both sides. Lizzie guessed there was a yard at the back too.

“Looks posh all right,” Malachy said, casually leaning against a wall and trying not to look out of place. “Just the Phantom's cup of tea.”

“What's the plan?” Lizzie's mouth was dry.

Dru shaded his eyes and looked up. “Climb up the house. Watch from the rooftop until the Phantom goes in. Then we climb down, hold the doors shut, call for help, and . . .
presto!
Caught like a rat in a trap inside the house, yes?”

“Rooftop?” Lizzie said. “Do I look like a flippin' monkey? I can't get up there! Why can't we just hide in the alley?”

“Three children lurking in an alley will attract attention.” Dru's eyes flashed with amused pride. “Besides, these houses are as easy to climb as apple trees. You see all the stonework, those ledges, the way the windowsills stick out?”

Lizzie gulped. “It's a bit high up. . . .”

“Trust me,” said Dru.

Lizzie could tell he wasn't joking now. She nodded. “All right,” she whispered.

“Right,” Malachy said. “You two are on the roof. I'll keep lookout from the end of the street and move in once I see the Phantom, because there's no way I'm going up there with you.” He turned on his heel and limped down the alleyway, leaning hard on his stick. “. . . be lucky to manage an apple tree with this rotten foot,” he muttered.

Dru didn't hesitate. He darted into the alley beside the house, and once he was out of sight, he dug his fingers into the crevices between the corner stones and began to climb. “Do as I do,” he told Lizzie, “and don't look down.”

“What if I fall?” Lizzie asked nervously.

“I won't let you.”

Lizzie took a deep breath. She copied Dru's climb, matching his handholds and footholds. Spiderlike, Dru clambered up and past the first-floor windowsills and edged around to get a grip on a sturdy black drainpipe. He made it look as easy as breathing. There seemed to be a power in his hands and feet that defied gravity.

Lizzie wasn't finding it so easy. There was no safety net here, no rope to catch. Only the hard cobblestones below.

Dru pulled himself up and over the edge of the roof. The gutter looked about to snap under his weight, but it held. Once he was secure, he reached out a hand for Lizzie to take. “Almost there! You are doing well.
Fantastique
!”

Lizzie puffed and gasped as she grabbed the gutter with one hand and clung to Dru with the other. With amazing strength, he lifted her up and over the edge. Lizzie's feet dangled in space for a moment before her weight settled on the warm roof tiles. She clung on, not wanting to move again, ever.
I made it
, she thought, relieved.

They both crouched, breathing hard. Dru grinned at her. “There,” he said. “Was that so bad?”

Lizzie glanced down into the alley. Malachy sidestepped into a narrow crevice. From the shadows he gave Lizzie a thumbs-up, and she silently returned it.

The three friends lurked in their hiding places, alert for anything that might happen. Time ticked slowly by. At last there was movement. The round-faced man Lizzie had met before appeared at the front door — the caretaker.

“There he is!” she whispered to Dru. His body pressed against hers as he peered over her shoulder.

Lizzie noticed the huge bunch of keys dangling at the caretaker's wrist. If there were that many locked doors it was no wonder he was confident the house wouldn't be robbed. The man began a careful circuit around the outside of the house. First he checked the iron grilles that protected the lower windows, making sure the locks on each were secure. Then he walked down the side toward the rear of the house, vanishing from sight.

He must be checking the back door
, Lizzie thought.

“Get back from the edge!” Dru whispered frantically.

Lizzie leaned back against the sloping roof. She heard footsteps in the side alley below.

“He was checking the windows,” Dru explained in a whisper. “If he looks up and sees us —
boum!
All over!”

They waited, hearts pounding, until Lizzie heard the footsteps move away again. She heard the caretaker fasten a lock, then another, and then yet another. She risked a peek, craning her head around to look down. The man looked up at her hiding place, and she whipped her head back again.

A moment passed. A bead of sweat ran down Lizzie's spine. Then she heard the man chuckle to himself. “Just pigeons,” he said. He was moving away now, walking down the alley away from them, out of sight. Malachy gave an all clear wave.

The caretaker's heading home
, Lizzie thought.
Home to his wife, who believes in all that supernatural nonsense. Funny old world, innit? A week ago, I never believed in none of it myself.

Lizzie suddenly wondered, with a cold, sick jolt of horror, if the round-faced man would make it home to that wife of his tonight after all. She was sure the Phantom had been carrying a bunch of keys just like his in her vision.

The Phantom must have chosen this house well in advance. And he needed the keys to get inside. So, unless the man was in cahoots with the Phantom, he was going to lose those keys very soon . . . and probably a lot of blood too. Just like that poor man in Spitalfields.