The Magnificent Lizzie Brown and the Mysterious Phantom (3 page)

People laughed and shuffled aside to let her forward.

Lizzie beamed up at Anita. “You're real!” she said.

“Well, I ain't made of wood, if that's what you were wonderin' about.” Anita winked.

A gasp burst from the crowd beside her. Lizzie turned to the next stage and saw an old man dressed in nothing but a loincloth. With a serene smile, he hopped from one foot to the other on a pile of glass shards.

His feet must be shredded
, Lizzie thought. But the glass shards sparkled clear as fresh water with no sign of blood.

A showman strutted in front of the stage. “I discovered this ancient fakir in the mountains of Persia. Each morning he bathes in Epsom salts, and each night he drinks a potion of Eastern herbs which makes his skin as tough as leather.”

Lizzie stared at the old man's skin. It did indeed seem as brown and weather-beaten as a leather glove. She turned, breathless with amazement, and saw a tall woman, black as ebony and tall as a giant. The sign above her read:

The Amazon Queen

Just then a blade flashed at the corner of Lizzie's eye. On the next stage, a man was tilting his head back and sliding a sword down his throat until the hilt rested on his lips.

Lizzie's eyes widened. In the circus, anything could happen. Surely there could be some small place here for her?

Silk rustled behind her and Lizzie whirled around. A smiling woman — hefty as a draft horse and done up in brightly colored ruffles — was shooing her toward the exit. The other visitors were already streaming out of the tent.

“But I just got in!' Lizzie protested. “I haven't seen it all!”

“Then come back tomorrow,” the woman said. “Why don't you pop along to the big tent? The last performance'll be starting any moment. We're closing up here. Poor Anita is exhausted.”

“You're right about that, Flora. I'm worn to the bone.” In her miniature parlor, Anita slid forward in her tiny chair and began rubbing her feet with small, plump hands. “I've lost all feeling in my toes.” She hopped to the ground and began to limp toward her pint-sized fireplace.

In the tall booth opposite, the Amazon Queen pulled off her feather-and-bone headdress and dusted down her skirt. She called to Anita. “Come for your dinner at my wagon, 'Nita. I'll be makin' stew.”

Lizzie stared in surprise. The Amazon Queen — twice as tall as Lizzie and as exotic as a bird of paradise — spoke with a raucous East End accent. “I thought she was from Africa!” Lizzie said.

“She is.” Flora folded her hands and leaned back proudly. “I taught her English myself. Quick learner, she was.”

The Amazon Queen gave a throaty laugh. “In Africa I speak like a queen. In England I speak like a washerwoman.”

“What do you mean?” Flora threw up her arms. “Queen Victoria herself don't speak no better than me.”

The Amazon Queen ignored her and nodded regally to the old man, then the sword swallower. “Why don't you both join us too? And if you'd be so kind as to bring a lil' somethin' to throw in the pot, we'll have a proper meal.”

Lizzie felt a nudge from behind. It was Flora again. “You still here? Go find your ma. She'll be missin' you.”

Flora shooed her out with the rest of the visitors, and before she could argue, Lizzie found herself outside. Purple clouds streaked a pink sky. An evening chill was flooding Hyde Park, and Lizzie shivered in the cold. She lifted her wool skirt, pulling it tight around her shoulders like a shawl and leaving her tattered petticoats to flutter around her legs.

The crowds were thinning as the last of the sideshow visitors filtered into the big tent. A top-hatted man in a patchwork waistcoat beckoned latecomers through the brightly lit entrance. “Last show! Last show!” He swapped their coins for tickets and waved them inside where flickering lights swallowed them.

Lizzie's shoulders drooped. Her purse was as empty as her belly. Heart heavy, she wandered across the grass while figures worked around her, closing up the sideshows and lighting lamps outside the caravans. Canvas flapped in the breeze, while music swelled inside the big tent, and a happy roar rose from the crowd. The show was about to begin.

Lizzie stopped beside a flower bed thick with bushes and stared across the field. This would be a safe place to rest. She sank to the ground and crawled beneath one of the bushes. The bruise on her cheek ached as the cold jabbed at it. But she knew Pa would give her another if she went home.

Curling up tight as a hedgehog, Lizzie listened to the ringmaster calling out the first act as stones grated against her bony arms. The crowd cheered while Lizzie snuggled deeper into her petticoats, trying to escape the cold and imagining what was happening inside the circus tent.

Lizzie carried on sitting there long after the show had finished and the audience had gone home. An owl screeched overhead and made her gasp. Aching all over, she crept out from beneath the bush into a sleeping world. The big tent flapped eerily in the darkness, and here and there caravan windows showed lights, but no one stirred. The owl screeched again, and Lizzie's teeth began to chatter. She had to find somewhere warmer.

Quiet as a mouse, she crept between the tents and caravans. A horse stamped beside her, making her jump. Warmth pulsed from its flanks. Heavy-hooved and clumsy with sleep, it knocked against her. Lizzie backed away past a caravan and glanced up at its door. Light shone from a small pane of glass, and laughter sounded inside. Lizzie could smell the mouthwatering scent of food. She wondered if the Amazon Queen was inside, eating dinner with the World's Smallest Woman.

The horse whinnied and thrust its head toward her inquisitively. Lizzie darted back, slipping into the shadows beside the big tent. She followed the striped canvas away from the booths and caravans. In the quiet moonlight, she saw animals shifting about in makeshift wooden pens. They huffed and sighed, breathing softly with sleep.

Lizzie leaned over a fence. A small herd of ponies was bunched together, their coats golden in the moonlight as they dozed. In the pen beside them, two huge beasts paced the grass. Lizzie stared at their long gangly legs. Then she saw the huge humps on their backs.

“Blimey!” Lizzie whispered. “God must've been havin' a laugh when he made you.” The creatures paused and gazed at her with huge, dark eyes. Then they carried on pacing, their broad, soft feet silent on the grass.

A breeze lifted Lizzie's hair and made her shiver. Spotting a gap between the pens, she squeezed into it, eager to be out of the biting wind. She felt hay beneath her feet and sank gratefully into it. In the pen beside her, the two strange creatures tucked their legs clumsily beneath them and settled down for the night. Lizzie could feel their warmth through the slats of the fence. Wriggling closer, she closed her eyes and rested, relaxing to the sound of their soft breathing.

* * *

“Hey!”

Lizzie sat up with a jolt as a stick jabbed her ribs. Her first thought was,
Pa's going to hit me again.

Two feet stood beside her. One foot was small; the other was large and misshapen. She looked up with a gasp and saw a face frowning down.

The stick jabbed her again. It wasn't Pa, but Lizzie's heart was still pounding. She pushed the stick away. “Get off!” She leaped to her feet. “Stop it!” She found herself staring into the eyes of a skinny boy, smaller than she was. “There's no need to keep poking me,” she muttered.

The boy glared down at her. “You shouldn't be here,” he said.

“I was just leaving anyway.” Dawn was lighting the sky behind the big tent. Lizzie stepped forward. “Let me past.”

“What's going on here?” A man sauntered up behind the scowling boy and looked Lizzie up and down. She recognized the man from the big tent. He was still wearing his patchwork waistcoat and top hat. “What have you found here, Mally?”

“She was sleeping in the hay,” the boy answered without taking his eyes off Lizzie.

“We don't want that, do we, Malachy, m'boy?” The man's eyes twinkled. “If we feed the animals girl-flavored hay they might develop a taste for young 'uns.”

Lizzie glanced anxiously at the strange animals in the pen. “They wouldn't eat me, would they?” she asked.

Malachy laughed. “They eat hay, not girls.”

The man rested his hand on Malachy's shoulder. “I reckon a lion might enjoy her.” He tipped his head to one side. “Though there's not much meat on her.”

Lizzie backed away. “I-I'm sorry I slept here, but I . . .”

“Now, now, little 'un.” The man nudged his hat so it sat back on his head. “We don't mean any harm.”

Malachy shifted his misshapen foot. “Sorry I poked you so hard.” He lifted his walking stick apologetically. Now he'd stopped glaring, his thin face looked more mischievous than unkind. “I thought you were a stray dog.” He reached over the fence and patted one of the strange animals. “Dogs worry the animals.”

Lizzie looked down at her shabby gray dress with dismay. “You thought I was a stray dog?”

Malachy flushed. “Sorry.”

The man smiled at her. “I'm Edward Fitzgerald. Most people call me Fitzy. And this is my son, Malachy.”

Lizzie stuck out her hand. “I'm Lizzie.”

“Pleased to meet you, Lizzie.” Mr. Fitzgerald reached past Malachy and shook Lizzie's hand. “What are you doing here? Are you lost?”

“No.” Lizzie lifted her chin. “I'm looking for work.”

Mr. Fitzgerald rubbed his chin. “You look a bit skinny to be any good for hard work.”

“I've worked since I was seven years old,” Lizzie retorted.

Malachy looked at his father. “Why don't we give her a try?” he suggested. “You were saying just this morning there's more work than hands around here.”

“Workers cost money,” Mr. Fitzgerald said with a frown.

“I don't need much,” Lizzie told him quickly. “And I'll tell you what — I'll work for a whole week for you without takin' a penny, just for food. If you don't think I'm worth it by then, I'll go away quiet.”

Mr. Fitzgerald looked her up and down again. “I don't know about that.”

“I'm a hard worker,” Lizzie urged.

“Go on, Pop,” Malachy chimed in.

Mr. Fitzgerald scratched his head. “All right, then. I'll give you a trial.”

“You won't be sorry!” Lizzie wanted to hug him.

“You can't sleep here, though,” Fitzy went on.

Lizzie glanced at the sky. “It's nearly dawn,” she pointed out. “I don't need more sleep. I can start work now if you like.” She wanted to prove she was strong and willing.

“Breakfast first,” Mr. Fitzgerald said. “Take her to Ma Sullivan, Mally,” he called over his shoulder as he ducked down and disappeared under the canvas wall of the big tent.

“Follow me.” Malachy began to walk toward the caravans. His curly hair was cropped close to his head, and his body was wiry beneath his shirt and breeches. Despite the heavy boot on his misshapen foot, he moved fast, and Lizzie had to run to keep up, swerving around ropes and jumping over tent pegs as she went.

The circus was already awake. A caravan door opened as they passed and a clown peered out.

“I thought everyone'd sleep late,” Lizzie called after Malachy. “They must have worked till near midnight.”

“Dawn's the best chance the performers get to practice,” Malachy answered. “No passersby gawking.”

Two burly men with rolled-up sleeves crossed Lizzie's path, and she stopped to let them by. One of them carried a heavy coil of rope slung across his chest. The other was wheeling a penny-farthing bicycle with a huge front wheel. An elegant young woman wrapped in a brightly embroidered shawl glided behind them, and Lizzie gasped as she passed.

Malachy stopped and spun around. “What's the matter?”

Lizzie pointed at the young woman. “She's got no clothes on!” Beneath the shawl she could see the young woman's legs clad in nothing but spangled tights. “Where are her petticoats?”

“That's her costume.” Malachy laughed. “She can't practice in petticoats.”

“Practice what?”

“She rides that bicylce on the high wire.”

Lizzie gasped. “Not really!”

Malachy grinned. “Her act is near the beginning of the show.” He pointed to a group of wiry youths turning somersaults, and Lizzie recognized the acrobats from the parade. “They usually come after her,” he told her.

Nearby, Lizzie noticed a boy cantering in a circle on one of the golden ponies. As she watched, the boy leaped up and balanced on his hands on the back of the prancing pony, just like the red-haired girl from the parade. “Lordy!” She stared in wonder. “Does everyone here have an act?”

Malachy tapped his clumpy foot with his stick. “Everyone except me.”

Lizzie glanced down, wondering what to say.

“Don't worry.” Malachy shrugged. “I got extra brains instead.”

Before Lizzie could speak, Malachy grabbed her arm and tugged her sideways. “Keep your eyes peeled around here.” He pointed to one of the elephants swaying heavily toward them. “If you get trampled it's your own fault.”

“It's huge!” Lizzie's heart lurched as it tramped so close that she felt the air stir around her. Its ears flapped like wings, and its wrinkly flesh rippled with each thumping step. She gripped onto Malachy as the ground shook beneath her feet. “Does it trample many people?”

Malachy laughed. “Only people daft enough not to see her coming.”

A tiny Indian man followed behind the elephant. He wore a vest and carried a broom in one hand and a cake of soap in the other. “Good morning, Malachy,” he called.

“Morning, Zezete.” Malachy patted the elephant. “Morning, Akula.” The animal lifted its trunk and trumpeted loudly.

Lizzie covered her ears. Then her nose. The stench following the animal made her eyes water.