Ma Sullivan, the twins’ mother, had rigged up her tea tent outside the family caravan. It was cozy inside with the entire Sullivan family gathered around a single table and some of the other circus folk visiting for a relaxing brew. Usually, the tea tent was a jolly place, full of laughter and gossip. Fitzy would often stop by and play a round of dominoes, puffing fragrant pipe smoke into the steamy air. Today, though, the girls walked into an atmosphere of gloom.
Erik the acrobat was sitting with Bungo the muscle man. The two of them made an unlikely pair, one thin and wiry as a pole, the other stout as a walrus. Erik looked up at Lizzie with wet, pale eyes, as if he expected her to explain why this black mood was hovering over everyone.
“Goodness,” Lizzie said with a nervous laugh. “Has someone died?”
Ma Sullivan sucked air through her teeth. “You’d best not go making jokes about that sort of thing, Lizzie love. Not around here.”
“Those rich folks said this was no place for a circus the moment they saw us,” Erik said.
Erin helped herself to a huge mug of tea and one of her mother’s oat flapjacks. “The animals are all wound up. Hari’s trying to calm them down.”
“What did I tell you?” Bungo said to Erik. “It’s always the animals that know when something’s up. They’ve got a sixth sense.”
“Victoria didn’t like going past . . . that place,” Nora said. They all glanced in the direction of Kensal Green Cemetery.
“It’s not right. It’s just not.” Ma Sullivan, short and draped in a shawl, went to heat up a fresh kettle full of water on the wood burner. “The dearly departed should have a corner of some little churchyard to call their own. That’s as much as any of us need. Just a quiet little plot with a hazel tree, perhaps, and a headstone. But that place?” She shivered, making a brrr sound. “It’s the size of it that sets your teeth on edge, I don’t mind saying. Acre after acre, grave after grave! It’s not right.”
“That’s it, Mrs. S.! That’s exactly it!” Bungo slurped his tea, wetting his whiskers. “How can the dead rest easy in such a place? It’s no wonder they go roving about.”
“Roving about?” Erin echoed in horror.
“Why else would the animals be upset?” Ma Sullivan said. “Where there’s graves, there’s ghosts. Erin, Nora, be sure and take your rosaries with you if you go off the site.”
Lizzie felt a twinge of anger at all these dark mutterings. Even though she had powers she couldn’t explain, it didn’t mean everything had to be mysterious and spooky. “It’s only a cemetery,” she said boldly.
Bungo shook his shaggy head. “You won’t catch me going in there after dark. Not for a million dollars.”
“I’d go,” said Sean, one of the Sullivan brothers.
“You would not,” said Patrick, another one. “You’d come running out after five minutes, shoutin’, ‘Help, help, the Cú Sídhe’s chasing after me!’”
“Patrick Sullivan!” Ma shouted, slamming the kettle down hard with a bang. “Do you want to bring bad luck down on the whole lot of us, now?”
Lizzie blinked. “What’s a . . . what you said?” It had sounded like “Coo Shee.”
Ma hesitated, then beckoned Lizzie over to sit with her. She leaned in close, ready to share something important. The other Sullivans leaned in too, so they were all huddled over their tea like a gaggle of witches meeting over a cauldron.
“Sometimes they call it the Black Dog,” Ma Sullivan whispered. “Most folk know better than to call it by its real name, except for this dolt.” She smacked Patrick lightly on the back of the head and ignored his howl of protest. “Sometimes it prowls around the old mounds that the fair folk left behind them—”
“Fair folk?” Lizzie interrupted in disbelief. “You can’t mean . . . fairies?”
“Are you going to keep interrupting or let me tell what I’ve got to tell?” snapped Ma Sullivan.
Lizzie squirmed. “Sorry.”
“Those who’ve seen it say it takes the form of a hound the size of a calf,” Ma Sullivan said. “It’s all shaggy and black and has eyes like burning coals. It lurks in graveyards, waiting for the foolish souls who’ve gone in there after dark, perhaps to take a shortcut, perhaps because they were doing some stupid dare that their brother put them up to.” She glared at Sean, who pretended he didn’t know she meant him.
Around the stones of Kensal Green, the Devil’s Hound does roam, thought Lizzie. She was sure it was all just folklore, but she listened politely. Ma Sullivan did like to tell stories, especially at times like this, when the thunder and the rain outside just added to the tale.
“The hound goes hunting for souls,” Ma whispered. “If you hear it howl, you must run for safety — into a church, or at the very least into a well-lit house.”
“Or over running water,” whispered Nora.
Ma Sullivan nodded. “If it howls again, then run all the faster. Because it howls only three times for any one person, and if you hear the last howl before you reach a safe place, then that’s the end of you.”
A crack of thunder shook the tent, and a figure appeared in the doorway, silhouetted by the lightning.
Everybody gasped, as if the hound had come for them. But it was only Fitzy. He stood there in his multicolored jacket, with his club-footed son Malachy close behind.
“Hope I’m not interrupting your leisure time,” Fitzy said sharply. Lizzie was taken aback by the tone of his voice. He sounded moments away from an angry outburst.
“Will you take a cup of tea, Fitz?” Ma said, suddenly all smiles.
“No time for tea,” Fitzy snapped. “There’s work to do. We still have a show to put on, unless I’m much mistaken? Erin, Nora, come with me. Let’s talk rehearsals.”
He turned and walked out. Ma Sullivan watched him go, then turned to her girls. “Well? You heard him!”
Lizzie, Nora, and Erin ran out into the rain. Malachy was lagging behind his father, hobbling along on his stick. They quickly caught up.
“Dad’s in a foul mood,” Malachy murmured to Lizzie, too low for Fitzy to hear.
“I noticed.”
“You don’t have to be psychic to see it, do you?” Malachy winced as his good foot sank into a muddy spot of ground. “He took a chance on this location, and it looks like it’s not going to pay off.”
“Because of the rain?” Lizzie asked.
“Well, not just the rain.” Malachy glanced at the cemetery. Lizzie braced herself for more muttering about ghosts and demons, but to her relief Malachy was just as skeptical as she was. “You know how superstitious we circus folk can be — and there aren’t many tougher crowds to play to than a field full of dead people.”
Fitzy headed into the main show tent. The sawdust ring was already in place, and the clowns were busy with rehearsal. Lizzie sat down to watch.
“You’re on next,” Fitzy told Erin and Nora. “Hari’s on his way with the horses.”
It was always strange to see the clowns performing without costumes or makeup. Rice Pudding Pete crossed the floor with a wibbly-wobbly walk, holding up an empty tray. Lizzie knew it would have a bowl filled to the brim with rice pudding during the actual show. Most of which would go straight down his trousers.
Fitzy folded his arms and looked on approvingly. Then he frowned. “Someone’s missing. Where’s JoJo?”
“Can’t make rehearsal, boss,” Pete called, looking apologetic.
“That’s not good enough,” Fitzy snapped. “I need all hands on deck. Tell him to drag his lazy backside in here right away!”
“He can’t,” Pete said, more firmly now. “He’s sick. Barely been out of bed all day.”
Fitzy let out an explosive sigh. “Sick, eh? That’s all I need. One more piece of bad luck. Malachy, next time I suggest setting up in Kensal Green, please be so good as to kick me.”
“Will do, Pop,” Malachy said.
Malachy nodded. “I sent Dru and Collette out half an hour ago with a stack a foot high.”
“Good lad.” Fitzy glanced around the ring. “Where has Hari gotten off to?”
Lizzie had run into Dru, along with his snooty sister, Collette, on his way to stick up the posters. The posters were bigger than usual, with yellow, purple, and red ink blazing through the rain.
“Fitzy spent a fortune on these,” Dru had told her approvingly. “And look who’s at the center!” It was Erin and Nora, the Amazing Sullivan Twins, long red hair flying like banners, performing their equestrian ballet from the backs of two beautiful black horses.
Fitzy had spent a fortune on Albert and Victoria too. A fortune he didn’t have. No wonder he’s worried, Lizzie had thought. If the rain kept the customers away, Fitzy wouldn’t just lose the profits, he’d have to surrender the horses. And without the horses the posters were useless, so he’d have wasted that money too. Everything seemed like it was hanging by a thread.
At least the Sullivan boys had their own part of the equestrian act to perform. After Erin and Nora had amazed the crowds with their horseback ballet, the boys — Conor, Patrick, Sean, and Brendan — would perform their Wild West routine, firing off pistols and shooting arrows at straw dummies. Lizzie respected their talent, but everyone knew Nora and Erin were the ones the crowds came to see. Clearly Fitzy knew it too.
Hari finally appeared, but when he edged around the tent flap, the horses weren’t with him. Even the clowns stopped in the middle of their routine and stared.
“I’m waiting,” Fitzy told him.
“I’m sorry, Fitzy,” Hari said. “The new horses aren’t ready to perform.”
“Did I or did I not say I wanted them here at five on the dot?” Fitzy clenched his gloved hands around his cane as if he meant to strangle the life out of it.
“It’s the storm!” Hari held up his hands, helpless to do anything. “It’s made them so skittish, and Victoria’s already temperamental! We need to leave them alone for a whole day at least, so they can calm down. If they could talk, they’d thank you for it.”
Fitzy shook his head. “I can’t. The horses are on the posters. That means they have to be in the show, and the show has to be rehearsed.”
Hari threw Malachy a desperate look.
“You should do what Hari says, Pop,” Malachy said. “He knows animals better than anyone else in this circus. You’ve said it yourself.”
Fitzy put his arms around Nora and Erin. “But Hari’s not going to be the one who rides them, is he? The Amazing Sullivan Twins are. They’re the most experienced riders any of us have ever seen. Don’t worry. They’ll be fine.”
Erin and Nora looked at one another nervously.
“But it is late, and it is raining, so we’ll put off rehearsal until first light tomorrow,” Fitzy said. “But not a second later, understood?”
“Yes, Mr. Fitzgerald,” the twins said together.
Fitzy beamed, but Hari shook his head and slipped out silently.
* * *
The next morning, the rain had turned from a constant downpour to a light drizzle.
“What could I say?” Nora protested as Lizzie stroked Albert’s soft nose. “I didn’t want to let Fitzy down.”
Lizzie stood her ground. “You could have said no. He can’t make you practice.”
Erin, meanwhile, was riding Victoria around and around, balancing on tiptoes on the horse’s back. The acrobats were rehearsing in the main tent, so there was nowhere else to practice but outside in the rain. Hari had come to watch and stood by silently, keeping a careful eye on the horses.
“Oh, but you’re a beauty, aren’t you,” Nora sighed as she patted Albert’s glossy flank. “We can’t have the creditors taking you back, can we?”
“They are beautiful,” Lizzie agreed. “Like — what’s the word for shadow pictures cut out of black paper? It’s French. Dru said it once.”
“Silhouettes,” Nora said with a smile. With that, she vaulted onto Albert’s back and rode off to join her sister. Albert’s hooves churned up wet mud, spattering the air. Lizzie glanced at the sky and wished she had the power to turn the rain off.
But it was worth getting wet to watch the Sullivans in action. Even though Lizzie had seen their act many times before, their grace took her breath away. They balanced on top of the horses like ballerinas. It was as if invisible wings were keeping them upright, hovering weightless as hummingbirds.
The twins turned somersaults midair and landed delicately on their hands. Lizzie stifled a gasp. She didn’t want to distract them. Another flip and they were on their feet again, somehow perfectly balanced despite the horses thundering along below them.They turned, posed, spun around, balanced first on one leg and then on one hand.
It’s going to be all right, Lizzie thought to herself. The moment word gets out that these two gorgeous horses and their brilliant riders are in the show, Fitzy’s going to be rolling in money!
Now for the finale. This was the real showstopper. Each twin got ready to leap through the air, do the splits, and land on the other’s horse. Lizzie held her breath.
Just then, thunder boomed, echoing across the field like cannon fire.
Victoria reared up, whinnying wildly. Erin fell from her back and landed, gasping, on the muddy ground. As Erin struggled to stand up, all Lizzie could think was: At least the ground is soft.
But as Victoria’s hooves came down, the big black horse slipped on the mud. Suddenly she was falling, legs waving wildly in the air, her head thrashing. She rolled right on top of Erin, who didn’t even have time to scream.
There was a hideous cracking sound as Erin vanished beneath the horse’s bulk.
CHAPTER 3
“Erin!” Lizzie ran into the field. Please don’t be dead, oh God, please let her be okay! she thought wildly.
Hari sprinted in after her. Victoria was still floundering on the muddy ground, kicking her legs in a mad panic. The moment the horse saw the boy, she seemed to calm down. Hari took her reins and coaxed her gently back onto her feet.
Erin lay on her back in the mud. Her face was terribly pale, and her clothes were completely filthy. Lizzie expected to see blood streaming from a wound, but there wasn’t any — not yet.
Nora rode up beside them, looking like she was on the verge of tears, and quickly dismounted. “Is she breathing?”
“I think so,” Lizzie said.
Erin let out a long moan that gradually rose to a sob. “It hurts!”
She’s alive! Lizzie thought with relief. But there was no time to celebrate. Lizzie tried to help her up. “What hurts? Where did she get you?”
Erin put one arm around Lizzie and managed to stand up. “She landed on my wrist,” she said, holding her arm in front of them. It looked red and swollen. Her lips were trembling.
“Let me see,” said Hari. “Mmm. It’s taken a bad hit. You’d better go and see Fitzy.”
“It’s nothing. Nora, get Ma to make us a cup of tea, would you?”
“Tea?” Nora yelled. “You could have been killed! Victoria could have crushed you to death!”
“I’m fine, you silly goose,” Erin said. “Stop your fussing.” She tucked her injured wrist under her other arm, tried to smile, and grimaced again. “It’s okay, Lizzie. I can walk.”
“You sure about that?” Lizzie asked.
Erin pulled free of Lizzie’s arm. “I’ve had falls before. Do you think I’m made of china? I’ve been riding since I was a child.”
“Victoria’s okay too, I think,” Hari told them. “She’s shaken, but she’s not injured. That was a close one. You were both very lucky.”
“Come on,” Nora said firmly. “We’re going to see Fitzy. He’s got to be told!”
&nb
sp; Grumbling and wincing from the pain, Erin followed them, leaving Hari to see to the horses. They found Fitzy in his caravan. He was looking over some papers with the oil lamp lit even though it was morning. The weather was so gloomy that only a dim light the color of old dishwater made it through the windows.
The moment Fitzy saw Erin plastered head to foot with mud, he sprang to his feet. “What happened?”
“There was an accident,” Lizzie explained. She told him the whole story. While Lizzie spoke, Erin kept her wrist hidden behind her back and fought to keep a brave smile on her face.
“Come on, Erin,” the ringmaster said. “Show me.”
Reluctantly, Erin showed him her injured wrist. Lizzie winced in sympathy. It was bright red and had puffed up like a loaf of bread.
Fitzy smacked his forehead. “Stupid old man,” he said to himself. “I should have known better. This is what comes of pushing people too hard.”
“It’s not your fault—” Erin tried to say.
“It is absolutely my fault!” Fitzy said, slamming his hand down on the table. “Don’t even try to argue. You must see a doctor, and I am paying, and that’s that.”
“But . . . what about the show?” Erin asked nervously.
“The show is my problem. Nora, Lizzie, take Erin into Kensal Green and find a doctor. I’m going to go and break the news to your mother. I expect she’ll skin me alive.”
The three girls set out for the main road, while Fitzy went off in the other direction. Erin looked over her shoulder and watched him go. “You’d think he’d broken my wrist himself, the way he’s carrying on.”
“Can you blame him?” Nora snapped. “Yesterday he was all practice, practice, practice, and never mind how the horses are acting up. Hari tried to warn him. Malachy too!”
“Is your wrist broken?” Lizzie asked in alarm.
“Probably just a sprain,” said Erin, but the pain in her eyes told a different story.
As they walked toward the town, Lizzie couldn’t help thinking about what would happen now. How could Erin hold Victoria’s reins with a broken wrist? Or do a handstand? Even the best doctor in the world couldn’t fix her up in time for opening night. And the rain was still coming down like God meant to drown the world.
The Magnificent Lizzie Brown and the Devil's Hound Page 2
