The Magnificent Lizzie Brown and the Mysterious Phantom

by Vicki Lockwood

  “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.

  “Akula’s going for her bath.” Malachy shielded his eyes. “I hope the park keepers aren’t awake yet. I don’t know if they’d approve of her bathing in their pond.”

  Lizzie giggled. “Can we watch?”

  “Don’t be rude!” Malachy grinned. “Poor Akula’s shy about bath time. She worries about her weight.”

  As his eyes flashed teasingly, Lizzie felt a jab of grief — that was the sort of silly thing her brother John would have said. She pushed the thought away and asked, “Ain’t they dangerous, with those big twisty teeth?”

  “No,” said Malachy. “They may be big, but they’re gentle as anything. Not like the lion.” He pointed toward the wagon with iron bars that Lizzie had seen on the parade. “That’s Leo’s cage,” he told her. “He’s our lion.”

  “Why’s it empty?” Lizzie glanced nervously over her shoulder.

  Malachy leaned close. “He escaped last night,” he whispered. “We’ve been looking for him ever since.” Without waiting for a response, he crossed the grass and stopped outside a bright yellow caravan. “Nora! Erin!” he called up the ladder steps.

  A curly redheaded girl poked out of the door. “What?”

  “Come and meet Lizzie,” Malachy said.

  The head ducked back inside. “Nora!”

  “The Sullivans are the best bareback riders in Europe,” Malachy told Lizzie as she caught up. “That was Conor you saw practicing on the pony.”

  Lizzie heard the door open again, and two identical girls, both rosy-cheeked and with thick red hair, stepped out of the caravan.

  “Hello,” said the first girl with a kind smile. “I’m Nora.”

  “And I’m Erin.” Her twin sister pushed ahead and grabbed Lizzie’s hand, shaking it enthusiastically. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Excuse me!” Nora elbowed Erin aside. “Forgive my sister.” Her blue eyes twinkled as she spoke. “She’s got no manners.”

  “I do too!” Erin objected.

  “Do not.” Nora put her hands on her hips and faced Erin squarely. “No manners at all.”

  Malachy slid between them. “Before you start fighting, I was hoping your ma could find a bit of breakfast for Lizzie.”

  “Is she staying?” Nora asked.

  “Is she joining the circus?” Erin chimed in. Their squabble forgotten, they both turned toward Lizzie, faces eager for answers. “What’s your act?”

  “High wire,” Nora guessed.

  “No, no,” Erin butted in. “She’s not got enough flesh on her.” She squeezed the muscles on Lizzie’s arm.

  Lizzie pulled away. “I — I don’t have an act.”

  “Not yet,” Nora said. “But Fitzy will find you a speciality before long.”

  Erin laughed. “Even if it’s just balancing on Akula’s trunk!”

  Nora nodded. “She could do that. She looks light as a feather.”

  “What is going on out here?” a voice interrupted them suddenly.

  Lizzie looked up the caravan steps as a ruddy-cheeked woman appeared in the doorway with her hands on her hips. Strands of dark hair whisked around her flashing blue eyes.

  Nora raced toward the woman and reached up the caravan steps to tug on the hem of her skirts. “Can Lizzie have breakfast with us, Ma? Fitzy just hired her.”

  Lizzie looked shyly up at Nora’s mother. “If you’ve not got nothin’ to spare, I’ll be fine,” she lied. Her belly was growling.

  “There’s always a bit to spare in the Sullivan family,” Ma Sullivan said, looking over her shoulder. “Move over, Patrick. Sean, make some space. There’s going to be an extra kiddie at the table.”
>
  Before she knew what was happening, Lizzie felt Erin and Nora bundling her up the caravan stairs. Inside, the walls were lined with cupboards and shelves. A stove was squeezed in the corner beside the door, and in the middle was a table. Two dark-haired boys with lean, muscular arms were wrestling across the top of it, while a man sucked on a pipe, half-hidden by a newspaper at the far end.

  “Patrick, Sean, you best behave yourselves,” Ma ordered.

  Grumbling, the two boys slid back into their seats.

  “Those are two of my brothers,” Erin said. “And that’s Pa.”

  Pa lifted his pipe. “Welcome to the Sullivan Palace,” he called and went back to his paper.

  “Ma opens up the tea tent after ten in the morning,” said Nora. “If you work at Fitzy’s, you can go there for a meal or a brew any time.”

  One of the boys reached out and ruffled Erin’s hair fondly. “Don’t tell me you’ve brought home another stray puppy.” He winked at Lizzie.

  “Patrick Sullivan, don’t be rude to our guest!” Erin said.

  “Lizzie’s come for breakfast,” Nora added, flashing a challenging stare at Sean. “So no playing any of your pranks on her.”

  Sean held up his hands. “It’s Brendan and Conor you need to be warning, not us.”

  Nora shook her hair from her face. “And so I will when they get back from practice.”

  Ma Sullivan pushed her way to the stove and pulled a pot from the heat. “I hope you like porridge, Lizzie.”

  Lizzie’s stomach growled in reply.

  “I’d say that sounds like a yes,” Pa said from behind his paper.

  * * *

  After breakfast, Lizzie plopped down in the grass and leaned against the tall, spoked wheel of the caravan. She felt sleepy with her belly full and the sun shining warm on her face.

  Nora settled beside her. “Ma wants you to stay with us. She won’t have any child sleep outside when we can make room.”

  “Are you sure?” Lizzie wondered how the six Sullivan children and Ma and Pa managed to sleep in that small caravan as it was.

  “Look.” Nora wriggled between the wheels and opened a door to a wide square compartment underneath the caravan.

  Lizzie’s eyes widened. “We don’t have to sleep in there, do we?”

  Nora spluttered with laughter. “No, silly! We pack all the costumes and knickknacks here in the bellybox. Then there’s room to make up the bunk beds. You can squeeze between Erin and me. We’ll be as snug as bedbugs.”

  The caravan creaked as Pa settled himself on the steps and carried on reading his newspaper.

  Lizzie lay back in the grass and closed her eyes. She’d be warm tonight and surrounded by new friends. Smiling, she listened to the sounds of the circus. Horses whinnied, Akula trumpeted, and somewhere there was a snarling noise.

  Lizzie sat up with a jerk. “Lion!”

  “What’s the matter, Lizzie?” Erin asked, leaping down past Pa.

  Nora leaned close. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” she said.

  “The lion!” Lizzie jumped to her feet and stared around, heart racing. Was that a flash of golden mane behind the feed wagon? “The escaped lion!”

  “What escaped lion?” Nora was staring at her as though she were mad.

  “Leo! His cage was empty! Malachy said he’d escaped!”

  “Escaped?” Pa slapped his thigh, laughing. “Oh, Leo’s too old to escape, and even if he did he’s got no teeth, nor sense enough to harm a lamb. Malachy’s been pulling your leg —”

  Pa Sullivan broke off suddenly, his attention fixed on his paper. “Lord preserve us!” He jabbed the paper with his finger. “He’s held a candle to the devil this time.”

  “Who has?” Erin raced to his side.

  “The Phantom,” Pa said.

  The Phantom? Lizzie forgot the lion at once.

  “Did you say the Phantom?” Patrick appeared at the caravan door, eyes bright. “Has he cracked another safe?” he asked, grinning.

  “Patrick Sullivan!” Erin said, frowning at her brother. “Safe-cracking is not a sport, y’know! The Phantom’s a wicked burglar, and he’s going straight to jail when they catch him.”

  “Let’s hope they catch him soon,” Pa Sullivan said grimly.

  “Why?” Erin peered at her father’s paper. “What’s he done this time?”

  “He’s turned nasty, that’s what,” Pa growled. “Some poor fella in Spitalfields went blundering in on him while he was robbing a house. Got bashed over the head for his trouble and left for dead.”

  Erin grasped Pa’s arm. “Did the Phantom kill him?”

  “Close enough,” Pa muttered.

  Nora squeezed closer to Lizzie. “Why do folks say he’s a ghost, Pa?” Her blue eyes were wide with fear.

  “’Cos they’re daft,” Lizzie said, hooking her arm around Nora. “There’s no such thing as ghosts. He’s flesh and blood like anyone else.” She’d never believed in superstitious nonsense, and she wasn’t about to start now.

  CHAPTER 4

  “You’ve settled in, then?”

  Mr. Fitzgerald’s voice made Lizzie jump. She scrambled to her feet. “They’ve been heavenly kind, Mr. Fitzgerald.”

  “Call me Fitzy. Everyone else does.” Mr. Fitzgerald lifted his top hat to Mr. Sullivan. “Thanks for feeding an extra mouth, Rory.”

  Mr. Sullivan shook out his paper. “One more makes no difference.”

  “She’s gonna stay with us,” Nora chimed in. “There’s room in our bunk.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Mr. Fitzgerald reached into his jacket pocket and drew out a roll of papers. “Now, Lizzie, I want you to go and paste up some bills around town.”

  Nora clapped her hands. “Can we help?”

  “I’ve got flour paste in the bellybox!” Erin dove beneath the wagon and wriggled out a moment later holding a jam jar and a paintbrush. “Leftovers from sticking last week’s clippings in the scrapbook.”

  “If there’s three of you, sell some tickets while you’re out.” Mr. Fitzgerald pulled a roll of tickets from his pocket and gave them to Lizzie. “Threepence a ticket . . .”

  “. . . five for a shilling,” Lizzie chanted.

  Mr. Fitzgerald winked. “Exactly.”

  Pa Sullivan wagged a finger at Erin and Nora. “Make sure you’re back in time for practice.”

  “Yes, Pa!” Erin was already dashing away over the grass with Nora at her heels.

  Lizzie raced after them, puffing by the time she reached the park gates. Erin and Nora were already pasting a bill onto a pillar. It read:

  Fitzy’s Traveling Circus

  Every Evening at Dusk

  The Astonishing Boissets

  Mario the Mighty

  Sullivans’ Bareback Balleta

  “That’s us,” Nora pointed to the Balleta. “We perform a whole ballet on horseback, costume changes an’ all.”

  “Who’s he?” Lizzie asked, pointing to a handsome young man. The bill said he was one of the Astonishing Boissets. With dark hair and shining eyes, he looked like a prince.

  Erin and Nora looked at one another and giggled.

  “Tell me!” Lizzie said, growing a little hot in the face.

  “Tell you? We’ll introduce you,” Nora said with a grin.

  “Keep a look out, Lizzie.” Erin slapped another brushful of paste over the poster, covering the handsome youth with a blob of gloop. “Police don’t like us bill-sticking.”

  “Leave it to me.” Lizzie was used to playing lookout. She’d kept watch for Pa often enough while he’d been pulling one of his begging scams. She backed out into the road until she had a clear view of both sides of the park and could glance over her shoulder and see straight down Oxford Street. There was no sign of a blue uniform among the shoppers on Oxford Street, and the sidewalks beside the p
ark were empty except for the occasional stroller or a nanny out for a bit of early morning air. “If I see a police officer I’ll do this.” Lizzie whistled a shrill warning.

  Nora grinned. “I think we’ll hear that a mile off.”

  Lizzie spotted a smartly dressed gent on Oxford Street. “Circus ticket, sir?” She crossed the road and fell into step beside him. “I’m sure your family would love to watch the World-Famous Bareback Balleta.” The gent slowed, and Lizzie quickly tore off five tickets. “There’s acrobats and elephants and humpbacked horses.”

  “Humpbacked horses?” The gent stopped.

  “Like horses, but bigger and much humpier,” Lizzie told him. “I seen them m’self. Big long noses and goo-goo eyes.” She made a face, trying to show him how the odd animals had looked at her last night.

  The gent suddenly smiled. “I think my family would enjoy seeing humpy horses with goo-goo eyes.”

  “Five tickets for a shilling.” Lizzie held up the tickets and took his shilling. “Thank you kindly, sir.” Grinning, she checked the roads again for police and headed toward another shopper. “Circus tickets, five for a shilling!”

  * * *

  Back at the circus, Lizzie jingled her dress pockets as she followed Fitzy around the outside of the big tent. They were heavy with coins. “I sold ’em all.”

  “I’m impressed!” Fitzy stepped over a rope and tugged it to make sure it was taut. “You’re a natural.”

  “What can I do now?” Lizzie asked.

  “Dump your coins there.” Fitzy spread a handkerchief on the grass. “Then go give Anita a hand.” He waved toward the Ten-in-One tent.

  Lizzie emptied her pockets and hurried away, dodging between the stalls until she reached the Ten-in-One tent. As she burst through the door, Anita spun around on her stage.

  “Hello,” Lizzie panted. “Fitzy sent me to help.” She glanced around the empty stages. “Where is everyone?”

  “The show don’t open till dusk,” Anita said. “Hang about, I’ve seen you before, haven’t I? You was in the audience last night.”

  “I’m Lizzie.” She climbed onto the stage beside Anita.

  The tiny woman waved toward her backdrop. “That needs changing. It’s filthy, but I can’t reach the hooks.”