The Magnificent Lizzie Brown and the Devil's Hound (17 page)

“Where are you going?” Malachy shouted after her.

“I'm making some tea,” she replied. “Don't worry, boy. I won't run off. I wouldn't get far, anyway, not at my age.”

Lizzie thought of JoJo and his delirious raving about needles. She sprang to her feet. “JoJo! I almost forgot about him. He's still in this house!”

Lizzie raced up the stairs, leaving Malachy and Shadow to guard the fallen doctor. JoJo's door was slightly open. She barged her way in and stood staring in horror at what she saw.

At first she thought JoJo was dead. His face was a pitted mess, and his lips were dry and cracked. But when he saw her, they drew back in a slow, painful smile. “Lizzie? Is that you?”

“JoJo, you're alive!” She ran and hugged him, despite the dreadful smell coming from his bed. “Just hang on a bit longer. The police are coming. We're going to get you out of here.”

“The doctor . . . he's up to no good. Don't trust him.” JoJo tried to sit up and fell back, coughing.

“He ain't a problem anymore,” Lizzie said. “We stopped him.”

JoJo nodded toward a card covered with medical implements. “He never meant to cure me at all. He's been doing experiments on me. Injecting me with . . . what did he call them? Bacteria. And other things. Then taking my blood to look at under his microscope.”

Lizzie could see the clown was getting worse, not better. “We'll take you back to the circus, and we'll take care of you ourselves,” she said. “Don't die, okay? Please!”

JoJo closed his eyes. “I begged him not to do it. ‘Please let me live,' I said. ‘All I want to do is make people laugh.' But he said I was useless. ‘What's more pathetic than a clown?' he said to me. ‘You'll be more use as a corpse.'”

Lizzie knew exactly what the doctor had meant by that. The doctor was planning to cut JoJo up after he died. With tears in her eyes, she held the clown's hand. Even if JoJo didn't make it, she'd see him buried decently. No doctor would get his hands on her friend's body.

* * *

Lizzie was still sitting with JoJo when the police arrived. The doctor protested his innocence, but the officer cut him short. “I knew Jacob Hayward,” he said, “and that's him, right there on that filthy table, when he ought to be resting in his grave. He was a better man than you. You're no doctor, Gladwell. You're a butcher.”

“What I did, I did for science,” the doctor snarled.

“Science, eh? Some great medical prize you had your eye on? Well, I'll tell you one thing. You're going to be famous after today. Your photo's going to be in the papers all over town.” The constable drained his tea. “Thanks for the brew, Mrs. Crowe, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to come with us now.”

Mrs. Crowe held out her hands for the handcuffs and sighed. “Do your duty, Constable.”

Outside the house, Lizzie hugged Hari and Malachy and gave Shadow a grateful stroke. “That was too close for comfort,” she said with a shiver. “Thanks for coming after me.”

“I should have come with you in the first place, Lizzie,” Malachy said, looking embarrassed. “Stupid of me to think I knew better than you did! Your visions have never been wrong before. They don't call you the Magnificent Lizzie Brown for nothing!”

That night, the show tent was packed. An electric feeling of excitement crackled in the air, and the wide-eyed audience burst into wild applause the moment they saw Fitzy appear.

The ringmaster jumped back, faking surprise, then gave them a huge grin and raised his arms. “Welcome, one and all, to the hardest working circus on the planet!” he boomed.

Lizzie watched from behind the curtain, her heart hammering. All the wild adventure of the past few days had to be put aside now. She had to focus on her performance. Doubts were chasing their tails in her mind.
We've hardly rehearsed. The comedy act might not work. What if Victoria spooks again?

Fitzy introduced the Boissets to another storm of applause. Lizzie looked on open-mouthed as Dru, Collette, and their family put on one of the best performances she'd ever seen. The more the audience cheered, the more their confidence seemed to grow.

“That's more like it,” Malachy said. “The Boissets are back on form.”

Hari nodded. “My animals seem calmer too. It could just be the change in the weather, I suppose. But I think they're happier because we're happier.”

“The dead are at peace, so the jinx is broken,” Erin said in explanation.

“If there ever was a jinx,” Lizzie said. She still wasn't willing to open the door more than a crack where superstition was concerned. Even if she had spoken to ghosts.

The next few acts seemed to rush past in a blur. Clowns, acrobats, and performing animals all played their parts perfectly. That just made Lizzie more nervous. What if she was going to be the one to mess it all up? She chewed on her fingernail.

Nora slapped her wrist lightly. “Stop it.”

“I can't help it,” Lizzie said. “I haven't got butterflies in my tummy — I've got elephants.”

“You'll be fine,” Nora insisted.

Hari whispered, “Victoria's not nervous. So why should you be?”

Lizzie stared at Victoria. The midnight-black horse was standing perfectly still, the blinkers she wore screening her from any distraction.

“Trust the horses,” Hari said. “And trust yourself.”

Fitzy's voice boomed out over the applause. “And now, ladies and gents, for the act you've all been waiting for. You've read about them in the papers, you've seen their picture on the posters, but nothing can prepare you for the reality! Here they are, fresh from their triumphant tour of Kensal Green Cemetery . . .”

The crowd roared with laughter.

“. . . the Amazing Sullivan Twins!”

This one's for you, JoJo
, Lizzie thought.

Lizzie and Nora rode out into the light. They circled the tent, waving at the audience and smiling, while the band played an opening number. Then there was a roll on the drums, and the audience fell silent.

All eyes were on Lizzie as she lifted herself up to stand on Albert's back. She reached out her arms to balance, then deliberately rolled her eyes back, wiggled her arms, and fell straight down on her bottom. A trombone made a loud
parp
.

Delighted laughter roared from the stalls. Nora put her hands on her hips in mock impatience, and to the sounds of a second drumroll, stood upright — and then balanced on one leg, lifting her toe to touch her outstretched fingers. The trumpets blared
ta-daaaaa!

It was the simplest stunt in Nora's repertoire, and yet the audience applauded like never before. Nora and Lizzie exchanged a private look, and Lizzie knew they were both thinking the same thing:
This is going to work.
Best of all, Victoria was still calm and happy in her blinkers.

The rest of the act went from strength to strength. Lizzie fumbled juggling clubs, but Nora caught them. Lizzie's pirouette ended with her sprawled across Albert's back like a flopping fish, while Nora's drew gasps of amazement. By the time Lizzie deliberately botched her leap from Albert's back and fell into Dru's waiting arms, she was almost sorry to have to leave the ring.

A girl could get used to this
, she thought, as Dru carried her triumphantly away from the applause, through the curtain, and into the crowd of her waiting friends.

* * *

“Do you want to count it again, Pop?” Malachy asked Fitzy. They were sitting in their caravan, sorting an immense pile of paper notes and coins into neat order.

“I don't think so, son,” Fitzy said. “Three times is enough.”

“It's our best night this year,” Malachy told Lizzie. “This isn't just ticket sales. They were throwing money into the ring at the end! Can you believe it?”

“It's good luck to throw coins into a circus ring,” Fitzy said, very seriously. Then he winked. “Good luck for me, at least.”

Lizzie felt an uncomfortable prickle at the back of her neck, as if she were being watched. She turned to see Calculating Crake and Persuading Harry advancing slowly on the caravan. Harry was wearing his brass knuckles, and it looked like he was eager to use them.

“Mr. Fitzgerald . . .” Lizzie started to warn him.

“Ah, gentlemen!” Fitzy noticed them and came down the caravan steps. “How wonderful to see you. What an interesting scent that is. A new cologne, perhaps? Oh, never mind, I see it's something you've stepped in. That's one of the problems with owning elephants, I find.”

“Time's up, Fitzgerald,” said Crake. “We've been more than generous.”

“Generous,” echoed Harry.

“And since the debt ain't been settled, we'll just have to take payment in kind. Starting with those two horses.”

Fitzy snapped his fingers. “I knew there was something I meant to do. Malachy!”

“What's this?” Crake said, deeply suspicious.

Malachy came out with an envelope stuffed with money. He handed it to Crake, who swiftly counted it and passed it to Harry for safekeeping.

“It's all the money we owe you, to the penny,” Fitzy said. “I suggest you take it.”

Crake looked around at the brightly colored caravans and tents, then shrugged. “Till next time, Fitz.”

“Toodle-oo, cheerio, go jump in front of a train,” Fitzy muttered through his teeth, still grinning. He didn't take his eyes off the money-lenders until they were safely off the site. Then a strange expression came over him. His eyes gleamed. “Trains. Now there's an idea.” He began to stride through the site toward the tea tent. “A circus train! If we keep packing the house like we did tonight, we could afford one!”

Malachy started off after him. “Dad, no!”

“Just think,” Fitzy continued. “No more trudging down endless country roads. No more rain and wind. The comfort of a dining car!”

“Dad, you have to be practical . . .” Malachy insisted, his voice dwindling into the distance.

Not long after, Lizzie let herself into JoJo's caravan. She silently moved to stand at the clown's bedside. There were flowers on a table next to him. She looked down at his peaceful face. She thought his spots were looking better.

JoJo's eyes flickered open. “Hey, Lizzie.”

“How are you feeling, mate?” she asked, passing him a cup of water.

“About a million times better, thanks.” The clown slurped the water, gargled, swallowed, and winked. “Ma Sullivan and Anita have been fussing over me like a pair of hens. How did your act go?”

Lizzie sat down on the bed. “They liked us. I did better as a clown than a serious performer.”

JoJo smiled weakly. “I'd better hurry up and get this pox beat. I reckon someone's after my job.”

“Oh, don't you worry,” Lizzie said with a laugh. “As soon as Erin's better, I'm back to fortune-telling full time!”

* * *

The next morning, the Penny Gaff Gang gathered at the gates of Kensal Green Cemetery to meet Becky. Hari led Shadow on a leash.

When Becky arrived, she was walking alongside a funeral carriage. The black coffin it carried was smart and new, the best Lizzie's money could buy.

“Thank you,” Becky whispered as Lizzie went to walk by her side. “For everything.”

While the friends stood and watched, Jacob Hayward was laid to rest once more, in a grave he would never again be snatched from. Instead of the simple wooden cross, a proud headstone now stood. The officiating priest spoke kindly of the power of love to outlast death and the certainty of reunion in the hereafter.

All through the service, Lizzie turned the horse brass over and over in her pocket. She didn't hear so much as a whisper from beyond. Becky's father was indeed at rest.

“Ashes to ashes,” the priest intoned, “and dust to dust.”

“Just a moment,” Lizzie said. While the others looked on in surprise, she quickly slipped the horse brass on top of the coffin lid. Becky smiled gratefully — the brass she'd given
her father had been thrown into the canal. Now he had a replacement.

Once the funeral was over and all the tears had been wiped away, the friends gathered at the cemetery gates for a final goodbye. Becky hugged Lizzie so tightly she thought a rib might crack.

“I'll miss you,” Becky whispered.

Lizzie thought of the chickens running wild in the farmyard and all the hard jobs that would need to be done on the farm. She saw Becky alone and weary, sitting at a table too big for just one person, with nobody to care for, or to care for her.

“You could come with us,” Lizzie said. “Join the circus. You're good with animals. Hari could use a bit more help, couldn't you, Hari?”

“Always!” Hari said. “If you can handle a cow, I'm sure you can handle an elephant.”

Becky shook her head. “It's lovely of you to offer,” she said. “But I'm a farmer, and this is my home. My pa fought to keep it. I can't just walk away.”

“Well, then,” Hari said, “maybe one of us should stay here with you.”

Becky looked confused.

Hari handed her Shadow's leash. The dog lay down at Becky's feet, as if to protect her from anyone who might wish her harm.

“He took to you from the start,” Hari said. “So he should be yours. A guardian and a companion.”

Becky hugged the dog, who licked her face happily. “It's wonderful . . . I don't know what to say!”

“How about ‘see you next year'?” Lizzie suggested with a smile.

“That'll do,” Becky agreed. “When you're back in Kensal Green, come and see us. You know where to find me!” She whistled, and the dog stood up. “Come on, boy. We're going home.”

The Penny Gaff Gang waved their farewells and began the long walk back to the circus tents.

“I wonder what it would be like,” Malachy wondered as they went. “Living in one place, the same place, all the time.”