The Magnificent Lizzie Brown and the Devil's Hound (7 page)

* * *

Once the show was over and the last of the audience members had filtered out into the night, Fitzy called all the performers back into the big show tent for the traditional after-show chat. It was all part of Fitzy's style. If any performance hadn't been up to scratch, he'd let you know while it was still fresh in your mind, so you could do something to fix it. But there was always humor and respect. Fitzy would never humiliate anyone in his circus in front of the others, no matter how badly they'd screwed up.

Lizzie and Nora still sat uncomfortably, waiting for him to turn his attention their way — as he surely would. The audience had booed! Had anyone in Fitzy's Circus ever been booed before?

“Lizzie, you're a real trooper. Thank you for stepping in at the last minute.” Fitzy whistled and puffed out his cheeks. “You had a tough crowd tonight, though, girls. I think some of them had had a bit too much to drink. Don't take it to heart, eh?”

“Okay, Fitzy,” they said together.

Lizzie had to smile. Now she and Nora were speaking the same words at the same time, just like Erin!

“Hari, see what you can do to calm Victoria down,” Fitzy continued. “At this rate, that wretched horse will be the death of — I'm sorry, sir, the show's finished.”

Everyone turned to see who had interrupted. Dr. Gladwell was poking his head around the entrance. “And what a rip-roaring show it was!” he said. “Sorry to interrupt. I was wondering if I could check young Erin's arm.”

Lizzie leaped to her feet. “This is Dr. Josiah Gladwell, Fitzy! He helped us. We left him a ticket to the show.”

Fitzy strode over and shook the doctor's hand, pumping it up and down. “Doctor, welcome. We're all in your debt. Erin, let's see your wrist.”

After the doctor had gently checked the swelling and moved Erin's wrist back and forth a little, he patted her on the shoulder. “Good girl. You did what you were told, didn't you?”

“I did, Doctor,” Erin said proudly. “Lots of rest, no messing around.”

“She's healing up nicely, sir,” the doctor told Fitzy. But despite his words, Dr. Gladwell looked concerned.

Relief shone out of the ringmaster's face. But then he looked puzzled. “What's the matter now?”

Dr. Gladwell was peering over his glasses at JoJo. “That clown over there,” he said. “How long has he been ill?”

“A couple of days, possibly longer,” Fitzy said. “Why?”

“I need to remove his makeup.” The doctor stepped forward and looked startled when the clowns closed ranks around JoJo.

“You'll do no such thing, mate,” said Didi, sounding cold and menacing.

Fitzy cleared his throat. “Doctor, it is very much against circus custom to remove a clown's makeup without his permission.”

“It certainly is,” Didi said. The clowns muttered in agreement.

“Then I must ask the gentleman to do it himself,” Dr. Gladwell said with a shrug.

The clowns angrily rallied around JoJo. “You can't do that!” Didi said. “It's his face. You can't make him take it off!”

“I'm afraid it's a matter of the utmost importance,” the doctor insisted.

JoJo looked up at Fitzy through pained eyes. “It's nothing,” he protested. “Just a few spots, that's all.”

“JoJo,” Fitzy said softly, “please do as the doctor says.”

With trembling hands, JoJo reached for a sponge and water. He wiped a stripe of white makeup from his forehead. The clowns surrounding him gasped and backed away as they saw what was underneath.

The clown's skin was covered with ugly round bumps with little dimples in the center. It was the same disease that had left Becky's face scarred . . . and had killed her father. No wonder JoJo had been suffering. He'd worn his thick makeup to hide the signs.

“I thought as much. This man has smallpox,” Dr. Gladwell said. “He's gravely ill.”

“JoJo,” Rice Pudding Pete sputtered, “why didn't you say something? You could have told us!”

JoJo coughed. “Didn't want to be a bother,” he said.

Lizzie remembered the vision of death she'd seen when she touched JoJo. Ma Sullivan was shaking her head and whispering something to Pa. She looked like she badly wanted to say, “I told you so.”

“He has to be kept away from other people and given treatment immediately,” the doctor said. “Your whole cast could be infected.”

“Right.” Fitzy nodded “Didi, get JoJo to the hospital right away.”

“Oh, you needn't do that,” Dr. Gladwell said. “The nearest hospital is miles away. I can take him back to my house with me. I've been immunized, so I can give him the treatment he needs.”

“Are you sure?” Fitzy looked stunned. “Isn't it a terrible imposition?”

“My dear sir, it's the least I can do. A circus is just the sort of fun we need in this gloomy old place. Let me take JoJo home, and if you like, any of your cast who haven't had smallpox before can be immunized. What do you say to that?”

“Thank you!” Fitzy burst out. “Thank you ten thousand times over.” He shook the doctor's hand so hard he nearly rattled the little man's glasses off. Then he clicked his heels together. “Anyone who hasn't had the smallpox yet, meet here tomorrow at ten to sort out your immunizations. No excuses!”

* * *

The Penny Gaff Gang — Lizzie, Dru, Hari, Malachy, Nora, and Erin — lingered in the show tent after everyone else had left.

“You looked
très belle
up there on your horse tonight,” Dru teased Lizzie. “I think your new career suits you. But oh, how I miss your brown hair.”

“I'll do it in my mystic veil next time, so they can't see my face!” Lizzie squirmed, still feeling the sting of humiliation. “I don't know how you can stand it, having all those people staring at you.”

Erin laughed. “That's the fun of it! Being in the glare of the lights, the crowd eating out of the palm of your hand . . .”

“Better you than me,” Lizzie said. “Give me my nice quiet tent any day of the week.”

Malachy banged his walking stick on the ground. “Silence! I hereby call this meeting of the Penny Gaff Gang to order. Lizzie Brown, prophet of things to come, you have something to tell us, don't you?”

“Yes, I do, actually.” Lizzie stood up. “I've had a vision. It was a cemetery . . . Kensal Green, I'm sure of it. There was digging after dark, an open grave, a dog howling, and then a girl screaming.”

“Who were you reading for?” Malachy asked.

“Nobody,” Lizzie said. “It just came to me. I think my powers are sending me a warning.”

The twins' eyes went very wide. They looked terrified. Lizzie could guess what they were worried about, but it wasn't going to stop her.

“Something's going on up at the cemetery,” she said boldly, “and I want to go and investigate. Who's with me?”

“Lizzie, you can't mean it!” spluttered Nora. Her voice fell to a whisper. “Go to the cemetery?”

“Don't you think we've had enough bad luck here already?” Erin said, glancing fearfully around the ring. “What in the world's gotten into you?”

“You're sure it was one of your visions?” Hari said reluctantly. “You weren't . . . maybe . . . imagining things?”

Lizzie gave him a withering look. “You think I want to go up there? Of course I don't! But we all know I don't see these visions without a reason. Come on, have I led you wrong yet?”

“Not so far,” said Dru, giving his trademark shrug. “I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for your visions.”

The Penny Gaff Gang were silent for a moment, remembering when Dru had been falsely accused of being the Phantom. If it hadn't been for Lizzie's visions unmasking the real culprit, Dru would still be in prison.

“So there's something wrong, and it needs putting right. Who's coming?” Lizzie looked around at Erin and Nora's frightened faces. “Are we the Penny Gaff Gang or aren't we?”

“Lizzie, it could be dangerous,” Nora insisted.

“Whatever's going on, it can't be more dangerous than the Phantom, can it?” Lizzie said. “And we beat him!”

Nora played with her hair nervously. “The Phantom was only a man. He could only ever hurt your body. But the beast that's supposed to dwell in Kensal Green Cemetery can devour your very soul.”

“Devour your very soul,” Lizzie said cynically. “Did your ma tell you that?”

“Don't you say nothing against our ma!” Erin said, leaping to her feet.

“I'm not!” Lizzie quickly assured her. “I just don't believe in the, you know . . . oh, forget it! I don't believe in the Devil's Hound! There. I've said it.”

Nora and Erin glanced at one another. “I hope you don't have reason to eat those words, Lizzie,” Nora said seriously.

“You wouldn't be the first proud girl brought low by mocking what you don't understand,” added Erin.

“All right, you're not coming! I get it!” Lizzie flung her hands up. “Anyone else scared of the Devil's Hound?”

Hari got to his feet. “Not me. But my animals are scared of something, that's for sure. It's probably just the weather . . .”

“So come,” Lizzie said.

“Lizzie, I can't leave them. They're too jumpy. They need me.”

Whenever the circus had to move on, there was always a moment when the main pole of the big top was dropped. For an instant the tent walls would billow out as the roof fell in, and then the whole grand affair would crumple to the ground as the air rushed out of it. Lizzie felt just like that now as she let out a long sigh. “Is anyone going to join me?” she said. “I ain't going to twist your arms. I'll go alone if I have to.”

“What do you reckon, Dru?” said Malachy. “We can't let the young lady go exploring a spooky graveyard all on her own, can we?”

“That would not be gallant of us, I fear,” Dru said, shaking his head in mock sadness.

“It seems we are in agreement, my old friend.”

“It seems we are,
mon camerade
.” Dru and Malachy solemnly shook hands, and Lizzie had to laugh at their silliness.

Malachy tossed his walking stick from one hand to the other. “I'd better bring this. The ground might be uneven, and you never know when someone might need a whack on the head.”

“Would your pa be okay with you going?” Erin challenged him.

Malachy's eyes flashed. “No, and you ain't going to tell him, Erin Sullivan. That goes for all of us. We're a gang, right? So we keep quiet about what we get up to.”

“Unless it's an emergency,” Lizzie added.

“Well, yeah,” admitted Malachy. “Obviously not then.”

“Please don't go!” Nora begged them. “I know you think it's all a big adventure, but what if something terrible happens to you? The Devil's Hound is real. I know it is!”

“What's going to happen to us?” Malachy scoffed. “I don't remember nothing in the Bible about the Devil having a hound!”

“There's other books than the Bible,” Erin said darkly. Nora nudged her to shut up.

Malachy took Lizzie's arm, and they walked out of the tent together. “There's nothing up in Kensal Green Cemetery but a lot of dead people, and the dead can't hurt the living, can they?”

“Just be careful,” Nora called after them. “Promise?”

“I promise,” Lizzie said, smiling over her shoulder.

* * *

“Heck of a big moon tonight,” Lizzie said, glancing up at the sky. “We won't even need a lantern.”

Dru looked up and down the road, which was pitch dark, even beneath the bright full moon. “
C'est très romantique
,” he sighed. “A moonlight stroll through the beautiful English countryside.”

“Knock it off!” Lizzie said with a laugh.

“I worry about you sometimes, Dru,” Malachy said. His footsteps crunched on the gravelly road. “You don't seem right in the head.”

“What can I say?” said Dru. “We French speak as we feel.”

The three friends kept up the playful chatter as they walked up the road toward the cemetery. Even though nobody said so, Lizzie knew that they were all talking to keep the silence at bay. If they stopped, the quiet would creep back in, and then they wouldn't feel so brave.

As they continued down the lonely road, Lizzie grew more and more aware of the sounds around her. Her own breathing began to sound sinister, and her footsteps sounded like they belonged to someone else.

Was Malachy right?
Lizzie wondered as she walked. The dead couldn't harm the living, could they? Of course they couldn't. Besides, she didn't believe in ghosts.

But then she remembered: she'd talked with a dead man that very day. Becky's father.

Ghosts are real
, Lizzie thought to herself.
I have to believe in them now. Whether we can see them or not, we certainly won't be alone in that cemetery. The spirits of the dead will be all around us.

Lizzie thought about Becky's father. He'd only been dead for two days, so he didn't look bad. But what about the old ones? There were bodies in the ground that had been dead for years, long since decayed to rags and bones. Would their ghosts have skulls for faces and outstretched skeleton arms? Would they be invisible, or look like a shroud floating in the air?

Crunch, crunch, crunch
went their feet on the pathway. The walls of Kensal Green Cemetery were up ahead. A horrible feeling struck Lizzie.
What if I see them?

“You're quiet all of a sudden, Lizzie,” Malachy said.

“I'm fine,” she said hastily. “Just thinking.”

They reached the huge gates through which the funeral procession had passed. Beyond them, Lizzie could see winding paths and dark hedges with neat rows of graves laid out betweem them. A thick iron chain had been wound around the bars, and the padlock that fastened it looked as heavy as a ship's anchor.