The Magnificent Lizzie Brown and the Mysterious Phantom (2 page)

Blinded by tears, Lizzie raced along the gutter until the world suddenly opened around her. The buildings gave way to wide lawns, and she stumbled to a halt. Trees lined the far horizon. Birds swooped between their shimmering branches, and sunshine glittered on water in the distance.

The surprise of green grass and blue sky calmed Lizzie's panic. She had never even
imagined
anywhere this beautiful.
I found this all by myself!
Lizzie caught her breath.
And I'll find a new life too.

Tilting her chin stubbornly, Lizzie marched toward the wrought-iron gates, where the road swept in among the lawns. People streamed around her, chattering excitedly. A woman in a feathered hat pushed ahead of her, pulling a well-dressed girl by the hand.

“What is this place?” Lizzie called to the girl.

“Hyde Park.” The girl held onto her hat as a gang of boys jostled past.

“Where's everyone going?” Lizzie asked. The crowd was swarming through the gates, eager as folks hurrying to a music hall.

“Don't you know?” the girl cried, but the woman in the feathered hat jerked her away.

“Read all about it!” A paperboy waved a newspaper above his head. “The Phantom strikes again!”

“The Phantom?” A young woman in a bright red dress snatched the paper from the boy's hand.

“A penny, if you please.” The boy held out his hand to her.

“Here.” The woman fumbled in her purse, one eye on her paper.

The boy took her coin, tugged another paper from a bundle tucked under his arm, and flapped it in the air. “Police dumbfounded as Phantom gives them the slip!”

The Phantom?
Lizzie craned to see.

A man in a narrow-brimmed hat was holding the woman in red's arm. “What's he done this time, Gladys?”

“Another burglary.” Gladys pressed closer to the man. “Oh, Ernest! That's the fourth burglary this month, and no one's even found a footprint.”

“Sliest burglar in London's history!” The paperboy pushed himself forward and began offering papers left and right. “No one knows how he gets in.”

“Or out,” Ernest muttered.

“He must be a ghost,” Gladys gasped. “It says here that he got through three locked doors and broke into an uncrackable safe this time.”

Lizzie stood on tiptoes and peeked at Gladys's paper. The headline read:

Phantom Targets Lowndes Square in Daring Jewel Theft

Swiftly skimming the article below, Lizzie picked out the words she could read, just as Ma had taught her.
Robbery while the family slept . . . No sign of a break-in . . . Famous London psychic, Mrs. Palfry, claims she saw him in a dream . . . described his features to an artist.
Below the words was a sketch of the cruelest face Lizzie had ever seen. A chill ran through her.

Ernest whistled. “That's no human face.”

“Perhaps it's a mask,” Gladys suggested.

“I hope so.” Ernest tucked his arm protectively around her narrow waist.

Music suddenly sounded from outside the park gates. As Lizzie turned around, the crowd parted and she glimpsed a man in a red spangled jacket. Behind him, a riot of noise and color filled the road.

A parade!

Lizzie hurried to the side of the road and pressed in with the crowd, her eyes wide as a huge gray animal lumbered past. She'd only ever seen them in pictures before — an elephant, a real one! It was huge, with a big round belly and a long, dangling trunk. It was draped in colorful silk and crowned with a seat as ornate as any carriage. A lady waved from the top.

“Roll up!” The man in the spangled jacket was waving a long, golden baton. “Roll up for Fitzy's Traveling Circus. Watch death-defying stunts! Marvel at acrobatic feats never seen before. See Sullivans' Bareback Balleta. Be amazed by Anita, the World's Smallest Woman. Mermaids, camels, elephants, and lions — Fitzy's Circus has got it all!”

More elephants lumbered past, followed by the band. A big bass drum bounced on the belly of a fat man. Cymbals flashed in the sunshine, and trumpets blasted in time to the beat. Then came six golden horses, their riders glittering in matching jackets.

Lizzie stared up at them, mouth open. One was a girl about her own age with flaming red hair that streamed down her back. What must it feel like to be up there on horseback? The girl suddenly caught Lizzie's eye. She grinned, then threw her feet skyward and balanced on her saddle in a graceful handstand. Lizzie clapped wildly.

“Look, Ma!” A young boy squeezed past Lizzie and pointed at the final carriage, which rumbled behind the riders.

Lizzie dragged her gaze from the girl on horseback. Through the iron bars of the carriage, she could see a light brown animal pacing. It was making a loud snarling noise, and its tail swished back and forth menacingly. A sign above the cage read “King of the Jungle.”

“Alfred, you get back here!” The boy's mother grabbed his hand and tugged him away.

Lizzie stood, rooted to the spot, as the dazzling parade flowed past. Acrobats balanced on each other's shoulders. Clowns tumbled and teased the crowd, squirting water from flowers and pulling pennies from behind children's ears. Lizzie clasped her hands against her heart. Surely she could find some work here? There were animals to be fed, cages to be cleaned out, and costumes to be laundered. Her mind whirled with possibilities as she watched the circus disappear into the park.

Kids were dodging through the crowd, handing out fliers as they yelled, “First show at dusk!” and “Bring the family! Threepenny a ticket. Five tickets for a shilling!”

Lizzie hardly heard them. She was too busy following the trail of muck and rutted earth the circus had left in its wake. By the time she caught up, the carriages were parked. The dazzling showmen were leaping down from their boxes and stripping off their fancy jackets. As Lizzie watched, a dozen burly men, sleeves rolled up, heaved a huge bundle of red-and-black striped canvas from the back of a cart. Shouting back and forth to one another, they began to unfold it, and before long, they were winching the round, pointed roof of a circus tent into the bright blue sky.

“Hey, Joss! Pass a mallet!” A curly haired man heaved a rope to another man and hooked the end around a loose wooden peg. His muscles strained as he held it in place.

Quickly, Lizzie scanned the grass. A mallet was lying just a few feet away. She raced to it and dragged it across the grass. “Here!”

The curly haired man glanced quickly over his shoulder. “Knock this peg in before this rope pulls it back out, love.”

Lizzie heaved the mallet as high as she could and let it drop onto the peg. The peg sank deep into the soft earth.

“Thanks.” The man let go of the rope and rubbed the sweat from his brow. Then he frowned at Lizzie. “Who are you?”

“I'm Lizzie Brown.” She looked at him hopefully. “Is there anything else I can do?”

“You can stay out the way.” The man waved her away. “The tent's not safe till every peg's driven in.”

“I'll be careful,” Lizzie promised.

“Girls ain't no good for heavy work.” The man strode away, not looking back.

Lizzie stuck out her tongue. “I hammered that peg in for you, didn't I?” She glanced around and spotted a woman struggling to drape a striped canvas over a wooden booth. “Let me help.” She grabbed a corner of the woman's tent and began pulling it.

“Get off!” the woman snapped. “You'll tear it!”

Lizzie let go. “I was only tryin' to help.”

“Go help somewhere else.” The woman turned her back.

Lizzie's heart sank. Wasn't there anything she could do? Around her, the site rang with the sounds of hammering and cursing. Sideshows began to dot the field around the big tent, and beyond them, Lizzie could see the great frames of the swing-boats and roundabouts silhouetted against the horizon. Perhaps once everything was set up, she'd be able to find some way to earn her supper. She wandered to the edge of the field and sank into the grass.

The sun was warm now, and the low hedge behind shielded her from the breeze. Lizzie watched the circus grow, studying faces and voices, trying to guess where the most work was and who'd be most likely to give it to her. A woman sat sewing up a tear in a wide sheet of canvas. Another was building a fire in front of her stall. There had to be some way to win their trust, but right now Lizzie couldn't think of one.

The sun slid across the sky until she felt her eyelids droop. Exhausted, Lizzie let her thoughts drift and, within minutes, she was dozing, and dreaming.

The alleys and doorways of Rat's Castle twisted and snaked at the edge of her dreams. Her breath quickened as she saw eyes flashing from the shadows. She pelted forward into darkness and ran blind. Suddenly the Phantom loomed ahead of her. His grotesque face grinned a breath away from hers, a smile twisting his lips. . . .

Lizzie opened her eyes with a start. The nightmare had been so vivid she had to keep blinking to make sure the face wasn't really there. She shook her head to chase away the terrifying image. Nightmares were nothing new to Lizzie. She'd always had vivid dreams, and when she was little she'd loved to tell her mother about them when she woke up. But since Ma had died, her dreams had become darker and even more realistic.

It was dark now, and crowds were swarming toward the circus. Music thrummed from the big striped tent. Stallholders hollered beside their booths. The swing-boat swooped up and down against the night sky, squeals of terror exploding with each drop of the gondola.

“You'll catch cold on that damp grass.”

Lizzie looked up at the sound of a voice. An old man with a kind smile was standing over her.

“I'm fine,” she said, scrambling to her feet.

“Here.” He held out a tin mug filled to the brim with hot soup. “This'll keep the chill off.”

Lizzie stared at the soup warily. The man was dressed like a gentleman, but his voice had the twang of Rat's Castle. Lizzie said, “What do you want for it? I ain't got no money.”

The man pressed the mug gently into her hands. “Just give the cup back to the soup-seller when you're done.” He nodded toward a small canvas booth set up nearby. A woman, sleeves rolled, stirred a large iron pot hanging over a fire.

Lizzie narrowed her eyes. What if he was one of those do-gooders? He might make her go home to Pa. Or to an orphanage. Or to the workhouse. But the soup smelled good, and her belly was rumbling. She leaned over it and let the steam warm her face.

“Here.” He slid a penny into her palm. “Treat yourself.”

Lizzie backed away. “I ain't a beggar, sir.”

“I know.” The man gazed at her steadily. “But I was poor and hungry when I was your age, so I know how it feels.”

Lizzie watched him walk away. The hot mug stung her hands and the soup burned her lips, but she swallowed anyway. She was so hungry it was worth the scalding.

By the time she finished, Lizzie felt warmer. The lights from the circus flickered enticingly. Shaking the dampness from her skirt, she crossed the grass. “Thanks, missus.” She offered the mug to the soup-seller.

The woman took it without looking up. “Better hurry, dearie. Next show is the last show.”

Lizzie hadn't realized it was so late. Had she really slept so long? She hurried among the booths, peeking past the canvas doorways held open by their owners.

“Walk in! Walk in!” A stallholder brandished an ivory cane. “Come and see the Pig-Faced Woman!” Lizzie strained to see into the shadowy tent. Above the door, a painted sign showed a picture of a woman dressed in a crinoline. Lace cuffs framed pretty hands, but above the collar the woman had a snout, beady eyes, and pointy ears that poked out from under her hair.

“Come on, dearie,” the stallholder enticed. “Just a penny to see one of the Wonders of the World.”

Lizzie clutched her penny in her palm.

“See the world's only captive mermaid!” another stallholder hollered. “Come inside and watch her comb her golden hair while she flaps her fishy tail.”

Lizzie glanced from the Mermaid to the Pig-Faced Woman. She only had one penny. Which one should she choose?

Then another sign caught her eye:

Ten in One

“I spy a curious young lady.” A showman twirled the waxed tips of his moustache between his fingers. “Come closer, my dear. See ten amazing acts for just one penny!”

Ten
amazing acts.

Without hesitating, Lizzie headed straight for his tent, handed over her penny, and ducked inside.

Visitors clustered in front of the small stages, their faces glowing in the gaslight. Eagerly, Lizzie wriggled her way into the nearest crowd. As she popped out at the front, she saw a man standing bare-chested beside a smoldering fire. With a flourish, he lit a long taper on the burning coals and lowered the flame into his mouth.

Lizzie gasped as he closed his lips around it. He stared at her with sparkling eyes, then opened his mouth to let out a cloud of steam. Where was the flame? Lizzie watched in awe as he relit his taper, opened his mouth, and extinguished it again as easily as snuffing a candle.

What other wonders were waiting for her to see? Lizzie pushed her way to the next stage where a miniature rocking chair creaked in front of a small fireplace. A tiny hearth rug covered the stage, and little curtains dressed tiny windows painted on the backdrop. It looked like a parlor built for a child, and the woman seated in the rocking chair was not much bigger than a doll. She rocked back and forth in her chair, sucking on a clay pipe and reading a newspaper on her knee. Above the stage, the sign read:

Anita, the World's Smallest Woman

Lizzie struggled to get a better look, but the crowds were too thick for her to see through. Then, to her amazement, Anita noticed her and waved. “Let the little one through to the front please, ladies and gents!” she called. “She's paid her penny, same as you.”