“He was checking the windows,” Dru explained in a whisper. “If he looks up and sees us — boum! All over!”
They waited, hearts pounding, until Lizzie heard the footsteps move away again. She heard the caretaker fasten a lock, then another, and then yet another. She risked a peek, craning her head around to look down. The man looked up at her hiding place, and she whipped her head back again.
A moment passed. A bead of sweat ran down Lizzie’s spine. Then she heard the man chuckle to himself. “Just pigeons,” he said. He was moving away now, walking down the alley away from them, out of sight. Malachy gave an all clear wave.
The caretaker’s heading home, Lizzie thought. Home to his wife, who believes in all that supernatural nonsense. Funny old world, innit? A week ago, I never believed in none of it myself.
Lizzie suddenly wondered, with a cold, sick jolt of horror, if the round-faced man would make it home to that wife of his tonight after all. She was sure the Phantom had been carrying a bunch of keys just like his in her vision.
The Phantom must have chosen this house well in advance. And he needed the keys to get inside. So, unless the man was in cahoots with the Phantom, he was going to lose those keys very soon . . . and probably a lot of blood too. Just like that poor man in Spitalfields.
The minute the hour struck eight, Lizzie saw movement from the end of the alley. A man was coming out of a tiny side street, little more than a gap between buildings. She elbowed Dru.
Steadily the figure crept toward the tall house. Every detail of Lizzie’s vision was coming to life in front of her. Far off in the distance, the circus callers shouted out, “Last show!” The figure was glancing left and right, cautious as a stalking fox. A sack was slung over his shoulder, he held a black cane in his hand, and his face . . .
The figure looked in their direction. He had no face.
Lizzie was staring right into the ghoulish mask of the Phantom! It looked like a screaming skull, but battered and yellowed with age.
“Can he see us?” she whispered to Dru.
“Let’s hope not!” Dru said.
Lizzie stayed still, hardly even daring to breathe, until the Phantom moved on. This was as far as her vision had gone. Whatever happened next was uncharted territory.
The Phantom drew a bunch of keys from a pocket. That didn’t make sense. How could he have taken them from the caretaker so quickly? The watchman had left in the other direction.
The Phantom slipped down the little side alley that led around the back of the house, disappearing from view.
“He’s heading for the back door.” Dru began to clamber across the roof toward the rear. “Follow me. And be careful!”
Lizzie ground her teeth. Climbing on this sloping roof wasn’t easy. With every move they made, tiles threatened to break loose.
She and Dru made their way across until they could see down into the backyard. Dru sat straddling the ridge at the top of the roof. “It’s easier to balance up here,” he offered.
Lizzie didn’t fancy it. She peered over the edge and saw the Phantom standing at the back door. He was selecting one key from the bunch, muttering to himself.
Lizzie strained to hear, but she couldn’t make out a word. She needed a better view. Maybe if she leaned over a bit more . . . she shifted her weight, and suddenly she was sliding, her foot skidding away as a tile broke loose.
Dru lunged. He caught her dress at the shoulder and grabbed a fistful of fabric. It yanked up painfully under her arm as the tile skittered down the roof. Lizzie prayed it would land in the gutter.
It didn’t. It fell and exploded in the alleyway, and a startled yell sounded from below. The Phantom had heard.
Dru stared down at Lizzie, his face twisted in despair. “Get down there!” he hissed. “Arrêtez-lui! Stop him! Quick!”
“How?” Lizzie asked.
“Down the drainpipe, vite!”
Lizzie climbed over the edge and gripped the drainpipe with both hands. She managed a controlled, skidding descent that was a lot faster than the climb up. The Phantom was turning this way and that in the yard. He saw the shattered remains of the roof slate, turned on his heel and ran, heading for the other side passage where Malachy would be standing guard.
“Get him!” Lizzie shrieked at the top of her lungs. She dropped down the last few feet and ran across the yard, past the back door where the keys were still in the lock, and came up behind the Phantom. He was advancing on Malachy, who was bravely standing his ground. The Phantom thwacked the black cane menacingly into his open hand.
“Drop it!” Malachy warned, his voice shaking.
For the first time, Lizzie heard the Phantom’s voice. “Move,” he growled. “Or I’ll split your skull.” He spoke in a deep, hoarse whisper. He’s faking it, Lizzie knew instantly.
“You think a cripple can’t fight?” Malachy raised his own walking stick, brandishing it like a war club. “Come on!”
In answer, the Phantom gripped the cane with both hands and raised it above his head. He didn’t know Lizzie was there behind him. If she didn’t do something, he’d smash Malachy into a broken and bloody pulp. She clenched her fists and got ready to run at him.
Then, to her amazement — and the Phantom’s — something snatched the cane right out of his hands. From above.
Dru was there, his legs braced between the walls of the passageway, holding him suspended in a chimney-climb. Lizzie looked on in awe as he casually tossed the cane from one hand to the other, his spread legs holding him in place.
“And now,” Dru said, “for that mask, eh?” The cane lashed out, striking at the Phantom’s face.
It was too much for the Phantom. He ducked out of the way of the striking cane, pushed past Malachy, and ran off in a blind panic.
Dru dropped nimbly to the ground. “He’s getting away! Come on!”
The three of them set off in noisy pursuit, Malachy lagging behind. The Phantom was already halfway down the street, running as fast as he could. He tugged the mask off, flung it over his shoulder, and vanished around the corner.
As Lizzie sprinted after him, she heard the clatter of hooves and the sound of carriage wheels beginning to turn. He must have had his own transportation waiting, she realized. There was no hope of catching him now. We were so close! So flaming close!
Dru reached the mask and grabbed it off the pavement. “We have this much of him,” he said with a sigh. “At least, that is — Lizzie!”
“Eh?” she said.
“Les flics! The police!”
Lizzie spun around. Four uniformed policemen were sprinting toward them from the other end of the street. They must’ve heard all the shouting! she realized.
“Get him!” Lizzie screamed. “Hurry up! There’s still time!”
The policemen charged straight past her. But Lizzie’s delight changed to horror as she saw them grab Dru by the arms. He fought, kicking and yelling in French, but they quickly had him on the floor.
“What are you doing?” she howled. “That’s not the Phantom!”
“It’s him all right,” one of the policemen grunted. “Caught him with the mask in his hand!”
“And we’ll have that off you too,” another one said, wrenching the cane out of Dru’s grip. “It’s still got blood on the tip, see?”
The next ten minutes passed in a horrible blur. No matter how many times Lizzie and Malachy protested that the wrong person had been arrested, they were ignored. The police found the back door of the house open and retrieved the keys, congratulating themselves on this new piece of evidence.
A crowd was beginning to gather and rumors were flying fast. The Phantom had been caught red-handed. He was a circus acrobat — so obvious! How else had he been able to get into all those houses unseen? And he wasn’t even English. Well, you never could trust a foreigner, could you?
In the end, there were so many people filling the alley that Lizzie could no longer see Dru. All she saw were the policemen’s helmets moving through the crowds as he was dragged away.
“Where are they taking him?” she screamed.
“Newgate,” said Malachy, looking pale and shocked.
Lizzie gasped. Like any Londoner, she knew the name. It was the harshest prison London had ever known.
CHAPTER 13
There were no smiles among the circus folk gathered in the show tent this morning. The Amazon Queen stood there grim-faced; Mario the giant looked as though he hadn’t slept; even the clowns looked down at the ground and kicked at the dirt.
Lizzie could hardly bear to look at Dru’s family. His father had his arm around Madame Boisset, whose eyes were red eyes from crying. His sister, Collette, hung her head and clasped her hands like a angel.
“As you all know,” said Fitzy, “today’s rehearsals have been postponed. I’ve called this meeting to discuss the reason why.” A few knowing eyes turned to Lizzie for a moment, then quickly looked away.
Why did that stupid roof tile have to give way? Lizzie thought. She’d never be able to forget the sharp crash as it shattered. It was like she’d been trusted with the heart of the whole circus, and she’d smashed it into a million pieces. Nobody had had a kind word for her this morning, except for what was left of the Penny Gaff Gang.
Malachy, who was standing beside his father, gave Lizzie a look that said it’s going to be all right. But then Collette glared at her with accusing hate, and Lizzie had to close her own eyes.
“I’m afraid the rumors you may have heard are true,” Fitzy went on. “Dru Boisset has been arrested and charged with multiple burglaries. They think he’s the Phantom.”
Murmuring broke out.
“They can’t do that!” someone yelled.
“He’s only a boy!” cried Anita.
Fitzy gestured for calm. “Please! You will all get the chance to speak.”
“Stupid coppers,” one of the clowns said, spitting on the ground.
Carefully, without laying blame, Fitzy explained what had happened. He already knew the whole story: Lizzie and Malachy had gone straight to him the night before.
Lizzie winced when he mentioned the vision she’d had. I wish I didn’t have this stupid second sight. All it’s brought me is trouble.
“The police cannot be persuaded that our Dru is not the notorious Phantom,” Fitzy finished. “Being in possession of the cane and the mask was enough evidence to convince them of his guilt. The back door of a nearby house was also left open, with the keys in it, and a witness says he saw Dru jumping from roof to roof.”
“He is no thief!” Dru’s father, Pierre, exploded.
“We know,” Fitzy said. “Dru did not steal anything, and nobody is suggesting that he did.”
“The papers are doing more than suggesting it!” Mario bellowed to mutters of agreement.
“The papers are not judge and jury, even if they like to think they are,” Fitzy said, with frosty calm. “Let’s not beat about the bush, my friends. This is a bad turn of events. But it could be a good deal worse. We will make sure Dru gets all the help we can provide, and in the meantime, let’s remember we still have a circus to run.”
Lizzie felt sick. Dru had gone with her to catch the Phantom. But the papers didn’t care about the truth — they just wanted to give the public the story they craved.
“We all know why they’ve arrested Dru!” It was the Amazon Queen, and she was furious. “The coppers hate us, Fitz. They’ve always hated us. You’ve ’eard the names they call us!”
“Of course I’ve heard!” Fitzy’s sudden anger broke out, hushing them all. “You think I haven’t been called those names too, ever since I was Malachy’s age? ‘Circus scum!’ ‘Thieves and vagabonds!’ From the very same people I have to smile and bow to every night!”
There was a hubbub of agreement. Lizzie realized, with some relief, that the circus folk were even angrier with the police than they were with her.
“We all know how it is,” Fitz went on. “Whatever crimes they can’t solve, they pin on us. Nothing ever sticks, of course, because it doesn’t have to. They blame us, we move on to the next town, and the whole business starts over. But this time, they’ve made something stick. This time they’ve got a suspect, caught at the scene, and they’re going to milk it for all it’s worth.”
“And whose fault is that?” Dru’s father pointed straight at Lizzie. “Who got my boy into this trouble, eh? Who talked him into this stupid game and got him arrested?” He looked around for support. “Who filled his head with talk of visions and told him he could be a hero? Well? Shall I spell it out?”
“Steady, Pierre,” said Mario, laying a hand on his shoulder. But Pierre shrugged it off. Everyone was looking right at Lizzie now, and not many of the faces were friendly.
“It should be her in that prison, not him!” Dru’s mother sobbed. “And as for your son, Fitz —”
“That’s enough!” Fitzy yelled. “It’s not Lizzie’s fault that Dru’s in prison. The coppers are to blame, and you both know it!”
“Dru should never even have been there,” Collette said. “If that freak hadn’t lured him along, he’d be safe.”
“If Dru hadn’t been there, Malachy would be dead now,” Fitz shot back at her. “Your brother saved my son from being beaten to death. He is a hero, so far as I’m concerned!”
Collette had no answer to that.
“Now, tempers are running high, and that’s to be expected,” Fitzy continued. “But let’s not start turning on our own. If we don’t stick together, then that lot out there will be only too happy to tear us apart.”
A few people yelled, “Hear! Hear!” in response.
Lizzie felt her eyes beginning to brim with tears, not from sadness but from the frustration and guilt boiling up inside her. Whatever Fitzy might say, however grateful he might be to Dru for saving Malachy’s life, all this was her doing. She couldn’t run away from that.
I’m going to set things right again, so help me, Lizzie thought. Dru’s innocent. I can’t let him suffer because of me!
Zezete noticed that Lizzie was crying and put his arm around her to show he was on her side, then spoke up. “There must be other witnesses, surely. So where are they? Did nobody see the real Phantom flee the scene?”
“We can only hope someone comes forward,” said Fitzy. “But even if they do, the police don’t want to listen. Dru makes the perfect scapegoat. And the first robbery occurred around about the time we arrived in London, which doesn’t help matters.”
“So what are you going to do?” Pierre demanded.
Fitzy rolled up his sleeves. “Above all, the show must go on,” he said. “Tomorrow, we move to Victoria Park. You all know how important that is. It’s our biggest show of the year, and His Lordship the Lord Mayor is coming to open it.”
“Always business with you, Fitz,” spat Dru’s father. “You talk of big shows, of pulling the crowds. But what about my son?”
“Pierre, good publicity is just what we need — and what Dru needs! The more money we raise, the better defense we can pay for in court. If we can get the crowd on our side, or better still impress the Lord Mayor, then we have a real chance of swinging the trial our way. The mayor might even intervene. He could get Dru released on lack of evidence!”
The mayor’s a good man, Lizzie thought. He gave me food and money when I was starving and had nowhere to go, didn’t he? If anyone can help Dru, he can. Fitzy’s right. I have to win him over.
“Any questions?” Fitz waited a moment, then clapped briskly. “Very well. Back to work, everyone. Let’s get ready for the show of a lifetime.”
* * *
Once the last of the circus folk had left the tent, only the Penny Gaff Gang remained. Lizzie urged them to get on wi
th their practice, but none of them listened.
“This isn’t just on you,” Malachy assured Lizzie. “We all said we were in this together, remember?”
“We did,” said Erin, nodding.
“All for one and one for all,” added Nora.
“But, Malachy, your dad said the best help we can give Dru is to put on a good show!” Lizzie paced back and forth, twisting her fingers. “What else can we do for him now?”
“We need to track down the real Phantom,” Malachy said.
“That’s what got us into this mess!” Lizzie exclaimed.
“And the only way out is to keep going. Dad’s right about the show being important, but he knows that’s just a gamble. We can’t change the public’s mind about us just from one show, and we can’t rely on the Lord Mayor to plead Dru’s case for us.”
“He is one of the rich folks, after all,” Erin said with a sniff.
“So we deal with this our way.” Malachy pulled a folded newspaper out of his pocket and pointed to the headline:
Phantom Trial Set for Tuesday 13th
“We have to do it fast. Dru goes to trial in three days,” he said somberly.
Nora stared. “That soon?”
“If they find him guilty,” Lizzie said, swallowing hard, “he’ll swing, won’t he?”
“Yes,” Hari said simply, before anyone else could answer. “Robbery is a capital crime. He’ll hang for it.”
Lizzie felt a sudden pang of guilt. In her caravan, not so long ago, Dru had pleaded with her to read his palm, but she’d refused. But what if she had? Could she have seen the arrest, the imprisonment? Could she have warned him? He would have listened, she knew that for certain. Dru trusted her. She imagined taking his warm open hand in hers, exploring the creases on his palm. If she could see his life line now, would it be long . . . or tragically short?
* * *
Lizzie didn’t let herself cry until later, when she was alone in her caravan. “It’s not fair!” she whispered to herself, wiping streaming tears away. “Malachy reckons my gift’s meant to help people, but all I’ve done so far is stop rich men from being robbed! What kind of a gift is that? Who cares about rich folks, anyway?”
The Magnificent Lizzie Brown and the Mysterious Phantom Page 11