Chapter 12

Lizzie was grateful for Collette’s company as they made their way out of the park and into the sprawling, unfamiliar city.

The lamplighters had already made their rounds and a welcome glow of yellow gaslight shone down from the cast-iron pillars. At night Edinburgh was a different place, a labyrinth of stone buildings and rowdy noises.

There were crowds everywhere. If Lizzie had been on her own, she would have shrunk into herself, hurrying along with her eyes downcast. Every yell, every laugh, would have made her nervous. But somehow Collette seemed to hold the night at bay.

Lizzie smiled to see the determined look on her friend’s face. Who would have thought that the two of them would become friends? When Lizzie had first joined the circus, Collette had been bitter and mean-spirited – or so it had seemed. Now Lizzie understood she was just protective of her brother, Dru.

Lizzie and Collette passed pubs that were packed wall to wall, brawny men singing and arm-wrestling, and crumbling houses with women leaning out of the top windows.

So many people, Lizzie thought, and not enough room for them. There couldn’t be enough work to go around, either.

‘What are you going to do about your back?’ she asked Collette. ‘You can’t keep performing if it’s giving you grief.’

Collette sighed. ‘I have to earn my keep somehow, Lizzie. The family business is what I know best.’

‘But there must be something else you can do!’

‘Non. I can work, or I can find a husband. There is nothing else.’

They swerved to cross the street away from a young man who was swinging on a lamppost. He winked at Collette, who walked straight ahead and pretended she hadn’t seen him.

‘Animals,’ she muttered, once the youth was out of earshot.

Lizzie struggled to think what else Collette could do with her life. Some young women worked as nursemaids, of course, like Maisie had done. But Maisie had been thrown out into the street, without even a reference to help her find new work. Was she out here somewhere, in a poorhouse or worse? She wouldn’t be working in service ever again, not after MacDonald’s grim treatment. Perhaps some young man would make her his wife…

Lizzie mulled that over as she walked. So much in a woman’s life depended on men, for there were precious few paths open to an unmarried woman. Factory work was just about the only option, without a reference, and she knew how very lucky she was to have found work at Fitzy’s Circus. Lizzie wasn’t sure whether she wanted to get married one day, but one thing was for sure – thanks to her abilities, she’d never have to be someone’s wife unless that was what she wanted.

Collette and Lizzie passed into the narrow, seedy streets of the Grassmarket, a low-lying part of the city where squalid houses pressed together back to back. The castle loomed above, high on its craggy column of rock, a forbidding outline against the night sky.

Only the main street was well lit. Narrow, dark alleys led off to the left and right, their shadowy openings somehow both threatening and tempting. There were women in the alleyways, she saw now. They leaned against the walls, weary or drunk or probably both. One had a face pitted with pox scars, another had a black eye, and another a crooked jaw that must have been broken long ago.

There were alleys like this back in Rat’s Castle, where she’d grown up, and she knew how easily she could have ended up like that one of those women in a few years, shivering and bone-thin, slumped against the cobblestones with only the false warmth of alcohol to keep the cold away.

Silently Lizzie thanked whatever kindly power had changed the course of her life. Thanks to Fitzy’s Circus, she had an honest living. More than that, she had her freedom.

Walking briskly on, she followed Collette up the hill and out of the slums – eager to leave the all-too-familiar squalor behind.

* * *

In the porch of Alexander MacDonald’s elegant house, Lizzie pulled the bell rope. She heard a bell ring somewhere deep inside, many rooms away.

A minute later, a stony-faced housekeeper opened the door. ‘Mister MacDonald is not receiving visitors.’

‘But it’s me,’ Lizzie protested. ‘Lizzie Brown, the psychic. I want to help.’

‘Help?’ roared a voice from the end of the hall. ‘That girl has “helped” quite enough already!’ Alexander MacDonald came striding up the hall towards her, clutching a candlestick. His hair was in disarray and his eyes sunken and bloodshot. He looks half-mad, Lizzie thought with alarm.

‘I had a vision…’

‘Spare me. I should never have entrusted my niece to the care of a circus girl. Get out.’

The door slammed in Lizzie’s face.

Lizzie looked from the door to Collette and back again. ‘What am I supposed to do now?’

‘Don’t give up,’ Collette said.

‘Come off it. The jig’s up. He doesn’t want to talk to me and I can’t make him. Let’s go home.’ She pulled the ribbon out of her pocket. ‘At least I’ve still got this.’

Collette ushered her away from the door and spoke in a whisper. ‘The ribbon – it works as a link, oui? For your visions?’

‘Yes.’

‘So what if we could get inside the house? To Amelia’s nursery? Surely that would be a link as strong as iron!’

Lizzie boggled at the idea. ‘It’d be worth a try, if there was any chance of getting in, which there ain’t.’

Collette tugged her across the courtyard and looked up at the windows. ‘Show me which one it is.’

‘It’s the middle one,’ Lizzie said, pointing. ‘She waved to me from the window.’

‘Bon. Regarde moi.’

In the shadows of the courtyard, Collette seemed to transform. The young woman who was as graceful as a swan on the flying trapeze suddenly seemed more like a cat, with quick eyes and a wicked grin. She darted straight to the stone-clad space between two tall windows, where ivy draggled down, and began to climb.

Lizzie watched dumbfounded as Collette pulled herself up, one stone block at a time. There were little metal balconies outside all the upper windows, and soon Collette was able to grasp one from below and swing nimbly up and over. She crouched and beckoned.

With a gulp, Lizzie took hold of a crevice in the stone and began to climb. She could hear voices from inside the house, just beyond the window. If she fell, they’d hear the crash. And it would hurt.

‘Put your right foot there,’ hissed Collette. ‘Bien. Move your left hand there. No. More to the left. That’s it. Now pull!’

It was hard work and Lizzie was soon sweating despite the chill. Last time she’d had to climb up a house, it had been Dru coaching her and he’d ended up in Newgate prison. Fortunately Lizzie’s visions had helped her to catch the real culprit, a masked burglar known as the Phantom. It had made Lizzie’s name, and she said a silent prayer that her success continued.

Inch by inch, she scaled up the side of the building until the balcony was within reach. Without waiting for Collette’s prompt, she reached for it – and immediately lost her balance. Unable to stop herself, she let out a yell. She was going to fall!

Collette grabbed her by the wrist. Grimacing with pain, she pulled Lizzie up and onto the balcony beside her. They both crouched down, breathing hard, terrified that the front door would open.

‘It seems they did not hear us,’ Collette eventually whispered. ‘Help me open the window. After three…’

Just then, a metallic clang made them jump. The main gates were swinging open. A whip cracked, and a horse-drawn carriage came rattling into the courtyard from the street. Two lanterns at the front lit up the front of the house in a wide arc.

Collette ducked down behind the ornate metalwork of the balcony and pulled Lizzie down next to her. They huddled in the shadows.

A door opened in the side of the carriage and a man got out, his face obscured by a hat pulled down low. The light from the lanterns was dazzling. If the figure looked up, would he see them? Lizzie had no way to know.

The visitor took a step towards the house, then paused. Lizzie froze, not daring to breathe. The door opened, flooding the porch with light, and Lizzie heard voices talking, but couldn’t make out the words. The figure moved out of view.

‘Now!’ Collette urged. ‘While they’re busy!’

They tugged the bedroom window up. It made a grinding squeak, just as the front door shut with a bang, muffling the sound completely. Lizzie grinned at their good luck. One after the other, they crept in through the window, treading carefully on the carpeted floor for fear of creaking floorboards.

Amelia’s nursery was like the front window of a toyshop. It was stiflingly warm, with a smell of rose petals and lavender. More of Charles Doyle’s fairy pictures hung from the walls, each one showing beautiful fairy women opening their arms in welcome. The shelves were overflowing with picture books, while porcelain dolls sat propped up on the bed and against the wall, watching Lizzie with dead, glassy eyes.

Collette opened the wardrobe and whistled softly. Masses of brightly coloured silk and satin dresses hung there. Lizzie had no idea when Amelia found time to wear them all, even if she wore a new one to every tea party she had.

‘No wonder she’s mad for fairies,’ Lizzie whispered. She tried to imagine what it must be like, growing up in such luxury. There didn’t seem to be room for a real, human little girl among all this frippery and splendour. The heat and the smell of flowers were making her head spin, so she lay down on Amelia’s bed. It was like sinking into a mountain of feathers.

‘Do you see anything?’ Collette asked eagerly.

‘No.’

As Collette paced up and down, Lizzie closed her eyes and tried to imagine Amelia here in the room. Alive.

Immediately the doors of her mind were flung open. Lizzie whimpered a little; it was a vision, and it was a powerful one – and she was seeing it through Amelia’s eyes.

She was in a dark room. ‘I want to go home,’ Amelia’s voice whimpered. Fresh, hot tears ran down her face.

‘Hush, now,’ said a strange, hollow voice. ‘Don’t be scared, my little elf.’

Lizzie tried to send her thoughts to Amelia. Turn around, she thought. Show me where that voice is coming from! But the little girl just kept crying.

The voice began to sing.

‘Where the bee sucks, there suck I.

In a cowslip’s bell I lie.

On a bat’s back I do fly…’

‘Lizzie!’ Collette hissed.

The vision faded away and Lizzie sat up. There were voices coming from downstairs; she heard MacDonald and another man – and the creak, creak, creak of footsteps coming up the stairs!

Lizzie and Collette exchanged alarmed glances. Collette glanced at the window, but Lizzie shook her head. She quickly climbed into the wardrobe and wriggled down among the heaps of stifling silk. Collette climbed in after her and pulled the door shut, just as the bedroom door opened.

Lizzie heard the men enter Amelia’s room. To her horror, she saw Collette had closed the armoire door on a dress sleeve and it hadn’t shut properly. A half-inch crack now showed her a view of the room.

As the visitor crossed the room, she saw his face clearly. It was the famous medium – her enemy, Douglas Grant.

He breathed in deeply through his nose. ‘I can sense Amelia’s aura – very close, very strong. Her innocent life force has impressed itself upon the room.’ He sank down onto the bed and clutched his head. His face contorted in pain.

Pull the other one, Lizzie thought. You might fool MacDonald, but you don’t fool me.

‘What is it?’ MacDonald said, hovering nearby. ‘Do you see her?’

Grant dabbed at his sweating forehead. ‘I must ask you for a brandy,’ he gasped. ‘What I have seen … I pray it is not true, and yet in my heart I know that it is.’

‘Is it bad news?’ MacDonald asked bravely.

‘Deeply worrying, my friend. Let me have a restorative drink, and I shall tell you what I have seen.’

The two men left the room.

‘We’ve got to sneak downstairs,’ Lizzie whispered.

‘Non!’ Collette said sharply.

‘Yes! I need to know what that faker Grant is telling him!’

‘And if we are caught? What then? We would be arrested, charged with breaking and entering! You think Fitzy needs that, hein?’

Lizzie groaned ‘If I could just listen at the door…’

‘And hear what? Grant is a fake. Whatever he tells MacDonald will be a pack of lies. He’ll probably say that Amelia is a changeling, and that the fairies took her back or some such nonsense.’

‘I suppose you’re right,’ Lizzie sighed. ‘Come on.’

They eased the window open, more gently this time. Silently they clambered out onto the balcony. As Grant’s carriage was waiting beneath the window and the driver was nowhere in sight, they jumped down onto its roof instead of risking the wall climb again.

Lizzie glanced over her shoulder at the house, yearning to hear what was being said within its walls. Grant was up to something. But what was it?