Chapter 6

Lizzie knocked on the door of Collette’s caravan.

‘Is this where the fairy lives?’ Amelia asked, sounding suspicious.

‘Yes.’

‘I thought she would live in a big mushroom.’

‘Well, this one don’t,’ said Lizzie. ‘She lives in a magic house with wheels on.’

She patted Amelia’s golden-curled head, feeling sorry for her. What must it be like, to have a head so stuffed with fairy nonsense? The real world wasn’t somewhere where fairies lived. The real world was factories, dirt and meanness.

‘My mummy’s gone to Heaven,’ Amelia said.

‘So’s mine,’ said Lizzie, and squeezed her hand. She knocked again.

Collette finally answered the door, frowning, without make-up and with papers twisted in her hair. She’d changed out of her costume and into her normal clothes and Lizzie’s heart sank – Amelia wouldn’t recognize her fairy in this state. But Collette’s grumpy expression changed to a smile instantly when she saw Amelia.

‘Hello, little one! How lovely to see you again.’

‘Fairy lady!’ squealed Amelia. ‘You’re in disguise.’

‘I found her round the back of the penny gaffs,’ Lizzie explained. ‘Looks like she ran off from her nursemaid and got lost. I dunno what to do with her!’

‘Leave this to me.’ Collette swept down the caravan steps, picked Amelia up and lifted her onto her hip – Lizzie noticed her wincing slightly as she did so. ‘Where I come from,’ Collette said to Amelia, ‘all the little fairy children love le chocolat. Perhaps you do too?’

‘Choc’lit?’ Amelia said, her eyes shining with hope.

‘Off to the tea tent we shall go!’ Collette sang. She danced across the grass, carrying Amelia, while Lizzie followed.

Amelia caught sight of the show tent’s red and white stripes. ‘Bouncing first?’

‘Bien sûr, bouncing first,’ Collette said, gamely changing direction and carrying the little girl into the show tent.

Collette’s all right really, Lizzie thought. She acted like a diva at times, but deep down she had a good heart.

After Amelia had a quick bounce on the safety net, Lizzie and Collette rushed her over to the tea tent. Ma Sullivan brought over a plate piled high with buttered crumpets and a whole mug of hot chocolate. ‘There. Get that down her. I’ll run and tell Fitzy about our wee guest.’

‘We’ll keep her happy in the meantime,’ Lizzie assured her.

Collette sat Amelia on her knee while the little girl drank her chocolate. ‘Do you speak any French, little one?’

Amelie shook her head.

‘Well, this is la table, and the circus is called le cirque. And if you need to say “fairy” in French, you say la fée.’

‘Like Morgan le Fay!’ Lizzie said.

‘Very good, Lizzie.’ Collette said, laughing.

Amelia put on her serious face again. ‘You do believe in fairies, don’t you?’

‘Of course I do,’ Collette answered. ‘They are all around us. The fairies put the dew on the morning flowers and decorate the spiders’ webs with diamonds.’

Oh, blimey, thought Lizzie. They’re all at it. Collette was laying it on a bit thick, but she clearly did believe in fairies, just like Ma Sullivan. Is it just me who lives in the real world? Sometimes it feels like I’m the only grown-up in this whole bloomin’ circus.

Fitzy arrived, helped himself to a crumpet and dug in his pockets for some money. ‘Bringing home waifs and strays, Lizzie?’ he asked with a grin. ‘I thought that was Malachy’s trick.’ Malachy had found Lizzie sleeping in a pile of straw, and he’d persuaded Fitzy to let her join the circus.

‘She’s lost,’ Lizzie said.

‘You’re the ringmaster!’ Amelia slipped out of Collette’s arms, ran to Fitzy and startled him with a hug around the leg. ‘Can I watch your circus again?’

‘Another time, little missy. Collette, you need to get ready. Show’s about to start.’

‘Oh, mon Dieu!’ Collette leaped up. ‘Is it that time already?’

‘Afraid so. Lizzie, we need to get this little creature back to her family right away. Here’s ten shillings. Go and flag down a hackney carriage.’

‘But I don’t know where she lives.’

‘Use your noodle, dear. She’s Alexander MacDonald’s niece, isn’t she?’

Of course, Lizzie thought. He’s one of the wealthiest men in town. Every single cab driver in Edinburgh is going to know where his house is.

Lizzie sat on a chilly leather seat in the back of a hansom cab, which jolted and juddered as the driver hurried them towards the New Town. Fitzy’s money had paid for a fast ride, not a comfortable one.

Amelia peered out of the rain-flecked window. ‘Are we nearly there yet?’

‘I bloomin’ hope so,’ Lizzie said. ‘I’m rattling about like a farthing in a blind man’s tin.’

The wheels crunched on gravel. Lantern light flooded in through the glass. They were turning into a broad driveway. Up ahead, they could see the turrets and high windows of an expansive Georgian house. ‘Whoa there,’ the driver called to his horses, reining them in. ‘Easy now!’ They pulled up outside the front steps and the driver gave three short knocks on the carriage roof, to tell his passengers the journey was over.

‘This is my house!’ Amelia yelled. She tugged Lizzie’s coat sleeve. ‘Come and see my nursery. You can stay if you want.’

‘I dunno if your uncle would like that.’ Feeling wobbly, Lizzie climbed out and paid the driver. ‘Keep the change, mate. And come see Fitzy’s circus.’

The driver tipped his hat. ‘Will do.’

Amelia was already running across the gravel to her own front door. She jumped up, trying to reach the knocker, but wasn’t tall enough. Instead, she banged on the door three times with her little fist.

The door opened instantly and warm light flooded out into the rainy courtyard. Alexander MacDonald was standing in the hallway, and Lizzie heard his cry of, ‘Oh, thank God!’ He fell to his knees and clasped Amelia in a huge hug.

He must have been waiting behind the door, Lizzie realized, just in case anyone knocked with news of Amelia. She approached, and his eyes met hers – there was a depth of gratitude in them that went beyond words. Then he screwed them up tight, embracing his niece again.

‘Where did you go, my heart?’ he said into her shoulder. ‘Where’d you wander off to, eh?’

‘I ran away to the circus,’ Amelia said matter-of-factly.

‘But why? Are you unhappy here at home with Uncle Ally?’

‘Don’t be silly, Uncle! I just wanted to see the fairy again.’

Someone behind MacDonald cleared his throat and stepped forward and Lizzie froze as she saw it was a police constable. She felt a strong urge to run away.

‘I take it there’s no further need for this missing person report, Mister Macdonald?’ he said.

‘No. Thank you, Constable.’

‘Very good, sir. Glad to see she’s safe and sound.’

The policeman glanced at Lizzie as he left the house. He hesitated on the doorstep. ‘I’ll be honest with you, sir. You ought to keep a closer eye on the girl. There’s people out there who like to target the children of well-to-do families.’

‘You mean kidnappers,’ said MacDonald coldly. He hadn’t relaxed his grip on Amelia.

‘That’s right, sir. Stop by the station some time – I’ll show you some of the ransom notes we’ve seen, and the threats that came with them.’ The policeman nodded to Lizzie. ‘Obliged to you, miss. Good night, now.’

Well, that’s a first, thought Lizzie. A policeman being polite to me.

‘Come in, Miss Brown, please,’ MacDonald urged her. ‘Let me take your coat. Amelia, you’re going straight upstairs to bed.’

Amelia planted a kiss on Lizzie’s cheek and went stomping happily up the stairs, just as Maisie the nursemaid was coming down them. ‘Oh, thank heavens, she’s back!’

‘Aye, she is,’ said MacDonald, his face like thunder. ‘No, don’t go back up with her, Maisie. Stay here.’

Uh oh, Lizzie thought. I bet I know what’s coming. MacDonald ain’t happy with her.

Once little Amelia was out of earshot, MacDonald rounded on Maisie furiously. ‘You let her go running off to the circus? Good God, woman, were you not watching her at all?’

‘I only closed my eyes for a few minutes!’ Maisie wailed. ‘I thought she was having a nap after our picnic.’

MacDonald ran his fingers through his hair, distraught. ‘She could have been killed, or abducted, or … or…’

‘But sir, she’s safe and sound now.’

‘Aye, no thanks to you.’ MacDonald stiffened his back and pulled himself together. ‘You’re no’ dependable, Maisie Hendry. I took a chance when I hired you, because you seemed kind and I felt sorry for you, but now I see it was a mistake. I know my niece sees you as a friend, but you’re meant to be her nursemaid, not a playmate!’

Lizzie felt terrible. Maisie was being sacked in front of her eyes, and there was nothing she could do about it. It serves her right, she thought, but it’s still a rotten thing to happen.

Tears welled up in Maisie’s eyes. ‘Please,’ she begged. ‘It’ll never happen again, I promise.’

‘You won’t need to promise. You’re dismissed, without notice, on the grounds of gross irresponsibility. I need you out of here by morning. And I’ll no’ be giving you a reference.’

Maisie clung to the banister newels like a protester outside a palace. ‘Please … for mercy’s sake, give me another chance. I can’t go back to factory work—’

‘Go upstairs and pack your things.’

‘If you had a heart…’

‘Now – before I call the police again!’

Howling, Maisie pushed past Lizzie and ran up the stairs. Lizzie wondered where she would go now. She hoped she had a mother or a friend to take her in. Without a reference from MacDonald, she’d find it hard to get another job in service.

MacDonald straightened his collar. ‘I’m sorry you had to see that, Lizzie. Please, come in. There’s tea in the parlour.’

Large, colourful paintings hung in the hallway and Lizzie stared at them as she passed. Every single one was a scene of fairies: they skipped in circles, drank from acorn cups and floated through twilight skies, trailing gossamer behind them.

‘Do you like them?’ MacDonald pointed out a framed sketch of a bearded man drinking tea while fairies danced on his desk. ‘There’s the artist. My friend and neighbour, Charles Doyle. We’re both members of the Spiritualist Society of Edinburgh.’

Lizzie tried to think of something polite to say. ‘They’re, er, very realistic.’

‘There’s a reason for that. Charles Doyle has seen fairies – his pictures are all painted from life.’

Lizzie bit back the sarcastic reply that rose to her lips.

A portrait of a man tormented by goblins hung at the end of the hall. They tugged on his beard and walloped his head with little hammers. What a weird thing to hang in your house, she thought. It reminded her of her father, who would come home steaming drunk and bellow about the elephants that were jumping on his skull.

Now she thought about it, Pa had seen fairies too. Lizzie’s mind flashed back to her father huddled in the corner of a filthy room, clutching his knees and shaking like a fever victim. He’d had something called delirium tremens, a sort of spell of madness brought on by lack of alcohol.

Did these paintings show the same ‘little people’ her father had seen? Or maybe Charles Doyle had something else wrong with his mind.

Lizzie kept her suspicions to herself as she followed MacDonald through his huge house and into the parlour. While he busied himself with the tea things already laid out for him, Lizzie decided it was time to say her piece. ‘Sir, when I spoke with your sister, she had a warning for you.’

‘A warning?’

‘That’s what she called it. She said, “Beware of the fairy.”’

A coal popped in the grate and she braced herself for MacDonald’s angry response. But it didn’t come. Instead, he laughed it off.

‘Ach, you probably misheard. Flora loved fairies, just as much as I do. Many of those paintings you saw belonged to her.’

‘But she said “beware”!’

MacDonald passed her a hot cup of tea that smelled of bergamot. Lizzie took it gingerly, afraid the delicate china would snap in her hands – she always felt ill at ease in posh people’s houses, not that she’d been in many.

‘She was probably reminding us to be aware of fairies,’ he said. ‘They are all around us, you know.’ He held up a finger, perhaps thinking a fairy would come and perch there.

Lizzie sat in silence, sipping her tea, not knowing what to say. Nothing was going to put a dent in MacDonald’s beliefs, that much was clear.

‘You’re sceptical?’ he said at last. ‘I’m surprised. A spiritually-minded person like you, not believing in fairies?’

‘I don’t mean no disrespect,’ she said. ‘I believe in spirits, because I’ve seen ’em and spoken to ’em. But I’ve never seen a fairy. They’re just in stories.’

MacDonald pondered that for a moment, then fished some pieces of pink card with fancy edging out of his pocket and passed them over.

‘The Bearer is Granted Admission to a Grand Fairy Hunt,’ Lizzie read aloud, ‘hosted by the Spiritualist Society of Edinburgh. Picnic included.’

‘Invitations for you and all your friends,’ said MacDonald. ‘I will pay their train fares as well.’

Lizzie saw the date was tomorrow. ‘It’s very kind of you,’ she said. Should she accept? Her friends loved travelling by train and the picnic sounded delicious. It would be rude not to…

‘It’s the least I can do!’ insisted MacDonald. ‘You brought Amelia home safely.’

‘You want to bring me on a fairy hunt when I don’t believe in fairies?’

‘Tomorrow you will see irrefutable evidence that they exist. I trust that will change your mind.’

Lizzie had a sudden vision of Amelia running through the trees, excited and heedless of danger. MacDonald must be planning to bring her on the fairy hunt too. Beware of the fairy, her mother’s spirit had said. Not ‘aware’. Beware. It was definitely a warning, whether MacDonald chose to heed it or not. Amelia had already got lost once by running off after a ‘fairy’. This trip sounded totally ridiculous, but Lizzie couldn’t take any chances when it came to the safety of a small child. She decided that Flora knew best, and she herself would be wary of fairies, even if MacDonald wouldn’t.

‘I’ll be glad to come,’ she said politely. Even if I’m only going to keep an eye on your niece, she thought. My visions have never been wrong yet.

As Lizzie left the house, she glanced up and saw Amelia waving to her from her nursery window.

‘Sleep tight,’ she whispered, waving back. ‘And be safe.’