Lizzie barely slept that night. All day she’d worked hard in the mystic tent, eavesdropping on the customers and fiddling with the lamp like Madame Aurora wanted, while the terrifying threat hung in the air between them.
“Never to be seen again . . .”
Lizzie shuddered and rolled over. Visions rose like smoke in her mind, keeping her from sleep. Aurora, grinning like a skull. A gleaming knife. The masked Phantom, laughing.
She woke up the next day, rolled groggily out of bed, and went to join the Sullivans for breakfast. Erin snatched her porridge away when it looked like Lizzie was about to pass out into it.
“Shall I fetch a bucket of water and chuck it over you?” Erin suggested. “Might wake you up.”
“My legs ache,” Lizzie moaned, rubbing her calf.
“That’s because that old witch makes you stand in one place all day.” Nora said.
Mr. Sullivan checked his watch. “You’d best be getting to work, Lizzie. She’ll have a fit if you’re late.”
But when Lizzie arrived at the fortune-teller’s tent, she found it empty. She hastily lit the lamp, set some incense burning, and tidied up as best she could, hoping it would improve Aurora’s mood if she found the place ready for her.
Ten more minutes passed. Still no sign of Aurora.
Lizzie poked her head out of the tent and saw the first customers of the day waiting patiently in line. She bit her knuckles anxiously. It was bad for business to leave customers waiting. She could do the readings herself, of course, but Madame Aurora wouldn’t like that, would she?
She paced back and forth, lit more incense, polished the crystal ball, straightened the tarot cards. Outside she heard someone mutter, “We can’t expect these circus folk to turn up on time, can we?” Polite laughter followed.
This was just confirming all their prejudices about circus people. Lizzie snuck another peek outside. The line had grown to seven or eight people now. The gentleman at the back was frowning and looking at his pocketwatch.
Lizzie’s blood turned to ice on the spot. It was the man from her vision. And that was the very watch she’d seen Aurora steal!
Just then, Madame Aurora barged into the tent, red-eyed and haggard. Ignoring Lizzie completely, she rummaged around under the table and came up empty-handed. “I was sure there was one more bottle . . . right, Roxanna. Let the first customer in.”
Lizzie opened up the tent flap, feeling like she was trapped on a runaway train. Her vision was becoming a reality, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
“About time,” a gentleman muttered. He ducked past her first, wincing as he did so. “You’d better be good!”
Lizzie couldn’t possibly get away now. She stood, her legs aching and her heart pounding, as Madame Aurora bluffed her way through the reading. “You are troubled, dear . . .” she began.
Lizzie cringed as the hungover fortune-teller mumbled her nonsense. It was a clumsy, half-hearted performance even by her usual standards.
The customer wasn’t impressed, Lizzie could tell. She thought he might even demand his money back. She had to do something. Why had the man flinched in pain when he entered the tent? She glanced at his shoes. The left one was scuffed and worn down the side, as if he’d been favoring it. So, he had a bad leg. Maybe a war wound. She caught Aurora’s eye and quickly mimed firing a gun, then slapped her leg.
“I see fighting in your past,” Aurora said instantly. “A war wound, in the arm, no, in the leg. A brave soldier, who does not boast of his deeds . . .”
That made the man sit up and pay attention. Nothing like flattery to win them over, Lizzie thought sourly.
By the time he left the man was smiling, proud of himself. Lizzie had to get out. “Shall I pop out and have a look over the others, then?”
“Of course!” Aurora snapped. “You should have done that anyway.”
Outside, Lizzie glanced at the line of customers. Her stomach lurched to see the man with the watch was even closer to the front now. Some of the others must have grown tired of waiting and left.
It looked like her vision was about to come true. She had to tell someone. But if she left her post, Aurora would have her fired for sure. She’d be risking everything.
Lizzie made her mind up. She sprinted off to find Malachy and Nora. “It’s him,” she gasped when she found them. “The gent with the watch! When he goes in that tent, she’s going to nick it off him!”
“I knew you had second sight!” Nora said. “Didn’t I say?”
Lizzie’s palms were clammy. She hopped up and down on the spot. “But I dunno what to do!”
“I’ll tell you what we’re going to do,” said Malachy. “We’re going to catch her red-handed. Come on!”
When they arrived at the tent, the line had shrunk even more. The gentleman with the watch was at the very front.
Malachy took up position outside the tent while Lizzie slipped inside. Aurora was in the middle of a reading. The pudding-faced old woman across from her was nodding at her every word. Aurora caught Lizzie’s eye, and the look she gave her was pure poison. Lizzie gulped and threw a fistful of incense on the hot coals. Billowing clouds of smoke filled the tent.
“I see many grandchildren in your future,” Aurora went on. Behind her, the tent fabric twitched. Lizzie held her breath.
Nora came crawling in under the edge of the tent. The thick curtain of smoke almost hid her completely. Neither Aurora nor her client seemed to have noticed, and Lizzie watched with her heart in her mouth as Nora quickly ducked behind the cabinet holding Aurora’s mystic props. When she was out of sight, Lizzie let out the breath she’d been holding.
The old woman stood up to go, thanking Aurora again and again. Impatiently, Aurora ushered her out and beckoned the gentleman from Lizzie’s vision in. He sat down opposite her. “I’ve never consulted a fortune-teller before,” he said anxiously.
“You have chosen wisely,” Madame Aurora said in a husky voice. “The spirits have a special message for you.”
“They . . . they do?” the man stuttered.
“Roxanna!” Aurora clapped her hands. “Bring me the crystal!”
Lizzie’s hands shook as she went to lift the heavy crystal ball from its place in the mystic cabinet.
Nora’s face peeped out from her hiding place, and she mouthed the words, Is this him?
Lizzie gave a quick nod and turned away. The crystal ball began to slip through her sweaty hands. She hastily set it on the table.
“I must enter a state of mystic trance,” Madame Aurora proclaimed.
“Gosh,” said the young man. “Right-o. Jolly good.”
Madame Aurora began to rock back and forth. She gave a long, low groan like a sick horse, then rolled her eyes back into her head so that only the whites were showing. “Spirits! I call to you! Come forth from your shadow realm!”
The gentleman sat stiffly in his seat, watching in amazement.
“Give some sign of your presence!” Aurora said through bared teeth.
Lizzie wasn’t the least bit impressed. She had seen this routine a dozen times before.
Madame Aurora groaned louder. “Spirits! Do not delay!”
Suddenly, Lizzie remembered she was supposed to flicker the lamp at this bit. The gentleman almost jumped out of his seat when the light dimmed. “Good lord,” he murmured.
“The spirits bid you welcome, son of a noble line.” That was one of Aurora’s old favorite phrases to use. If the customer was high-born, they were flattered; if they were common, they were amazed to think their ancestors might have been blue bloods. Either way, it was a winner.
The gentleman looked helplessly to Lizzie. “What do I say?” he whispered.
“Lean forward,” Aurora boomed before Lizzie could speak. “Gaze deep into the crystal. Only then can the message be given!”
He did as he was told, excitement all over his face. And the moment his waistcoat pocket came close enough, Aurora’s hand moved like a striking snake. She wrapped her fingers around the watch, pulled it out, and tucked it into her own pocket.
“Malachy!” Lizzie yelled at the top of her voice. “Now!”
The poor gentleman jumped out of his chair with shock as Malachy pulled the tent flap back, letting in brilliant sunshine. A man was standing there in silhouette, arms folded. It was Fitzy himself!
“What’s going on?” the customer cried, shielding his eyes.
“I’m afraid we’re going to have to stop the reading,” Fitzy said.
“But . . . but . . . the spirits . . .” the young man stuttered in total confusion.
“Never mind the spirits, my good sir,” said Fitzy, taking his arm. “If you’d care to wait over here — all the way over here — that’s it, so sorry for the inconvenience. I do hope you’ll accept these free tickets for tomorrow’s performance.” He quickly ushered the man out of the fortune-teller’s tent and away through the circus, talking all the while.
Madame Aurora was on her feet, but Malachy stepped into the doorway, blocking her path. “You’re not going anywhere,” he warned.
“What’s this all about, Malachy my love?” she asked with a sickly smile.
Fitzy returned. “I’m hoping it’s nothing,” he said. “Well, Lizzie?”
“She stole his watch,” Lizzie said boldly. “It’s in her pocket. I saw the whole thing!”
“You’re a rotten little liar,” Aurora snapped. “You didn’t see nothing!”
Right then, Nora sprang out from behind the cabinet, and Madame Aurora gave a satisfying yelp of total surprise. Lizzie grinned at her friend’s perfect sense of showmanship.
“I saw it too, Fitzy,” Nora said. “Lizzie’s telling the truth.”
With a weary sigh, Fitzy held out his hand. “Come on, Aurora. Let’s have it.”
Trembling, Aurora drew the watch out of her pocket. “I couldn’t help myself,” she said. “It was the spirits — they drove me to do it.”
“The only spirit driving you is gin,” Fitzy said angrily. “Nora, run and give the gentleman his watch back.”
“Right you are!” Nora said.
“Tell him you found it on the ground and he must have dropped it. Enough of the public think we’re thieves without us making it worse.”
Aurora fell on her knees and clutched at Fitzy’s trousers. “Don’t call the police, Fitz,” she begged. “I can’t go to prison, not at my age.”
“Save it, Aurora,” Fitzy said. “Malachy, go fetch Joey and Bungo.”
“Yes, Pop!” With a smart salute, Malachy darted off.
Aurora wailed and beat her fists on the dusty ground. “Please! You don’t have to do this. I’ve been with you so long!”
Fitzy stood, hands on hips. “So give me another option.”
“Let me go. I’ll leave the circus and never come back, I swear!”
Fitzy pondered this. “All right. But no second chances this time, Aurora. You’re out for good.”
“Thank you, thank you!” Aurora struggled to her feet, tugged her mystic robes off, and flung them on the ground. “I’ll just pop to my caravan, fetch a few things, then I’ll be on my way —”
“You will leave now,” Fitzy commanded in a tone that made Lizzie shiver.
Malachy arrived, followed by two huge circus hands. One was bald with a walrus mustache, the other shaggy and bearded like a mountain man.
Fitzy nodded to Aurora and jerked his head toward the exit. Bungo and Joey instantly understood. They reached for Aurora, but she was already backing away from them, retreating toward the main gate like a vampire being driven into its crypt. Ignoring her shrieks, they grabbed her by the arms and began to drag her off.
“You did this to me!” Aurora screamed at the top of her voice. “You! Lizzie Brown!” And she let fly a string of language so foul that Nora came up behind Lizzie and covered her ears.
“Get her off my site,” Fitzy said in disgust.
“You better sleep with one eye open, Lizzie Brown!” Aurora screamed as she was dragged away. “You’ll never be safe in London again! I’ll get you! I got connections! I’m somebody!”
“She’s just a drunken old witch,” Nora said firmly.
But Lizzie’s heart still thumped hard in her chest with every angry scream.
“You’re dead meat!” came the fading cries. “Dead meat!”
Fitzy tucked his thumbs through his braces and gave Lizzie a broad smile, as if nothing unusual had happened at all. “Word travels fast in a circus,” he said. “I’ve heard you’ve turned out to be a genuine psychic.”
“That’s right,” Lizzie said. No sense in denying it now, was there?
Fitzy bent his knees, dropping down to Lizzie’s level. “I seem to find myself in need of a fortune-teller. I don’t suppose, by any chance, you’d be interested in filling the position?”
Lizzie gaped at him. “Who, me? I mean . . . yes! Yes, I would!”
“That’s that, then.” Fitzy smacked dust off his hands and peered up at the signage on the tent, gold letters on a midnight blue background. “Oh, dear. This won’t do at all. ‘Madame Aurora’ is out of date now.”
“I’ll get Dawson to paint it up fresh, Pop,” Malachy said.
Fitzy nodded. “I want it done by noon today. Now, what to write . . .” With his finger Fitzy traced the arch the new words would follow, speaking his thoughts aloud. “‘The Magnificent Lizzie Brown,’” he declared. “There. How’s that sound to you, Lizzie?”
“Fantastic,” Lizzie said. “Absolutely blooming fantastic.”