Free The Deadly Fire by Cora Harrison

Street was a different matter. No police constables walked there. It was very dark, and the stench of cesspits mingled with the raw sulphuric smell of fog laden with coal smoke. Most of the gas lamps there had been deliberately extinguished; men and women lurked in doorways, hoping that some adventurous toff with good clothes, a fine watch and money in his pockets could be tempted to come down to have a look at the celebrated Seven Dials. Alfie made sure not to look from right to left, but to stare steadily ahead, keeping to one side of the liquid filth that ran down the middle of the road.
    Seven Dials, the point where seven streets met, was famous for heavy drinking. A man called Hogarth had even drawn pictures of it. Alfie had seen them in Mr Elmore’s office. Tonight it was in its usual state of uproar. With gin selling for a few pence a measure,most of the inhabitants of St Giles were by now roaring drunk. It seemed that nobody was asleep. With a shudder, Alfie saw one woman sitting on the window-sill of an upstairs room, carelessly dangling her baby by one leg. He stood very still underneath, knowing that it was impossible that he could be sure of catching the baby and that he would probably see its brains dashed out on the cobbles before him if she dropped it.
    â€˜Give him here, Jenny,’ said another woman, leaning out and grasping the baby’s arm. Alfie let out his breath and walked on rapidly, his heart thumping hard. He felt sorry now that he had not accepted the offer of Jack’s company. He would have done, if he had not had a lurking fear of Joseph Bishop sneaking into the cellar, perhaps knifing Mutsy and bearing off Sammy. Jack was strong as well as immensely brave. Alfie knew that he could trust the safety of the gang to him.
    â€˜Not sure that I fancy doing this again,’ he muttered to himself as he left Seven Dials, resolving to take plenty of clay and to make this his last midnight journey.
    By the time that he reached Bloomsbury, his courage had come back to him and he strolled along in a nonchalant manner, looking at the gleaming windows and well-scrubbed doorsteps of the poshhouses and imagining the army of servants, in their attic rooms, who were needed to keep each of these houses in that state of cleanliness.
    Alfie reckoned that it must be about half-past midnight by the time that he reached the brickworks. Already half-built houses rose up all around it. The gas lamps worked well here and, despite the fog, it wasn’t long before Alfie discovered the gap in the board fence. He looked all around carefully and then noticed a gleam of blue in the distance. A couple of peelers coming his way, he thought, recognising the distinctive lanterns of the police constables. Quickly he made up his mind. If he were to hide, they might discover him and then they would arrest him on suspicion of loitering to commit some theft. Boldly, he marched straight up to them.
    â€˜Can you tell me the way to the Cock & Pye public house?’ he asked, trying to imitate Charlie’s slightly country accent.
    â€˜What do you want with the Cock & Pye public house?’ asked one of the constables, eyeing him severely.
    â€˜Me ma sent me to get me da out of it and send him home,’ explained Alfie with an innocent face.
    They both laughed at that and pointed the right way, strolling on without a backward glance.
    Alfie gave them a few minutes to disappear and then ran back, moving quietly on his bare feet, until he reached the fence. The fog had got worse and it was no longer possible to see the small gap. Alfie moved carefully along it, running his hand against the slats of wood until he came to the missing piece. With a feeling of relief, he slipped inside and tried to remember exactly what Charlie had said.
    First you should come to the kiln, then to the saggers – that’s the trays with the wet bricks on them. Then you come to the wedged clay – that’s the stuff where