The Deadly Fire Read Free Page B

the man was smiling.
    â€˜Don’t worry, boy, I wouldn’t ask you again. Now get on with your work, Alfie. You are making very good progress. I think you will probably be finished with the writing class this week and then I’ll moveyou up to the third class and you can study spelling there. Keep up the reading practice. Every time you see a piece of print, try to get its meaning. We’ll have you reading your Bible before long. Now don’t you worry about Mary Robinson. I’ll get the Bow Street runners on her tail.’
    Alfie nodded and left the room, bumping into Tom outside the door. ‘What are you doing here?’ he snapped. ‘No wonder you can’t learn if you don’t stay in your own classroom.’ It was a relief to lose his temper with Tom, but Alfie felt slightly ashamed of himself when his cousin turned without a word and stomped down the stairs.
    Back in the classroom, Alfie practised his handwriting, still worrying about Mary Robinson, despite Mr Elmore’s words. He had a feeling that Bow Street police station would not take too much notice of the teacher. Even if he were a toff, the eldest son of a rich goldsmith, he had chosen to spend his life working with the poorest of the poor children of London.
    Mr Elmore wasn’t like any other toff he had ever met, Alfie thought to himself as he dipped his quill pen into the ink pot. The Ragged School and its pupils seemed to be the most important thing in his life. He had dismissed a teacher, Thomas Orrack,because he had been violent towards the children. He had refused to allow the terrible building to be pulled down and houses for the rich to be built on the spot.
    â€˜You’re wasting your time,’ Alfie had heard a gentleman in a frock coat and tall hat say to Mr Elmore a few months ago. ‘There will come a time when the whole of St Giles will be pulled down. You might as well give in now.’
    â€˜I bought this building and it’s mine to do what I like with, and what I like is to teach the poor unfortunate children of St Giles to read and write.’ The whole school had heard their teacher yell those words.
    â€˜You didn’t take those leaflets from my desk, did you?’ Mr Elmore suddenly appeared at Alfie’s shoulder, making him jump.
    â€˜Take the leaflets? No, I never.’ Not likely, thought Alfie. He had had enough of Mary Robinson and would be glad never to hear her name again.
    â€˜Odd! They seem to have disappeared.’ Mr Elmore thought about it for a moment and then seemed to dismiss the matter from his mind. ‘Your brother, Sammy, is a bright boy,’ he continued. ‘I’ve got an idea for teaching him to read. I read in a book about a man called Braille who invented a touch-systemthat is used to teach the blind. He’ll need to know his letters first, though, and how the letters join together to make the words. I was just thinking that if we could get some clay from the brickworks, some of the children in the alphabet class could make him some letters so that he could feel the shape and then learn the sound. Just run down there, Alfie, will you? Tell the foreman that I know Mr Lambert, the property developer. You could say he and I are great friends – he comes to see me often enough! Anyway, say that I’m sure that Mr Lambert would want to please me. We only need enough clay to make a brick.’
    Alfie got slowly to his feet. He was reluctant to leave his work. He gazed with admiration at the page of perfect copperplate handwriting that he had produced. He had just got the hang of the mystery, he thought. Suddenly all of those squiggles that surrounded him were beginning to make sense. He had learned to read print and now he was learning to write and to read other people’s handwriting. He could talk to people without a word being spoken by anyone.
    â€˜Couldn’t Tom go?’ he asked.
    â€˜Can’t find Tom anywhere,’