Children of Fire
Can Josiah solve the puzzle before more people die, or is he out of his depth?
In 1841, at the height of the industrial revolution in the North West of England, Josiah Ainscough returns from his travels and surprises everyone by joining the Stockport Police Force, rather than following his adopted father’s footsteps into the Methodist ministry.
While Josiah was abroad, five men died in an explosion at the Furness Vale Powder Mill. Was this an accident or did the Children of Fire, a local religious community, have a hand in it. As Josiah struggles to find his vocation, his investigation into the Children of Fire begins. But his enquiries are derailed by the horrific crucifixion of the community’s leader.
Now Josiah must race against time to solve the puzzle of the violence loose in the Furness Vale before more people die. This is complicated by his affections for Rachael, a leading member of the Children of Fire, and the vivacious Aideen Hayes, a visitor from Ireland.
Can Josiah put together the pieces of the puzzle, or is he out of his depth? Children of Fire won the Writing Magazine’s Best Novel Prize for 2017
Purchase Links
Author Bio –
Paul CW Beatty is an unusual combination of a novelist and a research scientist. Having worked for many years in medical research in the UK NHS and Universities, a few years ago he took an MA in Creative Writing at Manchester Metropolitan University emerging with a distinction.
His latest novel, Children of Fire, is a Victorian murder mystery set in 1841 at the height of the industrial revolution. It won the Writing Magazine’s Best Novel Award in November 2017 and is published by The Book Guild Ltd.
Paul lives near Manchester in the northwest of England. Children of Fire is set against the hills of the Peak District as well as the canals and other industrial infrastructure of the Cottonopolis know as the City of Manchester.
Excerpt
Constable Josiah Ainscough has enrolled himself in the new Stockport Police force rather than face difficulty questions about his sexual conduct on his recent European travels. Unfortunately, though Josiah thinks local Police forces are a good thing he is not very adept at things like square bashing as this passage from the beginning of Children of Fire demonstrates.
‘Left, right! Left, right!’ Constable Josiah Ainscough marched on, the high leather stock digging into his neck, his reinforced top hat, heavy and hot. More scare-crow than scare-criminal.
‘Look mama, soldiers!’ shouted a small girl.
‘Not soldiers dear, policemen,’ corrected her mother.
‘Ooo! Po-lice-men,’ she said, hearing the word for the first time. Then she waved enthusiastically.
For the hundredth time, Josiah wondered what had ever possessed him to join the police. He didn’t feel like a police officer. Even his squeaking boots were giving him blisters.
‘Well now, that’s progress and no mistake,’ said Constable Howcroft next to him. ‘In the Army they used to jeer at us rather than cheer.’
Howcroft waved at the child without so much as losing step, a feat quite impossible for Josiah. If he had attempted it he would have fallen flat on his face.
The truth was that his fellow officers would have been a more presentable body of men without him. The police force would be much more capable of impressing the sceptical Stockport populace, who had never wanted it in the first place. Without him, it would have been easier to show that the promises from the Mayor and Corporation, that the police would make the town safer, were not just the meaningless prating of civic worthies.
‘Left, right! Left, right!’ shouted Constable Giles as the company swung out of Hillgate and into the yard behind the Lamb and Flag.
‘Company, hal-t.’ They came to attention with a unified stamp of boots, unified except for Josiah.
‘Right-turn.’ Another stamp with, for once, Josiah in unison.
‘Company ten-shun.’
‘Thank you, Constable,’ said Sergeant Smith. ‘I’ll take over from here.’
‘Yes Sergeant!’ There followed a whole series of stamps by Giles as he returned to his place in the line. All those stamps meant nothing to Josiah.
‘Gentlemen you all have your tasks for today. Move to them promptly and in a business-like fashion. Be courteous at all times as you go about your duties. Constable Ainscough, see me after dismissal. Company dis-miss.’
As Josiah walked over to the sergeant he wondered what was about to happen.
‘You wanted to see me Sergeant?’
‘Yes, Josiah. You are to report to Mr Prestbury urgently. You’ll find him at the Magistrates’ Court. It sounds to me that he has a bee in his bonnet, so I’d get down there sharpish if I were you.’
Josiah saluted and set off towards the centre of the town; it was definitely not the best start to a day. If he was a fish out of water marching, then in the next few minutes, he was likely to find himself a fish in a frying pan. The last thing he wanted to do was to have an interview with Mr Prestbury.
Ruefully he considered again how unsuitable he was for his occupation. Smith, Giles and Howcroft, like the majority of his fellow officers, were old soldiers. Smith had been wounded in the Opium Wars and Giles had been at Waterloo as a drummer boy. In their company, Josiah, even in his early twenties, seemed to himself no more than a child. True, at five-foot eleven he was the tallest officer in the group, but the rest were thickset mature men while he was spindly.
But there was no way of escape for him from the force. A lot of his reason for joining the Police had been to reduce discussion about his future, especially to prevent having to confess his lapse in morality in Spain. In other circumstances he could have asked his father to help him out of this mess. Every inch a generous parent and Christian gentleman, The Rev Thomas Cooksley would be shocked but would forgive his adopted son. But Josiah realised he would never be able to withstand seeing the pain of disappointment on his father’s face. There was nothing to be done but to play the cards he had and hope. At least, to cheer him up, he had three hundred yards to walk to the Magistrates’ Court through the core of his hometown, its beating heart and his favourite place, the Market Square.
