It was on one of John Childermass' rare visits to the town of Sheffield on Mr Norrell's behalf when he first saw her. He had no remembrance of the moment, and in fact, if he had laid eyes on her again the next day, he would not have recognised her at all. There was nothing remarkable about her features, nor did she do anything that was particularly noticeable. His eyes swept over her, just as they did every other homeless child in the dimly lit market square. He continued about his business with no notion that this would not be the last time he would run into this girl again.
The girl in question went by the name of Alice. That was, of course, not her real name. In truth, her Christian name was unknown to her, as her parents left no note when they left her in a wicker basket on the doorstep of Sheffield's one orphanage. She had been taken in, raised, and on the strike of the bell on her tenth birthday, removed from the building, much to the relief of the nuns who ran the institution. She had spent her childhood in the same way she had her infancy; quiet yet spirited, with a smirk on her lips and a gleam in her eyes. Rebellious and charming to the other children, she became the bane of the orphanage's existence, able to cause any amount of chaos in seemingly the blink of an eye.
Now sixteen, Alice had moved on to bigger and better things; in her mind at least. She prowled the streets of Sheffield looking for business, i.e.: a full pocket of a rich man, or perhaps the wares of an unobservant pastry seller. Her plain looks made it easy to slip away from almost anywhere, as her shoulder length dirty brown hair, ripped clothes and pale face were a common feature amongst Yorkshire pickpockets. To add to this, she had had a lifetime's experience of hiding in dark corners and slipping away from places she should not have been at. The orphanage where she grew up was both her home and training ground, and avoiding and stealing from the nuns that ran the building had helped her immensely.
This meant that she, of course, was aware of Childermass when they locked eyes for half a second. She had seen the tired look in his eyes, and the slight limp he walked with. The ink on his calloused fingers and sealed letters in his hand indicated that he could read and write. And the spiral of dust and stars that hung unsupported around the crown of his head, casting a glimmering light that only Alice could see, and he was completely unaware of, could mean but one thing: this man was a magician. And he had no idea.
And then he was gone. The encounter took less than a second, but that was all that Alice needed. She ran as quietly as she could after Childermass, staying out of the pools of light cast of the cobbles by the street lamps. He walked with purpose and reason, sure of his path and never once looking back to see the girl following him. His steps echoed across the street, sounding as loud as gunshots in the quiet night. If one listened closely, laughter from a bar a few streets away could be heard, as well as the wheels of carriages or horses' hooves clattering on streets as they carried their masters about the city.
But Alice focused on Childermass, and Childermass alone. She watched him intently, only letting her eyes leave his back to look over her own shoulder, making sure she wasn't being followed by any unsavoury characters. Looking forward again, she watched as he turned a corner into a dark side street, his coat flapping from the sudden gust of wind that was funnelled down the alley. Alice followed, pressing her back into the cobblestones of the wall. She watched, her eyes wide and straining against the darkness, as he knocked three times on the door of a waiting carriage, before pulling it open and climbing in without a word. The driver who sat on the seat in front turned wordlessly to the two black horses he had tethered to the vehicle, before tapping them lightly with his crop in order to set them moving. Alice started, the sound of her running feet masked by that of horseshoes striking the pavement. Making sure to keep out of sight, she ran round the side of the carriage until she was in front of it by a good thirty yards. Ducking into a doorway, she crouched down, smoothed out her clothes, and thought on her plan. She had done it half a hundred times before, and it was hardly an uncommon tactic. Despite this however, she could not stop her heart beginning to race in her chest, and she felt beads of sweat start to form just below her hairline. The carriage was approaching, and gathering speed. She grimaced and set her jaw tight. The wheels were loud and close, but the blood pumping in Alice's ears almost drowned it out completely. She had to do it, and fast. She whispered a quick prayer and crossed her body, lightly touching her fingertips to her forehead, shoulders and chest. The carriage was only just out of her sight, and she saw the light from the lanterns begin to illuminate the road in front of her. With a deep breath she stood up, and sprinted from her hiding place. Squeezing her eyes tight shut, Alice let her mind and body go as numb as she could make it do so, and, with grace similar to that of a flightless bird jumping from a high perch, threw herself under the carriage wheels.