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He pushes open the library door quick enough to catch a glimpse of the tableaux before it dissolves. It features two dark heads slumped over a huge desk covered in papers and piles of open books.
Childermass wakes first, as the doctor would expect. He watches as the more ragged of the two heads jerks upright, eyes snapping open, and hand rising — whether to ward off a blow or to land one, it’s impossible to tell.
Or it would be to most people. The doctor closes the library door behind him.
Mr. Segundus wakes with rather less engrained foresight — he falls off his chair, pulling a snowstorm of parchment and pages to the ground. As the slight man lands with a crash, the doctor leaps forward. In a flurry of action and questions, he ascertains that not only is the magician unhurt, but his shattered tibula, which only a few days ago had been inflamed and torn, has healed without so much as a scar.
The doctor raises himself on one knee and finds Childermass’ dark eyes. 'And Mr. Norrell?'
'Alive.'
He regains his feet, and Segundus follows without the weakness one might have expected of a leg recently healed, but with all the awkwardness of one to whom said healing is still rather novel.
Magic. The doctor would bet his life-savings on it — but there were more important matters. 'When did your old master arrive?'
It’s a question verbally and physically directed at Childermass — but it’s Mr. Segundus who answers.
'What? How did you — '
'When did you speak to him?' Childermass folds his arms and glowers. He stands behind the solid desk like a rigid black tree in midwinter, its bark worn, beaten down by relentless winds and icy snowstorms.
'I didn’t.'
Childermass’ gaze doesn’t falter, but Segundus stares anew. 'Did one of the servants tell you?'
Childermass makes a scoffing noise. 'Go on then, sir. Share your tricks.'
The doctor stiffens. Childermass often has this effect on him, and even this morning in what are no doubt dire circumstances, he can’t help himself. It would only take a minute. 'No trickery, simply observation,' he says, 'of three distinct facts.' He holds up said number of fingers stiffly. 'Number one: Childermass is sitting beside you, Mr. Segundus.'
Mr. Segundus frowns.
'From what I know of your character it would not surprise me to find you sitting beside a slave, sir. But for Childermass to sit beside you tells me a great deal. An upheaval in the household has recently occurred; something has disrupted the status quo.'
'How can you be so sure?'
The doctor sighs. He already regrets his decision to pander to his ego, but he cannot stop now. 'Childermass,' he says, 'was raised at the end of a stick, and such men find it prudent to believe that all stick-bearers are not to be trusted.'
Childermass’ glare, if had been a knife, would have cut his throat. The doctor decides not to pause for reflection.
'For him to ally himself with you so openly tells me that a greater enemy has surfaced.' The doctor raises another finger and swallows. 'Secondly, Childermass’ cheekbone tells me someone has recently seen fit to strike him.'
Mr. Segundus turns involuntarily towards his bruised companion.
Childermas’ glare could have sliced right through his trachea. 'Who would do such a thing?’ the doctor continues hurriedly. ‘The other servants show Childermass a great deal of affection. Because of my first proposition it could not have been you, Mr. Segundus. His master, Norrell, perhaps? Only if seized by a powerful hallucination, he is not otherwise a violent man. When I asked after him, however, Childermass did not mention such a change, yet it would surely be too surprizing to leave out.'
Childermass’ glare could have severed his neck vertebrae.
'Therefore, someone has entered the house — Childermass would not leave with Mr. Norrell ill — who not only has a personal vendetta against Childermass but possesses the power to upturn the usual order of things. It can only be related to Mr. Norrell, and it must be someone who would benefit from his death, since you did not tell me he was getting better, which you would have, had he experienced a positive turn. Unfortunately, Childermass’ previous master, distant cousin of Mr. Norrell, and a violent, money-grabbing man, fits the description perfectly.'
'Right on all accounts, save one,' Mr. Segundus speaks with admirable control. 'He doesn’t want Mr. Norrell’s money. He wants Childermass.'
The doctor closes his eyes. 'I told him not to return. Where is he?'
'Being taken care of.'
'I can help.' He opens his eyes and finds Childermass. 'Where is he?'
Childermass looks back. 'If he moves from the room he is currently residing in, he will not live beyond dinner, and I shall hang for it.'
'Who is outside his room to prevent this movement?'
'I,' says Childermass firmly, 'and I alone, will hang for it.'
The doctor swears silently, and gestures with his chin at the door behind them. 'Mr. Norrell?'
'His fever had broken when I checked this morning.' Childermass says. A surprised look on Mr. Segundus’ face tells the doctor this visit must have happened while he slept. That Childermass then returned and fell asleep beside Mr. Segundus tells the doctor far more than this, and he likes what it tells him.
Perhaps spring is coming at last.
**
The room is musty with the smell of sweat, sleep and laudanum. The doctor closes the door behind him and gazes down at Mr. Norrell. The master of the house, the first practical magician, the formidable, if unpublished, scholar is a mound of grey bed clothes and a small wig-less scalp.
He’s fast asleep.
There’s no point in rousing him yet. The paper on the bedside table in Childermass’ scrawling script tells him that it’s not time for Mr. Norrell’s next dose, and a sharp look at the man himself assures him that his fever has indeed broken. Of course, it’s broken and returned in a cyclic manner for the past week… but this time the doctor is hopeful.
He suspects this has more to do with his recent musings than any hard-won professional instinct.
The doctor shakes his head. ‘It’s enough to make one believe in divine intervention,’ he mutters under his breath, and is reassured when his patient does not twitch. He sits in the chair by the side of the bed, and allows himself to slump against the backrest. His greying hair is not thick enough to be much of a cushion. ‘You two.’ he mutters under his breath. ‘If it had only been in one direction, I would have understood. Every now and again, you do watch someone save another’s life. But to have you both save each other… what are the chances?’
Still Mr. Norrell does not so much as quiver under the bedclothes. He’s apparently deep in his drugged sleep and can’t hear a word.
‘I wonder, did you know when you met each other? Do either of you even realise now? Any other man would have seen that broken 19 year old slave and reacted with relish or pity. Either would have finished him off. What did you see? Did you see? Perhaps not. Therein lies the beauty. You succeeded where the rest of the universe would have failed because you marched up to an abused man and simply assumed he was innately capable. You believed him, you trusted him, and you gave him responsibility —- not just over himself, or over your estate, but over the lives of countless others. In doing so, you saved him.
'If the tale ended here, I would still be a proud pagan, but it does not. For Childermass in turn saved you. I’m under no delusion that he meant to do so, or even if given the choice, he would have chosen to do so. There may be some goodness which remains, but kindness is the first thing which is beaten out of a man.
'Nevertheless, Childermass in his cynicism did what everyone else failed to do. He accepted you as you were, in all your miserly egotism. He was not disappointed, because he never expected to find goodness or kindness or generosity — indeed, he never would have trusted you, had you exhibited them. Yet his loyalty has meant you are accepted by all of your household, and most of the villagers too. When a man like Childermass allies himself to one such as you, people think there must be a side of you they are missing. They are willing to believe that perhaps beneath your shrivelled frame lies a beating heart. Those who seek, may find.
'If you and Childermass’ paths had not intersected, neither of you would have been whole. He would have died, respected by his fellow-slaves but broken inside. You would have perished, personally fulfilled but despised by your fellow man.
'It’s enough to bring one to church on Sunday.' The doctor closes his eyes, shaking his head again, both at the improbability of it all, and the monstrous egotism with which he dared deduce the human heart — and because he does so, he misses the flutter of Gilbert Norrell’s eyelids.
If neither Norrell nor Childermass had previously realised the part they’d played in saving the other, well, now at least one of them did.
After winter comes spring.