Work Text:
When Gilbert Norrell woke on the Thursday morning in October that Sir Walter Pole and Miss Emma Wintertowne were married, he complained of a headache and did not want to leave his bed.
John Childermass knew that the cause of the headache was the invitation to the wedding that Mr Norrell had received in the small hours of yesterday morning after raising the bride from the dead.
"I will say I can't go," Mr Norrell said. He had tightened his bedclothes around himself and peered nervously around the room as though it was dark and frightening and not exceptionally well lit.
"Is that wise?" asked Childermass.
It was a dark morning with heavy rain and a wind that blew it against the window in noisy waves. This made Mr Norrell jump in his bed when it happened suddenly.
"You have been trying for a very long time to make friends with Sir Walter. You were very upset just last week when he said that magic wasn't serious. Now he has invited you to his wedding."
"Yes," Norrell muttered, pointedly looking away from Childermass. He nestled further into his bed and gave a weary blink.
Unsurprisingly, the greatest magician of the age had been especially unnerved in the few hours that had passed since he walked into a room with a dead young woman in it and walked back out when she alive again. Mr Norrell had not eaten much and hardly left his room at all. This morning, his bed was a knot of sheets as if his sleep had been restless and there were bags and soft purple circles like halved plums under his eyes.
Childermass had spent most of Wednesday ensuring that things were ready for Norrell to attend the wedding should he choose to go. In the afternoon, he had visited Mrs Wintertowne's house when requested to and reported back to his master that the very soon to be Lady Pole was, by all reports, exceptionally well.
"Her mother says she had a very large breakfast and soon after, took an hour's nap and immediately requested her lunch," Chldermass had told him.
"Is that good? For a young woman?"
"Appetites are normally a sign of health in any person"
This had eased the heavy frown on Norrell's face for a short while. He asked other questions of Childermass, giving eager nods at each assurance that it seemed as though absolutely nothing at all was wrong. Sir Walter was happy if tired, Miss Wintertowne preparing for a restful night's sleep before becoming a bride in the morning. No money had even been lost on preparations for the event, since timing had been convenient that the bride should die and Norrell be able to raise her well in advance of appointed hour. However, Mr Norrell was soon lost in thought again, fretting to himself and uncommonly restless.
Childermass did not ask about the magic that had raised the girl. Whatever it had been had scared Mr Norrell more than anything else Childermass had ever seen and scared him still.
"Would Sir Walter be angry? If I did not go?" asked Norrell.
Another wave of rain rocked hit the window and the panes of glass gave a hurt squeak at the pull of the wind that came with it.
"I do not know," said Childermasss. "He will have many things to think about today. Sir Walter may not notice any one guest one way or the other."
This elicited another frown from Norrell, but a frown of a different sort. He moved the duvet away from his chin and watched Childermass pull clothes from the wardrobe.
"I have never been to a wedding, Childermass."
"I know."
"Have you?"
"Not this kind."
Childermass brought Norrell the clothes that had been decided on for the morning's events.
"What are those?" asked Mr Norrell, noticing a pair of brown shoes that were laid next to his bed. "I have never seen them before."
"They are courtesy of a friend of Mr Drawlight's. They were meant for another man of your same measurements, but Mr Drawlight convinced the cobbler that your need was greater. He regrets that he didn't know the same man's haberdasher."
"Oh." Mr Norrell squinted at the shoes . "I will need to thank him."
"He has been very busy on your behalf," said Childermass. "You could always send Mr Drawlight in your place. He and Mr Lascelles would be very eager to attend the wedding."
"No!" said Norrell.
"You will go, then?
Mr Norrell knotted his duvet in his hands.
"Yes," he said miserably.
Norrell was soon out of bed and helped into the clothes that had been chosen yesterday, including the pair of exceptionally nice shoes that some other man was somewhere missing. Norrell was shaved and his wig applied but he was still quite tensely drawn into himself and when Childermass was not in his vision he looked constantly around to see that he was close.
They rode to the church in silence, except for the time that Norrell repeated again while looking out the window that he had not ever been to a wedding. He did not require a response but a nod from Childermass.
They arrived and Norrell exited the coach but did not walk to the door, instead standing back and looking several times between the building he was to enter and the coach he had only just left.
"We will be here, when it is over," said Childermass.
Norrell still did not move.
"Mr Norrell, you should take your seat before the service begins. If you enter late, there will be staring."
Norrell fretted at his coat and expended what appeared to be great deal of energy turning himself in the direction of church. He turned back only once and then entered the building with a dash, like a cat darting under a chair.