Chapter Text
February 1796
Childermass has been trying to hide it for a long while now, and it is getting harder.
For a time he had thought it might not be a problem. That perhaps the others were anomalies of some sort, or that perhaps Norrell was. It is certainly true that the...experience with Norrell has been different. There is no one he had fallen for quite so slowly, nor so hard. Sometimes he wonders if there is a correlation.
It is nearly a year before he begins to feel the ups and downs truly, before he has days where the thought of being kissed makes him want to crawl out of his own skin. It is not so bad even then; Norrell is not the most romantic of paramours, nor does he initiate physical contact frequently. Childermass tries to make sure he is out of the house on days when it gets too bad so Norrell does not see him flinching. He knows it would hurt him.
He manages it, all in all, for nearly two more years after the spiral starts.
But… Norrell has a habit of peeling back Childermass's secrets without even realizing it. In February Childermass has a particularly long spell where he cannot stand to be touched, and it is too rainy to flee. He does his utmost to hide it, and he thinks he succeeds, although he can feel himself fragmenting from it.
One evening a few weeks into February he climbs into bed with Norrell - it has become habit on cold nights, and today is not too bad, so he has made no excuse - and lies down.
But he cannot make himself roll closer, hold Norrell as he might have on another day. The change is conspicuous from what they would normally do on a night like this.
There is a long, awkward silence while both of them process the space between them.
Then Norrell says, "You do not have to stay."
"Do you not want me to?" says Childermass.
"I would like you to," says Norrell, his tone carefully formal. He sits up. "However, I do not want you to feel that you must."
Childermass furrows his brow. "What?"
Norrell's shoulders stiffen, and he folds his arms tightly. "I am aware of the delicacy of our situation, Childermass," he says sharply. "I am in a position of authority over you. I know there are men who take advantage of their servants, but I have never thought to count myself among their number."
"You are not," says Childermass, which is true; Norrell has a great many faults, but this is not one of them. Where exactly did this conversation take a wrong turn?
"Then I would hope you would tell me if you no longer wanted to continue as we have been."
Childermass takes a breath. Slow, measured, even. So Norrell's skittishness is a result of his recent episode.
Well.
"I do," says Childermass carefully, "But not always. It is difficult to explain."
Norrell will not look at him, will not speak, so Childermass goes on.
"Sometimes my capacity for...tender feeling changes. I do not want to do the same things. I feel - hollow, in a manner of speaking. Absent of the ability." Childermass swallows. He has never had to tell any one before, and he is not sure of what the outcome will be. "It is not an absence of affection, nor of care. But it no longer matches up, in terms of the specific type, to what it did previously."
Norrell is quiet for a few moments, apparently absorbing this. "You find yourself with a sort of disconnexion? As if the concept of - oh, let us say kissing, is not appealing?"
"In a manner of speaking, yes." Childermass tries to choose his words carefully. "It has happened ever since I was a boy. It is not a flaw with you."
"You say it comes and goes?"
"Yes." Childermass shrugs, although not quite so nonchalantly as he wants to. "I know this might sound odd, sir - "
"Not so odd as that," says Norrell softly. "I believe I know what you mean."
Childermass runs a hand across his face; he can feel the tension in the lines of his own eyes. "Do you?"
"Mine does not fluctuate, but as to feeling...wrong, yes. I think so."
Childermass must shew his doubt upon his face. And, indeed, he does not think that Norrell does know; the possibility still exists that Norrell might have misunderstood, and be hurt. There is still a chance that he could ruin this. But he nods, encouraging Norrell to go on.
He seems to search for words deep inside himself. He takes a deep breath, and then begins.
"When I was a boy, my uncle had a business partner who had a son," he says. "His name was Nathaniel. This is relevant."
Childermass nods again. "Go on."
"I liked him very much." Norrell is gazing at the bedspread again and fidgeting. "And I have reason to believe he liked me. We used to talk of - oh, everything. You know how boys are. We would go for walks in the woods."
At this, Childermass cannot avoid a tiny smile. The image of Norrell walking in the woods of his own volition is far too incongruous. "Did you bring a book?" he asks.
"Generally, yes." Norrell apparently has not picked up on the teasing. "But I scarcely even read it, because I wanted to hear what he had to say."
"You fell in love with him."
Norrell sighs. "I did not. That is the problem, you see. I should have. I felt that, perhaps, I could have, given more time. I wanted to; I thought it would be my only chance. But I could not make what I wanted to feel and what I felt match up."
"Hollowness," says Childermass.
"Yes," says Norrell. "You see, he kissed my cheek. And I could not react the way he wanted me to. I was frightened. There were expectations..."
"The same ones you were worried about when we kissed?" Childermass keeps his tone gentle. He cannot quite manage to reach out, not right now. He is too afraid of what will happen, too fragile-feeling and uncertain. But this he can do.
"Well, yes. But things other than what I discussed with you, as well. In both cases." Norrell rubs at the bridge of his nose. "That night when you kissed me I thought the same thing was happening over again. I thought it would spoil it all because I could not feel what you did. But, somehow, I seemed to. Perhaps because we did have more time... I do not know."
He closes his eyes and sighed. "But you see now how I understand a little how you feel."
Childermass takes a shaky breath. "You do not mind?"
"It is a foolish question," says Norrell. "I've just explained. Of course I do not."
That sharpness, that carefully-hidden affection, is a relief. Childermass relaxes, feels the knot inside himself unwinding.
"But you will have to tell me," Norrell adds. "I would not like to know that you had not told me. On days where you - cannot."
"I will."
There is a long pause, while they both consider the next move. Then Norrell says, again, "You do not have to stay."
Childermass gives himself a moment. "Can I?" He hates how vulnerable it comes out.
"If you like. It is a cold night." Norrell finally looks up at Childermass. "But I had gathered you might not want to."
"I do," says Childermass. A part of him wants to explain that sometimes, just being in Norrell's presence is a comfort, and that not all off-days are days when he wants to be alone. But none of this is needed right now, and the time would be better spent sleeping. His day begins early.
"Well, then," says Norrell a little uncertainly, and scoots down underneath the covers.
They lie, not touching, but a handsbreath apart.
Childermass falls asleep to the gentle sound of Norrell's breathing, with a weight off his chest.
April 1796
The circumstances by which Hannah is hired into Norrell's service are long, complicated, and technically Childermass's fault.
So, really, he has no one but himself to blame for the fact that a woman who is essentially his sister is now hovering around, watching him and Norrell, and drawing conclusions.
It is only that he had not expected it to be quite so immediate. For example: within the first week she is bringing tea in the library. Norrell picks up his cup, puts it on the side table, and rests a hand against it so as not to forget it, a habit of his which Childermass finds amusing. Childermass looks up, sees, smiles briefly, shakes his head, and looks back down.
Perfectly innocuous. Nothing anyone could draw any conclusions from. The trouble is, he has forgotten how very difficult it is to hide things from her.
When she comes back in to take the tray, he follows her out, intending to go and see to some business in the servant's hall.
"And what've you got going on with him?" she immediately says under her breath, watching Norrell out the corner of her eyes as she heads out the door.
"Nothing," says Childermass immediately, mostly out of habit.
"Hmmm," she says, "I'll believe that when you don't look at him like he hung the moon."
"Hannah," he says in horror, and she laughs.
"You see there? You've always been an open book to me."
"And what about the way you look at Dido?"
Hannah sets the tray down. "Dido. Is that what her name is?"
"Don't pretend you didn't ask her first thing," say Childermass, snorting. He had seen Hannah with a broom and dustpan and Dido with a duster, dancing around each other like they were at a country ball. "You two were flirting earlier."
"What is the harm in me having a bit of conversation?" Hannah folds her arms over her chest.
"I never said there was any harm, but if you'll be poking your nose on my private affairs, I'll be poking my nose into yours."
Hannah pauses to consider. "Well worth it," she says.
He gives her a disgusted look, and she laughs again, clapping him on the back. "I missed giving you grief, Johnny," she says. "For what it's worth, he looks at you like you hung the moon too. I saw it. You went to go and fetch him one of his books and while your back was turned you should have seen his face. Composed as soon as you turned around, of course. You two ought to talk to each other."
Childermass gives her a look. "There is nothing whatsoever to talk about."
Hannah arches an eyebrow. "So you are together already, then?"
Childermass groans.
After that he knows no peace. She will keep pestering him with questions, though he tries to give as good as he gets.
"How's it going with the master?" she asks him when she sees him on his way out the door.
"How's it going with Dido?" he asks in return.
"Very well, I believe. She keeps having me help her with the polishing. That is a good sign, I think; she could take Agatha." Hannah raises an eyebrow.
Not an inaccurate assessment, he thinks. Norrell ought to have had a housekeeper, but Childermass still has not found one after the last left, which means the duties of organization fall to the Upper Housemaid, i.e., Dido. "Maybe she thinks you're a hard worker, for some reason," he says.
"Slander against my name," says Hannah. "No, we talk. And Agatha's got more delicate fingers than I, so a better choice for polishing. Though she's stuck-up."
Childermass leaves behind the question of Hannah's romantic occupations to duck out and head for the door. "I've got to go to York to get a book."
"I'm just sure you do," she says archly, "Just you remember I can read you like a book."
"Hard to forget," says Childermass grimly, and plunges out into the rainy spring weather.
He wonders for a while whether it is merely nosiness, or if she has a purpose, a question which is answered one afternoon when he stops by the servant's hall for a cup of tea before he goes back to his study to work on the household accounts. Hannah gives it to him - the housemaids are in, taking tea together, and Agatha and Dido are sitting slightly apart and discussing some business - and says, again, "How is it going with the master?"
"None of your business." He takes a sip. "No one ever even said I had anything going."
"You can't get by me that easily. Really, though, Johnny," she says, suddenly serious. "You are all right, aren't you?"
"I always am."
"No you're not." Her voice is soft now. "But more specifically - he's not forcing you into this, is he?"
Childermass makes a face at her. "Really? That's your concern?"
"One of several. Just answer the question. I know you've never really been at ease with this sort of thing. Not entirely." He can tell she is thinking of Evie, their rivalry, the ups and downs. Perhaps even of Harry, though she had not known him; it would be like Hannah to somehow divine it.
He shakes his head. "It's not like that with him. It took us a couple of months to work up to kissing. If I had not wanted it, I could have turned him down."
Hannah looks at him for a long moment. "If you're sure."
"We're still not," Childermass begins, and then makes a face; he does not know why he is explaining this, she does not need to know. "It's not like that," he says again. "Do not worry about me."
"It's my job, with Ma gone," she says, smiling at him properly now. "I've got to."
Childermass grumbles. "You're insufferable."
"And you're a disaster. Neaten your hair, he will like it."
"Hannah," he warns, and goes back to his study.
Like you hung the moon, he remembers, and shakes his head again.
October 1796
Norrell has decided that he does not like the new maid.
Childermass has an extremely free and easy manner with her. That is no concern of his. After all, the servants are permitted to socialize. All the same, he feels vaguely uneasy with the situation and he does not know why. Any time she reaches out to pat his back, or ruffle his hair, he is reminded that virtually no one other than himself generally touches Childermass. It is not precisely that he begrudges it. Or perhaps he does, and simply does not want to admit it. He is not certain, and the feeling is very disconcerting.
Her manners are also not very servantlike. "Tea up, sir," she says, clattering into the room and setting it down. "I'll be back for the tray in a bit."
He looks at her severely. She does not seem to notice this, for she bustles out immediately. Technically, she should serve it in silence, barely acknowledging him. She really is very like Childermass, which is yet more suspicious.
"The new maid," he says eventually to Childermass one morning when he comes to help him with his clothes, "You know her?"
Childermass looks at him, guarded. "Aye."
"How?"
"Knew her when I was a child, sir." Childermass lifts Norrell's chin with one finger, and ties his cravat into a knot. Norrell is suddenly reminded of his first few months here, the dreadful job he had done on this very task. Even Childermass's own neckcloth looks neater these days.
"How long?"
"A very long time." A tiny smile tugs up at the corner of his mouth, which vaguely annoys Norrell, although he does not know why. "I have not seen her since I left to be a sailor, though."
"Hmm." A reunion of childhood friends. Norrell is no expert, but he has a sneaking and horrible suspicion that this might be a romantic circumstance. "Why did you hire her?"
"She is competent."
Norrell gives him a look; Childermass rolls his eyes. "She is," he says, "And besides which she needed a job. Have you a complaint?"
Norrell tries to phrase it, and realizes that she seems very familiar with you is not likely to make much of an impact. "No," he says. "You are sure she can be trusted?"
"That I am." Childermass does up the last button on Norrell's waistcoat. Then he sticks his hands, which are freezing, on Norrell's neck.
Norrell shrieks and pushes him away. "I do not know how they can be so very cold when it is only fall," he says reproachfully.
"Poor circulation," says Childermass cheerfully. "See you in the library, sir."
For all this, Norrell is not convinced. Trusted not to steal the silverware, perhaps, but trusted not to steal Childermass?
The worst of it is that Childermass does nothing to contradict this impression. Any time she is around, his manner changes, becoming someone Norrell does not entirely recognize. He seems to spend a great deal of time around her, and sometimes even talks about her to Norrell, something he does with virtually no other servants.
One day he is going through the usual casual mentions - "Hannah believes it will be a cold winter - " and Norrell sighs loudly.
Childermass glances over at him. "I should think you'd be used to it now. You have lived in Yorkshire all your life."
"That is not the point," says Norrell irritably.
"Is this about Hannah again?"
"No." It is, of course, but he has no intention of admitting it.
Childermass, unfortunately, is not fooled. "Yes it is," he says. "Go on, then, sir. What are you worried about?"
"I suppose," says Norrell rather stiffly, "That you shall go and marry her and I shall be left alone, servantless, to care for myself."
Childermass stares in horror at Norrell.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Norrell asks. "You will."
"She's practically my sister," say Childermass, shuddering. "I don't think you know what you are proposing."
"You do not have romantic feelings for her?"
"Good god, no." Childermass grimaces. "I cannot begin to describe to you how very incorrect you are."
"Oh," says Norrell. "It is only - she knows you so very well, and from such a long time ago."
Childermass raises an eyebrow. "And you thought she would be competition, is that it?"
"Well, yes." Norrell shifts uncomfortably. "It is only logical."
Childermass shakes his head. "You, jealous. Never thought I'd see the day, sir. I did not think you noticed enough to be jealous."
Norrell frowns at him for this impertinence. "I am not jealous. I was merely concerned. I would have a great deal of trouble finding a man of business of your calibre on such short notice. And if you got married, I am sure you would want to retire and start a tobacco shop, or some nonsense of that kind. I am sure I pay you well enough to afford it."
Childermass laughs then, which Norrell finds a little insulting. "No, sir," he says. "I think I would find that very dull. After you, I imagine there is little steady occupation I would not find dull."
Norrell is not sure whether he ought to take this as a compliment or an insult. He settles for saying, "I see."
"Besides," says Childermass, "Even if for some extremely bizarre reason I took it into my head to marry Hannah, she would not have me."
"Why on earth not?" Norrell is indignant on Childermass's behalf. After all, he makes excellent money and is reasonably pleasant to look at; surely any woman he wants to marry ought to be amicable.
"Her proclivities do not run in my direction," says Childermass dryly. "Any more than yours would run in hers."
"Ah," says Norrell, greatly relieved. "I see. So you are not leaving my service?"
"I promised you I would help you bring back magic," says Childermass. "What sort of scoundrel would I be if I did not fulfill that?"
"Technically you spoke no promise."
"I don't go back on my word," says Childermass, reaching over and picking up his hand. Norrell feels a shiver run up him, starting at his hand and magnified by the intensity of Childermass's gaze.
"Yes...well," says Norrell, slightly distracted by Childermass's voice and proximity, "You would not be the first to have your head turned by a pretty face."
Childermass snorts. "Leaving aside the utter inappropriateness of me applying that particular phrase to her, for multiple reasons - I should think you knew me better than to think I would be so lacking in resolution. A pretty face? What's that in comparison to magic?"
"I certainly do not think it much," says Norrell, "But I will admit that my tastes do not run to the usual."
Childermass gives him a look,
"Oh, very well," says Norrell, huffing. "I shall in the future consult you before assuming you are going to run off to get married."
"That's all I ask," says Childermass.