Archive of Our Own

Summer 1815

As much as he tried not to think about it, Childermass was always slightly uneasy when Norrell went off on trips with Lascelles alone. There was far too much space for trouble to happen, and since Strange had left, Lascelles' influence had grown alarmingly strong. All the same, he did his duty and took care of the house, and today was no different.

It was a very bright morning, and he was sitting in his study writing business letters. This was an activity on which he spent a great deal of time now; Mr Norrell was besieged by correspondence, and he could not answer it all. Of course Lascelles took his share, but...

Childermass shook his head, and continued writing.

He was interrupted only a few minutes later by Lucas poking his head in. "There's a visitor, Mr Childermass," he said.

Childermass looked up. "Who?"

"I think you'd best see," said Lucas.

Childermass sighed, rather put out at being removed from his duties by what was likely to be some inconvenient person's request for Norrell's services in restoring lost items or rescuing wayward dogs. "Very well," he said, setting his pen down carefully so as not to splatter.

He made his way to the drawing-room, already composing a polite way to decline the person's offer in advance. Since Strange's departure, people had taken to assuming that Norrell was in need of a new pupil, and there was a not-insignificant chance that this would be one of them.

But when he arrived to take stock of the unwanted visitor, he was so very surprized that he had to stop for a moment in the doorway.

She, however, had no such compunctions about speaking to him. "There you are," said Arabella Strange, with pleasant smile, rising to shake his hand.

Childermass shook her hand, and then gave a slight bow. "What brings you to Mr Norrell's house today, Mrs Strange? I thought you were in Shropshire."

Arabella put her hands into her pockets and looked at him. It was a sharp look - not unkind, but critical, as if she was summing him up in her own mind. As if, and perhaps this was true, she had never really looked at him properly before.

Finally, she said, "I wanted to talk to you about my husband and your master."

Childermass leaned against the wall and regarded her. "What about them?"

"Getting them back together," said Arabella. "I do believe this feud has gone on long enough. Don't you?"

-

Childermass had Lucas fetch some tea. It was clear that he and Arabella had a great deal to discuss; for one thing he was not sure that intervention was the best course of action.

"I was not sure myself," said Arabella, picking up her teacup and taking a sip. "This is excellent, thank you."

Childermass nodded. "And what convinced you that you should interfere?"

"Jonathan has no one else to talk of magic to, and I fear that when he returns from the war, he will have no other magicians to talk to and he will be very lonely. You see, he always gets into mischief when he is lonely."

"And you feel that, specifically, magical mischief may ensue. Possibly to the detriment of Mr Strange himself."

"Don't you?" asked Arabella.

"Mischief I don't know about," said Childermass. "But certainly nothing good is liable to come of it. All the same, do you really think interfering will change anything? Magic needs differing opinions in order to thrive."

"My idea was not that they should reconcile their academic views entirely, only that they should talk again. I am afraid this rivalry is going to escalate - and I am afraid that Mr Norrell may take it into his head to do something that will damage Jonathan's reputation." Arabella leaned forward. "His book is terribly important to him, you know. I do not know what he would do if it was stopt."

"So he is writing a book? Mr Norrell will be very interested to know that." Childermass's betrayed nothing of concern for Strange in his voice, whether he felt it or not.

Arabella shrugged. "He is thinking of it, and you may tell him that if you like. I am sure, with your powers of observation, you would have known it sooner or later."

"You give me a great deal of credit."

"I have seen how much of it you deserve."

Childermass paused to study her for a moment. He had done this often in the days when she had been new to him; his conclusions had been made early. They had been as follows: 1. that she was considerably more clever than most people gave her credit for; 2. that she had a sweet nature and great deal of patience but that when it was exhausted she was likely to take direct action; and 3. that she cared very much for her husband, and was by habit inclined to protect him.

These were what he considered the essential facts of Arabella Strange. And what he knew of her suggested that he would be unwise to dismiss her out of hand.

"Supposing that I agree to help you in your mission," he said. "What tack do you propose we should take?"

Arabella did not speak for a moment. She took another sip of her tea, then put the cup down. The she smiled, and said, "I do not think it will be very difficult at all, really. We only have to motivate them properly."

And she told him her plan.

---

Arabella Strange

June 1815

Dear Jonathan,

I wish you were here, for more reasons than one. The house is terribly creaky at night and while I should be used to it I cannot shake the feeling that something left over from one of your spells is wandering around the corridors, and that if I should get out of bed, I would encounter it in the hallways. I do not know what it would look like. Perhaps like a ghost.

I have half a mind to write to Mr Norrell to ask him if such a thing is even possible. You will find this very startling, I know, as I have never cared very much for him - not, of course, that I have told you so very often. But you can be perceptive when you remember to pay attention and I know you have observed.

All the same the subject leapt to my mind because I spoke to John Childermass the other day. I was in London to do some shopping - you remember, I told you I would make Ashfair pleasant and pretty while you were away - and I happened to encounter him in a shop. We spoke for some minutes. He is a perfectly charming sort of fellow. Do you remember that time he asked me if you were dead? He was very kind then, despite his rough appearance, and I am reminded of that now.

But I am rambling. What I heard from John Childermass was that Mr Norrell is quite at a loss for any one to talk to about magic without you around. I expect he is languishing with all his theories going to seed. I feel a little sorry for him; it is a shame you have quarreled so extensively that you cannot even write to each other and debate your theories.

I meant to tell you also about the Blackwaters and their adventures. You see they went to America, and --

-

Jonathan Strange

June 1815

My dearest Belle,

Write to Mr Norrell! The very thought makes me laugh. I think he would flinch as if you had sent him a spider if you wrote him a letter. He is terribly timid and I think he has the idea that you would chastise him for mistreating me. I cannot imagine what would have put that notion into his head. I do not think, however, that I have ever summoned any ghosts. Nor even any fairies, much as I have attempted to do so. It really is terribly vexing. You know perfectly well that if Norrell were not so damnably stubborn and unwilling to shew me any thing to do with magic, books or spells or any thing, I would be entirely content in writing to him even if we could never reconcile our academic viewpoints.

After all, do I not suffer? I have no one to talk to, either, but I think if I wrote to him he would be even more startled and alarmed than if you did. Furthermore, I could not promise myself that I would not end by swearing to become his student once more. Supposing he tempted me with all the books of Hurtfew? And then I would be obliged to agree with him once more and that would be dreadful. No, I shall write my own book, using what sources I can, and then he can refute me as he likes.

It is a dreadfully inconvenient way to conduct an argument, certainly, but it cannot be helped, I suppose.

Do take care that you do not fall for John Childermass's rough charms! I can hardly compete with him when I am half a continent away. I miss you dearly. In fact I was thinking of you only today. There was an incident with some bread rolls and I thought it would make you laugh. It began when Major Grant inadvertently acquired a basket of fruit --

-

John Childermass

June 1815

Mrs. Strange,

I thought you would be interested to know in the results of your - or perhaps our - experiment. As you requested, I told Mr Norrell that I had encountered you and that you had mentioned Mr Strange's despondency on the matter of not having any suitable conversational partners.

Not to my surprise, he made very little comment - I believe he said, "It was Mr Strange's choice to walk away, and if he finds himself without any recourse now, he has no one to blame but himself."

Seeing that his body language was nevertheless at odds with this, I said that perhaps the two of them could have some sort of amicability beyond their theories.

"After all," I said, "Should magic not be able to withstand a feud? What better way to be sure of that than for you two to be friends again?"

His face took on a very strange character then, and he said, "I was not the one who broke off our friendship. What has been done cannot be undone."

"I am sure if you extended a hand to him, he would respond well," said I.

But, unfortunately, he only shook his head and said, "No. He has made it perfectly clear to me that he is no longer interested in my society. I offered him everything, Childermass. Even the books in Hurtfew. You know how much - " He stopt then, but I do indeed know how much that hurt him to do. Mr Norrell is a very private person, as I am sure you have witnessed, and other than myself, Mr Norrell, and the servants at the house, only three people have seen the Hurtfew library. None of these people have seen all of the books in it; only Mr Norrell and I have had that particular privilege.

You may infer from yourself what it meant that he offered it to Strange.

In any case, this is both good and bad for our mission. Good in that it is clear that he still has a secret wish to be reconciled. Bad in that Mr Norrell is among the most stubborn of all men, and he will never admit to that wish, nor will he be the first to move. If I understand Mr Strange correctly, then neither will he. So it seems that we have a dilemma.

To counteract that, here is what I propose.

-

June 1815

Arabella Strange

My love,

I have had news of your victory! I call it your victory as if you were personally responsible, but I could not be prouder of you than if you had. And prouder of my country, of course. I knew that we would win but I am so happy to have you home sooner rather than later. When I heard I nearly leapt for joy. I shall be coming back to London to see you home immediately. Shall we stay there for long? I thought perhaps I ought to take a house just for a week or two, so that we can have a place to see visitors. I strongly suspect you will have many.

Speaking of visitors, here's another piece of news. Childermass wrote to me to ask if Mr Norrell might be permitted to call when you return home. I believe he thinks it will be good for the reputation of English magic if its two main practitioners are seen to support each other's successes.

Additionally - and I should not be telling you this -  he misses you. Do you remember when we first met him and I told you that he was lonely? I think the sight of you would do something to ease that and to remind him that he is no longer the only magician in the world.

I promised to write you and ask your permission.

-

June 1815

Arabella Strange

-- carefully considering the matter you raised about Norrell. Well, if he wants to come and congratulate me, who am I to stop him? You know that I bear him no ill will and that I am capable of being civil under reasonable circumstances. If he is lonely it is his own fault, but I am not a cruel man and am willing to speak to him. I am sure it will be very awkward, but that cannot be helped.

We shall remain in London for, I think, a week or two at least; you are right, we need some place where we can receive visitors. I expect there will be balls and parties and so on, also. Go and find a place, if you would, and make it nice. I will see you very soon, though it will never be soon enough for my taste.

All my love,

Jonathan

--

"Mr Strange is to return from the Peninsula soon," said Childermass. "I believe he will be back in July."

Mr Norrell looked up from buttoning on his nightshirt. "Will he? I had thought the war would last much longer."

"You pay no attention to the news."

"You know that I do not. But I do not know how this is relevant to anything we have been speaking of."

Childermass reached for Mr Norrell's hand. In the privacy of his own bedroom, Mr Norrell let him, and laced their fingers together with an absent-minded ease that was far too easy to slip into and far too dangerous to keep up.

"I speak of it because I spoke to Mrs Strange via letter. She wrote to me to tell me that Mr Strange misses you a great deal, and that he would be pleased to see you, your disagreement nonwithstanding, after having been so long on the Continent. There are no other magicians, and he could not even talk to his friends in person there."

"Misses me?" said Mr Norrell, his posture softening. Childermass could see the idea sinking into him, and was pleased that he had been right. It was not, strictly speaking, even a lie; Arabella had said that, just as he had told her what she was going to tell Strange. It was just that it had been inferred, rather than outright stated.

"I thought this might be a good time for you two to make amends," he said.

"Amends?" said Mr Norrell. That he was only repeating Childermass's statements spoke, generally, to a great deal of indecision, which was not good. "He will apologise?"

"I don't know about that - "

"You mean he expects me to make amends."

"I only thought you two could talk."

"I already tried," said Mr Norrell peevishly. "I offered him all of my books, Childermass."

"So you said, sir."

"If he refused that, what else can I do to bring about a reconciliation?"

"Not demand his conformity," said Childermass.

Mr Norrell blinked rapidly. He looked as though he had been slapped; his breathing came quick and he was flushed. "I told him to let the review stand," he said. His voice was tight in the way that Childermass knew meant something was being kept out of it. "I told him that we would find the answers he raised in it together - I offered him everything , John. But he left. What good will it do me now to see him? You know - "

"I know how you feel about him, yes," said Childermass, who had not been untouched by the use of his Christian name. He had not heard it from Mr Norrell's mouth in what felt like a long time. "And that is why I think you must talk to him."

"I cannot," said Mr Norrell. He took his hand away from Childermass's and looked at the bed. "I will not be able to say goodbye second time."

"My idea was that you should not have to," said Childermass very quietly. "You will never be pupil and master again, but you might, perhaps, be friends."

"I cannot," said Mr Norrell again. "Do not ask any more."

"If that's the way you feel, I will not," said Childermass. But he knew that this would not be the final word on it; Mr Norrell would be unlikely to let the matter rest once he had fixed his mind upon the possibility. He resolved, however, to leave it be until Mr Norrell himself brought it back up.

Mr Norrell sighed and clutched at the blankets. "I suppose you could not - no. It is not safe."

"Could not what? Stay?"

Mr Norrell nodded. Childermass laced their fingers together again and kissed him very gently. Mr Norrell's hands tightened on his, and he pressed in with a fervency that spoke of loneliness.

"You are right," Childermass said when it was ended. "It is not safe. But I will be here in the morning. I am not going anywhere, sir." He kissed Mr Norrell's forehead.

"No," said Mr Norrell, sounding a little less afraid. "I know you are not."

-

Mid-July 1815

In July of 1815, a carriage rolled up to a fine London house which had been occupied for only a short time. The occupants of the carriage waited some time after it stopped to finally disembark, but at last the door opened and a tall, dark man with ragged hair and unfashionable clothes got out. He then assisted a much smaller and more neatly-dressed one with few personal charms and a nervous air in emerging as well.

Mr Norrell and Childermass - for that is who they were -  went to the door and rapped. They were admitted by a young maid and taken to the drawing-room. It may, perhaps, have been odd for a servant to be admitted on a visit alongside his master, but Mr Norrell had professed himself quite unable to face Strange alone, and Childermass had offered to come along.

It had been a great deal of work to get him to this point. Mr Norrell had fretted and fussed and agonised; he had flown into a passion at the thought of Strange's betrayal; he had gazed longingly out windows and sighed. But Childermass knew what Mr Norrell needed, and he had simply listened until he finally brought it up. Then he had given him the best advice that he could. And, in the course of time, a letter had been written thanking Mrs Strange for her kind invitation and accepting the hospitality of her household for the afternoon.

Childermass's private opinion was that Mr Norrell's desire for his presence was just as well, because then he and Arabella could compare observations and implement the next stage of their plan, whatever that might be.

"I do not think," said Mr Norrell when they were alone in the drawing room, "that this can possibly be a success, Childermass."

Childermass sat down in a chair, with some relief, for his knees were not being kind to him today. "Well, sir, we will know in a moment, and then you may say that you tried," he said.

"I have tried a number of times before."

"So you have said, sir."

"Yet you refuse to listen."

Childermass looked at him. "Why are you here?" he asked.

Mr Norrell blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"If you are so certain that this is not to be a success, then when are you here?"

"Because you urged it upon me."

"How many things have I urged upon you that you have paid no mind to? You only take my advice when you agree with it, no matter how much you may deny it, or when you suspect that I have some knowledge of the situation that you do not."

Mr Norrell turned his head away and crossed his arms. He did not argue, but nor did he answer Childermass's question. Childermass reached out one hand and touched his shoulder, a gesture meant to convey I am here . Mr Norrell relaxed, but looked no happier.

The door opened. Childermass managed to bring his hand down casually before it had finished and Mr and Mrs Strange entered, which was just as well; Mr Norrell's nerves were frayed quite enough already.

"Mr Norrell," said Strange, bowing slightly.

"Mr Strange," said Norrell, rising to do the same.

Childermass stayed seated, which was shockingly bad manners, but no one seemed to notice. Strange and Norrell had their attention entirely on each other. It was, Childermass thought, quite like their first meeting, except the tension between them was older. More stretched. The fragile uncertainty they had begun with had returned loaded down with history, and sooner or later, something had to snap.

Finally Strange said, "Won't you sit down? We shall have tea."

"Thank you," said Mr Norrell.

It was not until every one was seated that Childermass noticed Arabella looking at him. He wondered if she had been doing so the whole time, or if she was trying to gauge his reaction to the meeting.

Mr Norrell cleared his throat. "I expect you learned a great deal more while you were in the Peninsula. The war did seem to bring out your talents last time."

"Well, I had to do many of the same things. It was a novel experience last time. But then war is always novel, I suppose, and yet always the same."

"So I have heard," said Mr Norrell, looking vaguely uncomfortable. "Very distressing at times, I am sure."

"I suppose so, but one has one's comrades. I brought some paintings to life."

"Ah!" said Mr Norrell, leaning forward eagerly. "Animation of art is a most interesting subject."

"That is what your first act was, was it not? The animation of stone statues?"

"Yes, but I suppose paintings were different."

"They were certainly floppier." Strange looked contemplative for a moment. "I would say that stone must assuredly be more sturdy. But then I had to work with what was available."

"Indeed," said Mr Norrell.

"And you, sir?"

"Ah, well. I have been studying Exercitatio Magika Nobilissima  and comparing it with De Generibus Artium Magicarum Anglorum . The comparison of two attempts to describe English magic is always useful - one can see regional differences and differences in recording and extrapolate as to what is generally true more easily. And of course there are commissions. Of late the Home Secretary has proposed that we - that is to say, I - might cast a spell to prevent flooding in Suffolk."

"I see."

There was a long, awkward silence.

"What will you do with yourself, now that you have returned?" Mr Norrell asked.

"I was thinking of taking pupils, as a matter of fact." There was a deliberateness in Strange's voice that made Childermass suspect the choice of subject was no accident. Childermass saw Arabella wince, and echoed the gesture in his own mind, for Norrell's hackles were up now.

"Teaching?" said Mr Norrell. "Are you quite certain you have the experience for that?"

"I do not see why not. You agreed when I left that we might form a partnership of equals."

"I had intended that you should read the books at Hurtfew to make it so that that was true. But you have no books."

This was, Childermass knew, exactly the wrong thing to say. He sighed silently to himself.

And, indeed, Strange put down his teacup. "I have no books because you offered none to me."

"I offered none to you because you left. I told you that if you stayed - " Mr Norrell's voice broke off in a sort of hissing indrawn breath. "I should have known better. Come, Childermass."

"You have no right to dictate my actions," said Strange, too loudly. "You renounced all claim on me when you rejected what I had to say."

"Jonathan - " Arabella began, but he plowed onward recklessly.

"I said that we should try summoning the Raven King again, that we should put magic back on the old path, and you refused me. You tried to bribe me to stay a Norrellite. Well, no more of that, Mr Norrell. If you will not put the magic back into magic, I will do it myself."

Mr Norrell looked grey and ill. "I did not intend to bribe you," he said. "But clearly we were not suited if you did not understand my gesture as the mark of respect that it was. Perhaps that was misplaced." Then he rose.

"Come, Childermass," he said again.

Childermass rose and followed him silently. The small maid - Mary, he thought - shewed them out.

-

"Well!" said Arabella brightly. "That certainly could have gone better."

"Could it have?" asked Strange, scowling at the teacup that was still resting on the table next to where Mr Norrell had sat. "I do not know if he is constitutionally capable of being more agreeable."

Privately, Arabella was not certain that she disagreed with this opinion, but she thought that Childermass might, and it was Childermass who knew. "You must admit that the fault was not entirely with him, Jonathan," she said. "You could have avoided mentioning your students until later. Or you could have not escalated it into an argument."

"I should not have to tiptoe around him. What is the point of that?" Strange flopped backwards in his chair, looking very disgruntled.

"You could have respected the delicacy of this first encounter."

"I had intended it to be the last encounter."

"Had you?" Arabella kept her tone inquiring, rather than doubtful, but Strange sat up and peered at her.

"What else should I intend? You do not think I would stoop to studying with him again."

"Oh, no. I do not think you should." Arabella took up a biscuit and ate it meditatively. "It is only that you have no one to talk to of magic when you will not speak to him at all."

"I have you. And Pole."

"Neither of us know the first thing about magic."

"I know." Strange's disgruntled look grew still deeper. "It is terribly frustrating."

Arabella waited expectantly. Strange's face changed.

"That is your point, isn't it. That I will be frustrated either way, so I may as well have company."

Arabella took a sip of her tea and tried to avoid smiling.

Strange sighed. "Well, I am not going to make the first move this time. No invitations. If he is so entirely set on renewing our friendship, he will have to do it himself. I should think that it is my turn to storm dramatically out."

-

Mr Norrell was shaking when they got into the carriage. Childermass helped him in, one steadying hand on the small of his back.

"I knew this was a mistake," he said as soon as the door was shut. "I should never have let you talk me into this."

"If you hadn't taken such offense at the comment about the pupils - "

"It was a deliberate insult to me!"

"That does not mean that you have to rise to it."

Mr Norrell's mouth was tight and angry. "What else am I supposed to do? What else was I to say?"

"You might have offered him advice."

"Advice! On taking pupils? This will be the ruin of English magic, Childermass! I shall see my whole life's work in tatters, simply because he does not realize he is not ready! He will lead them astray! He will - " At this point, Mr Norrell ran out of both breath and invectives, and subsided for a moment, which left Childermass a space in which to speak.

"If you are so concerned for that, you might take care to cultivate his friendship again," he said.

"How? He has twice now shewn me that he has no regard for my methods or my company."

"Go to him. Apologise - "

"Apologise!" said Mr Norrell, in a tone of scandalized outrage.

"For your outburst."

"He provoked me."

"Be the bigger man, sir," said Childermass, managing it somehow without even a hint of irony despite the considerable height difference in favor of Strange. Mr Norrell did not, in any case, notice.

"But I do not see the point. We would do better to go our separate way. It would be easier."

"Easier is not always better."

The low grumbling that issued from Mr Norrell's side of the carriage for the rest of the ride suggested that this advice was not well-received.

-

For the next week, Childermass and Arabella were both forced to endure long rants on the failings of, respectively, Strange and Mr Norrell. Mr Norrell went on about the lack of respect that had been afforded him, and the sheer effrontery of Strange to approach him in such a spirit. He had complained about the rejection of all his peacekeeping efforts and, going from the specific to the general, the broader ingratitude of today's younger generation.

Meanwhile, Strange kept up up a continuous stream of criticism of Mr Norrell's manners, personal bearing, habits, magical philosophy, and, on one memorable occasion which Arabella thought was motivated by having run out of other things to complain about for a moment, the unfashionable and ill-fitting nature of his wig.

But both of these longsuffering conversational partners noted that even in their rages, neither Strange nor Norrell would cease to talk of each other. Arabella and Childermass wrote notes to each other, with updates on the situation at each house. They agreed that it would be best to let the anger run its course and then allow them to come to their own conclusions.

By and by, Childermass began to mention that Strange was soon to return to Shropshire and that Mr Norrell would have few more chances to speak to him if he had any last things to say.

Fear was one of the strongest forces acting upon Mr Norrell at any time, and so this caused him to fret about missing his opportunity. Again he asked Childermass for advice; again Childermass gave it as best he could.

Finally a brief note rolled out from Hurtfew, written by Childermass under Mr Norrell's direction. It read,

Mr and Mrs Strange,

Mr Norrell asks that he be permitted to return your hospitality before you leave for Shropshire. If you have the liberty to call upon him at 4 p.m. this coming Tuesday he will receive you.

The note in return read simply:

We would be delighted.^[1] Expect us at the hour mentioned.

-

The second meeting was, if possible, even more awkward. Arabella had not been certain this was actually achievable, but Strange and Norrell had reached new heights of interpersonal discomfort, the likes of which had scarcely been seen before in man.

When Mr and Mrs Strange had entered the drawing-room, Mr Norrell had muttered something which seemed to contain the phrase' - hope Mr Strange would be kind enough to forgive my unease at our last meeting - ', sat down, and stared fixedly at his feet.

Tea was served, and then both men sat stiffly in their chairs, clutching at their teacups without speaking and gazing at each other when, and only when, they did not think they were observed.

It was really quite enough to move a heart of stone although, Arabella supposed the direction in which the stone was moved in might depend on the inclinations of its owners.

Childermass, who was the closest thing to stone Arabella had ever personally met, did indeed look to have been moved. He was sitting on a chair a little way off to the side, watching every thing with his impassive gaze, and on the face of it he looked undisturbed, but Arabella thought she could see the ripples beneath the surface. She thought he was worried.

Finally, Arabella broke the silence. She had not intended to speak very much during this gathering - there was very little she wanted to say on the topic of magicians and magic, for she had never found it terribly interesting - but she could not let this visit end without either Strange or Norrell having said a word.

She said, "Jonathan has been cursing Belasis quite thoroughly these last few days."

This was not entirely true; he had been cursing Mr Norrell much more thoroughly. But it was not false, either.

"Ah, Belasis," said Mr Norrell, clearly relieved to have a safe topic. "None of his instructions are at all well-directed. I often find that I have to rewrite spells several times in order to make them work. Of course one has to rewrite them anyway; we are in the business of reconstruction, not replication."

"But Belasis is often maddeningly vague on important things," said Strange. Like Norrell he seemed to be pleased to have a target of mutual animosity. "Magical instructions should be set out in a clear, reasonable way that makes them easy to follow."

Mr Norrell looked strained for a moment, as if he was displeased by this, but all he said was, "And he is clear when there are things he has no business being clear about."

"Oh, I do not know about that," said Strange. "If he simply set everything out, it would be up to the reader to discern whether or not the subject was suitable, and surely an educated man could tell."

"But the risk of a foolish and uneducated one - " began Mr Norrell.

Childermass cleared his throat. Arabella had almost forgotten about him, so silent was he. "I think what Mr Norrell is trying to say is that there is far too much mysticism in Argentine magic."

Mr Norrell seemed to collect himself and Arabella breathed a sigh of relief. "Indeed I am," he said. "I should hope that if I ever write a book, then I would be quite clear and sensible."

"Your notes are very practical," said Strange. Arabella was not certain this was a compliment, but Mr Norrell appeared to take it as one, for his ruffled feathers settled and he loosed his death grip upon his teacup.

"Thank you. But I write very slowly; I have often admired your flair and speed."

"Ah, well, some of us have the talent to be quick and some of us have the talent to be thorough," said Strange. "What would the world be like if we were all entirely similar in our gifts? Very dull, I should think."

"Very true. Very true."

There was another silence, although it was somewhat more bearable than the last one.

"I wonder," Mr Norrell began, again gazing at his shoes rather than at Strange, "Whether you think you will be in the habit of writing letters while you are in Shropshire?"

"I expect I shall. It is very quiet there and I find that I must have some sort of stimulating discussion - other than my wife, of course, who is an excellent conversationalist but not a magician."

"No. No indeed. I suppose you shall write to that small dark man in Yorkshire - Segundus, isn't it?"

"John Segundus, yes. A fine scholar."

There was another pause. Mr Norrell seemed to be working himself up for something; he was biting at the ends of his fingers, and breathing quickly.

"Did you wish me to write to any one on your behalf?" asked Strange.

"Oh! No, I should never impose upon you so early in our, er - that is to say, at this time. It is only that I thought perhaps, if you had questions, you might send them to me. I cannot allow my books to leave the library, of course, but I would rather you did not go unguided into new territory." Mr Norrell spoke in a rush, and with the air of someone surprized by his own words. "I know you no longer regard yourself as my pupil, but..."

"Well, I would certainly be glad of a little discussion on magic," said Strange. "Perhaps I will."

"You have my address."

"Yes, indeed."

Most of the rest of the visit passed in more silence, though the tension had been replaced with uncertainty. Childermass had gone back to unreadable, Arabella noticed. She found something pleasing in the lines of his face and body, something that said there was more to him than met the eye, and she enjoyed watching him to see how much of it she could detect.

Finally, Strange rose. "Are you ready, my love?"

Arabella, quite distinctly, saw Mr Norrell wince when Strange addressed her thus. She gave no sign of it, but only said, "Oh, yes, if you are."

"Well then." Strange bowed to Mr Norrell. "If you will excuse me, sir, I must return. We have a great deal of packing to do. Perhaps I shall speak to you at some later date - in a letter."

"Yes," said Mr Norrell very softly. "I would like that."

Arabella watched as his gaze lingered on Strange, as if he was memorizing his face and voice and the way he moved, storing it up as if for a long winter.

"That could have gone worse," she said, when they were finally out in the carriage.

"I suppose it could have," said Strange.

-

It went so well, in fact, that the two of them had one visit more before they left. They had had to delay their journey back on account of the bad weather - it was raining quite torrentially and the roads were shocking.

Thus, Strange had - of his own accord - written an almost cordial inquiry asking whether he might see Mr Norrell's library one last time, in order to prepare himself to teach better. Mr Norrell had written a stiffly polite letter in returning saying that as a mark of the goodwill and respect they had once borne for each other, that he could allow such a favor, in the name of making sure lies were not perpetuated, provided Strange did not remove anything from the library.

To this Strange agreed, and that was how Arabella and Strange found themselves once again in the house on Hanover-square at the beginning of the next week.

Mr Norrell's house was, of course, full of ministers and other important persons looking for information about magic, as it generally was. Arabella wondered how he had cleared it for their tea a week ago - looking back it had seemed peculiarly empty. But then he had had more warning that time.

They were shewn again into a drawing-room; Arabella had the sense that Strange was disappointed at this, probably he did not wish to wait around making polite conversation when he could be taking notes. He always had been impatient, she thought with a small smile, which was extraordinary for someone who was always so late and distracted himself.

It took some time for Mr Norrell to finally enter. When he did, it was without Childermass. Why that should have startled Arabella she was not sure; after all, Childermass was often out and about on various bits of his master's business. But then perhaps it was not shock - perhaps it was disappointment. She rather liked Childermass, and having him there during these delicate first meetings made her feel as though she had an ally. She would, she felt, miss that.

Then again, if they were going into the library it was always possible that she would not be brought. It was not a particularly restricted space, given the number of people Strange and Norrell had seen in it daily, but she could not imagine that he would wish to have her around while in a detailed discussion of magic.

At last Mr Norrell himself entered; Arabella had expected Strange to be fetched by a footman and therefore the sight of the old-fashioned grey wig peeping through the door was quite a surprize. She rose, and so did Strange.

For a moment, just for a moment, Arabella saw Mr Norrell's face, entirely stripped of pretense, and open with longing as he gazed at Strange. It was quite similar to the expression she had seen on it when they had first met, as if he would very much like some conversation with Strange but had no idea of how to begin. But it was tinged with wistfulness now, a sort of awareness of what had been lost, and it made Arabella feel quite sorry for him.

It also made her certain of something she had long suspected but had never quite managed to confirm for herself.

Mr Norrell cleared his throat. "Mr Strange, would you come into the library with me?"

Strange bowed. "Naturally I should be delighted."

Mr Norrell gave him a tiny, tiny smile, and the two of them left Arabella alone to her own devices. Quite without a thought for her, too, she thought, shaking her head. But she had long since accepted that she was an occasional widow to magic and thus she shook off her annoyance with it.

In fact...

She smiled. If Childermass was here - which was not certain, but seemed probable - then she could find him and discuss their next move with him.

With the perfect aplomb of someone who knew she had been largely forgotten, she left the drawing room and went to find her target.

-

Mr Norrell led Strange into the library with no small degree of apprehension. The library was a sort of sacred space in his mind, a temple of magic, and to bring Strange back in after he had so thoroughly rejected all of his efforts last time made his stomach ache with nerves. Nevertheless, he was determined to shew himself the bigger person, as Childermass had said.

And, quite frankly, he did not want to lose Strange. It was a fact that he was reluctant to admit even to Childermass, although he suspected that he knew anyway. But it was one that he could not deny, not after the agony he had spent waiting for word from Strange after the publication of the review. If Strange wanted to settle this amicably, then Mr Norrell would do his best, within the limits of respectability and sensible behavior.

It was on this note that they entered the library and began to discuss magic properly for the first time since they had separated.

Strange started with, "I was going to begin with the history of magic. Did you not begin me on magicians at first?"

"Yes. That seems like a very sensible strategy."

"I would welcome your recommendations as to books," said Strange. "You are, after all, much more familiar with your own library than I am."

"Ah," said Mr Norrell uncertainly. He was not quite certain whether he wanted to aid Strange to such an extent as to suggest books. This seemed to him to be shewing an untoward amount of approval for the entire endeavor. All the same, if Strange was not given recommendations he might seize on exactly the wrong sort of ideas and pass them along and that would be a very dreadful happenstance.

Finally, he said "I believe that Valentine Munday is an excellent place to start history."

Strange's eyebrows raised. "But Munday was convinced that half of English magic was a hoax perpetuated unscrupulous magicians upon an unsuspecting public."

"But he covers the history of magic very thoroughly, and besides, you could do worse than starting your pupils out with a certain skepticism of Faerie and its inhabitants."

Strange's eyebrows raised further. "Could I? You began me in that light and you see how that turned out."

"I beg your pardon - " began Mr Norrell.

"Well, you cannot deny that you have not adequately prepared me for summoning fairies and other such forms of magic."

"I had no intention of preparing you for that sort of magic! It was my intention that, should you be in dire straits and need to perform it, we would do so together and I could guide you!"

"But I can hardly expect to hold my pupils' hands through every thing they encounter," said Strange in his ironical way. "I should like to foster an independant spirit in them, not teach them to be beholden to me and to a set of restrictive rules - "

"It will end badly," Mr Norrell interrupted, a general principle which found he was rarely mistaken in. "You will find your students experimenting with dangerous magic and half of them will be carried off or do themselves some injury and then what will you do?"

"Well, I intended to instruct them as to safety - "

"You have no regard for safety! You never have!"

Strange's shoulders stiffened. "And you, sir, have far too much!"

"That is a far better position - one with fewer risks - than yours, sir."

"If you disapprove of my methods so sincerely, why did you allow me to come back? Why did you ask me to write to you?"

Mr Norrell went cold and hot all over. For a horrible moment he thought he might confess his feelings, cornered as he was. Finally, feeling that it was the only option, he swept out of the room.

Or rather his intention was to sweep out of the room, hopefully in a silence more dignified than the one he had just left. But no sooner had the doors closed behind him than Strange was opening them again. Mr Norrell hurried down the corridor but Strange came after him and caught him by the arm, gently enough not to hurt or trap him but firmly enough to be insistent.

"I beg your pardon," said Mr Norrell again. "Am I not even allowed to leave in my own house?"

"I would have an answer from you," said Strange. He was looming over Mr Norrell, as he was wont to do, with his eyes very serious and intense, and Mr Norrell felt quite pinned by his gaze. His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment as he strove to find words, the right words, words that would explain without revealing too much, which would shew Strange up for his ingratitude and his callousness. Words that would reveal to Strange the depths of the betrayal he now felt, and how many pains he had had, how much agony he had spent, in those days after the review.

But in the end he simply said, with far less dignity than he would have wished, "You were my friend."

Strange blinked at him for a moment. "I am sorry?"

"I do not have - I did not have - many friends, and I told you that without each other we should be quite alone. I thought - I thought if you came and read the books and if you wrote to me then perhaps we would not have to endure it. I thought our differences in temperament could be overcome. But perhaps I was wrong." Mr Norrell drew his coat tighter about himself and felt his mouth curling into a frown.

"Perhaps you were," said Strange. Mr Norrell sucked in a breath, feeling a curious hollow pain below his breastbone at the words.

"Perhaps you were," said Strange again with a sigh, "But if so then perhaps I was wrong too. I thought that if I came back to you I would only ever be able to fall in line, and I cannot do that, sir. We have entirely different perspectives on magic and it is impossible, I think, that we should ever reconcile them."

"I fear it may be." Mr Norrell twisted his hands in the fabric of his coat, and the hollow feeling bloomed into his whole chest. "It was foolish of me to try. I have wasted both of our time and -"

"But if we cannot have the same perspectives," interrupted Strange, "Perhaps we can at least be civil in our disagreements."

"But you are writing a book expressly to contradict me!"

A curious little smile bloomed onto Strange's face. "Arabella told you, I take it."

"Childermass did. I gather they talk."

"Indeed. Quite a lot recently, it seems. But regardless of that perhaps - perhaps you could disapprove of me more closely than I had thought would be possible. Through, as you implied, letters. And you could write your own book."

"You know my problems regarding the writing of books," said Mr Norrell impatiently. "I can never write as quickly or as confidently as you."

Strange's smile turned wistful. "Perhaps if you were properly motivated. But never mind, sir. I do not think you were wasting your time, and I think that it may be, with time, we shall become friends again. Or at least not enemies."

Strange's hand was still on Mr Norrell's arm. His eyes went to it, and then to Strange's face.

"I believe," said Mr Norrell quietly, "That I should like that."

Strange nodded and, to Mr Norrell's mingle regret and relief, released his arm. "Come back into the library, sir. Tell me which books I should be looking at, and I shall probably disagree, and then we may quarrel, but neither of us ought to storm out. We cannot argue properly if we keep doing that. How will we ever convince the other of our viewpoint?"

Mr Norrell nodded, and followed Strange back into the library.

-

Arabella crept in quietly to join Childermass perhaps half an hour after they had arrived, when Strange and Norrell were finally in what seemed to be moderately peaceable discussion. Childermass could hear bits of it from the study he sat in; occasionally one or both of them would laugh, or hear voices rise and fall as they had a disagreement.

"They seem to be coming along better than they were," said Arabella.

"Yes. You did well." He wondered how Arabella had found him, but he was willing to accept that she had her ways.

"It was half yours. You came up with this scheme, for one thing."

Childermass shrugged. "I followed your lead."

Arabella was silent for a long time. She seemed to be watching him, and despite all of his skill in reading hearts, Childermass could not quite understand exactly what she was hoping to uncover.

Finally, she asked, "Is Mr Norrell in love with my husband?"

Suddenly on his guard, Childermass said, "That is not my question to answer one way or the other. Nor do I see how it is relevant."

By Arabella's face, though, he saw that she knew, or strongly suspected. She said, "I may as well tell you that I have suspected Jonathan of harboring similar sentiments."

Childermass raised his eyebrows. "For Norrell? I wouldn't have thought that. He's always seemed rather ambivalent about him."

"Does that preclude love?"

"I suppose not."

Arabella examined her teacup with a distracted interest that Childermass interpreted as unease. "He talks of no one so much as he does of Norrell, you know. Even when they had separated he would never stop talking about how Mr Norrell was wrong in this particular and that particular and how he was a tyrant and how it would come back to haunt him. He settled down after a while - I think he ran out of things to say - but I have had the sense before that Mr Norrell is always on Jonathan's mind. They do seem to be drawn together, don't they?"

"Yes," said Childermass quietly. He was thinking of the first day he had seen Strange and Mr Norrell interact, how Mr Norrell had seemed entirely unable to look away from Strange, as if he contained some great light that was blinding and yet irresistibly attractive. He was thinking of how he had known, right then, that nothing would ever be quite the same.

Arabella sighed. "I suppose that answers my question as to whether or not his feelings are mutual."

"I am sorry for any hurt you have had as a result of it. I expect it cannot be easy to watch your husband -"

"- fall in love with another man? Or perhaps you mean be loved by another?" Arabella shrugged. "People are drawn to Jonathan. I have grown used to it - I have experienced it myself. He is charming. It does not bother me. Even if this is one of the more obvious examples I have seen."

A faint smile curved the edge of Childermass's mouth. "Mr Norrell has never been the most subtle of men."

"No," said Arabella with just a breath of irony. "I see how he looks at you, for one thing."

Childermass looked up at her and raised an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

"There is something between you two, even if I cannot quite pinpoint the precise nature of it." She held up a hand as Childermass opened his mouth to protest. "You need not tell me; it is your private business. I only wanted you to know that I know you understand the difficulty of it. I cannot imagine it was any easier for you, watching Jonathan work his particular magic on Mr Norrell, either."

Out of all the things that Arabella could have said, this was the one that disarmed Childermass the most, because it was the one he was not ready for. He was quite used to pretending indifference, or at best mild protective concern, over Mr Norrell's feelings for Strange. The nature of their formal relationship made anything else inappropriate; he could not be jealous, because it was not his right as a servant. Hiding his the particulars of his feelings for Mr Norrell was part of the routine of everyday life.

But to have them exposed, dragged out into the light like this - to have his own thoughts spoken -

He sighed. "It was not," he said, resigning himself to the disaster of confession. This would be the first time he had spoken this secret to anyone not involved with it. "It is not. But it hurts more to see him hurt."

"I know," says Arabella very softly. "I can't bear to watch Jonathan like this. That is why I came to you in the first place. I considered that it might be better to let their rivalry run its course but I knew it would hurt him in the long run if they stayed apart. He might be able to bury his love, and in fact I think he had, but..."

"But he would not have been able to leave him behind entirely," said Childermass.

"I see you do understand."

"Yes. I'm afraid I do."

Arabella straightened up and put her hands in her lap, with an air of girding her loins for warfare, which caused Childermass to have to hide a smile. "Well, I have always been a believer that where action is needed, action should be taken," she said. "We have been successful thus far."

Childermass raised his eyebrows. "And what do you propose that we should do now, since they are speaking again?"

"Well, get them to admit their feelings," said Arabella. "I don't think pining does them any good."

Childermass felt himself freeze for a moment. He took a breath, and forced himself overcome it. The moment of weakness had probably not been noticeable, but nevertheless he cursed himself for it. "No," he said, "I do not think it can."

And she was right. He had seen it slowly eating Norrell away when he and Strange had been separated. He saw it gnawing at him - though less so - even now. It was only that Childermass still had the faint feeling that if Mr Norrell had everything he wanted from Strange, he would no longer need Childermass.

But then perhaps that was for the best.

Arabella said, "Well, then. Do you have another clever plan?"

Childermass shook his head. "It's considerably more difficult. Getting them to be civil to each other is one thing, but the problem with Norrell is that he will not believe that he is wanted. He's been...more guarded ever since Strange left."

There was a moment of silence after that; Arabella looked soft and sorrowful in it. Then she sighed and said, "It was the only choice. I don't think anything else would have satisfied him; he had to shew his independance."

"I know. I do not say it should not have been done. But - " Childermass shrugged. "In any case you were speaking of practicalities. I can do my best to convince him that the most honest option is to confess his feelings, but I cannot expect much success."

"We've done well so far. We may as well continue with a formula that has worked."

-

July - August 1815

Thus began series of letters which would no doubt be of immense interest to future historians both in content and in emotional tenor. Strange wrote to Mr Norrell with questions and suppositions regarding the work he did and Mr Norrell argued, contradicted, and disapproved. But he also made suggestions for subjects, naturally drawn from Sutton-Grove, and pointed out areas in which Strange himself had require extra assistance as a pupil.

Of course,  wrote Mr Norrell, I hardly think that basing your curriculum exclusively on your own experience will give you a useful yardstick. You learned with great rapidity and you must assume that your pupils will be slower than you were or else you will, I suspect, run into great difficulties.

Strange had taken three readings to realize that this was a compliment but had, in the end, swanned about with such a pleased air that Arabella had gone so far as to remark on it and ask what had produced such an effect, when generally Mr Norrell's letters were more likely to induce long rants about how entirely wrongheaded his ideas were.

Strange had written back, after some thought, But of course I had a very knowledgeable teacher, and this had caused Mr Norrell to put this letter in a place of honor in his desk, unlike most of the others, which he kept in a box with his notes.

After a month or two of correspondence, Childermass thought it safe to mention the subject with Mr Norrell. He seemed happier than he had been since Strange had left, but with Mr Norrell it was sometimes difficult to be certain.

"I see the letters have been progressing well," said Childermass, sitting down on the corner of the bed.

"Yes. I think they have." There was a tiny smile at the corners of Mr Norrell's mouth, and it tugged a little at bits of Childermass that he had once thought he had cut out. Sometimes he wished he had been correct.

"You see there. If you'd listened to me the first time you would never have had such a fuss."

Mr Norrell made a scoffing sort of noise under his breath but did not, as such, disagree, which Childermass considered a victory.

After a moment's pause, Mr Norrell said, "It is not quite the same as it was - he argues with me a great deal more than he used to, and he demands all sorts of things out of books, and I do not always give them to him, and then we quarrel over the letters, but we always seem to make up because there is no one else to really write about magic to." He looked at floor for a while. "I believe it is possible that we have reached a sort of equilibrium."

"And what of his book?"

Mr Norrell made a dreadful face. "I cannot dissuade him from writing it. We have quarreled over it at least three times, but he remains unmoved."

"You'll have to write your own book to make up for it."

"You know perfectly well that I cannot do that." Mr Norrell frowned. "It would take me much longer than it would him - you know my troubles with print. I said as much to him."

"Perhaps if you had Portishead help you."

"I cannot let any one else see my notes! They are in no fit state for it, Childermass." Mr Norrell absently reached out and squeezed Childermass's hand, and Childermass squeezed back.

"Perhaps you should ask Mr Strange to. He's seen some of them."

Mr Norrell spluttered for several moments. "He is my enemy, Childermass."

"And your friend, now. And your - "

"Do not say it. I would not have it spoken." Mr Norrell let go of Childermass's hand and turned away.

Childermass shrugged. "Is it hard?"

"To be in..." Mr Norrell trailed off. Childermass did not think he had ever said the word love about another person in his life. "Not as hard as it was before. I succeeded in disguising it quite well when we were only friends and I shall probably l go back to that when we have become friends again. But for now - "

"Have you thought about telling him?"

"It would be futile. I expect he would laugh."

Childermass raised an eyebrow. "I do not think that is the sort of man Mr Strange is. I will grant you that he might laugh at some small indignities, but if he understands that you are sincere, I do not think he will mock you for your feelings."

Mr Norrell looked away. "Grown men do not have affections for other men with wives, Childermass. It is - what you and I have, that is different."

Childermass nodded, though it twisted a little at something in himself to do so.

"We are both - sideways to the world," Mr Norrell continued. "We are outside such things as marriage. And so for us to find comfort in each other - I do not think that so odd. But Mr Strange has everything he could wish for in his wife. That is to say, everything - "

"Romantic?" supplied Childermass. He had not been sure whether to be comforted or hurt by Mr Norrell's own description.

Mr Norrell made a face, but did not deny it. "In me of course he has a fellow-magician. I do not deny the value of that - indeed I am the last person placed to do so. But insofar as more tender feelings are concerned, he is a normal man, with normal attractions."

"Quite sure of that, are you?" said Childermass dryly.

Mr Norrell looked up at him and squinted hard. "Have you some knowledge that I do not?"

"Only well-honed instincts, which have never been your forte."

"No," said Mr Norrell slowly. "But nevertheless I think that he would find it both disturbing and amusing - I am aware of my position, Childermass, I am older than he is and I have been his tutor. It is hardly appropriate."

"You are both of age," said Childermass, "And as for tutoring, you are not that any longer. What do you lose by telling him?"

"His good opinion, which I have worked so hard to regain."

Childermass let the subject go. "But he is an excellent writer, sir, and perhaps could offer you some advice."

Mr Norrell blinked rapidly until he, apparently, remembered the topic they had switched from. "I do not think it is good form to shew one's academic rival one's theories with the view of writing about them. He would probably write rebuttals as I was composing. He is so much faster than I am."

"There is that," said Childermass. "Well, perhaps you can work with Portishead. He has been quite agreeable so far."

"Yes," said Mr Norrell. "Childermass, the - other matter."

"Aye, sir?"

Mr Norrell blinked again, and looked as though he was going to say something. Then he closed his mouth and frowned for a moment, and then, finally, he sighed.

"Do not raise it again," he said. "I do not wish to speak of it."

"Yes, sir," said Childermass.

-

September 1815

In September, Strange received an invitation to visit London for a party being given in the honor of His Grace the Duke of Wellington. His Grace wished his magician to attend, and Arabella was amenable to a few days of shopping in London for some things Ashfair could use, and Strange wanted the chance to see his friends again and conduct some business for his many commissions from the Army and the East India company, so they settled themselves to stay a week or two.

When Strange wrote to Mr Norrell of this, he was startled to receive a reply inviting him to stay at the house in Hanover-square.

I am , Mr Norrell had written,  quite certain that you will need some place to stay, and you have borrowed a room for the night before when we had been up late at our research. I can have the same room made ready for you and Mrs Strange quite easily if you wish, and then you will not have to be concerned about staying in inns and all that sort of dreadful nonsense. Inns are never, I find, comfortable, no matter how hard one tries to find one that will be. No, private houses are much to be preferred, and I see no reason for you not to stay here.

Strange shewed Arabella the letter after he had finished reading it. "Is it not astonishing?" he asked, shaking his head. "I would never have thought it of him. What can he be thinking?"

Arabella wondered that herself; was it Childermass's hand at work, or was Mr Norrell missing Strange?

"Well, unless you think it some sort of plot, I think we ought to accept," she said. "He is not wrong about inns. You know that you always complain about them."

"I suppose so," said Strange. "It's not as though his house isn't always comfortable. But supposing he ropes me into helping with his commissions?"

"Do you think he will?"

Strange considered a moment, and then laughed a little. "No, I don't. He is so very secretive that I expect he will bar the library doors against me and send Childermass out to be certain I am not listening at keyholes. I suppose there cannot be any harm in it, if he is offering."

Mr and Mrs Strange therefore found themselves at the house in Hanover-square a few weeks later, travel-weary but relieved to discover themselves at their destination.

Mr Norrell was not their to greet them, which Arabella found quite unsurprizing. According to Lucas the footman, he was out on business; to Arabella, it seemed likely that he had arranged this so as not to have to see them coming in.

"He will be back for supper," said Lucas.

"The time is still the usual?" said Strange.

"Yes."

"Very well then. We will be ready."

-

True to Strange's prediction, Mr Norrell kept his commissions very close to his chest. In fact he scarcely saw the Stranges for the first two days. He was like a shadow, disappearing into his library in the morning and emerging only to enter the carriage and be fetched off to some minister or the other. Strange himself had brought his notes, and was writing his book, in addition to making notes for students he hoped to soon recruit. And there were the meetings for his commissions, of course, and the chance to see Sir Walter Pole and Major Grant and all of the others again.

So it was only on the fourth day that Strange and Mr Norrell once again found themselves in the library again.

It was natural that they should fall to discussing magic. What else had they ever discussed? Of course there were trivialities such as Mr Norrell's health and the efforts of making Ashfair liveable again after such a long time spent in London, but neither man could keep himself from his subject for long.

It was in this way that Childermass was sitting at the long table in the hall outside the library when Strange came storming out, the door slamming behind him. Childermass grimaced as it hit. Mr Norrell hated to hear a door slam, particularly a library door. But then, he supposed, that was why Strange had done it.

"What is it this time," he said, rising and stretching.

Strange whirled around, looking quite startled to see him there. "Childermass!" he said. "I did not realize that you were here."

"That much is clear enough," said Childermass. "I take it you two have quarrelled. Again."

"Ha!" said Strange. "It sometimes seems that we never cease to leave off quarrelling!"

"I know," said Childermass.

Strange gave him an odd look, as if he had only just half-sensed Childermass's ironical tone, but he was too taken up with his own trials to properly notice. "Do you know what he tried to do?" he demanded.

"I do not," said Childermass, aware that he would be told any way.

"I asked him for a book and he said that it was too dangerous for me! Too dangerous ! Am I a child?"

Childermass made a great effort not to shew his personal opinion of this question on his face. "No, sir," he said. "Why did he say it was too dangerous?"

"Oh! It contained some fairy-magic or some such nonsense," said Strange irritably. "This is precisely the reason I could not remain as his pupil. He has no respect for me as an independant magician. I know perfectly well how suspicious he is, but have I not earned better? Have I not proven myself as a magician? Yet he continually refuses to acknowledge me!"

Childermass sighed. "I know you have been patient," he said. "And far be it from me to ask for any thing else on someone else's behalf. But you might consider that you are laboring under a misapprehension."

"A misapprehension?" said Strange. "Of what sort?"

"Even after you have broken with him, even after you insist on writing a book which he disapproves of, even as you continue to take students, he has let you into his library."

"And severely restricted my access!"

Childermass shrugged. "You are his enemy, after all."

"His rival at worst, surely."

"That is not how he sees things, you know that."

Strange shook his head. "I don't see your point. I thought that after our letters he might have the grace to concede that I am at least his equal."

"The point," said Childermass, "Is that even though you have set himself in up direct competition to him, he still invited you to stay in his house. He still writes to you - he asked to write to you. Did you not consider that this might be a message?"

Strange frowned. "Would it be so difficult for him to voice his feelings out loud, if that is so?"

Childermass raised his eyebrows.

With a sigh, Strange said, "I take your point."

"I'm not asking you to be patient," said Childermass. "I know you've done that already. But it's something to keep in mind.

Strange looked at him for a long time. Then he looked back at the library.

After a while, he went back and entered again, closing the door gently.

And for the rest of the afternoon, the house was quiet.

-

Both Arabella and Childermass had been trying to give Strange and Norrell room to become friendly with each other again. Often, that meant creeping off and leaving them alone for hours at a time. She had not thought these absences would be noticed, Strange's particular brand of focus being what it was, until one night while getting ready for bed they were teazing each other.

"I see you and Mr Norrell are beginning to get along better," she said.

"Slightly, thanks to your urging. You do spend an awful lot of time alone with Childermass these days," said Strange playfully. "If I were a more suspicious man I might accuse you of having an affair."

Arabella did not reply immediately; Strange's face changed. "You are not - " he began.

"No," said Arabella. "I would never do that to you. Not behind your back, not without your consent."

He looked at her thoughtfully. "But you wish to obtain my consent?"

"This is quite different from the situation in the Peninsula, I know," said Arabella. They had, when he had left, had an agreement that both should find what comfort they might during their absence, but they had never discussed the activities that had resulted; Arabella had worried it might hurt Strange and Strange, she thought, was trying to protect her innocence, which annoyed her slightly.

Strange tilted his head in acknowledgement. "That is perfectly true, but I will hear what you propose. You know I am at ease with the notion of being unconventional."

Again Arabella did not speak; she was thinking of how to prevent this from going entirely sideways. She said, "I know you're in love with Mr Norrell."

Strange stared at her and then laughed. "In love with  Norrell ? My love, I do not know how you arrive at these fancies. He is the stuffiest, dustiest - "

"He is entirely a magician, just as you are. I do believe it's his magic you fell for first. Jonathan, do not lie to me. I have seen it. You have always been drawn towards each other, as if you were two ends of a magnet."

"This is entirely - "

"I know that in your heart you want him to notice you, to approve of you, to tell you that you have done well, more than almost anyone else. I saw you try to rid yourself of it, perhaps for my sake, but I know that love is not so easily killed."

All of the amusement had gone from Strange's face. He stared at her, expression unreadable, for a long time.

"You had not realized it, had you," she said, with a hint of fondness.

"I never meant to hurt you."

"I know. You never did. You won't." Arabella took his hands. "I wish you would tell him."

"And see him horrified? It would be the end of our friendship."

"Jonathan, if you would open your eyes for five minutes at a time, you would see that that is not true," said Arabella gently. "I think he loves you as much as you love him. I rather think he has loved you since he saw you doing magic for the first time."

Strange blinked, with the uncertain expression of someone who cannot tell yet if something is good news. "Is that why he..." he began.

"Why he took you on?"

"Why he offered to shew me his books. Rather than letting me leave."

"I do not know. I think you would have to ask him."

Strange shook his head and laughed again, though rather more quietly this time. "Even if what you say is true, I suspect that if I said any thing he would deny it and probably run away. It's - we are fragile at the moment, Belle. There is peace, but it could be shattered very easily. It is not the time."

"Perhaps this is what you need to keep it from shattering," said Arabella.

Strange sighed. "Childermass, hmm?" he said.

It was clearly a deliberate change of subject, but Arabella allowed it. She had given Strange quite enough trouble with his own feelings. She said, "You must admit he has a certain charm."

"Indeed. Indeed. A rough-edged one, but certainly not nothing. Well, I give you my full permission to pursue the dalliance if you can get him to notice you. I have often thought that he must be as entirely indifferent to matters of the heart as Norrell is."

"Not very, then - either of them."

"Hmm!" Strange raised an eyebrow. "That remains to be seen. I predict that we will both be unlucky in love."

"Unusually glum for you. Besides, I've already been lucky. I have you." She leaned up against him and rested her head on his shoulder.

"So you do," said Strange softly, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

-

Though possessing the tact and grace that a lady of good breeding should, or so she hoped, Arabella was inclined to be direct in matters where it was possible.

Thus, she did not wait for Childermass to come to her. With Strange that had been all very well, but Strange did tend to wear his heart on his sleeve. Childermass kept his well concealed, to extend the metaphor, entirely beneath his clothes.

So Arabella knew that if she was intending to act, then she would have to act first. She began deliberately spending time with Childermass, catching him when he was alone and Strange was otherwise occupied. It was quite exciting; she felt rather like a hunter, stalking the most peculiar quarry any one had ever chosen.

Childermass, for his part, seeme unaware of the process. But she knew by now that to trust what he presented was to make a grave mistake.

It was really in his study that things came to a head. She preferred to leave him alone when he was working, for no one likes to be bothered with flirtations when they would rather concentrate, but they had gathered to discuss what she was beginning to think of as the Husband Conundrum. Arabella was explaining that she was now quite certain that Mr Norrell's feelings for Strange were reciprocated, assuming that he had them.

"Oh, he does," said Childermass with a smile that was half grimace. "I assure you of that."

"Then I don't see any problem," said Arabella, "Save getting them to admit it, of course, but we have strategies for that."

Childermass shrugged and gave that half-grimace again, and Arabella leaned forward a little. There was something about that wry mouth, Arabella thought. The way the smile turned up at mostly one corner, and about his crooked twisted face, and the contrast between the roughness of his appearance and the person who lay inside it. She wanted to know about him. He had, she thought, far more faces than she had seen, and she wanted to give him space to reveal them all.

"Mrs Strange?" said Childermass, looking at her with a hint of concern.

Arabella succumbed to temptation and kissed him.

He flinched, and she began to pull back, but suddenly his hands were on her waist, barely touching her. He was so very gentle, and that, too, was another face. She had seen him with Mr Norrell, and thought that perhaps she had glimpsed it then, but somehow she had not applied to it to herself.

Childermass, however, quite clearly was applying it to her. He seemed almost afraid of pulling her close, though he kissed her in return. She wondered if he thought she was delicate, and pressed herself closer to shew that she was not.

Childermass made a soft wounded sound, the audible equivalent of a bruise, and pulled away from her. Even in this he took great care not to unbalance her. "I cannot," he said, sounding ragged. "I cannot. He may be replacing me, but I will not replace him."

"Replacing - ?" said Arabella. Something in Childermass had gone - a certain granite indifference, a certain surety. She had not noticed it until now, but she realized she had been watching it disappear ever since the day they had talked of Strange and Norrell's affections. "He is not replacing you."

Childermass did not look at her, which was extremely unusual. He was more the sort to hold an unnerving stare until the atmosphere virtually snapped with tension. He had done it to her.

"So that's how it is," she said, but she kept her tone gentle. "I was not sure whether things were that way between you two or not."

Childermass shrugged. "What we are is irrelevant. What we will continue to be I do not know."

"He is not replacing you any more than Jonathan is replacing me," said Arabella.

"You and Mr Strange have a rather more permanent bond than can ever exist between us," said Childermass dryly. "I cannot marry him, for a number of reasons."

"Would you?" Arabella felt sudden curiosity. She had been taught - as most everyone she knew had - that any love which existed between men could be carnal alone and not spiritual, but Strange and Mr Norrell had shewn her different. She wondered whether Childermass loved Mr Norrell in the way that she loved Strange, if any love could possibly be said to be the same.

"It does no good to dwell on could-bes and never-wills," said Childermass, which was not an answer.

But Arabella let it go. "I still do not think this is in any way a replacement," she said. "If I read him right, he cares for you. If Jonathan can care for me and him at the same time, can he not care for you both?"

Again Childermass shrugged. Arabella had the sense that this was something he very much did not want to discuss. She shook her head. "I'm sorry for disturbing you. Will you forgive me, so that we can be friends again?"

"It was not a disturbance. It was not - if I was in a position to do so, I would not have turned you away." Childermass was looking at her, his eyes very serious and very dark in the half-light. She felt unsettled by it, as if he had quite reversed their situations with only those words. There was an urge in her to revenge herself in the same way upon him.

"There is one thing you are neglecting to consider," she said. "That I can care for Jonathan and you at the same time."

Childermass blinked, and to her satisfaction she saw she had disarmed him. He said, rather curtly, "I do not think you will find me particularly suitable for your uses, Mrs Strange."

"What uses would those be?"

"I do not know."

"Then how do you know I would find you unsuitable?"

"In my proclivities, there are a great many things I am unsuitable for."

Arabella smiled. "Then it is very fortunate that I do not expect anything particular from you. I have grown very fond of you - a good deal more fond than I had anticipated. If you are worried about my husband, he knows; I have discussed it with him. If you do not want any thing from me other than my friendship, that is what I will offer. But you implied that you did not mind the kiss."

A silent moment. Then, "I did not."

"Well, then." Arabella felt nervousness fluttering in the pit of her stomach, but she ignored it. "If you ever want to follow through on it, then you may inform me. As I said, I do hope we can be friends otherwise."

"Yes," said Childermass, sounding entirely uncertain of - something. What it was she was not sure. "I have enjoyed your company."

"Good," she said, smiling again. "I suspect we shall be seeing quite a lot of each other, what with our respective...husbands."

Childermass looked as if he was going to object, but Arabella, gleeful about having scored a point over Childermass's ever-ready wit, swept out of the room.

Whatever else happened, she had the memory of that kiss, and the knowledge that Childermass had wanted it too.

-

It had seemed to Mr Norrell that Strange's visit was going quite well. They had argued, but Strange had returned afterwards, and now they were managing something like civility. Or, at least, as much as they ever had in letters, which was something.

And yet, none of that was the faintest consolation now. He stood frozen, frantic and yet unable to move, as he watched Childermass bleed out on the cobblestones.

It had seemed to happen far too quickly: there had been a lady dressed in black - Lady Pole, he thought, and how very odd that was - pointing a gun at him, and Childermass running across the square while doing Belasis' Scopus and looking as though what he saw was not of this earth, and then there had been an awful, awful noise and he had been pushed backwards. He had thought himself shot, and lain there for a moment expecting pain, only for it not to arrive. But Davey was calling for a doctor, and so someone must have been hurt.

And then he had looked up to find that, in fact, it was Childermass who had been shot.

He could not move.

-

"Of course we will have to stay," said Arabella in hushed tones. "The arrangements for Emma alone, I would not like to leave until those are finished. And I do not think we should leave him alone."

Both of them turned to look at Mr Norrell. He was fidgeting in his chair, agitated as Arabella had seldom seen him, which despite her relative inexperience with him was certainly an achievement. He looked as though he had slept ill the past few days.

"No," said Strange finally. "Well, I have enough work here in London. And who knows what he will do without Childermass to advise him."

"Yes," said Arabella, "And who knows what sort of sickbed manner he has."

Strange made a face. "I shall speak to him."

He crossed the room and knelt to Mr Norrell's chair. Arabella watched as he spoke in low tones that she could only just hear snatches of. " - thought we would stay until things have settled - useful to have someone else to - "

After a long while, Mr Norrell nodded and murmured something. He seemed calmer - the threats of hanging were perhaps farther away now.

"Well," said Strange, returning, "We are to stay."

-

The door to No. 3 Harley Street creaked open. Arabella observed that the man opening it - Stephen Black, if she wasn't mistaken - looked haggard and exhausted. She thought to herself that he often looked tired, the same way Emma did, but had no time to follow the thought, for the door was swinging closed.

"Please," she said, before she could lose her nerve. "I only want to see her for a few minutes. Please."

Stephen stared at her. Then, with a sigh, he opened the door all the way.

"I will take you to her," he said, "But I fear it may only distress both of you in the end."

Arabella hurried across the hallway to the stairs which led to Emma's room. There was a strange sense of urgency in her steps, and she did not see Stephen Black watch her wearily as she crossed the room.

Emma's room was locked, but from the outside only, so Arabella could slide the bolts back easily and enter. She did not slow until she suddenly found herself looking at her friend.

Emma looked as wan as she always did, but she was more distant somehow. Arabella was quite used to her indifference, the sense that nothing in the world ever quite touched her, but there was a vacancy about her that was unfamiliar. She did not even seem to see Arabella.

"Emma," said Arabella, very quietly.

Emma blinked and turned towards her. "What?" she said, in a flat voice.

"Emma, do you remember what you have done?"

"Shot a man," said Emma. "Not, unfortunately, the one I had intended." She sighed. "It seems that ill luck haunts me."

"Emma!" said Arabella. "I know that you are ill, and certainly no one can understand your struggle, but you could have killed him!"

"It was not him I wanted to kill," said Emma.

"This is unworthy of you," said Arabella. "I know that you are a compassionate woman, and I cannot understand how you can say such things. I did not come here to chide you, but you must realize what you have done."

"I know what I have done," said Emma. She took a ragged breath that sounded as if it was halfway to a heavy laugh. "All of the compassion, all of the feeling, has been wrung from me. I did it not for my own sake - not even for Stephen's sake, for I know that he would be disagree with my methods."

"He would disagree with your methods? Did you think of what I would say?"

Emma shrugged. "Both of us our already damned, and the best that we can do is dictate the terms of our damnation. But you - you, I could have saved you."

"Saved me from what?" Arabella sat and took Emma's hand. "Help me to understand please. If I understood, if I knew what it was that worried you so, perhaps I could ease your mind."

Emma shook her head. "I will not be able to speak of it. I know I will not. It will all turn to nonsense. Fairies and captivity, and - in the year 1187 a troupe of soldiers set out for the East to join in the Crusades. With them was a fairy named Tom Br - " She choked, and shook her head. "No, Arabella. I cannot tell you."

"Please. Is there anything you can speak of?"

"Do not stay with Mr Norrell." Emma seized hold of both of Arabella's hands and stared at her. "Whatever you do. I tried to shoot him because I thought that if you continued to associate with him the - the - you would suffer the same fate as me. I thought you would be lost, and I could not bear that thought. As you value your life, do not stay here. I do not know if leaving London will protect you, but it is all that I can suggest." She sighed, and leaned back. Half to herself, she murmured, "I thought that to kill the magician would be to end the enchantment but the magician lives on. Is there no way of ending this?"

"Ending what?" asked Arabella, but Emma seemed out of words now. Something vital about her presence - something Arabella had only ever seen for a few minutes at a time - had departed once again, and she seemed shrunken and thinned.

"I am tired," she said. "Will you let me rest?"

"Of course," said Arabella. "I am so sorry. I did not mean to distress you."

Emma shook her head. "I am already distressed, and anything you may do can be but a drop in the ocean. But do not worry. I know it is your moral sense which has brought you here, and I cannot fault you for that. If all the world was as kind as you, it would be a much better place."

Touched by this compliment, Arabella paused with her hand on the door. But Emma said no more; she only turned over on the bed. With her beautiful dark hair spread out on the pillow and her clear grey eyes half-closed, it pierced Arabella to the quick how very young she looked, and how very haunted.

"Good-bye," said Arabella softly. "I do hope that you will feel better soon."

Emma looked at her once, and sighed again.

"Thank you," she said. Her voice was a mere murmur, only just audible.

Arabella left Harley Street feeling very troubled indeed.

-

Every one said it was very good of Mrs Strange to visit Mr Norrell's ailing servant. One would expect such news to remain private, but after all this was London, and Mr Norrell was an object of keen interest. Rumors had flown ever since the very public shooting: that Childermass was dead,that he was at death's door, that Mr Norrell was secretly dead and had been replaced by an imposter, that Mr Strange had hired a criminal to shoot Childermass in order be revenged on Mr Norrell, and other such wild exaggerations.

It had soon been determined, however, that Childermass was neither dead nor dying, ^[2] but that Mr Norrell was forgoing all but the most urgent appointments while he was abed. It was also discovered that the Stranges had chosen to remain at the house in Hanover-Square.

It was put about that Mrs Strange had visited the invalid in order to curry his favor and steal him away from Mr Norrell, but that was not so.

Arabella sat in the comfortable chair at the side of the bed. Mr Norrell had been occupying it of late, when he could bear to, which was not as often as might have been hoped.

Childermass, however, bore it with equanimity. Arabella's visit, on the other hand, seemed to disconcert him. His eyes flickered to her and then around the room as she came in and sat down.

"Good afternoon," she said. "I hope you are well."

Childermass started at her.

"I did not come into to pursue my cause," she said. "I only wanted to see how you were. I worried."

"I am as well as can be expected," he said, "Which is to say sore and in considerable pain, but now able to consume solid food."

"Were you unable before?"

"The doctor would not let me. I asked Mr Norrell to see him out."

Arabella smiled. "I have heard he is the best in the country."

"Of course he is," said Childermass, "That's why he's such an arse."

Arabella laughed out loud. "And what did Mr Norrell say when you told him?"

"How do you know I called him an arse?"

"I am not a fool, Childermass."

"Oh, he said what I expected, which was to fuss about whether I would recover and then to dismiss him. Doesn't like them any more than I do, really. He was just worried."

"Was he? He certainly doesn't seem to be now."

Childermass shrugged, then winced, as if he had forgotten for a moment about his shoulder. "It's his way to bury himself in work."

"Not a very humane way."

"Well. We are what we are."

Arabella could not argue with that, so she settled down in her chair. "I have spoken to Lady Pole."

"Aye? And what did that conversation net you?"

"Very little that I did not already know, save that she thinks me at risk of damnation."

Childermass raised his eyebrows. "You? A clergyman's daughter and a clergyman's sister?"

"I do not believe I have ever told you that."

For this observation she received a facial expression which conveyed that Childermass had thought better of her and was disappointed. "Do you think I would not look into the background of England's only other magician's wife?"

"Is that what I am?" asked Arabella softly. "A magician's wife?"

Childermass looked at her for a long time. "That is what you are," he said, "But it is not all you are."

"I am a clergyman's daughter and a clergyman's sister and a magician's wife."

"Hmmm," said Childermass, "And a lass who put a cricket in a clergyman's boot, I heard."

"I can't imagine how you ever heard that," she said with a laugh. "But I am very glad that you see me as my own person."

"Not to would be to underestimate you, and I make a point not to do that."

"Hm!" said Arabella. "You say that as if I am a threat."

Again he looked at her. She felt herself grow quite flustered under the intensity of it; he seemed to be looking not just at her face but at every bit of her, piece by piece, examining each of them and turning the over in the light.

She thought he might have liked what he found there.

"Every thing is a threat until you have the measure of it," he said, "And sometimes even then, for you can never be quite sure."

"Do you think you have the measure of me?" she asked.

Childermass gave her one of his sideways smiles. "I've done my best."

Feeling suddenly bold, she said, "And is it a good one?"

The smile, or perhaps it was a smirk, broadened.

"I think it has been," he said.

-

Though he had not seen them in, Mr Norrell decided to see Strange and Arabella off. Strange remarked to Arabella that perhaps he had, after some fifty or sixty years, developed the capacity for gratitude, but Arabella said that she thought it was because he was lonely.

Had Mr Norrell known of this speculation, he would have said that both were wrong. He would have said that it was simply good manners.

An objective observer, such as Childermass, might have remarked that Mr Norrell often flouted the rules of good manners, whether unconsciously or not entirely so. In any case, the truth was that Mr Norrell did not want to miss what he knew would be his last sight of Strange for some time.

"Good-bye," he said, as Strange paused on the threshold. Arabella had already entered the carriage - to give them a moment alone, in fact, although neither of them knew that.

"Good-bye," said Strange. He smiled at Mr Norrell, and Mr Norrell was terribly struck by it - by how bright it was, like sunlight on snow. "I hope Childermass recovers quickly."

"Thank you," said Mr Norrell. He was not quite sure if that was the correct form.

Strange nodded, and then hesitated for a moment. He said, "Thank you, sir, for your hospitality."

"Oh!" said Mr Norrell. "It is a large house. For London."

"I have often heard you complain of its smallness."

Mr Norrell frowned. "Even so, there are rooms enough for guests."

Strange smiled again. "Well, regardless." He bowed. "Do pass my well wishes along to Childermass."

"I will," said Mr Norrell, softer than he intended.

He found himself watching as Strange walked away.

-

October 1815

Childermass and Mr Norrell returned to Hurtfew for a short period after Lady Pole had been settled in Mr Segundus's establishment. Childermass was of the private opinion that Mr Norrell wanted to be nearer, should Lady Pole do something wild such as escaping and shooting someone else, but he said it was for Childermass's health.

"The Northern air will do you good," he said.

It did. Childermass found that his shoulder twinged less, and that he had more energy. It was, perhaps, the effect of being on the King's land.

For the first few days, Mr Norrell was withdrawn, spending most of his time in his private study. This generally meant one of two things: firstly, that he was working on something, or secondly, that he was nerving himself up for a confession.

This latter supposition turned out to be the correct one.

"It is very difficult to conceal one's emotions," he said abruptly one day to Childermass.

Childermass, used to these sudden topic introductions, shrugged. "I do not find it so."

Mr Norrell looked very displeased with this pronouncement. "At all?"

"Not generally. Is this about Mr Strange?"

Mr Norrell frowned very deeply. "Why would you say that?"

"Is it?"

"Yes," admitted Mr Norrell. "When he was staying at the London house - just before he left, while you were injured - he smiled at me and I nearly said something. Supposing he should stay again? Supposing I was unable to stop myself from acting?"

Childermass steadied himself. He knew what Mr Norrell needed, though the consequences would be difficult.

"In that case," he said, "You should tell him on your own terms."

Mr Norrell blinked his small eyes. "Tell him? Tell him of my feelings for him? That would be foolish. He could blackmail me very easily - or, worse, he might take offense and leave me again."

That rejection was worse than blackmail spoke volumes about Mr Norrell's state. "I do not think he will, sir. I think he might welcome such sentiments."

"Welcome!" Mr Norrell gaped in astonishment. "He is a married man, Childermass!"

"Married men can still be...men like us."

"You have no proof that he is. I know you have said it before, but you did not give me any evidence."

"I have my sources." Childermass paused. "I need not tell you that I cannot reveal too much, for the sake of his privacy, but I assure that if he attempted to ruin you I would be able to pay him back, measure for measure. And I can assure you that he would not be particularly shocked by your...proclivities."

Mr Norrell looked very much as though he was trying to fit this idea into his head and failing. "You are quite, quite certain of it?"

"Yes."

"Hmmph!" said Mr Norrell. "That he may be of our proclivities I can accept - that they extend to me is somewhat more difficult to believe. He left me."

"As your student. Besides, it is entirely possible that he had not realize it yet. It is not quite so improbable as you believe. When did you yourself come to the conclusion?"

Mr Norrell was silent. Childermass knew the answer: when Strange had left.

Finally he said, "But I am unsuitable, Childermass. You know I am."

"You suit me fine," said Childermass quietly.

Mr Norrell blinked rapidly. "You are unusual - and you know that I am as well, and that is why we suit each other. Mr Strange is not like us."

Childermass reflected with only the faintest hint of bitterness that this was so and that, perhaps, that was why Strange was going to win.

"Well," he said, "You might explain it to him in your letter. Lay out your terms."

Mr Norrell bit his lip. "I suppose I could explain a few things, but the risk."

"You are already taking a risk in writing to him." Childermass held up a hand as Mr Norrell opened his mouth, no doubt to ask whether perhaps he should not, after all, consider taking action. "It's a calculated one, sir. I promise. But so will this be."

Mr Norrell took a long breath. "Supposing he rejects me, Childermass? What shall I do? Supposing I, by my actions, ruin everything?"

"You will not."

"You don't know that."

"I have it on good authority," said Childermass. "You might say that I have an inside source. Take the risk, sir, for once in your life. I promise you will be rewarded."

Mr Norrell said no more then and there, but the next morning he sat down at his desk and began to write. Though they were at Hurtfew.

When he was finished he asked Childermass to look at it. Childermass ignored the heaviness in his chest as he read it through and made suggestions for improving it - Mr Norrell had inadvertently contrived to suggest that Strange was not clever enough to understand the meaning of Mr Norrell's feelings for him.

Finally, when it was finished to both of their satisfaction, Childermass took the letter and posted it.

-

Strange looked at his mail and raised an eyebrow. There was another one from Norrell - it could not be a reply to their present debate, for he had only sent that this morning, and there had not yet been time.

He opened it.

Mr Strange (it began) ,

I fear that what I am about to write may shatter whatever fragile friendship we have built for ever, but I cannot keep silent any longer. It is unfortunate that I have been afflicted with this particular burden, but perhaps to speak of it will be to relieve me of it and we may return to some semblance of normality.

There is no easy way to speak of it: I have developed a most inconvenient affection for you.

You may, perhaps, be thinking that I refer to a brotherly one. Indeed, given our respective ages, perhaps you suppose it is fatherly. This is not so. I am afraid it is of a far less respectable  sort than that. It grieves me to tell you this, but I cannot deny it.

Please do not mistake me; I have no wish to take you from your wife's bed. I lay no claim on any part of you - Lord knows you have shewn me often enough that I have no such claim - but particularly not that. The thought has never interested me. You may rest assured that I shall not ask for that.

But then, you may rest assured that I shall not press my affections in any way. I am afraid there is no changing me. I have tried and found that it is impossible. But you - you do not seem to be cursed with my chronic bachelorhood, and I do not ask that you take it upon yourself.

I have managed to achieve a certain measure of contentment with Childermass - you may have guessed - but I find that this does not lessen my affection for you. Nevertheless, I have no intention of pursuing my desires. If you allow it, I am quite content to remain,

Your friend,

Gilbert Norrell

Strange stared at the letter for a long time. He was not rereading it; he was not thinking of anything. Arabella came in and found him gazing wildly at nothing.

"Jonathan?" she asked. "Are you well?"

Strange stood up. "I have to go to Hurtfew," he said.

"What, this instant?"

"This very instant!" He shoved the letter at her, and then took it back. "I meant to shew you but I fear it is full of things which he would rather be kept secret. But - " He folded the letter carefully, and then stuck it out to her again - "There!"

Arabella took it and read the relevant passages.

"You could write him back," she said, but indulgently. Strange never did any thing he truly cared about by halves.

"It's far too urgent for that," said Strange. "Supposing it got lost in the post? I would never hear the end of it. He would probably utterly cut me out of shame." He looked around. "Where is my greatcoat?"

"It looks as though it will rain the whole week," said Arabella. "You ought to wrap up warmly. Jeremy! Jeremy, have Mr Strange's horse saddled, please, and get the cook to pack him some food."

Jeremy Johns, ever reliable, observed Strange's agitation and went to do as instructed.

Strange paid no mind to these practicalities. Arabella thought, with fondness, that he never did.

-

Strange arrived at Hurtfew after far too heavy a ride feeling breathless for several reasons. As soon as he knocked on the door, it opened to Childermass's face.

At Strange's surprize, Childermass said, "He's been keeping an eye on you with his silver basin. You could have sent word."

"I thought I could come faster than a letter could," said Strange. "Should I go up to him?"

"I think you had better. He's been a fretful mess the entire time you've been riding. It's foul weather, incidentally - "

"I noticed," said Strange.

"He'll be fussing at you for riding in it."

"So long as he sees me," said Strange. "Where is he?"

"Drawing room. I'll take you there."

Strange followed Childermass through Hurtfew's winding corridors; the distance seemed shorter than it ought, as if the house, or perhaps its master, was eager for him to reach his destination. Finally they were there and Childermass bowed. "If you will excuse me, I will return to my duties," he said.

Strange nodded. He thought Childermass seemed perhaps a bit off, but he was far too preoccupied to seriously investigate the question. With a deep breath to settle his nerves, he pushed open the door.

Mr Norrell was there, staring at a book but not, if Strange was any judge, actually reading it. At the sound of the door, he looked up and his eyes widened, as if he had not entirely expected Strange to come after all.

"Mr Norrell," said Strange.

Mr Norrell stared at him. Feeling that perhaps he would be required to take the next step - and, to be fair, Mr Norrell had written the letter - Strange came further into the room.

"I received your letter...." he began uncertainly.

"Are you angry with me?" asked Mr Norrell in a small voice. Strange did not know when he had last seen Mr Norrell so fearful, or so humble.

"No," he said. "I am not angry at all. Mr Norrell, did you mean what you wrote?"

Mr Norrell muttered and stared at his feet. Strange noticed that he was biting the ends of his fingers, which was generally never a good sign, so he came closer still and knelt next to Mr Norrell's chair.

"Sir, I am not angry," he said again, placing a hand on Mr Norrell's arm. Mr Norrell's breath came more quickly and he tensed, but did not draw away. "I am very pleased that you hold so much regard for me, because I, too..."

"But your wife," said Mr Norrell.

"My wife is aware, and, I believe, tutting at me for taking so long to realize. I do nothing without her consent, sir."

Mr Norrell met his eyes, and sighed. "It was very difficult, you know," he mumbled. "I thought it must be hopeless."

"And yet you wrote it anyway? That was very brave," said Strange.

"Ah," said Mr Norrell, looking pleased, but he did not move toward Strange, only looked shyly back down at his shoes.

Strange, suddenly feeling that he had been patient quite long enough, leaned in and kissed him.

Mr Norrell seemed to freeze for a moment, and in that moment Strange had the dreadful fear that he had somehow miscalculated, but then a sort of thaw seeme to take place and he leaned in rather desperately toward Strange. He reached out to touch Strange's shoulders, as if to reassure himself he was really there, and then moved them up to wind in Strange's hair, which both of them seemed to find very satisfactory.

After a very long moment, the kiss broke, and Mr Norrell stared at Strange with a most peculiar expression on his face. He looked as though he was still not sure he was awake.

Strange, who had had his hands on Mr Norrell's waist, did not let go. He said, "I presume this is a satisfactory answer to your letter, sir."

"Yes," said Mr Norrell.

-

Strange stayed for nearly a week. Mr Norrell thought that he might be in some sort of a dream, for to have Strange not only back to him but returning his affections openly and clearly could not have happened naturally.

He asked Childermass, rather nervously, whether he might have accidentally cast a love-spell upon Strange and therefore inadvertently induced him to this.

"I do not believe," said Childermass, "that one can accidentally cast a love-spell. Have you even looked at a love-spell in the past ten years?"

"Of course not. Such things are highly disreputable. But I know the form of it."

Childermass advised him to consult Strange on his worries, and so Mr Norrell went, rather shamefacedly, to Strange to ask if he felt unusual.

"Unusual?" said Strange thoughtfully. "No, I cannot say that I do, except that I am developing a bit of a cold."

"That is the wages of riding in the rain," said Norrell with a hint of reproach.

"I did that for you," said Strange. "I knew you would be in a horrible state of suspense."

"I did not ask you to risk your health," said Norrell. "You must take care of yourself. England only has two magicians and I should hate to see you brought low by an illness."

"It is merely a cold. My constitution is strong, Mr Norrell." Strange waved. "I take it you have some reason for asking?"

Mr Norrell hemmed and hawed somewhat over this. Supposing it was true? Strange would never speak to him again if it was. He contemplated the idea of dismissing it and putting the matter out of his mind, but Strange peered at him. "Did you do something to me?" he asked. "Are you waiting for it to take effect?"

"No!" said Mr Norrell. "That is - I do not think I did."

"You will have to explain yourself, sir."

"I don't suppose - that is, I don't suppose I might have accidentally enchanted you to reciprocate my affections," he said.

Strange stared at him, and then burst out laughing.

"I have seen love-spells," said Mr Norrell indignantly. Despite his hopes, he felt that his powers as a magician were being maligned. "I should never stoop to such an act intentionally - the risks are far too great - but supposing that I did it unintentionally?"

"I do not think," said Strange, "that you are capable of such an act unintentionally. No, sir. There are many things that I might expect you to do secretly to undermine me if you really felt that you needed to, but this - this is not one of them."

Mr Norrell subsided, still feeling vaguely discontent. "I do not see how else this could happen," he said.

Strange looked at him with a curious eye and put his book down. "Is it really so hard for you to believe that I might develop a tenderness naturally? People do."

"Not for me," said Mr Norrell tartly. "Oh! You think I am quite unaware of the impression I make upon people! I am not, I assure you. It is merely that I do not chuse to regard it. My work is far more important. But I am quite cognizant of the fact that I do not make a strong impression in society. And you, sir, are a man of society."

"You are," said Strange, in a very quiet voice, "all of English magic to me."

Mr Norrell sat down.

"Oh," he said rather feebly.

"Even when I hated you I could never really change that. I shall never be entirely my own magician, you know: there is a bit of you in everything I do. You have changed me. I have hated it at times, but I suppose since there is no getting around it, I may as well accept it." He paused, and contemplated this, and laughed. "I suppose in two days' time I shall feel differently, and then I shall feel differently again, but for the moment - " He shrugged.

Mr Norrell said, "I did not know that I felt lonely until I did not any longer."

Strange gave him a small smile.

"But," continued Mr Norrell, "It is a one thing to feel respect, even a deep respect, for a fellow-magician, and quite another to do this." He gestured with one hand, as if to encompass everything they had thus far done, from letter-writing up to kissing.

Strange shrugged. "I myself have often heard that the heart is a mysterious thing. I cannot say why it has happened, but I assure you that it has happened naturally. You need not fear that."

"Well," said Mr Norrell, "That is a great relief."

Strange smiled again, a curious little smile that spoke of fondness and perhaps some quantity of exasperation. It was an expression which Mr Norrell had heretofore only seen on the face of Childermass. "You really are a quite singular man, Gilbert," he said.

This, again, gave Mr Norrell pause. It was true that the two of them had reached a point of friendship that, even without the somewhat more unrespectable aspects of their relationship, they might reasonably expected to use first names with each other. But he had never liked his first name very much. That he had chosen it himself made no difference to him - or, rather, it made it worse, as it had never felt like his own.

But perhaps it was time for new beginnings.

"I believe, Jonathan," he said, "That the same may be said of you."

-

Childermass dreaded the first night after Strange left more than he would have ever formerly thought possible. Return visits to Hurtfew always brought a certain relief; he and Mr Norrell could stay together in Mr Norrell's large and comfortable bed, or sit for hours in the library reading together, the way they used to do. But it was not quite the same now

If he was to be entirely honest with himself, the truth was that he had not wanted Strange in Hurtfew Abbey. This had been a sacred space once. But he knew that things were coming to an end now and he supposed this was as good a place for any. It had a certain rightness, a certain sense of a full circle.

Childermass avoided the library most of the day. He had enough to do that it was not suspicious; settling back into a new house always left a few things in disarray, and all of the servants came to him for help.

So he did not even see Mr Norrell until late. Childermass came quietly into the library, intended to check and see if he had fallen asleep over his books again, as he so often did.

"Oh," said Mr Norrell, looking up as soon as he entered. "There you are. Where have you been?"

"Working."

"I scarcely saw you all day."

"I know," said Childermass. "I was working, as you employ me to do."

Mr Norrell frowned. "All the same I think you might have looked in. I was alone in the library after Mr Strange left, which was quite early in the day."

"And that's a problem, is it?" Childermass forced himself not to sound as bitter as he felt. It was not fault of Mr Norrell's that he was finding letting go harder than he ought to have.

Mr Norrell shrugged, and said with the sort of hard-edged distant air he used to shield himself from hurt. "Will you at least come to bed with me?"

Childermass took a deep breath. He could do many thing, but he could not face the prospect of sleeping next to Mr Norrell, knowing that it might be the last time. "I should think after Mr Strange has been there, you would have no particular need of me," he said.

Mr Norrell drew into himself, the sense of suppressed emotion tightening every line. "If you had such a problem with me acting on my feelings for him, you might have said before encouraging me to do so."

"I do not," said Childermass, "Have a problem. Have I not done everything I can to help you? Have I not performed my duties satisfactorily in every way?"

"This is not about duty !" Mr Norrell seemed to catch himself, and took a breath, though when he continued his voice was thick with bitterness. "I had thought it was more than that. If I had known you were - with me as a service I would never have accepted it."

Childermass felt cold and then hot; he balled his fists, driving his nails into his own palms, before he finally managed to calm himself enough to speak over the choking fury in his throat. "If you do not understand that I gave what I have given freely then perhaps you should not have."

There was a very long silence between them.

Then Mr Norrell said, "You have been distant with me. I do not know why, save that you are displeased that I am following your advice."

Childermass said, "If you have him, what do you need me for?"

Mr Norrell blinked rapidly. He looked as though he had been struck, which Childermass thought was entirely unfair, given who in this scenario was the fist and who was the face. "If you are asking that question, I believe that there are things that you do not understand."

"If there are, it is because you never say them."

"You have never complained before."

Childermass wanted to say, I have never been so afraid that I would lose you . Instead he said, "Things change."

"I do not want us to change," said Mr Norrell, sounding suddenly plaintive. "If you are discontent you are always at liberty - "

"Please don't make me go," said Childermass before he could stop himself. It was stupid and weak and had all the graceless sincerity of a child's plea, and he hated himself for it, but all he could think of was this: that he had always known Mr Norrell was not his to keep.

"I won't, if you don't want to," said Mr Norrell, looking away. "What do you want? You know I have very little knowledge in matters of the heart."

Childermass took a few deep breaths. The anger in his throat had turned to something softer and greyer and he wanted none of it in his voice. "What I want does not matter. It is whether or not you still want me that does."

"But of course I do." Mr Norrell looked puzzled. "You should know by now that I always - you should know."

"And if I do not?"

"Well, I am telling you now, so you have no cause for complaint. Please do not leave me. I do not want you to go. I do not want any thing about what we have to change. It would distress me very much if it did."

Childermass closed his eyes and bowed his head. Mr Norrell looked at him with considerable alarm. "John?" he said quietly.

"I do not want any thing to change either."

"Well, good," said Mr Norrell. He sounded as though he still did not entirely understand what any of this had been about. "Very good. We are in agreement, then."

Childermass reached for him and pulled him into a kiss. Mr Norrell made a confused sort of noise but softened into it anyway, putting one hand against Childermass's chest and wrapping the other around his waist. It felt so very familiar, and so very much a relief, after Childermass had thought that perhaps they would never have this again.

"This is not a very dignified position," whispered Mr Norrell against his mouth after a few endless moments.

"I think you may have a bit too much dignity," murmured Childermass.

Mr Norrell tutted. "You are impertinent. You always have been. Come and help me get ready for bed." It was phrased as an order, but Childermass heard the question in it, the way he always had.

"Of course," he said.

"After you yourself prepare. I - " Mr Norrell stopt, and turned away a little. "I would like you to stay with me. Tonight. Now that it is safer."

Childermass gave him the ghost of a smile and went to change into his nightshirt.

What transpired was not the most master-and-servant-like exchange. Childermass helped Mr Norrell with his buttons, unlaced his binding vest, helped him into his nightshirt, with hands that felt newly aware of the warmth of his skin and the softness of his body. He did not allow himself to kiss Mr Norrell again, although Mr Norrell frowned and was generally petulant when Childermass turned away. "It is inefficient," said Childermass. "Kiss me when you are dressed for bed."

"I shall," said Mr Norrell in an ominous tone that was quite out of keeping with the subject.

Finally they had settled down. Childermass had not bothered with his hair, for he knew Mr Norrell would only untie it and run his hands through it, tugging very lightly, twisting it between his fingers. In the morning he would wake up and it would be a mess and he would have to brush it properly, glaring at Mr Norrell, who would appear embarrassed but largely unrepentant, all the while.

He had missed this.

"Come here," said Mr Norrell, pulling at him. "You are too far away. It is inconvenient. I fully intend to follow through on my threat."

"If that's a threat, I'd like to see what you call a promise." Childermass raised an eyebrow.

Mr Norrell frowned at him and kissed him. Childermass could not help smiling a little into it, because it was so exactly like him.

They kissed for a long time, quiet and tender and almost lazy in their slow relearning of what had once been a common intimacy. Childermass refused to be frantic, as much as he wanted Mr Norrell close again; they had lost so much ground over the past year, but he wanted to enjoy the process of taking it back. They had time, he thought. And that in and of itself was a marvel.

Finally Mr Norrell said that he needed his sleep, and that Childermass might very well be able to do without it, but that he could not. Childermass called him nesh, which sparked a brief argument as to the truth of this statement, but ended most satisfactorily with Mr Norrell curled up to Childermass and Childermass holding him close.

And that was how they fell asleep.

-

After this incident, relations between Childermass and Mr Norrell improved considerably. Childermass himself had not been entirely conscious that they had degraded so far, but Lascelles' influence, the stress of constant publicity, and everything about Strange had interrupted their longstanding ease to a degree which was difficult to countenance. Now, however, they had returned to something approximating what they had once had.

Between this and his new relationship with Strange, Norrell could sometimes be seen even to go so far as to hum aloud once in a very great while. Flurries of letters went back and forth from London to Shropshire, and some of the contents would have quite surprized anyone who was familiar with Mr Norrell's public face alone.

Childermass began to feel that he might act upon the very generous offer which he had been given so long ago.

December 1815

-

John Childermass

December 2nd, 1815

Mrs Strange,

Regarding the matter we previously discussed - on which we are divided - I have come to the conclusion that you are quite correct and I am willing to renegotiate the terms of surrender to suit both of us. I have not discussed this yet with my employer, but I will do so ere I see you again, and I do not think he will object. His own negotiations with your husband seem to be proceeding at a satisfactory pace. You will be pleased to know that they spent most of the week arguing, and yet no one stormed out of the library even once, which I consider an achievement. I shall keep this letter brief and when I see you next then we shall proceed with discussing the terms if that is amenable to you.

Yrs,

John Childermass

-

Mr Childermass,

I am wholly delighted to hear of your change of heart. I look forward to a lengthy and productive discussion with you - we may hope as productive as the one you say has grown between my husband and your employer. (What excellent news, by the way, to hear that they have stabilized!)

Do discuss it with Mr Norrell. I believe that Mr Strange intends to ask him over for Christmas soon, and if you can settle the matter before then it should give us plenty of time to negotiate. I shall ensure that you are invited along.

Arabella Strange

-

Really, Gilbert, you must come and visit. I know you do not care for travel or for Shropshire but Henry is driving me mad. Bring Childermass, if you like. Perhaps he will be able to distract Arabella's wretched brother from lecturing me. We used to be friends, did you know that? And yet he constantly criticises me. If you come then I can say that I am engaged on scholarly business and invoke your name and he shall not be able to trouble me, because you have the Government's business to attend to. It would be unpatriotic of him to object.

And of course I should like to see you again. We - really, everyone - would have to be discreet, naturally, for Henry would never approve of the arrangement of our household. However, I do find that I miss you. Curious, for we have not been apart as long as we were when we were quarreling. Perhaps it is different with - friends. Besides, no doubt you would like to lecture me on the dreadful state of my book. I have begun to write it, you know, and I am sure you will wholeheartedly disapprove.

Do come. Rescue me from my relations. Come for Christmas. I shall consider it a personal favor.

Your friend,

Jonathan Strange

-

December 20, 1815

Mr Norrell and Childermass had arrived at Ashfair.

The journey had not been pleasant. Mr Norrell was a very poor traveler, and was most agitated about seeing Strange again after so long had passed. He fretted to Childermass that a dozen things could have happened in the time since they had last spoken: Strange could have changed his mind, or discovered that they were not after all right for each other, or Mr Norrell could have misinterpreted something in their last meeting.

To this Childermass replied that unless the character of Strange's letters had changed, then the first two were unlikely, and if the latter was true than it would have to be a severe misinterpretation of events to change the nature of their relationship.

To this, Mr Norrell retorted with worries about his proposed revelation. He felt he had reached the stage where he could no longer easily hide his nature from Strange, and Childermass had suggested that telling him might ease his burden. Mr Norrell had agreed, and had drafted a little speech. Now, however, he feared that Strange would reject him and worse, that he would tell his secret to some one.

Childermass replied to this that Mr Strange was a man of honor and would not betray Mr Norrell's confidence in such a way and that, even if he did, Childermass would be there.

"And," said Childermass, "He is bright enough to know that I would never rest if he tried to harm you with a secret of that nature. I assure you. If he made any move to expose you, I would see him so utterly ruined that he would never work magic in England again. You know I would."

They had reached a grudging peace after this, and Childermass found it in his heart to discuss the question of Arabella. He knew that he ought to have done it before, but he found it quite difficult to believe that her reply to his letter had been genuine. It was foolish - he knew that she was not a woman given to insincerity - but he found himself putting off voicing the idea nevertheless.

"Sir," he said, "Do you agree that you care for myself and Mr Strange equally well?"

Mr Norrell threw him an irritated glance. "Of course I do. Do you doubt it?"

"I am leading up to a point."

Mr Norrell's hands fidgeted in his lap. "Go on."

"Would you accept that other people had that capacity, equally, to harbor feelings for more than one person?" asked Childermass.

Mr Norrell was silent for a very long moment. Then in a flat voice he said, "Who is it?"

Childermass had not expected Mr Norrell to catch on quite so quickly as that, but he supposed he had new perspective now. "I will do nothing without knowing you are at ease with it," he said.

Mr Norrell relaxed a little. "You are not leaving me, then."

"I said two people. You are my - " Childermass paused, having put himself in the position of needing a word and yet not knowing one. "You are mine," he concluded. "I have no intention of letting go of that."

"That does not answer my question," said Mr Norrell, although he had calmed still more at Childermass' declaration.

"In point of fact, Arabella Strange."

Mr Norrell's eyebrows shot up. "Mr Strange's wife? How on earth - really, of all the things I might have guessed, that was never one of them. She is a married woman, Childermass."

Childermass raised an eyebrow at Mr Norrell.

"Well," he conceded, "I take your point, but even so - Mrs Strange? How-?"

The truth, that they had spent a great deal of time plotting ways to make Strange and Norrell admit to their various feelings, was unlikely to go over well. Childermass said, "We talked, while you and Mr Strange were talking."

Mr Norrell pursed his lips. "I suppose it would be quite illogical of me to object."

"Matters of the heart are rarely logical, sir."

A great sigh issued from Mr Norrell. "That is certainly true. Indeed, it is. But I suppose you are doing no more than keeping it within the circle, so to speak, and so I cannot reasonably object."

"You can do any thing," said Childermass.

Mr Norrell made an irritated noise. "I am giving you permission, Childermass. If you do not wish to take it I will not belabour the point. Do whatever it is you want to do with her or do not, but if you insist on pestering me - "

"I am not going to leave you," said Childermass again, taking Mr Norrell's hand, for he knew the source of the agitation.

And, indeed, Mr Norrell sighed again. "I hope that you will enjoy your time with her as much as I and Mr Strange have done," he said.

Childermass squeezed his hand.

-

Arabella Strange was there to greet them when they entered the house, like a good hostess. Strange himself did not seem to be around.

"I'm afraid he became distracted by an experiment," said Arabella with a quirk of her mouth. "I suppose you are not terribly surprised."

Mr Norrell clicked his tongue. "It is very like him."

Arabella graced him with a broader smile, one which Childermass himself found slightly more enthralling than he would wish to admit. "It is, isn't it? If you go and look for him in his study, Mr Norrell, I am sure he would be glad to have your advice. Unless you would rather rest after your journey?"

"I think I would be interested in the problem," said Mr Norrell. His face had livened, Childermass noted, and wondered with amusement if Mr Norrell would even think of himself and Arabella while Strange was there to distract him.

"I thought so. Jeremy, there you are - take Mr Norrell with you when you go and fetch Jonathan whatever it is he's asked you for, if you please."

Jeremy Johns - whom Childermass had had occasion to meet and talk with several times, and whom he quite liked - nodded and led Mr Norrell away.

There was a long pause as Childermass and Arabella looked at each other.

"Well," said Arabella carefully. "I did find your last letter quite interesting. Did you have a chance to speak to Mr Norrell?"

"Aye, and he gave his blessing insofar as he's able to do so."

Arabella smiled. "In that case I suppose all we have left to do is the aforesaid renegotiation."

Childermass made a noncommittal noise. "And what terms did you have in mind, Mrs Strange?"

With a curious little raise of one eyebrow she said, "Well, when we are in private you might call me by my Christian name. If you are amiable, perhaps I might do the same to you."

Childermass shrugged. "I would not ask any liberty which I was not willing to give in return. Arabella."

This got him another smile; he was beginning to enjoy the rewards of this game, whatever it was. "Thank you. You have not named your own terms."

To this Childermass shrugged again. "I do not think it is very important - "

"Please. Tell me." Arabella's voice softened. "I believe you are used to adapting yourself to what is most advantageous, but I do not want this to be a thing of advantage."

He blinked, not entirely sure what he had been caught so off-guard by what should have been a simple statement. It was only that it was so careful and gentle. Mr Norrell was - well, Mr Norrell was gentle in his own way, and it was a way that Childermass appreciated. It was all in kindness hidden in brusqueness and in soft hands to counter harsh words, and it was easier to accept for all that. It was what he returned, too.

This, though, this was something quite different.

Finally he said, "I request your patience. I am older than you and set in my ways and have had no one but Mr Norrell for company in some years. Perhaps you will find that I am unsuitable and stubborn, and then you may release me, but in the meantime give me time to adjust. And - space. There are many things that I cannot - "

Arabella nodded. "All of that is quite acceptable to me. If there is something which you find uncomfortable, you only need say. Is Mr Norrell such bad company?"

"Not bad at all for my own tastes, but rather singular. As am I, I believe."

Her smile returned again and she said, "And I do not believe you are so old as all that."

"I am newly turned forty-four, madam. And you are - ? Thirty, I would guess?"

"Twenty-nine, in fact, thank you! But never mind. I am quite grown and so are you - "

Childermass gave a short laugh, remembering having said the same thing to Mr Norrell about Strange.

"- and so I believe we will be fine." Arabella finished. "Now, if you will permit me to seal the bargain - " She stepped toward him.

Childermass made no move toward her in return, though his eyes tracked her as she came closer, step by step. Something in him wanted to let her lead; perhaps it was because he felt vaguely unsettled by her kindness and wanted to see what she would do next, or perhaps it was simply an impulse brought on by how well she had managed things up to this point.

She was closer now, and then closer still. He could feel his own breath in his throat, the pounding of his heart. And then she was within touching distance, and she placed her hands carefully on his chest, and leaned in -

The door opened. Both of them reacted immediately, Childermass stepping slightly away and Arabella turning, so that they were somewhat less clearly inappropriately placed, as a rather bland-looking man in a grey wig nearly as colourless and old-fashioned as Mr Norrell's stepped in.

"There you are," said the man, "I do beg your pardon - Arabella, who is this?"

"Henry, this is Mr John Childermass, Mr Norrell's man of business. Mr Childermass, this is my brother, Henry Woodhope." Arabella gave a bright and entirely convincing smile. "Mr Childermass is here to stay with us while Mr Norrell helps Jonathan with his studies."

"Man of business?" said Henry in a rather doubtful tone. Childermass knew what he was thinking: a shabby, rough-looking sort of fellow hardly seemed like the ideal man of business for a gentleman such as Mr Norrell. Nearly everyone thought it, and as he often used it to his advantage, it did not trouble him.

"Mr Woodhope," Childermass said, bowing. He succeeded, he thought, in not letting his frustration become evident.

"If you'll excuse me, Mr Childermass, I believe my brother has need of me. Mary will show you to your room - it is next to Mr Norrell's. I thought that would be easier, should he need any thing." Arabella nodded at him and exited.

Childermass went to his room, lay down on the bed, and methodically cursed Henry Woodhope as best he knew how.

-

They got another chance soon enough. Arabella asked him if he would be good enough to assist her in fetching something from the store-room; he followed her obligingly, and she pulled him in quick as a wink when they got there.

It was dark, but not so dark as he had expected. The crack under the door let in enough light that he could just see her face.

"I doubt Henry can possibly find us here," she said, sounding amused. "Nor, I should think, any of the other servants. The door opens inward, and - " she slid a heavy bag of flour in front of it - "There we are."

"Supposing someone should want the flour?"

"Then I shall pretend we have been trapped and have been languishing in wait for rescue."

"I'm not sure how strong I am on languishing," said Childermass, although he'd used the device before.

Arabella smiled, and tugged him down to kiss her.

It was very satisfying, to be able to do so at last, unhindered by thoughts of a potential loss or by interruptions. He sighed and pulled her in by the waist, and she nestled up close to him, very small and warm. It was, he thought with amusement, his fate to kiss people well over a head shorter than him.

It was not, he decided, a fate he minded.

-

It was, all told, a very satisfactory Christmas season. Arabella and Childermass nearly got caught by Henry as they kissed in the snow outside the house, but they managed to evade discovery. Mr Norrell told Strange of his secret, and Strange promised not to tell any one. He did not seem quite so shocked as Mr Norrell expected - he was not sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but it was at least a comfort to have it out of the way.

Strange and Norrell were often found in the study, holding hands while arguing heatedly but amicably about Strange's book or absorbed in their own research. Arabella spent her nights half in her own bed and half in Childermass's, but that was all right, because Strange did the same for Mr Norrell. Often, when both were alone, Childermass would go to Mr Norrell's room and slip out before morning.

It was, all in all, a very comfortable arrangement.

On the 26th of December, a very curious thing happened. A neighbor of Mr Strange's came to tell him that he had seen Arabella walking on the moors. This, Strange said to Norrell and Childermass and Henry, had happened before, and so there was little to worry about.

Strange could not remember if she had been in his bed this morning; if she had not, he would have half-thought that perhaps she had gone to see Childermass, or that perhaps she had risen early to do some urgent work. And then perhaps she had slept late to recover her energy.

But Childermass said he had not seen her. And the maid could not find Arabella in the house.

Strange spent a few precious moments quartering a basin of water, staring at the surface as if it would give him the answer, but he soon gave up and went to look. Childermass went with him.

Mr Norrell, however, stayed behind, quartering the basin again and again. There was something not quite right, and he was determined to find it. The search party did not need his help, for he was not a strong walker and would have added little to their efforts.

Something about the scrying was not quite right.

-

Arabella did not quite know where she was. She remembered going to bed, and now she had woken up here, in this place.

She was dressed far more grandly than she ought to have been. Had she not been in her night-dress? But she was wearing a gown now, finer than any she had ever owned. Her hair was piled on the top of her head, and, she saw in a mirror on the wall, topped with a delicate comb of silver and jewels. They matched the stones on her gown.

She was quite sure this was not right. Where, she asked herself, was she?

As she became more aware of her surroundings, she realized that she was at a ball. This, she thought, did make sense of the gown. But every thing else remained a mystery. There were colours here that she could not remember seeing before, and people so beautiful that they looked just a bit unsettling.

She clutched at her head. Perhaps it was a dream?

The gentleman with the thistle-down hair was in front of her, suddenly, with the lack of continuity that so often marked a dream. But when he took her hand, his was icy cold, and she had never felt hot or cold in her dreams.

"My lady," he said, bowing. "I am charmed to have you here! I hope that you will find greater happiness in these halls than you found in your husband's house!"

"You are very kind," said Arabella, for though she was still quite confused she had been raised to be polite. "May I ask how you brought me here?"

The gentleman with the thistle-down hair smiled at her and shook his head. "The methods are unimportant!" he said. "The important thing is that you are here. I shall call you for a dance when you are feeling more acclimatized to your surroundings. You Christians are always very confused when you come here - it is most inconvenient. I cannot count the number of beautiful, graceful ladies who have contrived to step upon my toe during their first dance."

"I am sorry," said Arabella, for she did not know what else to say.

"I suppose it is no matter. It heals, anyway." With this statement, the gentleman with the thistle-down hair wandered away.

Arabella looked around for a chair, for she felt that she wanted to sit down for a little while and regain her wits. When she finally found one, she was startled to see Stephen Black whirling by in a dance. He caught sight of her and his face went grave. He shook his head, as if to express sympathy for her, but she felt that he might be more in need of it, for he was dancing with a woman whose gown was composed solely of iridescent beetles.

If this was a dream, it was a very curious one.

"Belle!" she heard beside her. Lady Pole was breaking away from a dance and hurrying toward her.

"Emma!" she said. "Emma, what are you doing here? This is a strange dream indeed."

"It is no dream," said Lady Pole. "Oh, God! Would that I could have spared you this!"

"Spared me from what?"

"This. This eternal ball. We are forced to dance here every night and we cannot escape."

"I do not understand," said Arabella.

"Don't you see?" said Lady Pole, clutching at Arabella. "Don't you see? This is what I meant to protect you from."

-

Mrs Strange returned at long last, wearing a black gown with her hair dripping wet. Where she stood there was a puddle of water.

Strange and Childermass, eventually, went to soothe her. She seemed to have a chill, and she was not quite herself - there was something vacant about the way she stared that was quite unlike her usual manner.

Mr Norrell seemed transfixed by the water. While Strange and Childermass went up and down stairs and gave instructions to maids - Childermass quite as if he had a right to, which Henry might have remarked upon had he not been so very worried for his sister's health - he stood in the entryway for some twenty minutes, examining it.

There were curious little black wooden bits floating in the water. He thought he remembered reading something about that. Where, he asked himself, had it been...

Mr Norrell went cold all over when he remembered. For it was in a tale of fairy-kidnappings during the time of the Raven King.

For three days, Mr Norrell kept his peace. Strange was much occupied with caring for Arabella, who was ill. Childermass was, of course, unable to go into her room, but he paced outside it and fretted as Mr Norrell had only rarely seen him do.

It was most vexing, because it meant Mr Norrell could not share his suspicions with any one. He was not quite sure that he was on the right trail, and it would have been most pleased to discuss it with someone, but the only other people who knew enough about magic were quite indisposed.

For the two days after Arabella returned, Mr Norrell performed spells. He scryed in a bowl of water, attempting to discern where Arabella might be - quarter and re-quartering, and trying to summon visions, although this last was to no avail. That, however, only suggested that he might be correct.

On the third day after she returned, Arabella died.

Mr Norrell sat through the bustle with some impatience. As soon as the funeral was over, he hurried into Strange's room.

Strange looked up as he entered. His eyes were red and watery, and he looked to have aged overnight. Were it not for Mr Norrell's strength of purpose, he would have been most concerned, but he pushed it aside for the moment.

"Jonathan," said Mr Norrell, "That was not your wife."

If Mr Norrell had hoped by this announcement to astonish Strange, his desires were fulfilled beyond what he would have expected. Strange looked up, stared at him, and then leapt from his chair to pace across the room. "How dare you, sir," he said. "She is scarcely buried and you must impugned her memory with these insinuations!"

"Listen, will you," said Mr Norrell impatiently. "You are allowing your grief to cloud your wits. That was not your wife, Mr Strange. I do not know what she was or where she came from, but she was not Mrs Strange. You have been the victim of a cruel enchantment."

Strange's face changed. It relaxed from fury into astonishment, and then once again into anger. "Who would play such a trick? You are the only other magician in England. Surely you have not - "

"Don't be absurd. What possible reason could I have for such a thing? No, I think our enemy is somewhat more - that is to say, someone else."

"Not an English magician?"

Mr Norrell frowned. He had hoped not to reach the point of having to hint about his conclusions as to Arabella's true captor. "Not an English magician," he said.

Strange ran a hand down his face and stared out the window for a moment. "Do you know who it might be?"

Mr Norrell shifted in his chair. Strange glared at him. "This is a matter of life and death, sir. If you will not help me for my wife's sake, then at least help me for mine."

"Get Childermass," said Mr Norrell. "I do not want to explain it twice."

-

Childermass was silent as Mr Norrell explained the entire sordid tale of the fairy-magic. Strange made various exclamation of outrage and interest, depending on whether he remembered he was angry or whether scholarly curiosity overcame him.

When he was finished, Strange said, "You lied to me all this time!"

"I did not lie!" said Mr Norrell. "Not about this. I told you that we might on a few occasions have to deal with fairies and that they were not to be trusted. I told you that they were dangerous. I did not tell you I had never dealt with them."

Strange seemed about to return some angry retort, but Childermass put a hand on his arm. "Later," he said. "I believe our priority now is Mrs Strange."

"Yes," said Strange, calming visibly. "I suppose you're right. Do you think this - this creature has her?"

"I do not know who else it would be. There is a possibility that some other fairy might have taken a fancy to her, but I think not. This one seems to have a special love of tormenting me."

"You!" said Strange. "It is my wife who has been kidnapped! And why did you not tell me of this before?"

"I told you as soon as I was certain of my conclusions." Mr Norrell shrugged. "It was a difficult matter. The records of fairy-kidnappings are extremely scattered, and rarely very coherent. I thought the water was particularly suspicious, but I could not be sure if its significance until I did more research."

"I could have helped," said Strange.

"You were not in a fit state to be doing magic."

Again Strange looked ready to snap at Mr Norrell and again Childermass interrupted. "Regardless of the past," he said, "I believe we may safely say that our time could now be best occupied by concentrating on the future."

"Yes," said Mr Norrell quickly. "I have some notes, but we must go to Hurtfew. I need my books - we will have a great deal of studying to do before we even find a solution."

"Oh, as to that," said Strange carelessly, "Why don't we simply kill the fairy?"

-

They argued over it all the way to Yorkshire. In fact, they argued it all the way to digging up the grave, which Strange insisted upon in order to be sure. When they found nothing there but an old twisted log, they set out for Hurtfew with no delay.

Mr Norrell insisted that killing a fairy was scarcely possible, and that Strange would be a fool to attempt it instead of some more certain method of rescue. Strange insisted that there was no more certain method of rescue. Childermass proposed that they go into Faerie to scout, and Strange agreed with an interest that went slightly beyond concern for Arabella. Mr Norrell insisted this was foolish.

"We do not even know how to get into Faerie," he said.

"Well, through the mirrors, of course," said Strange. "I am sure given enough time that I could work out the correct path to lead us in."

"Time is something we're short on," said Childermass. "No, if we have no way in, we had better not make trying to find one our only focus. What do you propose instead of killing the fairy, sir?"

"A bargain. It has been done before."

"Is it not bargains that got us into this mess?" said Childermass.

"It is not my fault. I had nothing to do with Mrs Strange's kidnapping."

"Nevertheless, your methods have not proved themselves to be without risk."

"But killing a fairy!" said Mr Norrell. "No-one has done that since the time of the Raven King!"

"Ah," said Strange, beginning to tick points off on his fingers, "but if the fairy dies than all his enchantments are dissolved and all of his victims will be free. And then you will not have to concern yourself with Lady Pole and her ailment any longer, nor with this fairy's persecution."

"But supposing she denounces me?"

"Oh! That is easily dealt with. Explain that you have done your best and people are generally willing to forgive you eventually, in my experience. After all, you will have rescued her in the end, won't you?"

Childermass rolled his eyes. "I think it's a bit early to be worried about explanations when we do not even know how to kill a fairy yet."

"Yes." Mr Norrell straightened himself up a little. "Well, the only Christian magician known to have killed a fairy was the Raven King."

"I suppose we could summon the Raven King," said Strange thoughtfully.

-

They argued about this through the process of getting to Hurtfew and settling in. Strange would rather have gone straight to the library, but Mr Norrell claimed that he could do no research unless his boots were off and the fire was properly made, and that furthermore, Strange would not track mud into his library if he ever hoped to see the inside of it again.

Childermass was in favor of summoning the Raven King, which Mr Norrell considered a betrayal.

"You knew when you hired me on that I was a king's man," said Childermass.

"I knew that," said Mr Norrell impatiently, "But there is a difference between being a king's man and a fool."

Childermass turned a dark eye on him. "Is summoning the Raven King so much worse than summoning a fairy?"

"That was under circumstances of extreme duress!" squeaked Mr Norrell.

"And so is this," interjected Strange.

"Your wife is not dead."

"No, she is worse. She is captured, and as a result of your actions."

"I did not make the fairy kidnap her!"

Childermass shrugged. "He has got a point there. Lady Pole's captivity is one thing, but..."

Strange waved a hand impatiently. "Setting aside the question of blame for the moment, what other options do we have?"

Mr Norrell sighed. "We do not even know how to go about doing it. What name have we for him?"

"John Uskglass."

"Oh! But that is by no means his certain real name..." Mr Norrell began to explain the host of names which followed the Raven King, probably by intention.

By degrees, it became clear that he was, after all, able to be drawn into the summoning. The named him the King and gave him the pears from Mr Norrell's garden and let the land do the work for them.

-

For a short while, all was chaos, and then when they could breathe again -

"The books all turned into ravens. I had my eye upon Hugh Pontifex's The Fountain of the Heart and I saw it change. He used it often, you know – that chaos of black birds. I have been reading about it since I was a boy. That I should live to see it, gentlemen! That I should live to see it! It has a name in the Sidhe language, the language of his childhood, but the name is lost."

-

"He is here - ah! He is gone again? I cannot understand - "

"He probably came here expressly to torment me and drive me mad!"

"I doubt, Mr Strange, that the Raven King has no better things to do than see to the ruination of a single Englishman."

"Thank you, Childermass. No, Mr Strange, he is an old magician and an old king, two things which are not easily impressed..."

-

"Cast the spell for the nameless slave. See? There he is."

"It looks different somehow. Don't you think so, Childermass?"

"Aye, I do."

"Do not be fanciful, I beg of you both. How many nameless slaves can there be in Yorkshire?"

"I suppose that is true."

"Then, gentlemen, if you would..."

-

"I am glad I did not recognize the raven's eye for what it was, or I believe I would have been a great deal frightened."

"Indeed, sir! You were fortunate there."

Childermass said nothing, but there was a gleam in his eye which suggested he had not been entirely cowed.

-

They argued for a long time afterwards whether the spell had, in fact, worked. Certainly it was true that Mrs Strange appeared, tumbling dizzily out of the mirror, and so the fairy must have been dead.

She was not left as cold coming back as she had been leaving; two sets of arms were there to wrap blankets around her shoulders and ensure that she was safe and comfortable. She was given a chair, set in front of the fire, so that she could recover herself.

"I believe," she said, "I believe that Lady Pole is free. And Stephen Black, the butler. I believe the curse has been broken." She laughed. "And so am I."

Strange came on his knees beside her and kissed her very fiercely. She clutched him to herself for a few moments, and came up with her eyes full of tears. "Oh, Jonathan," she said.

After a moment she glanced over at Childermass. Childermass's eyes flicked over Strange and Arabella, but Strange got up and nodded at him.

Childermass's knees creaked as he slowly bent down. Unlike Strange, he did not kneel, but sat on the ground properly. Arabella leaned down and he met her halfway, kissing her reverently.

Mr Norrell stood awkwardly by during these proceedings.

No, there was no arguing that the fairy was dead. And who but John Uskglass could have done that?

But Childermass maintained for the rest of his life that there had been something different about the light.

Strange, however, insisted that there had not been, and Mr Norrell never could chuse between the two positions, and so the question remained unsettled.

In this, it was much like the rest of English magic. Strange would never relinquish the perspective that it was exploration that was most important, and Mr Norrell never said it was anything but constancy. As for Childermass, he professed the position that good magic could not be done without a little of both.

Arabella, when asked her opinion, always smiled and shook her head and went on with what she was doing.

-

My dear Emma,

I hope you are finding Venice delightful. I know that you are very fond of it, and I hope that the labyrinth does not weary you as it once would have. I see that you write of a young lady! Miss Greysteel, you say? I hope you will find happiness with her. Mr Segundus accompanies you for the moment, does he not? He writes to Jonathan of book-buying expeditions with you, so I presume that is correct. I sincerely hope it is not too closely, but I suspect that he is a tactful sort of man who would know better than to bother two ladies who desire nothing so much as a little privacy.

I suppose you've intuited something about our unusual household by now. You always were more perceptive than any one gave you credit for. Your husband, though a fine man, never truly understood you in that way.

I myself am not so unfortunate. I have two excellent men who understand me entirely - or, perhaps it is not true that Jonathan understands me entirely, but he loves me, and he knows me better than any one, even if sometimes I feel that he still prefers his books to me. I suppose John - that is, John Childermass - feels much the same about Mr Norrell.

Frequently sharing space with Mr Norrell is not anything like so arduous as I would have expected two years ago if you had asked me. I believe Childermass is a good influence on him. Of course, Jonathan is a frightful one, but they do balance out each other's more disagreeable tendencies. Do not fear: I have not taken up a dalliance with him. He is, at best, a friend, but that is much more than he was, so I consider it a victory.

Do give your Miss Greysteel a kiss for me, and take care of yourself. Do not challenge any more men to duels, I beg you. I would be beside myself if I learned you had died in Italy from a mere bullet after surviving so much.

Your friend,

Arabella

¹Strange had objected to the use of this word. "I am not delighted," he had said. "I am, at best, grudging, Arabella."
Arabella had simply told him that it was good manners, and that they ought to be polite if nothing else.^{[return to text]} 

²  Rumors that Mr Norrell had been replaced, however, were never wholly dispelled. He found himself contending with these for some years afterwards, to his intense annoyance. On occasion, people would approach him in the street and ask what he had done with the real Mr Norrell, and one unauthorized biography went into a very detailed theory of how the replacement was to have happened. ^{[return to text]}