"Indeed, sir," said Strange hoa.r.s.ely. "You were fortunate there! And I believe I am cured of wanting to be looked at! Henceforth John Uskgla.s.s is welcome to ignore me for as long as he pleases."

"Oh, indeed!" agreed Mr Norrell. "You know, Mr Strange, you really should try to rid yourself of the habit of wishing for things. It is a dangerous thing in a magician!" He began a long and not particularly interesting story about a fourteenth-century magician in Lancashire who had often made idle wishes and had caused no end of inconvenience in the village where he lived, accidentally turning the cows into clouds and the cooking pots into ships, and causing the villagers to speak in colours rather than words and other such signs of magical chaos.

At first Strange barely answered him and such replies as he made were random and illogical. But gradually he appeared to listen with more attention, and he spoke in his usual manner.

Mr Norrell had many talents, but penetration into the hearts of men and women was not one of them. Strange did not speak of the restoration of his wife, so Mr Norrell imagined that it could not have affected him very deeply.

1 A surprizing number of kings and princes of Faerie have been human. John Uskgla.s.s, Stephen Black and Alessandro Simonelli are just three. Fairies are, by and large, irredeemably indolent. Though they are fond of high rank, honours and riches, they detest the hard work of government.

69.

Strangites and Norrellites Februaryspring 1817 CHILDERMa.s.s RODE AND Vinculus walked at his side. All around them was spread the wide expanse of snow-covered moor, appearing, with all its various hummocks and hills, like a vast feather mattress. Something of the sort may have occurred to Vinculus because he was describing in great detail the soft, pillowy bed he intended to sleep in that night and the very large dinner he intended to eat before he retired there. There was no doubt that he expected Childerma.s.s to pay for these luxuries, and it would not have been particularly surprizing if Childerma.s.s had had a word or two to say about them, but Childerma.s.s said nothing. His mind was wholly taken up with the problem of whether or not he ought to shew Vinculus to Strange and Norrell. Certainly there was no one in England better qualified to examine Vinculus; but, on the other hand, Childerma.s.s could not quite predict how the magicians would act when faced with a man who was also a book. Childerma.s.s scratched his cheek. There was a faint, well-healed scar upon it the merest silvery line upon his brown face.

Vinculus had stopped talking and was standing in the road. His blanket had fallen from him and he was eagerly pushing back the sleeves of his coat.

"What is it?" asked Childerma.s.s. "What is the matter?"

"I have changed!" said Vinculus. "Look!" He took off his coat and opened his shirt. "The words are different! On my arms! On my chest! Everywhere! This is not what I said before!" Despite the cold, he began to undress. Then, when he was quite naked again, he celebrated his transformation by dancing about gleefully like a blue-skinned devil.

Childerma.s.s dismounted from his horse with feelings of panic and desperation. He had succeeded in preserving John Uskgla.s.s's book from death and destruction; and then, just when it seemed secure, the book itself had defeated him by changing.

"We must get to an inn as soon as we can!" he declared. "We must get paper and ink! We must make a record of exactly what was written upon you before. You must search every corner of your memory!"

Vinculus stared at him as if he thought he must have taken leave of his senses. "Why?" he asked.

"Because it is John Uskgla.s.s's magic! John Uskgla.s.s's thoughts! The only record any one ever had of them. We must preserve every sc.r.a.p we can!"

Vinculus remained unenlightened. "Why?" he asked again. "John Uskgla.s.s did not think it worth preserving."

"But why should you change all of a sudden? There is no rhyme or reason in it!"

"There is every sort of reason," said Vinculus. "I was a Prophecy before; but the things that I foretold have come to pa.s.s. So it is just as well I have changed or I would have become a History! A dry-as-dust History!"

"So what are you now?"

Vinculus shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps I am a Receipt-Book! Perhaps I am a Novel! Perhaps I am a Collection of Sermons!" He was excessively diverted by these thoughts and cackled to himself and capered about some more.

"I hope you are what you have always been a Book of Magic. But what are you saying? Vinculus, do you mean to tell me that you never learnt these letters?"

"I am a Book," said Vinculus, stopping in mid-caper. "I am the the Book. It is the task of the Book to bear the words. Which I do. It is the task of the Reader to know what they say." Book. It is the task of the Book to bear the words. Which I do. It is the task of the Reader to know what they say."

"But the last Reader is dead!"

Vinculus shrugged as if that were none of his concern.

"You must know something!" cried Childerma.s.s, growing almost wild with exasperation. He seized Vinculus's arm. "What about this? This symbol like a horned circle with a line through it. It occurs over and over again. What does it mean?"

Vinculus pulled his arm away again. "It means last Tuesday," he said. "It means three pigs, one of 'em wearing a straw hat! It means Sally went a-dancing in the moon's shadow and lost a little rosy purse!" He grinned and wagged a finger at Childerma.s.s. "I know what you are doing! You hope to be the next Reader!"

"Perhaps," said Childerma.s.s. "Though I cannot, for the life of me, tell how I shall begin. Yet I cannot see that any one else has a better claim to be the next Reader. But whatever else happens, I shall not let you out of my sight again. Henceforth, Vinculus, you and I shall be each other's shadow."

Vinculus's mood soured upon the instant. Gloomily he dressed himself again.

Spring returned to England. Birds followed ploughs. Stones were warmed by the sun. Rains and winds grew softer, and were fragranced with the scents of earth and growing things. Woods were tinged with a colour so soft, so subtle that it could scarcely be said to be a colour at all. It was more the idea idea of a colour as if the trees were dreaming green dreams or thinking green thoughts. of a colour as if the trees were dreaming green dreams or thinking green thoughts.

Spring returned to England, but Strange and Norrell did not. The Pillar of Darkness covered Hurtfew Abbey and Norrell did not come out of it. People speculated upon the probability of Strange having killed Norrell, or Norrell having killed Strange, the different degrees to which each deserved it, and whether or not someone ought to go and find out.

But before any one could reach a conclusion concerning these interesting questions the Darkness disappeared taking Hurtfew Abbey with it. House, park, bridge and part of the river were all gone. Roads that used to lead to Hurtfew now led back upon themselves or to dull corners of fields and copses that no one wished to visit. The house in Hanover-square and both Strange's houses the one in Soho-square and his home in Clun1 suffered the same queer fate. In London the only creature in the world who could still find the house in Soho-square was Jeremy Johns' cat, Bullfinch. Indeed, Bullfinch did not appear to be aware that the house was in any way changed and he continued to go there whenever he wished, slipping between number 30 and number 32, and everyone who saw him do it agreed that it was the oddest sight in the world. suffered the same queer fate. In London the only creature in the world who could still find the house in Soho-square was Jeremy Johns' cat, Bullfinch. Indeed, Bullfinch did not appear to be aware that the house was in any way changed and he continued to go there whenever he wished, slipping between number 30 and number 32, and everyone who saw him do it agreed that it was the oddest sight in the world.2 Lord Liverpool and the other Ministers said a great deal publicly about their regret at Strange and Norrell's disappearance, but privately they were glad to be relieved of such a peculiar problem. Neither Strange nor Norrell had proved as respectable as they once had seemed. Both had indulged in, if not Black Magic, then certainly magic of a darker hue than seemed desirable or legitimate. Instead, the Ministers turned their attention to the great number of new magicians who had suddenly sprung up. These magicians had performed scarcely any magic and were largely uneducated; nevertheless they promised to be every bit as quarrelsome as Strange and Norrell themselves, and some means of regulating them would quickly have to be found. Suddenly Mr Norrell's plans for reviving the Court of Cinque Dragownes (which had seemed so irrelevant before) were found to be of the utmost pertinence.3 In the second week of March a paragraph appeared in the York Chronicle York Chronicle, addressed to former members of the Learned Society of York Magicians, and also to any one who might wish to become a member of that society. It invited them to come to the Old Starre Inn on the following Wednesday (this being the day upon which the society had traditionally met).

This curious announcement offended at least as many of the former members of the York society as it pleased. Placed as it was in a newspaper, it could be read by everyone who possessed a penny. Furthermore the author (who was not named) appeared to have taken it upon himself to invite people to join the York society something which he clearly had no right to do, whoever he was.

When the interesting evening came the former members arrived at the Old Starre to find fifty or so magicians (or would-be magicians) a.s.sembled in the Long Room. The most comfortable seats were all taken and the former members (who included Mr Segundus, Mr Honeyfoot and Dr Foxcastle) were obliged to take their places upon a little dais some distance from the fireplaces. The situation had this advantage however: they had an excellent view of the new magicians.

It was not a sight calculated to bring joy to the bosoms of the former members. The a.s.sembly was made up of the most miscellaneous people. ("With scarcely," observed Dr Foxcastle, "a gentleman among them.") There were two farmers and several shopkeepers. There was a pale-faced young man with light-coloured hair and an excitable manner, who was telling his neighbours that he was quite certain the announcement had been placed in the newspaper by Jonathan Strange himself and Strange would doubtless arrive at any moment to teach them all magic! There was also a clergyman which was rather more promising. He was a clean-shaven, sober-looking person of fifty or sixty in black clothes. He was accompanied by a dog, as grey-haired and respectable as himself, and a young, striking-looking, female person in a red velvet gown. This seemed rather less respectable. She had dark hair and a fierce expression.

"Mr Taylor," said Dr Foxcastle to an acolyte of his, "perhaps you would be so good as to go and give that gentleman a hint that we do not bring members of our family to these meetings."

Mr Taylor scurried away.

From where they sat the former members of the York Society observed that the clean-shaven clergyman was more flinty than his quiet face suggested and that he returned Mr Taylor quite a sharp answer.

Mr Taylor came back with the following message. "Mr Redruth begs the society's pardon but he is not a magician at all. He has a great deal of interest in magic, but no skill. It is his daughter who is the magician. He has one son and three daughters and he says they are all magicians. The others did not wish to attend the meeting. He says that they have no wish to consort with other magicians, preferring to pursue their studies privately at home without distractions."

There was a pause while the former members tried, and failed, to make any sense of this.

"Perhaps his dog is a magician too," said Dr Foxcastle and the former members of the society laughed.

It soon became clear that the newcomers fell into two distinct parties. Miss Redruth, the young lady in the red velvet gown, was one of the first to speak. Her voice was low and rather hurried. She was not used to speaking in public and not all of the magicians caught her words, but her delivery was very pa.s.sionate. The burden of what she had to say seemed to be that Jonathan Strange was everything! Gilbert Norrell nothing! Strange would soon be vindicated and Norrell universally reviled! Magic would be freed from the shackles that Gilbert Norrell had placed upon it! These observations, together with various references to Strange's lost master piece, The History and Practice of English Magic The History and Practice of English Magic, drew angry responses from several other magicians to the effect that Strange's book was full of wicked magic and Strange himself was a murderer. He had certainly murdered his wife4 and had probably murdered Norrell too. and had probably murdered Norrell too.

The discussion was growing yet more heated when it was interrupted by the arrival of two men. Neither looked in the least respectable. Both had long, ragged hair and wore ancient coats. However, while one seemed to be nothing more or less than a vagabond, the other was considerably neater in his appearance and had about him an air of business almost, one might say, of authority.

The vagabonding fellow did not even trouble to look at the York society; he simply sat down upon the floor and demanded gin and hot water. The other strode to the centre of the room and regarded them all with a wry smile. He bowed in the direction of Miss Redruth and addressed the magicians with the following words.

"Gentlemen! Madam! Some of you may remember me. I was with you ten years ago when Mr Norrell did the magic in York Cathedral. My name is John Childerma.s.s. I was, until last month, the servant of Gilbert Norrell. And this," he indicated the man sitting on the floor, "is Vinculus, a some-time street sorcerer of London."

Childerma.s.s got no further. Everyone began speaking at once. The former members of the York Society were dismayed to find that they had left their comfortable firesides to come here and be lectured by a servant. But while these gentlemen were unburdening themselves of their indignation,most of the newcomers were affected quite differently. They were all either Strangites or Norrellites; but not one of them had ever laid eyes on his hero and to be seated in such proximity to a person who had actually known and spoken to him wound them up to an unprecedented pitch of excitement.

Childerma.s.s was not in the least discomfited by the uproar. He simply waited until it was quiet enough for him to speak and then he said, "I have come to tell you that the agreement with Gilbert Norrell is void. Null and void, gentlemen. You are magicians once more, if you wish to be."

One of the new magicians shouted out to know if Strange were coming. Another wished to know if Norrell were coming.

"No, gentlemen," said Childerma.s.s. "They are not. You must make do with me. I do not think Strange and Norrell will be seen again in England. At least not in this generation."

"Why?" asked Mr Segundus. "Where have they gone?"

Childerma.s.s smiled. "Wherever magicians used to go. Behind the sky. On the other side of the rain."

One of the Norrellites remarked that Jonathan Strange was wise to remove himself from England. Otherwise he would have certainly been hanged.

The excitable young man with the light-coloured hair retorted spitefully that the whole pack of Norrellites would soon find themselves at a grave disadvantage. Surely the first principle of Norrellite magic was that everything must be based upon books? And how were they going to do that when the books had all disappeared with Hurtfew Abbey?5 "You do not need the library at Hurtfew, gentlemen," said Childerma.s.s. "Nor yet the library in Hanover-square. I have brought you something much better. A book Norrell long desired, but never saw. A book Strange did not even know existed. I have brought you John Uskgla.s.s's book."

More shouting. More uproar. In the midst of all of which Miss Redruth appeared to be making a speech in defence of John Uskgla.s.s, whom she insisted upon calling his Grace, the King, as if he were at any moment about to enter Newcastle and resume the government of Northern England.

"Wait!" cried Dr Foxcastle, his loud, important voice gradually overpowering first those nearest him, and then the rest of the a.s.sembly. "I see no book in this rogue's hands! Where is it? This is a trick, gentlemen! He wants our money, I'll be bound. Well, sir?" (This to Childerma.s.s.) "What do you say? Bring out your book if indeed it exists!"

"On the contrary, sir," said Childerma.s.s, with his long, dark, one-sided grin. "I want nothing of yours. Vinculus! Stand up!"

In the house in Padua the first concern of the Greysteels and their servants was to make Mrs Strange as comfortable as they could; and each had his or her own way of doing it. Dr Greysteel's comfort chiefly took a philosophical form. He searched his memory for examples from history of people particularly ladies who had triumphed over adverse circ.u.mstances, often with the help of their friends. Minich.e.l.lo and Frank, the two man servants, ran to open doors for her often whether she wanted to go through them or not. Bonifazia, the maid, preferred to treat a year's sojourn in Faerie as if it had been rather a severe sort of cold and brought her strengthening cordials throughout the day. Aunt Greysteel sent all over the town for the best wines and the rarest delicacies; and she purchased the softest, down-filled cushions and pillows, as if she hoped that by laying her head on them Arabella might be induced to forget all that had happened to her. But of all the various sorts of consolation that were offered her, that which seemed to suit Arabella best was Flora's company and Flora's conversation.

One morning they were sitting together at their needlework. Arabella put down her work with a gesture of impatience and went to the window. "There is a spirit of restlessness upon me," she said.

"It is to be expected," said Flora, gently. "Be patient. In time your spirits will be what they were before."

"Will they?" said Arabella, with a sigh. "Truth to own, I really do not remember what I was like before."

"Then I will tell you. You were always cheerful tho' often left to your own devices. You were hardly ever out of temper tho' often severely provoked. Your every speech was remarkable for its wit and genius tho' you got no credit for it and almost always received a flat contradiction."

Arabella laughed. "Good Heavens! What a prodigy I was! But," she said with a wry look, "I am not inclined to put much trust in this portrait, since you never saw me."

"Mr Strange told me. Those are his words."

"Oh!" said Arabella. She turned her face away.

Flora cast her eyes down and said softly, "When he returns, he will do more to restore you to yourself than any one else could. You will be happy again." She glanced up.

Arabella was silent for a moment. She said, "I am not sure that we will see each other again."

Flora took up her needlework again. After a moment she said, "It is very odd that he should have gone back to his old master at last."

"Is it? There seems nothing very extraordinary in it to me. I never thought the quarrel would last as long as it did. I thought they would have been friends again by the end of the first month."

"You quite astonish me!" said Flora. "When Mr Strange was with us he did not have a good word to say for Mr Norrell and Mr Norrell has published the most dreadful things about Mr Strange in the magical journals."

"Oh, I dare say!" said Arabella, entirely unimpressed. "But that was just their nonsense! They are both as stubborn as Old Scratch. I have no cause to love Mr Norrell far from it. But I know this about him: he is a magician first and everything else second and Jonathan is the same. Books and magic are all either of them really cares about. No one else understands the subject as they do and so, you see, it is only natural that they should like to be together."

As the weeks went by Arabella smiled and laughed more often. She became interested in everything that concerned her new friends. Her days were taken up with sociable meals, errands and the pleasant obligations of friendship small domestic matters with which her sore mind and wounded spirit were glad to refresh themselves. Of her absent husband she thought very little, except to be grateful for his consideration in placing her with the Greysteels.

There happened to be a young Irish captain in Padua just then and several people were of the opinion that he admired Flora though Flora said that he did not. He had led a company of cavalry into the teeth of the severest gunfire at Waterloo; yet his courage all seemed to desert him where Flora was concerned. He could not look at her without blushing and was most alarmed whenever she entered a room. Generally he found it easier to apply to Mrs Strange for intelligence of when Flora might be walking in the Prato della Valle (a beautiful garden at the heart of the city) or when she might next visit the Baxters (some mutual friends); and Arabella was always glad to help him.

But there were some consequences of her captivity which she could not easily shake off. She was accustomed to dancing all night, and sleep did not come easily to her. Sometimes at night she could still hear a mournful fiddle and a pipe playing fairy tunes, compelling her to dance though it was the last thing in the world that she wanted to do.

"Talk to me," she would say to Flora and Aunt Greysteel. "Talk to me and I think I can master it."

Then one or both of them would sit up with her and talk to her of everything they could think of. But sometimes Arabella found that the impulse to movement any sort of movement was too strong to be denied, and then she would take to pacing the bed- chamber she shared with Flora; and on several occasions Dr Greysteel and Frank kindly sacrificed their own sleep to walk with her in the night-streets of Padua.

On one such night in April they were strolling about near to the Cathedral; Arabella and Dr Greysteel were speaking of their departure for England which had been arranged for the following month. Arabella found the prospect of being amongst all her English friends again a little daunting and Dr Greysteel was rea.s.suring her. Suddenly Frank gave an exclamation of surprize and pointed upwards.

The stars were shifting and changing; in the patch of sky above them were new constellations. A little further on was an ancient- looking stone arch. There was nothing exactly unusual in this; Padua is a city full of intriguing doorways, arches and arcades. But this arch was not like the others. Padua is built of mediaeval bricks and consequently many of its streets are a pleasing pink-gold colour. This arch was built of dour, dark northern stones and upon each side was a statue of John Uskgla.s.s, his face half-hidden by a cap with raven wings. Just within the arch a tall figure was standing.

Arabella hesitated. "You will not go far?" she said to Dr Greysteel.

"Frank and I shall be here," Dr Greysteel told her. "We shall not move from this spot. You have only to call us."

She went on alone. The person within the doorway was reading. He looked up as she approached, with the old, dear expression of not quite remembering where he was or what he had do with the world outside his book.

"You have not brought a thunderstorm with you this time," she said.

"Oh, you heard about that, did you?" Strange gave a slightly self-conscious laugh. "That was a little overdone perhaps. Not altogether in the best of taste. I believe I spent too much time in Lord Byron's society when I was in Venice. I caught something of his style."

They walked on a little and at every moment new patterns of stars appeared above their heads.

"You look well, Arabella," he said. "I feared . . . What did I fear? Oh! a thousand different things. I feared you would not speak to me. But here you are. I am very glad to see you."

"And now your thousand fears can be laid to rest," she said. "At least as far as they concern me. Have you found any thing yet to dispel the Darkness?"

"No, not yet. Though, to own the truth, we have been so busy recently some new conjectures concerning naiads that we have scarcely had time to apply ourselves seriously to the problem. But there are one or two things in Goubert's Gatekeeper of Apollo Gatekeeper of Apollo which look promising. We are optimistic." which look promising. We are optimistic."

"I am glad. I am miserable when I think of you suffering."

"Do not be miserable, I beg you. Apart from any thing else, I do not suffer. A little perhaps at first, but not now. And Norrell and I are hardly the first English magicians to labour under an enchantment. Robert Dymoke fell foul of a fairy in the twelfth century and thereafter could not speak but only sing which, I am sure, is not so pleasant as it sounds. And there was a fourteenth-century magician who had a silver foot which must have been very disagreeable. Besides who is to say that the Darkness may not be of advantage to us? We intend to go out of England and are likely to meet with all sorts of tricksy persons. An English magician is an impressive thing. Two English magicians are, I suppose, twice as impressive but when those two English magicians are shrouded in an Impenetrable Darkness ah, well! That, I should think, is enough to strike terror into the heart of any one short of a demi-G.o.d!"

"Where will you go?"

"Oh, there are plenty of places. This world is only one among so many, and it does not do for a magician to become too what shall I say? too parochial parochial."

"But will Mr Norrell like it?" she asked, doubtfully. "He was never fond of travelling not even as far as Portsmouth."

"Ah! But that is one of the advantages of our particular mode of travel. He need never leave the house if he does not wish it. The world all worlds will come to us." He paused and looked about him. "I had better not go further. Norrell is a little way off. For various reasons to do with the enchantment, it is best that we do not stray very far from each other. Arabella," he said, with a degree of seriousness unusual to him, "it hurt me more than I could bear to think of you under the earth. I would have done any thing any thing at all to fetch you safely out."

She took his hands and her eyes were shining. "And you did it," she whispered. They looked at each other for a long moment, and in that moment all was as it used to be it was as if they had never parted; but she did not offer to go into the Darkness with him and he did not ask her.

"One day," he said, "I shall find the right spell and banish the Darkness. And on that day I will come to you."

"Yes. On that day. I will wait until then."

He nodded and seemed about to depart, but then he hesitated. "Bell," he said, "do not wear black. Do not be a widow. Be happy. That is how I wish to think of you."

"I promise. And how shall I think of you?"

He considered a moment and then laughed. "Think of me with my nose in a book!"