“How horrible!" said Colonel Grant.

  “And what did Drawlight say?" asked Sir Walter. “How did he explain himself?"

  “Ha!" Strange let out a short burst of uncheerful laughter. “He did not say any thing. He simply ran away – which was a pity, as I had a great mind to challenge him to a duel."

  “Oh!" said Arabella suddenly. “It is duels now, is it?"

  Sir Walter and Grant both looked at her in alarm, but Strange was too absorbed in what he was saying to notice her angry expression. “Not that I suppose he would have accepted, but I should have liked to frighten him a little. God knows he deserves it."

  “But you have not said any thing about this kingdom, path – whatever it is – behind the mirror," said Colonel Grant. “Did it answer your expectations?"

  Strange shook his head. “I do not have the words to describe it. All that Norrell and I have done is as nothing in comparison! And yet we have the audacity to call ourselves magicians! I wish I could give you an idea of its grandeur! Of its size and complexity! Of the great stone halls that lead off in every direction! I tried at first to judge their length and number, but soon gave up. There seemed no end to them. There were canals of still water in stone embankments. The water appeared black in the gloomy light. I saw staircases that rose up so high I could not see the top of them, and others that descended into utter blackness. Then suddenly I passed under an arch and found myself upon a stone bridge that crossed a dark, empty landscape. The bridge was so vast that I could not see the end of it. Imagine a bridge that joined Islington to Twickenham! Or York to Newcastle! And everywhere in the halls and on the bridge I saw his likeness."

  “Whose likeness?" asked Sir Walter.

  “The man that Norrell and I have slandered in almost everything we have written. The man whose name Norrell can hardly bear to hear mentioned. The man who built the halls, canals, bridge, everything! John Uskglass, the Raven King! Of course, the structure has fallen into disrepair over the centuries. Whatever John Uskglass once used these roads for, it seems he no longer needs them. Statues and masonry have collapsed. Shafts of light break in from God-knows-where. Some halls are blocked, while others are flooded. And I will tell you something else very curious. There were a great number of discarded shoes everywhere I went. Presumably they belonged to other travellers. They were of a very ancient style and much decayed. From which I conclude that these passages have been little frequented in recent years. In all the time I was walking I only saw one other person."

  “You saw someone else?" said Sir Walter.

  “Oh, yes! At least I think it was a person. I saw a shadow moving along a white road that crossed the dark moor. You must understand that I was upon the bridge at the time and it was much higher than any bridge I have ever seen in this world. The ground appeared to be several thousand feet beneath me. I looked down and saw someone. If I had not been so set upon finding Drawlight, I would certainly have found a way down and followed him or her, for it seems to me that there could be no better way for a magician to spend his time than in conversation with such a person."

  “But would such a person be safe?" asked Arabella.

  “Safe?" said Strange, contemptuously. “Oh, no. I do not think so. But then I flatter myself that neither am I particularly safe. I hope I have not missed my chance. I hope that when I return tomorrow I will find some clue as to where the mysterious figure went."

  “Return!" exclaimed Sir Walter. “But are you sure . . . ?"

  “Oh!" cried Arabella, interrupting. “I see how it is to be! You will be walking these paths every moment Mr Norrell can spare you, while I remain here in a condition of the most miserable suspense, wondering if I am ever to see you again!"

  Strange looked at her in surprize. “Arabella? Whatever is the matter?"

  “The matter! You are set upon putting yourself in the most horrible danger and you expect me to say nothing about it!"

  Strange made a sort of gesture of combined appeal and helplessness, as if he were calling upon Sir Walter and Grant to bear witness how exceedingly unreasonable this was. He said, “But when I told you I was going to Spain, you were perfectly composed, even though a vicious war was raging there at the time. This, on the other hand, is quite . . ."

  “Perfectly composed? I assure you I was nothing of the kind! I was horribly afraid for you – as were all the wives and mothers and sisters of the men in Spain. But you and I agreed that you had a duty to go. And besides, in Spain you had the entire British Army with you, whereas there you will be perfectly alone. I say `there', but none of us knows where `there' is!"

  “I beg your pardon, but I know exactly where it is! It is the King's Roads. Really, Arabella, I think it is a little late in the day to decide you do not like my profession!"

  “Oh, that is not fair! I have never said a word against your profession. I think it one of the noblest in the world. I am proud beyond measure of what you and Mr Norrell have done and I have never objected in the least to your learning whatever new magic you saw fit – but until today you have always been content to make your discoveries in books."

  “Well, no longer. To confine a magician's researches to the books in his library, well, you might just as well tell an explorer that you approve his plan to search for the source of, of – whatever it is those African rivers are called – on the condition that he never steps outside Tunbridge Wells!"

  Arabella gave an exclamation of exasperation. “I thought you meant to be a magician not an explorer!"

  “It is the same thing. An explorer cannot stay at home reading maps other men have made. A magician cannot increase the stock of magic by reading other men's books. It is quite obvious to me that sooner or later Norrell and I must look beyond our books!"

  “Indeed? That is obvious to you, is it? Well, Jonathan, I very much doubt that it is obvious to Mr Norrell."

  Throughout this exchange Sir Walter and Lieutenant-Colonel Grant looked as uncomfortable as any two people can who inadvertently find themselves witnesses to a little outburst of marital disharmony. Nor was their situation improved by the consciousness that just at present neither Arabella nor Strange was feeling particularly well disposed towards them. They had already had to endure some sharp words from Arabella when they had confessed their part in encouraging Strange to perform the dangerous magic. Now Strange was directing angry glances at them, as if he wondered by what right they had come to his house in the middle of the night and put his usually sweet-tempered wife out of temper. As soon as there was any thing like a pause in the conversation, Colonel Grant muttered something incoherent about the lateness of the hour and about their kind hospitality being more than he deserved and about wishing them all good night. But then, as no one paid the slightest attention to his speech, he was obliged to continue where he was.

  Sir Walter, however, was of a more resolute character. He concluded that he had been wrong in sending Strange upon the mirror-path and he was determined to do what he could to put matters right. Being a politician, he was never dissuaded from giving any body his opinion by the mere fact that they were not inclined to hear it. “Have you read every book upon magic?" he demanded of Strange.

  “What? No, of course not! You know very well I have not!" said Strange. (He was thinking of the books in the library at Hurtfew.)

  “These halls that you saw tonight, do you know where they all lead?" asked Sir Walter.

  “No," said Strange.

  “Do you know what the dark land is that the bridge crosses?"

  “No, but . . ."

  “Then, surely it would be better to do as Mrs Strange suggests and read all you can about these roads, before returning to them," said Sir Walter.

  “But the information in books is inaccurate and contradictory! Even Norrell says so and he has read everything there is to read about them. You may be certain of that!"

  Arabella, Strange and Sir Walter continued to argue for another half hour until everyone was cross and wretched and longing to go to bed. Only Strange seemed at all comfortable with these descriptions of eerie, silent halls, unending pathways and vast, dark landscapes. Arabella was genuinely frightened by what she had heard and even Sir Walter and Colonel Grant felt decidedly unsettled. Magic, which had seemed so familiar just hours before, so English, had suddenly become inhuman, unearthly, otherlandish.

  As for Strange, it was his decided opinion that they were the most incomprehensible and infuriating set of people in the country. They did not appear to comprehend that he had done something entirely remarkable. It would not be going too far (he thought) to say that this had been the most extraordinary achievement of his career so far. No English magician since Martin Pale had been on the King's Roads. But instead of congratulating him and praising his skill – which any one else would have done – all they did was complain in a Norrellish sort of way.

  The following morning he awoke determined to return to the King's Roads. He greeted Arabella cheerfully, talked to her upon indifferent subjects and generally tried to pretend that the quarrel had been due to her tiredness and overwrought state the previous evening. But long before he could take advantage of this convenient fiction (and slip away to the Roads by the nearest large mirror) Arabella told him very plainly that she felt just the same as she had last night.

  In the end is it not futile to try and follow the course of a quarrel between husband and wife? Such a conversation is sure to meander more than any other. It draws in tributary arguments and grievances from years before – all quite incomprehensible to any but the two people they concern most nearly. Neither party is ever proved right or wrong in such a case, or, if they are, what does it signify?

  The desire to live in harmony and friendship with one's spouse is very strong, and Strange and Arabella were no different from other people in this respect. Finally, after two days arguing the point back and forth, they made each other a promise. He promised her not to go upon the King's Roads again until she said that he might. In return she promised him to grant him that permission just as soon as he convinced her that it was safe to do so. [Next chapter]

  37

  The Cinque Dragownes

  November 1814

  SEVEN YEARS AGO Mr Lascelles's house in Bruton-street was generally reckoned to be one of the best in London. It had the sort of perfection that can only be achieved by a very rich, very idle man who devotes the greater part of his time to collecting pictures and sculpture and the greater part of his mental energies to chusing furniture and wallpapers. His taste was remarkably good and he had a talent for combining colours in new and quite striking ways. He was particularly fond of blues, greys and a sort of darkish, metallic bronze. Yet he never became sentimentally attached to his possessions. He sold paintings as frequently as he bought them and his house never deteriorated into that picture-gallery confusion which besets the homes of some collectors. Each of Lascelles's rooms contained only a handful of pictures and objets d'art, but that handful included some of the most beautiful and remarkable objects in all of London.

  In the last seven years however the perfection of Mr Lascelles's house had become somewhat diminished. The colours were as exquisite as ever, but they had not been changed for seven years. The furnishings were expensive, but they represented what had been most fashionable seven years ago. In the last seven years no new paintings had been added to Lascelles's collection. In the last seven years remarkable antique sculptures had arrived in London from Italy, Egypt and Greece but other gentlemen had bought them.

  What is more, there were signs that the owner of the house had been engaged in useful occupation, that he had, in short, been working. Reports, manuscripts, letters and Government papers lay upon every table and chair, and copies of The Friends of English Magic and books on magic were to be found in every room.

  The truth was that, though Lascelles still affected to despise work, in the seven years since Mr Norrell had first arrived in London he had been busier than ever before. Though it had been his suggestion to appoint Lord Portishead editor of The Friends of English Magic, the manner in which his lordship had carried on his editorial duties had exasperated Lascelles to a degree scarcely to be borne. Lord Portishead had deferred to Mr Norrell in all things – had instantly executed all of Mr Norrell's unnecessary amendments – and, as a result, The Friends of English Magic had grown duller and more circumlocutious with every issue. In the autumn of 1810 Lascelles had contrived to have himself appointed joint editor. The Friends of English Magic had one of the largest subscriptions of any periodical in the kingdom; the work was not inconsiderable. In addition Lascelles wrote upon modern magic for other periodicals and newspapers; he advised the Government upon magical policy; he visited Mr Norrell almost every day and in his spare time he studied the history and theory of magic.

  On the third day after Strange had paid his visit to Mrs Bullworth, Lascelles happened to be working hard in his library upon the next issue of The Friends of English Magic. Though it was a little after noon he had not yet found the time to shave and dress and was sitting in his dressing-gown amid a litter of books, papers, breakfast plates and coffee cups. A letter he wanted was missing and so he went to look for it. On entering the drawing-room he was surprized to find someone there.

  “Oh!" he said. “It's you."

  The wretched-looking creature who drooped in a chair by the fire raised his head. He said, “Your servant has gone to find you and tell you I am here."

  “Ah!" said Lascelles and paused, apparently at a loss for something to say next. He sat down in the opposite chair, rested his head upon his hand and regarded Drawlight thoughtfully.

  Drawlight's face was pale and his eyes were sunk in his head. His coat was dusty, his boots were but indifferently polished and even his linen had a wilted look.

  “I think it most unkind of you," said Lascelles at last, “to accept money for arranging to have me ruined, crippled and driven mad. And from Maria Bullworth of all people! Why she should be so angry is quite beyond me! It was quite as much her doing as mine. I did not force her to marry Bullworth. I merely offered her an escape when she could no longer bear the sight of him. Is it true that she wanted Strange to inflict leprosy upon me?"

  “Oh, probably," sighed Drawlight. “I really do not know. There was never the least danger in the world that any thing would happen to you. You sit there, every bit as rich, healthy and comfortable as ever you were, whereas I am the wretchedest being in London. I have not slept in three days. This morning my hands were shaking so much I could scarcely tie my cravat. No one knows what mortification it is to me to appear in this scarecrow condition. Not that any one will see me, so what does it matter? I have been turned away from every door in London. Yours is the only house where I am admitted." He paused. “I ought not to have told you that."

  Lascelles shrugged. “What I do not understand," he said, “is how you expected to succeed with such a perfectly absurd scheme."

  “It was not in the least absurd! Upon the contrary I was scrupulous in my choice of . . . of clients. Maria Bullworth lives in perfect retirement from society. Gatcombe and Tantony are brewers! From Nottinghamshire! Who could have predicted that they and Strange would ever meet?"

  “And what of Miss Gray? Arabella Strange met her at Lady Westby's house in Bedford-square."

  Drawlight sighed. “Miss Gray was eighteen years old and lived with her guardians in Whitby. According to the terms of her father's will she was obliged to consult their wishes in everything she did until she was thirty-six. They detested London and were determined never to leave Whitby. Unfortunately they both caught colds and died very suddenly two months ago and the wretched girl immediately set off for the capital." Drawlight paused and licked his lips nervously. “Is Norrell very angry?"

  “Beyond any thing I ever saw," said Lascelles softly.

  Drawlight retreated a little further into his chair. “What will they do?"

  “I do not know. Since your little adventure became known I have thought it best to absent myself from Hanover-square for a while. I heard from Admiral Summerhayes that Strange wished to call you out . . ." (Drawlight gave a sort of yelp of fright.) “. . . but Arabella disapproves of duelling and so nothing came of it."

  “Norrell has no right to be angry with me!" declared Drawlight suddenly. “He owes everything to me! Magicianship is all very well, but had it not been for me taking him about and shewing him to people, no one would ever have heard of him. He could not do without me then, and he cannot do without me now."

  “You think so?"

  Drawlight's dark eyes grew larger than ever and he put a finger in his mouth as though to gnaw a fingernail for comfort, but finding that he was still wearing his gloves, he took it out again quickly. “I shall call again this evening," he said. “Shall you be at home?"

  “Oh, probably! I have half-promised Lady Blessington to go to her salon, but I doubt that I shall go. We are horribly behind with the Friends. Norrell keeps plaguing us with contradictory instructions."

  “So much work! My poor Lascelles! That will not suit you at all! What a slavedriver the old man is!"

  After Drawlight had gone Lascelles rang for his servant. “I shall go out in an hour, Emerson. Tell Wallis to get my clothes ready . . . Oh, and Emerson! Mr Drawlight has expressed an intention of returning here later this evening. When he comes, do not upon any consideration admit him."

  At the same time that the above conversation was taking place Mr Norrell, Mr Strange and John Childermass were gathered in the library at Hanover-square to discuss Drawlight's treachery. Mr Norrell sat in silence, staring into the fire while Childermass described to Strange how he had discovered another of Drawlight's dupes, an elderly gentleman in Twickenham called Palgrave who had given Drawlight two hundred guineas to have his life prolonged by another eighty years and his youth returned to him.