Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (9 page)

Mr Norrell regarded him nervously. “Is there any thing more we must do?” he asked. “Shall we sign something?”

“No, but I should take something of the lady’s to signify my claim upon her.”

“Take one of these rings,” suggested Mr Norrell, “or this necklace about her neck. I am sure I can explain away a missing ring or necklace.”

“No,” said the gentleman with the thistle-down hair. “It ought to be something … Ah! I know!”

Drawlight and Lascelles were seated in the drawing-room where Mr Norrell and Sir Walter Pole had first met. It was a gloomy enough spot. The fire burnt low in the grate and the candles were almost out. The curtains were undrawn and no one had put up the shutters. The rattle of the rain upon the windows was very melancholy.

“It is certainly a night for raising the dead,” remarked Mr Lascelles. “Rain and trees lash the window-panes and the wind moans in the chimney — all the appropriate stage effects, in fact. I am frequently struck with the play-writing fit and I do not know that tonight’s proceedings might not inspire me to try again — a tragi-comedy, telling of an impoverished minister’s desperate attempts to gain money by any means, beginning with a mercenary marriage and ending with sorcery. I should think it might be received very well. I believe I shall call it,
’Tis Pity She’s a Corpse
.”

Lascelles paused for Drawlight to laugh at this witticism, but Drawlight had been put out of humour by the magician’s refusal to allow him to stay and witness the magic, and all he said was: “Where do you suppose they have all gone?”

“I do not know.”

“Well, considering all that you and I have done for them, I think we have deserved better than this! It is scarcely half an hour since they were so full of their gratitude to us. To have forgotten us so soon is very bad! And we have not been offered so much as a bit of cake since we arrived. I dare say it is rather too late for dinner — though I for one am famished to death!” He was silent a moment. “The fire is going out too,” he remarked.

“Then put some more coals on,” suggested Lascelles.

“What! And make myself all dirty?”

One by one all the candles went out and the light from the fire grew less and less until the Venetian paintings upon the walls became nothing but great squares of deepest black hung upon walls of a black that was slightly less profound. For a long time they sat in silence.

“That was the clock striking half-past one o’clock!” said Drawlight suddenly. “How lonely it sounds! Ugh! All the horrid things one reads of in novels always happen just as the church bell tolls or the clock strikes some hour or other in a dark house!”

“I cannot recall an instance of any thing very dreadful happening at half-past one,” said Lascelles.

At that moment they heard footsteps on the stairs — which quickly became footsteps in the passageway. The drawing-room door was pushed open and someone stood there, candle in hand.

Drawlight grasped for the poker.

But it was Mr Norrell.

“Do not be alarmed, Mr Drawlight. There is nothing to be afraid of.”

Yet Mr Norrell’s face, as he raised up his candlestick, seemed to tell a different story; he was very pale and his eyes were wide and not yet emptied, it seemed, of the dregs of fear. “Where is Sir Walter?” he asked. “Where are the others? Miss Wintertowne is asking for her mama.”

Mr Norrell was obliged to repeat the last sentence twice before the other two gentlemen could be made to understand him.

Lascelles blinked two or three times and opened his mouth as if in surprize, but then, recovering himself, he shut his mouth again and assumed a supercilious expression; this he wore for the remainder of the night, as if he regularly attended houses where young ladies were raised from the dead and considered this particular example to have been, upon the whole, a rather dull affair. Drawlight, in the meantime, had a thousand things to say and I dare say he said all of them, but unfortunately no one had attention to spare just then to discover what they were.

Drawlight and Lascelles were sent to find Sir Walter. Then Sir Walter fetched Mrs Wintertowne, and Mr Norrell led that lady, tearful and trembling, to her daughter’s room. Meanwhile the news of Miss Wintertowne’s return to life began to penetrate other parts of the house; the servants learnt of it and were overjoyed and full of gratitude to Mr Norrell, Mr Drawlight and Mr Lascelles. A butler and two manservants approached Mr Drawlight and Mr Lascelles and begged to be allowed to say that if ever Mr Drawlight or Mr Lascelles could benefit from any small service that the butler or the manservants might be able to render them, they had only to speak.

Mr Lascelles whispered to Mr Drawlight that he had not realized before that doing kind actions would lead to his being addressed in such familiar terms by so many low people — it was most unpleasant — he would take care to do no more. Fortunately the low people were in such glad spirits that they never knew they had offended him.

It was soon learnt that Miss Wintertowne had left her bed and, leaning upon Mr Norrell’s arm, had gone to her own sitting-room where she was now established in a chair by her fire and that she had asked for a cup of tea.

Drawlight and Lascelles were summoned upstairs to a pretty little sitting-room where they found Miss Wintertowne, her mother, Sir Walter, Mr Norrell and some of the servants.

One would have thought from their looks that it had been Mrs Wintertowne and Sir Walter who had journeyed across several supernatural worlds during the night, they were so grey-faced and drawn; Mrs Wintertowne was weeping and Sir Walter passed his hand across his pale brow from time to time like someone who had seen horrors.

Miss Wintertowne, on the other hand, appeared quite calm and collected, like a young lady who had spent a quiet, uneventful evening at home. She was sitting in a chair in the same elegant gown that she had been wearing when Drawlight and Lascelles had seen her last. She rose and smiled at Drawlight. “I think, sir, that you and I scarcely ever met before, yet I have been told how much I owe to you. But I fear it is a debt quite beyond any repaying. That I am here at all is in a large part due to your energy and insistence. Thank you, sir. Many, many thanks.”

And she held out both her hands to him and he took them.

“Oh! Madam!” he cried, all bows and smiles. “It was, I do assure you, the greatest hon …”

And then he stopped and was silent a moment. “Madam?” he said. He gave a short, embarrassed laugh (which was odd enough in itself — Drawlight was not easily embarrassed). He did not let go of her hands, but looked around the room as if in search of someone to help him out of a difficulty. Then he lifted one of her own hands and shewed it to her. She did not appear in any way alarmed by what she saw, but she did look surprized; she raised the hand so that her mother could see it.

The little finger of her left hand was gone.

9
Lady Pole

October 1807

It has been remarked (by a lady infinitely cleverer than the present author) how kindly disposed the world in general feels to young people who either die or marry. Imagine then the interest that surrounded Miss Wintertowne! No young lady ever had such advantages before: for she died upon the Tuesday, was raised to life in the early hours of Wednesday morning, and was married upon the Thursday; which some people thought too much excitement for one week.

The desire to see her was quite universal. The full stretch of most people’s information was that she had lost a finger in her passage from one world to the next and back again. This was most tantalizing; was she changed in any other way? No one knew.

On Wednesday morning (which was the morning that followed her happy revival) the principals in this marvellous adventure seemed all in a conspiracy to deprive the Town of news; morning-callers at Brunswick-square learnt only that Miss Wintertowne and her mother were resting; in Hanover-square it was exactly the same — Mr Norrell was very much fatigued — it was entirely impossible that he see any body; and as for Sir Walter Pole, no body was quite certain where to find him (though it was strongly suspected that he was at Mrs Wintertowne’s house in Brunswick-square). Had it not been for Mr Drawlight and Mr Lascelles (benevolent souls!) the Town would have been starved of information of any sort, but they drove diligently about London making their appearance in a quite impossible number of drawing-rooms, morning-rooms, dining-rooms and card-rooms. It is impossible to say how many dinners Drawlight was invited to sit down to that day — and it is fortunate that he was never at any time much of an eater or he might have done some lasting damage to his digestion. Fifty times or more he must have described how, after Miss Wintertowne’s restoration, Mrs Wintertowne and he had wept together; how Sir Walter Pole and he had clasped each other’s hand; how Sir Walter had thanked him most gratefully and how he had begged Sir Walter not to think of it; and how Mrs Wintertowne had insisted that Mr Lascelles and he both be driven home in her very own carriage.

Sir Walter Pole had left Mrs Wintertowne’s house at about seven o’clock and had gone back to his lodgings to sleep for a few hours, but at about midday he returned to Brunswick-square just as the Town had supposed. (How our neighbours find us out!) By this time it had become apparent to Mrs Wintertowne that her daughter now enjoyed a certain celebrity; that she had, as it were, risen to public eminence overnight. As well as the people who left their cards at the door, great numbers of letters and messages of congratulation were arriving every hour for Miss Wintertowne, many of them from people of whom Mrs Wintertowne had never heard. “Permit me, madam,” wrote one, “to entreat you to shake off the oppression of that shadowy vale which has been revealed to you.”

That unknown persons should think themselves entitled to comment upon so private a matter as a death and a resurrection, that they should vent their curiosity in letters to her daughter was a circumstance to excite Mrs Wintertowne’s utmost displeasure; she had a great deal to say in censure of such vulgar, ill-bred beings, and upon his arrival at Brunswick-square Sir Walter was obliged to listen to all of it.

“My advice, ma’am,” he said, “is to think no more about it. As we politicians well know a policy of dignity and silence is our best defence against this sort of impertinence.”

“Ah! Sir Walter!” cried his mother-in-law to be. “It is very gratifying to me to discover how frequently our opinions agree! Dignity and silence. Quite. I do not think we can ever be too discreet upon the subject of poor, dear Emma’s sufferings. After tomorrow I for one am determined never to speak of it again.”

“Perhaps,” said Sir Walter, “I did not mean to go so far. Because, you know, we must not forget Mr Norrell. We shall always have a standing reminder of what has happened in Mr Norrell. I fear he must often be with us — after the service he has done us we can scarcely ever shew him consideration enough.” He paused and then added with a wry twist of his ugly face, “Happily Mr Norrell himself has been so good as to indicate how he thinks
my
share of the obligation might best be discharged.” This was a reference to a conversation which Sir Walter and Mr Norrell had had at four o’clock that morning, when Mr Norrell had waylaid Sir Walter upon the stairs and talked to him at great length about his plans to baffle the French by magic.

Mrs Wintertowne said that she would, of course, be glad to distinguish Mr Norrell with marks of special respect and consideration; any one might know how highly she regarded him. Quite apart from his great magicianship — which, said Mrs Wintertowne, there was no need to mention when he came to the house — he seemed a very good sort of old gentleman.

“Indeed,” said Sir Walter. “But for now our most pressing concern must be that Miss Wintertowne should not undertake more than she is equal to — and it was of this that I particularly wished to speak to you. I do not know what may be your opinion but it seems to me that it would be as well to put off the wedding for a week or two.”

Mrs Wintertowne could not approve of such a plan; all the arrangements were made and so much of the wedding-dinner cooked. Soup, jellies, boiled meats, pickled sturgeon and so forth were all ready; what was the good of letting it all spoil now, only to have it all to do over again in a week or so? Sir Walter had nothing to say to arguments of domestic economy, and so he suggested that they ask Miss Wintertowne to say whether or not she felt strong enough.

And so they rose from their seats in the icy drawing-room (where this conversation had taken place) and went up to Miss Wintertowne’s sitting-room on the second-floor where they put the question to her.

“Oh!” said she. “I never felt better in my life. I feel very strong and well. Thank you. I have been out already this morning. I do not often walk. I rarely feel equal to exercise, but this morning I felt as if the house were a prison. I longed to be outside.”

Sir Walter looked very concerned. “Was that wise?” He turned to Mrs Wintertowne. “Was that well done?”

Mrs Wintertowne opened her mouth to protest but her daughter only laughed and exclaimed, “Oh! Mama knew nothing of it, I assure you. I went out while she was asleep in her room. Barnard went with me. And I walked round Brunswick-square twenty times. Twenty! — is not that the most ridiculous thing you ever heard? But I was possessed of such a desire to walk! Indeed I would have run, I think, if it were at all possible, but in London, you know …” She laughed again. “I wanted to go further but Barnard would not let me. Barnard was in a great flutter and worry lest I should faint away in the road. She would not let me go out of sight of the house.”

They stared at her. It was — apart from anything else — probably the longest speech Sir Walter had ever heard her utter. She was sitting very straight with a bright eye and blooming complexion — the very picture of health and beauty. She spoke so rapidly and with such expression; she looked so cheerful and was so exceedingly animated. It was as if Mr Norrell had not only restored her to life, but to twice or thrice the amount of life she had had before.

It was very odd.

“Of course,” said Sir Walter, “if you feel well enough to take exercise, then I am sure that no one would wish to prevent you — nothing is so likely to make you strong, and to ensure your continuing health, as regular exercise. But perhaps, for the present, it would be as well not to go out without telling any one. You should have someone more than Barnard to guard you. From tomorrow, you know, I may claim that honour for myself.”

“But you will be busy, Sir Walter,” she reminded him. “You will have all your Government business to attend to.”

“Indeed, but …”

“Oh! I know that you will be pretty constantly engaged with business affairs. I know I must not expect anything else.”

She seemed so cheerfully resigned to his neglecting her that he could not help opening his mouth to protest — but the justice of what she said prevented him from saying a word. Ever since he had first seen her at Lady Winsell’s house in Bath he had been greatly struck by her beauty and elegance — and had quickly concluded that it would be a very good thing, not only to marry her as soon as it could conveniently be contrived, but also to get better acquainted with her — for he had begun to suspect that, setting aside the money, she might suit him very well as a wife. He thought that an hour or so of conversation might accomplish a great deal towards setting them upon that footing of perfect unreserve and confidence which was so much to be desired between husband and wife. He had high hopes that such a tête-à-tête would soon provide ample proofs of their mutual sympathies and tastes. Several things she had said had encouraged him to hope that it might be so. And being a man — and a clever one — and forty-two years old, he naturally had a great deal of information and a great many opinions upon almost every subject you care to mention, which he was eager to communicate to a lovely woman of nineteen — all of which, he thought, she could not fail but to find quite enthralling. But, what with
his
great preoccupation with business and
her
poor health they had yet to have this interesting conversation; and now she told him that she expected things to continue much the same after they were married. She did not appear to resent it. Instead, with her new, lively spirits, she seemed quite entertained that he should ever have deceived himself that matters could be otherwise.

Unfortunately he was already late for an appointment with the Foreign Secretary so he took Miss Wintertowne’s hand (her whole, right hand) and kissed it very gallantly; told her how much he looked forward to the morrow that would make him the happiest of men; attended politely — hat in hand — to a short speech by Mrs Wintertowne upon the subject; and left the house resolving to consider the problem further — just as soon, in fact, as he could find the time.

Upon the following morning the wedding did indeed take place at St George’s Hanover-square. It was attended by almost all of His Majesty’s Ministers, two or three of the Royal Dukes, half a dozen admirals, a bishop and several generals. But I am sorry to say that, vital as such great men must always be to a Nation’s peace and prosperity, on the day that Miss Wintertowne married Sir Walter Pole, no body cared tuppence for any of them. The man who drew most eyes, the man whom every body whispered to his neighbour to point out to him, was the magician, Mr Norrell.