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.
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 t
o 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.
“I am not sure,” continued Childermass, “that we will ever know for certain how many people have paid Drawlight in the belief that they were commissioning you to perform Black Magic. Both Mr Tantony and Miss Gray have received promises of some future position in a hierarchy of magicians, which Drawlight told them will soon exist and which I do not pretend to understand very well.”
Strange sighed. “How we shall ever convince people that we had no part in it, I do not know. We should do something, but I confess that I have not the least idea what.”
Suddenly Mr Norrell said, “I have been considering the matter very carefully during the last two days – indeed I may say that I have thought of little else – and I have come to the conclusion that we must revive the Cinque Dragownes!”1
There was a short silence and then Strange said, “I beg your pardon, sir. Did you say the Cinque Dragownes?”
Mr Norrell nodded. “It is quite clear to me that this villain should be tried by the Cinque Dragownes. He is guilty of False Magic and Evil Tendings. Happily the old mediaeval law has never been revoked.”
“Old mediaeval law,” said Childermass, with a short laugh, “required twelve magicians to sit in judgement in the Court of Cinque Dragownes. There are not twelve magicians in England. You know very well there are not. There are two.”
“We could find others,” said Mr Norrell.
Strange and Childermass looked at him in astonishment.
Mr Norrell had the grace to appear a little embarrassed at contradicting all that he had maintained for seven years, but nevertheless he continued, “There is Lord Portishead and that dark little man in York who would not sign the agreement. That is two and I dare say,” here he looked at Childermass, “you will find some more if you put your mind to it.”
Childermass opened his mouth, presumably to say something of all the magicians he had already found for Mr Norrell – magicians who were magicians no longer now that Mr Norrell had their books, or had turned them out of their businesses or made them sign pernicious agreements or, in some other way, destroyed them.
“Forgive me, Mr Norrell,” interrupted Strange, “but when I spoke of something being done, I meant an advertisement in the newspaper or something of that sort. I very much doubt that Lord Liverpool and the Ministers would allow us, for the sake of punishing one man, to revive a branch of English law that has been defunct for more than two hundred years. And even if they were so obliging as to permit it, I think we must assume that twelve magicians means twelve practising magicians. Lord Portishead and John Segundus are both theoretical magicians. Besides it is very likely that Drawlight will soon be prosecuted for fraud, forgery, theft and I do not know what else. I fail to see what advantage the Cinque Dragownes has over the common-law courts.”
“The justice of the common-law courts is entirely unpredictable! The judge will know nothing of magic. The magnitude of this man’s crimes will be entirely lost upon him. I am speaking of his crimes against English magic, his crimes against me. The Cinque Dragownes was renowned for its severity. I consider it our best security that he will be hanged.”
“Hanged!”
“Oh, yes. I am quite determined to see him hanged! I thought that was what we were talking about.” Mr Norrell blinked his small eyes rapidly.
“Mr Norrell,” said Strange, “I am quite as angry with this man as you are. He is unprincipled. He is deceitful. He is everything I despise. But I will not be the cause of any one’s death. I was in the Peninsula, sir. I have seen enough men die.”
“But two days ago you wished to challenge him to a duel!”
Strange gave him an angry look. “That is quite another thing!”
“In any case,” continued Mr Norrell, “I scarcely think Drawlight more to blame than you!”
“Me?” cried Strange, startled. “Why? What have I done?”
“Oh, you know very well what I mean! What in the world possessed you to go upon the King’s Roads? Alone and entirely without preparation! You could hardly suppose that I would approve such a wild adventure! Your actions that night will do as much to bring magic into disrepute as anything that man has done. Indeed they will probably do more! No one ever did think well of Christopher Drawlight. It is no surprize to any one that he turns out a villain. But you are known everywhere as my pupil! You are the Second Magician in the land! People will think that I approved what you did. People will think that this is part of my plan for the restoration of English magic!”
Strange stared at his master. “God forbid, Mr Norrell, that you should feel compromised by any action of mine. Nothing, I assure you, could be further from my wishes. But it is easily remedied. If you and I part company, sir, then each of us may act independently. The world will judge each of us without reference to the other.”
Mr Norrell looked very shocked. He glanced at Strange, glanced away again and muttered in a lo
w voice that he had not meant that. He hoped Mr Strange knew he had not meant that. He cleared his throat. “I hope Mr Strange will make some allowance for the irritation of my spirits. I hope Mr Strange cares enough for English magic to bear with my fretfulness. He knows how important it is that he and I speak and act together for the good of English magic. It is altogether too soon for English magic to be exposed to the buffeting of contrary winds. If Mr Strange and I begin to contradict each other upon important matters of magical policy, then I do not believe that English magic will survive.”
A silence.
Strange rose from his chair and made Mr Norrell a stiff, formal bow.
The next few moments were awkward. Mr Norrell looked as if he would have been glad to say something but was at a loss for a subject.
It so happened that Lord Portishead’s new book, the Essay on the Extraordinary Revival of English Magic, &c., had just arrived from the printer and was lying to hand upon a little table. Mr Norrell seized upon it. “What an excellent little work this is! And how devoted to our cause is Lord Portishead! After such a crisis one does not feel much inclined to trust any body – and yet I think we may always rely upon Lord Portishead!”
He handed Strange the book.
Strange turned the pages, thoughtfully. “He has certainly done everything we asked. Two long chapters attacking the Raven King and scarcely a mention of fairies at all. As I remember, his original manuscript had a long description of the Raven King’s magic.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Mr Norrell. “Until you made those corrections, it was worthless. Worse than worthless – dangerous! But the long hours you spent with him, guiding his opinions, have all borne fruit! I am excessively pleased with it.”
Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell Page 48
