"I beg your pardon, madam. I meant only that it is a beautiful night (as I am sure you will agree) and I have been thinking for some time that it is (in the most critical and technical sense) a magical night and I thought perhaps that you were the magic what was meant to happen."
"Oh," cried Cassandra, "they are all full of nonsense. Do not listen to him, my dear Mrs Field. Miss Tobias, let us walk on." But she looked at him curiously and said, "You? What do you know of magic?"
"A little, madam."
"Well, sir," she said, "I will give you a piece of good advice. You will never grow proficient in the art as long as you continue with your outmoded notions of Raven Kings and Otherlanders. Have you not heard? They have all been done away with by Mr Strange and Mr Norrell."
Mr Strange thanked her for the advice.
"There is much more that we could teach you…" she said.
"So it would seem," said Strange, crossing his arms.
"…only that we have neither the time nor the inclination."
"That is a pity," said Strange. "Are you sure, madam, that you will not reconsider? My last master found me to be a most apt pupil, very quick to grasp the principles of any subject."
"What was the name of your last master?" asked Miss Tobias.
"Norrell," said Strange softly.
Another short silence ensued.
"You are the London magician," said Cassandra.
"No, indeed," cried Strange, stung. "I am the Shropshire magician and Mr Norrell is the Yorkshire magician. We neither of us own London as our home. We are countrymen both. We have that, at least, in common."
'You seem, sir, to be of a somewhat inconsistent, somewhat contradictory character," said Miss Tobias.
"Indeed, madam, other people have remarked upon it. And now, ladies, since we are sure to meet again – and that quite soon – I will wish you all a goodnight. Miss Parbringer, I will give you a piece of advice in return for yours (for I am certain that it was given in good faith). Magic, madam, is like wine and, if you are not used to it, it will make you drunk. A successful spell is as potent a loosener of tongues as a bottle of good claret and you will find the morning after that you have said things you now regret."
With that he bowed and walked back through the orchard into the house.
"A magician in Grace Adieu," said Miss Tobias thoughtfully, "and at such a time. Well, let us not be disconcerted. We will see what tomorrow brings."
What tomorrow brought was a courteous note from Mr Woodhope, expressing his hopes that the ladies of Grace Adieu would do his sister the honour of meeting her at the Rectory that afternoon. On this occasion the invitation included Miss Tobias, although, in general, she did not visit in the village (and was no great favourite with Mr Woodhope).
Despite the misgivings which all the ladies felt (and which Mrs Field had several times spoken out loud), Mr Strange met them with great good manners and a bow for each and he gave no hint to any one that this was not the first time he had seen them.
The talk was at first of the commonest sort and, to the ladies of Grace Adieu who did not know him, Mr Strange seemed of an easy and sociable character, so it was a trifle unsettling to hear Arabella Strange ask him why he was so silent today. Mr Strange replied that he was a little tired.
"Oh," said Mrs Strange to Mrs Field, "he has been up all night reading books of magical history. It is a bad habit that all magicians get into and it is that, as much as any thing, which weakens their wits in the end." She smiled at her husband as if expecting him to say some clever or impertinent thing in return. But he only continued to look at the three ladies of Grace Adieu.
Halfway through their visit Mr Woodhope rose and, speaking his great regret and looking at Miss Parbringer, begged that they would excuse him – he had parish business to attend. He was very anxious that Mr Strange should go with him, so much so that Strange had no alternative but to oblige him. This left the ladies alone.
The conversation turned to the articles Mr Strange had published in the quarterly reviews and, in particular, those passages where he proved that there could never have been such a person as the Raven King.
"Mrs Strange," said Cassandra, "you must agree with me – those are most extraordinary opinions for a magician, when even our common historians write the King's dates in their history books – four or five times the span of a common life."
Arabella frowned. "Mr Strange cannot always write exactly what he pleases. Much of it, you know, comes from Mr Norrell. Mr Norrell has studied magic for many years more than any other gentleman in England, and certainly with much greater profit. His opinion must carry great weight with any one who cares about English magic."
"I see," said Cassandra, "you mean that Mr Strange writes things which he does not entirely believe, because Mr Norrell tells him to. If I were a man (and, what is much more, a magician) I should not do any thing, write any thing, if I did not like it."
"Miss Parbringer," murmured Miss Tobias, reprovingly.
"Oh, Mrs Strange knows I mean no offence," cried Cassandra, "but I must say what I think and upon this topic of all things."
Arabella Strange smiled. "The situation," she said, "is not exactly as you suppose. Mr Strange has studied for a number of years with Mr Norrell in London and Mr Norrell swore at the beginning that he would not take a pupil and so it was considered a great honour when he consented to take Jonathan. And then, you know, there are only two true magicians in England and England is at war. If those two magicians quarrel, what follows? What greater comfort could we offer the French than this?"
The ladies took their tea together and the only slight incident to disturb the remainder of the visit was a fit of coughing which seized first Cassandra, and then Mrs Field. For several moments Mrs Strange was quite concerned about them.
When Henry Woodhope and Strange returned the ladies were gone. The maid and Mrs Strange were standing in the passageway. Each was holding a little white linen cloth. The maid was exclaiming loudly about some thing or other and it was a moment before Jonathan Strange could make himself heard. "What is it?" he asked.
"We have found some bones," said his wife, with a puzzled air. "Small, white bones, it would seem, of some delicate little creatures, and two little grey skins like empty pods. Come, sir, you are the magician, explain it to us."
"They are mouse bones. And mouse skins too. It is owls that do that. See," said Strange, "the skins are turned quite inside out. Curious, is it not?"
Mrs Strange was not greatly impressed with this as an explanation. "So I dare say," she said, "but what seems to me far more miraculous is that we found these bones in the cloaths which Miss Parbringer and Mrs Field had to wipe their fingers and their mouths. Jonathan, I hope you are not suggesting that these ladies have been eating mice?"
The weather continued very fine. Mr Woodhope drove his sister, Mr and Mrs Field and their niece to --Hill to see the views and to drink and eat by a pretty, hanging wood. Mr Strange rode behind. Once again he watched all the party carefully and once again Mrs Strange told him that he was in a grave, odd mood and not at all like himself.
On other days Mr Strange rode out by himself and talked to farmers and innkeepers on the highways all around. Mr Woodhope explained this behaviour by saying that Strange had always been very eccentric and that now he had become so great and full of London importance, Mr Woodhope supposed he had grown even more so.
One day (it was the last day of Mr and Mrs Strange's visit to their brother) Mrs Field, Miss Tobias and Cassandra were out walking on the high, empty hills above Grace Adieu. A sunlit wind bent all the long grasses. Light and shade followed each other so swiftly that it was as if great doors were opening and closing in the sky. Cassandra was swinging her bonnet (which had long since left her head) by its blue ribbons, when she saw a gentleman on a black mare, come riding to meet them.