October 1810
Jonathan Strange had had a wretched week. The Ministers were frustrated with the progress of the war, and blamed Norrell's magic for the trouble. Norrell, chafing under the extra pressure, had been taking his frustrations out on Jonathan. With nowhere else for the blame to go—except upon the French themselves and, perhaps, John Uskglass, if only they could get him to come by and sit for their criticism—Jonathan had become implacably short-tempered. In the space of a week, he had argued with Drawlight, been harsh with his servants, very nearly called Lascelles out into the street, and practically quarreled with Arabella.
Thus on Friday, when Georgiana came into the parlor with his copy of Ormskirk and a bucket of water and asked, "Can we try another spell?" he knew exactly what she was up to. Still, he could not begrudge her the attempt at cheering him, no matter how transparent, and he did love practicing spells with Georgie.
"Oh, very well," he grumbled, setting aside his own reading; but she grinned so brightly in response that even his dark mood could not prevent him from grinning along with her.
"In the kitchen, please!" Arabella called, not even bothering to look up from her embroidery.
Jonathan stood and took the bucket from George's hands, and leaned over to kiss his dear wife. "We'll be careful," he promised, and Arabella laughed.
"That is what you always say, and yet we are out two sets of drapes."
"I am sorry," Georgiana chimed, looking sheepish, and Bell waved them both away with a laugh.
It had all started off innocently enough. Arabella had long since given up on asking Jonathan about his studies; but George had always been eager to learn, rabidly curious, full of questions. When it came to magic, she was certainly no different.
Norrell had a low opinion of women's ability to study and perform magic, to no one's surprise; but Strange had met the spirit of Maria Absalom, albeit briefly. Martin Pale himself, last of the Aureate magicians, was taught magic by Lady Catherine of Winchester, and taught it to his pupil and lover, Francis Pevensey.
If Martin Pale would teach a woman magic, then Jonathan Strange could find no reason to shy away from it, either.
To his credit, Strange lasted a week before he gave her a copy of Portishead's A Child's History of the Raven King. It was a full month before he started smuggling books from Norrell's library home for her to read; another month before he broke down and asked to see if she could do any of the magic they read about.
She did have some measure of success with it, though only a little. Whatever they attempted, if she could do any part of it, it always somehow resulted in something nearby catching a bit of fire—always fire, to the point that Arabella explicitly forbade them from practicing anywhere but the kitchens.
George, of course, always unflappable, did not seem the least surprised or distressed at this such bizarre development. But, for some time, Jonathan could not seem to wrap his mind around the strangeness, nor to let the problem go.
Eventually, however, he came to the conclusion that the problem must lie in his cousin's Englishness—or, rather, her lack thereof. While she must surely have some predisposition toward the practice of magic, she was a Black Scotswoman. There was hardly more of England in her blood than there was of Russia, or the Arctic, or Spain. English magic simply could find no foothold within her.
Satisfying himself with such an answer, Strange put the problem out of his mind, except to occasionally find himself searching fruitlessly for mention of other forms of magic in Norrell's library—he was certain, if he could gain access to the texts kept at Hurtfew, there would be something of substance, but the Hanover-square books yielded nothing.
Now, Georgie only practiced for the sake of their own amusement, always with a bucket or two of water close at hand.
And yet, the lack of practical success did not deter her from devouring every book he brought home to her. She read them all, though George (always overly open with her opinions) disagreed harshly with nearly all of them.
It was nothing like discussing magic with Norrell—which allowed for calm, calculated half-sermons about the wisdom and foolhardiness of the Aureates and Argentines, or shiningly-optimistic projections about the respectable future of English spellwork. No, talking magic with George almost always dissolved rapidly into an argument.
Still, this, too, had its merits. No one else—save, perhaps, Childermass or Mr. Segundus—had the practical knowledge to disagree with Norrell's particular brand of English magic, and those two men lacked either the confidence or the status to oppose him. Strange was the only person who could possibly hope to do so publicly, but all his available information came from the mouth and mind of Norrell himself, or at least upon his recommendation. He was rarely ever confronted with opposing ideas on the nature and usefulness of magic, except for that which came from Georgiana.
She had always been like that. The summers Jonathan spent in Scotland were some of the happiest days of his childhood, but on honest reflection, much of that time was spent sitting through his cousins' tedious lessons. Dr. Erquistoune was a gentle and compassionate man, who had great depths of love for his daughters. The loss of his only sister had devastated him; but it also served to reinforce his devotion to protecting his girls from such a fate, and providing them with the tools to avoid the sort of life that had befallen the late Mrs. Strange. Thus, Margaret, Maria, and Georgiana were provided with some of the best tutors Edinburgh had to offer; and Jonathan, when he came to visit, was put through the same rigorous study. She was six years younger than him, but George had been contradicting him from the moment she learned to talk.
"We tried the spell of revelation last time," she reminded him, leaning upon her elbows at the kitchen table and peering over his shoulder at the book open before them. "Remember? I nearly ruined Mary's chair, and she still has not forgiven me. Is there another we could try?"
"Hmm, that's right, I had forgotten." Strange scratched his head, and flipped a few pages ahead, wondering what else they could attempt. "Oh! I know! There is one in here on how to disperse magic that has already been cast—you might actually have some success with that! Let me find it, then I'll conjure something, and you try to put it to end."
George's grin was bright, her eyes shining. "Oh, that does sound promising!"
It had about as much success as any other: Jonathan enchanted a sheet of paper to fold itself into the shape of a bird and fly about their heads, and George cast Ormskirk's spell to perfection, exactly as Strange had done twenty times or more. But the bird simply stopped, shuddered...and burst into flame.
They both stood over the little pile of ash the poor thing had become, peering down at it with their hands on their hips.
"Well..." George began, speaking slowly. "In a way, that did work."
Jonathan broke into laughter, louder and more heartily than he had all week.
It had been Arabella's idea to invite George to London. Jonathan had been worried by the tone of a series of letters from his favourite cousin, after the trouble with the Mathesons, when she returned to living at her parents' house. At the time, Mrs. Erquistoune had written with an offer to send one of their maids as help with the transition to London society and a larger household. Bell had been brilliant enough to write her back with a request that Georgiana come along, too, her words woven so sweetly that Aunt Beitiris seemed to believe it had been her intention all along.
In none of the letters had there been any mention made of how long Georgie would be staying; in fact, no one seemed particularly anxious for the arrangement to come to an end. Now approaching three and twenty years of age, it was believed that Georgiana should be settled again, and running her own household. Dr. and Mrs. Erquistoune seemed under the impression that she was meeting a variety of wealthy, noble potential suitors in London, and that the lack of any sort of engagement so far was due to her inability to choose only one.
They could not be much further from the truth. But Jonathan and Arabella were so fond of the woman and her company, they could not bring themselves to tell them otherwise. Georgiana could be a little solitary at times, quiet and private unless asked directly for her thoughts or opinion (at which point she showed no scruples in sharing), but that suited the still-rather-newly married couple quite well. Yet when she did feel like offering her company, her temperament was perfectly suited to Arabella's, and the two women had made such fast friends that no one in London doubted in the slightest that George had been the lady's companion for years. And Jonathan had always considered her as much relative as friend, and could not be happier to have his old confidant and co-conspirator so close at hand.
She was laughing now, too, delicately sweeping the ash into a pan and dumping it into the fire. "Now, we could try that again, if you're still feeling a might bit gloomy?" she proposed with a sly grin.
Jonathan rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. "I have been a bit of a terror lately, haven't I? I am sorry, Georgie."
She shook her head dismissively. "No, no; despite my personal irreverence, I understand how important magic is to you." She hesitated a moment, and then added, gently, "You...may wish to make your apologies to Bell, however. She knows you even better than I, if anyone could; but a wife likes to hear her husband admit when he has wronged her, even if she does not blame him for it."
He hung his head, but nodded. "You are right, as always. I'll speak to her tonight, find some way to make it up to her. Perhaps...a trip to Portsmouth?"
"Portsmouth?"
"Indeed." He met her eye again, grinning. "Sir Walter mentioned it to me before he left Norrell's house yesterday. He believes the Admiralty plan to invite Norrell and I down to review the Channel Fleet!"
"Good Heavens! Jonathan, that is quite the honor! Arabella will be delighted!"
"I'm glad to hear you think so! But make no mention to her just yet; I do not wish to tell her until it is set in stone."
"Of course, of course. How soon will you know? How long would you be gone?"
"We should hear by this next month, I should think; I wouldn't expect us to be gone for more than two weeks. And, of course, you would be more than welcome to come with us, if you like?"
"Och, no!" Georgiana laughed, overemphasizing her Scottish burr. "London is south enough fer me, thank ye verra much. And anyway, it might be nice to have the house to myself for a wee while!"
