Author's Note: This chapter was a lot of fun to write, especially because I got to lift a good chunk of dialogue right out of the book. It is a lot shorter than my usual, but... Well, so far, the next one will definitely make up for it ;)
May 1814
"Have you heard from Mr. Norrell recently?"
"Not recently, no."
"Why are you smiling?" asked Strange.
"Was I? I did not know. Well then, I will tell you. He once sent me a message and that is all."
"Once? In three years?"
"Yes. About a year ago there was a rumor that you had been killed at Vitoria and Mr. Norrell sent Childermass to ask if it was true. I knew no more than he. But that evening Captain Moulthrop arrived. He had landed at Portsmouth not two days before and had come straight here to tell me that there was not a word of truth in it. I shall never forget his kindness! Poor young man! His arm had been amputated only a month or so before and he was still suffering very much. But that is all I have heard from Hanover-square."
"Whatever do you mean by that? Has Norrell sent word to someone else?"
"No, I do not believe so." Arabella leaned in, and lowered her voice. "But Childermass comes quite regularly, once a month at the least!"
"Childermass! Whatever for?"
She grinned widely, eyes sparkling. "To see Georgiana."
Jonathan frowned, his eyes blinking rapidly. "I... I do not understand. Why would Childermass come to see George?"
She merely laughed, and reached across to pat his hand.
"Oh. Oh! Oh, surely, you don't think–! ...Childermass? And George?!"
"Shh, shh, keep your voice down! She's said nothing to me; I do not think they realize that I know. Jeremy and Mary have both mentioned his visits, but they always seem to happen when I am away."
"George and Childermass, though? You don't think... I mean, should I say something to her? You don't think she would actually consider him, do you?"
"I admit, I do not know. Georgiana has always been a very private woman, so it is difficult to say whether his visits have any influence on her disposition; but she certainly does not turn him away. And there have been many times that I know I have smelled her spice cake baking, and yet never seen the result. She always says that she's burned them; but have you ever known your cousin to be careless with an oven?"
"No, never!"
"I think, perhaps, that she is giving them to him."
"Good Lord... Well, I shall speak to her."
"Oh, Jonathan–!"
"No, no, it's alright! Georgie has never kept secrets from me. I'm sure if I merely question whether any man has drawn her eye, she will tell me—and if she doesn't, then we will know she does not truly consider him."
Arabella nodded, seeing the wisdom in this; for all her privacy and reluctance to talk about herself, Georgiana Erquistoune was a remarkably honest woman when pressed, and gave her opinion exceedingly freely—particularly when at Jonathan's request. "Yes, but... Supposing she does own to it? What will you say then? This is Georgiana, after all. If she has made her mind up, nothing on earth could change it for her! But neither could we allow her to go through with it—could we? He is a servant!"
"Hmm. Technically, yes; but he is rather more advisor—assistant, even!—than servant. No, I do not believe the propriety would dissuade her if it came down to it. But I don't believe it would! She is no fool; if I must, I will speak to her of his untrustworthiness, let her know what sort of man he was before. And if that does not work, then... Well, then we will just have to trust that George knows her own mind!"
"I should certainly think you will," came a voice from the door, and both Stranges turned to find Miss Erquistoune with a letter in her hand, leaning up against the doorframe quite in the manner of the presumed object of her affections. "Forgive the intrusion," she said, and very kindly for someone walking in upon a conversation about their own person. "A letter came, but it can wait. What is the matter?"
"Oh! No matter, Georgie, we were just..." Strange turned to his wife, who merely shrugged. "Hm. Well, Arabella was just telling me that...Childermass has been to visit?"
"Well, yes; he just brought the—" she brandished the letter, but then gasped. "Oh! You mean the... Oh. Jonathan, please, don't tell Norrell! I couldn't bear it if anything bad would happen to him for my sake."
"For your–?" He again turned to his wife, who looked just as lost as he did. "Why would Norrell care that Childermass comes to see you?"
Now Miss Erquistoune looked lost, as well. "Because he has been bringing me books. Is that not..? What on earth did you think he was doing?"
The Stranges turned to each other, and shared a sheepish look. "Well..." Arabella began. "We rather thought that, ah... That he was courting you."
"What?!" Georgiana laughed quite heartily, leaning back against the door frame. "Ha! No, I am sure you need not worry about that!"
"Oh!" Strange laughed. "Then, you do not hold any feeling for him?"
Her grin faded, very slowly. "I did not say that. But he only comes to bring the books, and to see how I am getting along with them."
"But," Arabella asked, "whatever does he bring books for?"
"Oh. Well, I fear he managed to catch on that Jonathan had been letting me read the books of magic Norrell loaned him. And, with you away to Spain, he...wanted me to be able to continue my education. Norrell knows nothing of any of it."
"Oh! You've kept up with it!" Jonathan exclaimed with a grin, easily distracted from the Childermass problem. "Have you had any success, old girl?"
She grinned, too—glad that it had been enough to derail that particularly uncomfortable line of conversation—but shook her head. "Only a little, not much more than before you left. I fear it is not my kind of magic."
"Your kind of..? What do you mean by that, Georgie?"
She frowned, rubbed the back of her neck, cocked her head to the side to study him. "You really don't know?" she murmured. "Of all people, I thought... I always thought that you would see it, even before. And then we received your letter, and I read that you were to be a magician, and I thought–!" She sighed heavily, shaking her head.
Strange took a step toward her, brow lowered in concern. "What do you mean, Georgiana?"
"I suppose it is time." Another sigh; then she stepped away from the wall, closed the door behind herself, and crossed the room to sit in the chair across from Arabella. She tossed the letter onto the coffee-table where it would be safe, and rubbed her hands together.
When she pulled them apart, there was a blue-orange flame, suspended between her palms. "There is something I must tell you about myself."
