Chapter 4

Seeing Norrell once more succumb to the small, venomous insinuation against Strange from the mouth of Henry Lascelles over a book selection irritated Childermass. Strange had not long been part of their small magical universe and yet it seemed than Lascelle was doing what he could to poison the well. But unlike his master, Jonathan Strange was not easily moulded and so none of Lascelle's flattery and bile mingled together could make the new magician dance to his tune. Only Norrell, the magician who did not want to be alone so accepted the society and terrible advice of such a scrawny, toxic individual. As Childermass was leaving the room following the discussion, Norrell had enquired,

"Where are you going, Childermass?"

"Out, sir." Had been his gruff rejoinder, he wasn't afraid of showing Norrell when he disagreed with him. There was a sneering look on Lascelle's face as he ventured.

"Just as well."

But Childermass said nothing to the vile fellow seated a little too casually and addressing Norrell once more before departing he merely said.

"I'll be back."

As he walked some forty minutes or so to where he had found her lodgings, Childermass for a time allowed his irritation to be put by the wayside and reminded himself that Rosie and he now shared the same city once more. It was a stranger to them both still, but at least they were in communion again. The row of small houses were all connected by an alleyway, each premises having its only tiny yard, just large enough to hang out washing. From the walls surrounding it sprang moss and weeds and yet Childermass was pleased that despite the closeness, there was not an unbearable smell. Ducking into the yard of Rosie's new home he found that there were two chairs and a table, aswell as a few other bits and pieces, stacked high. Each item still glistened from where it had been washed down and it was clear he had come at a time of industry. Walking inside he found a bed sheet and a few other linen items hung from wherever possible in the small kitchen.

"Rosie!" He called out, not wanting to startle her if he could help it.

"I'm coming!" She called from the small upstairs and he heard a scraping above him. Taking a moment, Childermass observed the benefits of her industry. On the small table opposite were some freshly cut vegetables and he saw she had even located a small but decent piece of meat. There were a few pots and crockery stacked neatly here and there but as his eyes moved around the room, one thing in particular caught his eye. Moving nearer he took up the bottle, pulling back the cork and taking a deep sniff. Childermass put it back where he had found it and soon he heard her footsteps descend with a great creak and groan of the ramshackled stairs. In truth he wished he could provide better for her than this, though it was still better than the swamp hole tenement buildings she lived in when he first got to know her.

She appeared with rosy red cheeks and tendrils of hair falling about her face, the clear indication of a morning's labour done vigorously. Childermass likened it to often how she might look as they laid side by side catching their breath, tangled together. Such thoughts were always pleasant to recall but his mind was focused on the bottle he had just discovered.

"You wouldn't have any matches would you?" She asked as though he had been stood there for two days rather than just arriving. Coming over, the bundle still between them, she did as much as she was able to reach his lips and kiss him lightly. "I'm going to burn this lot!"

Rosie had only arrived three days previous and he had only then spent fifteen minutes in her company, with the addition of Strange to Norrell's party, things were busier than ever.

"I have, somewhere in one of these pockets." He replied, the bottle still on his mind.

"I have slept in this parlour the last two nights, upstairs was a sight to behold, I'm burning this for I'm not sure if someone died up there." She laughed. "Took too long to get 'ere without bein' carried off."

Rosie did have a morbid sense of humour sometimes, he might have laughed more but instead he went back to the bottle and held it out to her. Rosie's eyes remarked the bottle of gin and then the look of deep seriousness on his face, yet surprisingly, her own expression did not change.

"It was a gift from Wessle as I left." She explained. "You can see it's still full… well almost…"

Here Rosie rolled up her sleeve and revealed what was a small but deep cut to her forearm, she'd covered it with a strip of material but it still had the angry freshness of being done recently.

"I put a bit on this when I did it… like I said, I've come this far… don't want to be carried off." She explained and came nearer to him. "I want you to take it away with you, drink it yourself if you like."

Childermass knew enough about people to sense when he was being lied to and he could see that Rosie wasn't. But now his attention went to the gash on her arm and he examined it more closely.

There had been occasions since the night he had walked her home from the Bull Inn where he had visited and passed his time in that back room, she being his main companion in and out. Then he would walk her home and easy conversations would pass between them. As time went on these grew to mean a lot to him and he found himself developing something deeper for her. Childermass continued on some nights to silently watch her from the shadows as his intuition told him there was something foreboding in the air about her, he imagined at the time it was that prowling fool.

Several times he had observed her walking home as she had that Christmas, her female friend and the prowler in tow, all equal on their path to intoxication. They would be arm in arm, swerving together and laughing over very little, but unlike his female counterparts, Childermass could see the planning in the man's eyes. When the frost and ice had surrounded Hurtfew again, trapping Childermass with his master for longer than he would like, he had resorted to his cards and focused on her. What he saw disturbed him, it seemed as though something was to swallow her up and potentially be a means of ruin. That night he had cared little for the ice, though his frustration at the longer time to get to York had rendered his mood so fierce, he was happy few came upon him. As he entered the Bull Inn there was no sign of her, he even without permission went to the back room but still nothing. At last he was accosted in the doorway by Isaac who after his usual patter made the passing comment that Rosie had not arrived, delivering to Childermass a cold sense of dread. Little caring for Wessle's descriptions of inconvenience on account of Rosie's absence, Childermass walked out and was upon her lodgings within minutes. No light was on and stalking down the passageway, his perception clear though he was not so to others, he was met with the smell of people and dirt and all that was unpleasant. From where her light sometimes had appeared he managed to locate which room would have been hers, it was in darkness. Feeling in his pockets, Childermass located his few matches and using all his skills from being a thief, he prised open the door. It gave way without any opposition and silently he stepped in, a noise immediately reached his ears and it relieved and disturbed him equally. The sound at first sounded like that of a light tapping or rattling, yet striking a match, its low flame seeming little use in the darkness of the room, he saw at the far end a bed. There was a small amount of movement with the rattling sound and as he approached he soon could make out a shape on the bed, huddled. Looking around he managed to find one low stump of candle and he lit it, taking the holder and raising it over the bed.

It was Rosie, the rattling noise being the chatter of her teeth and she was so bunched up, her body looked as though it were folded in two. Childermass leant over and touched her shoulder, giving her a light shake. His fingers were met with damp cloth and as he moved his hand down her arm he realised her clothes were soaking wet. Rosie was turned on her back in one swift move and he observed in the low light how deathly white her face was, even her lips had turned an unhealthy pallor and her body was shuddering so violently it must have been painful.

"Rosie?" He said, tapping her icy cheek with his hand, it was enough to make her eyes open a little, the sparkle of wit in her them lacking, instead they were only a dull green. Childermass left her and went to three other rooms in the tenement to locate more candles but the poverty he was met with could not help him, the odour and cramped nature of it causing him to withdraw. Childermass made short work of finding enough of what he needed in the streets nearby, he was efficient and fierce in his pursuit still none the wiser about what had happened.

When he returned, four or five candles were lit and he lifted her upper body to a slumped seating position, her limbs feeling like lead and her head drooped. Beside her on the bed he noticed, glimmering in the light was a small bottle, barely still full of liquid.

"Bloody stupid!" He growled under his breath, tapping her face again and lifting her chin. Surprisingly, Rosie succeeded in opening her eyes and she looked at him, her body still violently shaking. "You need to get out of these wet things."

With his assistance, she was able to strip away the dress though her state meant anything beyond that she was unable to do. From here he had to improvise, though he was hardly without experience and before long he had changed her from the sodden clothes she wore into the a cotton shift. From there he wrapped her in the meagre bed linen she had and could only watch as she struggled and shook. Yet with this he saw a little more colour come to her face and some clarity in her eyes and from where she lay she had watched him fighting the droop of her eyelids.

At once footsteps could be heard near her door and Childermass reeled around when the face of the other young woman Rosie often spent time with appeared. The woman's face was ghostly white and she looked from Childermass to the huddled Rosie in the bed.

"What have you done?" She asked.

"What have I done?" Childermass grated, "She's been in here drunk in soaking clothes."

"I heard she'd fallen into the river…" The woman continued. "Charlie said they were singing on the bridge and she fell in, she got herself out quick enough but… he must have just left her here."

"Then how do you know?"

"He was a little white in the Bull just now. I've just finished work."

"Make yourself useful and go and get a doctor!" Childermass had growled and the wide eyed young woman had left to do just that. Rosie's shudders were still there and he sat by the bed and put the back of his hand against her cheek. Her eyes opened again and she looked at him.

"Is there any left?" She stammered. "It's cold."

A more heartless man might have left her there… indeed one had and a sillier one might have fretted. But despite her words he found himself shifting her along the bed a little, he placing all his body but his boots on the bed beside her. Threading an arm beneath her neck and another over her waist, he pulled her back against his chest, hoping some warmth from himself might pass through to her. Though it had been some time since he had been this close to a woman, never had he had this under such circumstances. The curve of her frame slotted well against his large, lean one. He felt every tremor, ever heaving breath and eventually, he felt a slightly warmer hand of hers come up to take one of his, then and only then, did she fall asleep. Strangely, when she had seemed in less danger, Childermass had felt those few minutes had been almost pleasant. Beneath that current state was someone he was growing to know with a deep interest and all this somehow had not seemed like her. During the years he had noticed her he had seen her work hard to avoid having to take the occasional man for payment, she worked two jobs and now was trapping herself in the solace of gin. There had been more to her than that, he knew about these things. Childermass had been right.

When the sound of the girl and the doctor arriving reached his ear, he gently released her from his grasp and stealthily made his way out. Ironically, sometime later, Charlie Baynes had found himself a victim of a fall, he had been told many times about taking too much drink and being too merry on icy nights. Fate intervened in the form of a shadow to ensure he learnt his lesson, a mild lesson, only a broken arm, but as with all lessons, there is a degree of pain.

Now Rosie dragged a chair back inside and placed it in the smaller front room where a fire blazed and Childermass took it up. After lighting his pipe, he handed over the matches and Rosie busied herself in the kitchen bringing him through a few slices of cold meat and pickled vegetables. Wiping her hands on the apron she wore, she then untied it and laid it on a low table.

"It will come up fine by tomorrow." She explained with a smile, she had tucked some loose tendrils behind her ears. "How do you like London life?"

Childermass shifted a little and this was an invitation for her to come and sit on his knee and she did just that. The chair beneath them creaked and grated but this was ignored. Threading an arm around his shoulders, she watched him put the pipe down and rest one arm over her lap. Out of habit she now brushed some of his loose hair from his face and for a moment it was like they were back in York.

"Mr Norrell has a new pupil."

"Is he aware that he already has one?" She laughed.

"What I pick up from him we don't discuss." Childermass said ruefully. "But he's finding it difficult to share his resources."

"I am surprised you never told me of all this before you came here."

"Mr Norrell expects a degree of privacy."

"He's hired no one better then."

"Hmmm." Childermass grumbled. "There's other people have his ear as well as me now."

"This new magician?"

"No… well Mr Strange has indeed become a friend to Mr Norrell but no… someone who wants the fame Norrell brings him but no skill other than to give useless advice."

"I'm sure you don't mince your words, however many men are present?" Rosie chuckled and Childermass now felt those delicate fingers begin to stroke and massage the back of his neck where his hair was tied. As always, Childermass emitted a low, contented groan at her work and his greedy arms wrapped about her waist almost possessively. "Give him good council, even if it's not what he wants to hear."

Childermass took in Rosie's last few words but his mind moved to the warm, beautiful woman sat on his lap and how much he had missed the presence of her there. Soon his mouth sought hers out and the ravenous fingers held handfuls of the fabric of her dress. Rosie wrapped her arms tight about his neck and drew him in all the closer, gasping a little when his kisses and cheek stubble dragged across her jawline and throat.

"What did I do before I had this?" She sighed thickly, her voice close to his ear and it sparked a new wave of hungry intention within him. Though for a fleeting moment he imagined her again in a drunken stupor, falling from the edge of a bridge and a shuddering form next to him in her hideous tenement. She asked the question, but indeed what did he do before Norrell and herself? He had not cared, that was the truth, he merely was. Magic had given him the hunger and the skills, she had given him the hunger of another kind, the kind that needs the closeness of another person in a manner which suited him. The chair groaned again a his hands became more determined, reaching for the buttons of her dress as he continued his assault on her senses and she laughed.

"I've nowhere to have you." She giggled. "I don't think this chair can carry your will."

A rarely seen smile appeared on Childermass' face, his eyes dark with intent, for a long moment they looked at one another before his lips sought hers with more ferocity again. It had been too long. John Childermass had a history of finding a means to a way in all areas of his life; indeed it had built him a career as a child thief through to his work with Norrell. Now he was to utilise his ingenuity for much more carnal purposes, for nothing right now would interrupt his communion with the woman he loved.