The quiet of the night was cut short by an insistent banging on Rosie's door, its rapping commencing three or four times before she was roused from sleep. Sitting up in bed, she rubbed her eyes hurriedly, the noise of the banging below startling her. It was such a rude awakening for such an hour and certainly it had better be worth it. Rosie's day had been long, she had found herself walking here and there looking for work, it had almost proven fruitless. As she neared the door, candle in hand she called out.

"Yes?"

"It's me." Childermass' voice replied and immediately she felt a mixture of relief and surprise. Pulling back the latch and unlocking the door, Childermass' dark form became visible. Rosie stepped back into the kitchen, the flickering of the candle sending shadows dancing around the room, Childermass himself looking like the largest of all. For a moment he said nothing, but she could tell from the look on his face that all was not right. Was he checking up on her or had something bad happened at the house?

"You well?" he asked, coming past her and taking out his matches to light another candle. Over his shoulder was a small bag stuffed full of something or other.

"Not so bad." Rosie replied, "Though you gave me a start."

"I was… I suppose you could say I was in the neighbourhood."

Placing the bag on the table he came towards her, bending to kiss the top of her head. His lips were cold, he'd been nowhere in this neighbourhood to be sure. Childermass placed the bag on the table.

"Have you eaten?" Rosie asked. "I've got some pork pie."

"Thank you." He replied and then regarding her in the candle light continued, "You look tired?"

"I was asleep." she laughed, her head still feeling a little foggy from the depth of it. Moving to the cupboard, she took out the plate with the last of the pork pie and handed it to him. Childermass took up one of the chairs and began to consume it in large mouthfuls. As Rosie watched him, she sensed that the speed of his eating was not so much from hunger as from a slight agitation. It was not like him to show such things, he was rather a closed book, but there was something eating at him. Rosie's eyes moved to the rather full bag nearby, Childermass seemed to ignore its presence despite being close to his elbow. The bulk was large but not burdensome, it filled out the sack yet barely sagged.

"What's in there, John?"

His head turned a little so he could view the bag from the corner of his eye but he shrugged off the question and continued to eat. Irked by the response, Rosie took herself upstairs to fetch a shawl and pull on a pair of wool socks, the cold having now nipped too long at her bare feet. In the small, square mirror that hung slightly crooked on the wall she looked at herself. Two dark circles were under each of her eyes and the plait of her hair had started to fray in her sleep. Smoothing any stray hairs from around her face she wrapped the shawl tight about her and descended the stairs, each creak giving her away. To her surprise, Childermass had finished and was making up the kitchen fire. Rosie remained on the last step watching his industry, he hardly seemed to notice she had come back down whilst he worked. When the flames licked contentedly at the fuel, he stood up and dusted off his hands. Rosie went to move his plate but he caught her wrist and turned her to look at him.

"I'm not sure what I have got in there." he explained, his voice low as though anyone could risk hearing them. Taking the bag, he pulled out a large stretch of fabric and spread it across the table. The light from the fire and the candle illuminated the contents enough and Rosie's eyes skimmed over the content. She saw figures made of fabric, all of them mingling together assumedly in some meaning. When Rosie could not quite fathom it, she looked to Childermass but scrutiny and confusion was written on his dark brow. There was something about the picture that unnerved Rosie, she didn't like it at all.

"Where did you get this?" she asked, he said nothing. "John."

"I acquired it on behalf of Mr Norrell."

"You stole it?"

"I was a thief, remember." Childermass replied with a hint of scorn. "You know that well enough."

"I wasn't aware Mr Norrell needed you for that."

"These days he needs me for a good many things." Childermass mumbled, his eyes continuing to study the work, his mind worked to decipher its meaning but he got nowhere. Finally, he stuffed it into the bag impatiently once more. Childermass was unsettled all the more now and despite his tone, Rosie's heart went out to him a little and she touched his shoulder.

"You are doing your duty, John."

"I do not like being kept in the dark." Childermass explained, "He shrouds himself in secrets…"

Rosie pushed him down onto a chair and moved to pull another nearby, but again she found her hand caught and her body pulled onto his knee. Rosie sat there whilst he mused, the silence in the room growing larger by the minute and she felt herself growing drowsy again. Her temple rested against his head and the heaviness of her eyelids grew until they could remain open no longer. It wasn't long until she felt herself lifted up and Childermass carried her back to her bed, placing her down gently in the hope of not waking her. As he moved to leave, her eyes opened a little and she called after him.

"Wait!" she murmured and he turned around to look at her, "What are you going to do?"

"What I was asked…" Childermass said gently, "Otherwise why did I do it?"

Rosie reached out a hand and he came forward and took it in his, she gave it a light squeeze as she yawned.

"Don't let him make you a thief again." Her voice was thick with drowsiness, but her meaning was clear, "You left that life… like I left mine."

"I won't."

Childermass sat on the edge of her bed, still holding her hand in both of his and he waited for her to go back to sleep. Part of him aside from being tired, wished to stay the night for in truth, he felt a sense of guilt and anger at his actions of this evening. Norrell should not have asked him to do it, but his master was clammed up beyond comprehension recently. The soft sound of her breathing exposed her slumber at last and he looked at the welcoming space beside her, his punishment for the act he had done earlier. His body ached from the cold walk and coming to terms with the return journey he must now make he stood up. Carefully he made his way down the stairs and into the welcoming glow of the fire again. Looking all around, he surveyed her little life here; he had found her a decent place at least. That was something in all of this; she had a better quality of life. With this in mind, he couldn't help but make a quick scan of her few cupboards and collections of jars and bottles. Childermass wasn't quite sure what he expected to find for there was no evidence like times of old, yet he still had to check.

There had been a time, the first time when he had been watching her pull up her wool stockings and smooth down the skirt of her dress, that things had begun to change. That cascade of dark hair, slightly dishevelled and luscious hanging over her shoulders and her cheeks still rosy and glowing from their time together. Rosie had lain on the top of his arm and shoulder for the longest time, first as they regained their breath, then as they stared at the wooden ceiling, time flowing past without hurry. Even now he could remember the stiff ache in that arm after she had moved to dress herself but how the absence of her there could be felt far more poignantly.

Once, many years before he'd met her, another girl has lain beside him just the same, but she had clung to him, buried herself so far into his side it was as though she were attempting to burrow beneath his flesh. Yet as the blood had returned to his arm, his skin tingling and pricking as Rosie redressed that first time, everything was so different. She had been due at her work near on the hour that was approaching and she had laughed as she dressed herself, giggled as she had fixed her hair and no doubt ran all the way there chuckling. That same evening, he had found her at the Inn a little later rushed off her feet, smiling and singing. Looking across the crowded room he had seen Charlie Baynes observing her. Indeed, looking around he noticed for the first time how many men took to observing her. Something had changed however, the work, the room, the drink seemed second now to Rosie, she was above taking it all to heart somehow.

As Childermass left her house with his stolen wears, he always remembered that sight of her, the looking above things as the means to an end. That's what this one act had to be, the means to an end, a means towards furthering English magic and maybe, the truth.