The weeks passed and summer began to slide towards cooler climes. Rosie had no word from Childermass during this time, he did not visit and nor did he write. A six week duration without him was the longest she had gone without sight or sound of him in the past, but when the eighth week rolled in, she began to feel perturbed. The first weeks had been easy to bear for she had found herself work at last in a wash house. It was not nice work, the hours were long and gruelling, but without it she would not be surviving now. The starch and hot water took its toll on the skin of her hands and she had had to begin buying a greasy like cream which was far from cheap to ease the chapping soreness. The rent on their house was high too and it took the last of her savings to pay the next few weeks. It was disconcerting to think that when she had last seen him, his employer had had him stealing again and now he was nowhere to be found. This boded ill if ever she had sense.

By the ninth week, exhausted and anxious, she found herself tempted by the days of old, the solace of a bottle. With a few coins going spare she bought herself enough to warm her for a night or so, though she knew full well it would do her no good long term. As she sat nursing it, the cork having fallen from her knee and rolled out of sight, she tried to cajole herself to drink. Memories from the past swung back and forth like a pendulum, her friends Kitty and Charlie's gay laughter as they all shared swigs from the same bottle. The songs, the warmth and all that blocked the hollowness of her life in poorer times flooded back, but then came his face. That face that held that look whenever he caught sight of a bottle in her midst, it was somewhere in between concern and disappointment. It was a look she hated to see written across Childermass' face. Now he would seem so again, yet was this not his doing? This was not her city, these were not her people and unlike he, she had no conviction to be here… or had she? Only him… indeed always him. Yet where was he? The bottle remained in her hand, a comfortable habit of old, yet as the night passed she drank not a drop and come the dawn of Sunday she tipped it into the yard once more. That was the best place for it, he knew it and so did she.

Rosie decided to use her Sunday off to track him down. This had never been an action she had taken before, for it was not something she agreed with in principle. But desperate times called for desperate measures and that is what she was becoming. Rising early, she set off in the dim light and cool breeze to Hanover Square where she had heard Mr Norrell resided. It wasn't difficult to find with all the fame that surrounded him, but gaining access to such a place and presenting herself was far more difficult. Deciding best to use the servant's entrance, Rosie went around the back of the house to where she supposed the kitchen door would be. Surprisingly, two young maids were seated on the back step sharing a small freshly baked fruit loaf. They remarked her as she came forward, wearing her best dress, a deep bottle green colour with a decent enough cut. It made her look respectable but by no means fancy; Childermass had said it was the sort of thing a woman could 'hold her own in'. So he had said when she had shown him it the first time anyway. Coming forward the nerves ran within her and she wondered if her voice would carry enough to form a sentence.

"Can we help you, miss?" One of the maids asked, standing up and coming over to her, wiping her hands on her apron. It was a kind tone.

"Is this the house of Gilbert Norrell?" She asked.

"It is." The second maid answered, observing her with a little more suspicion than the first. Rosie was determined to pay no heed to such a look; it was natural after all given the man's reputation.

"I was looking for Mr Childermass?"

The two maids looked at one another strangely, the first then turning to Rosie and edging a little nearer.

"May I ask who is asking, miss?"

Rosie swallowed hard, the worry written in this maid's face concerning her greatly.

"I am a friend from Yorkshire; I came to pay my respects for it has been some time."

"He's indisposed, miss." The second explained, coming forward suddenly and with far more assertiveness than the other. "You will not be able to see him today."

"Are you not all to church this morning?" Rosie asked.

"All except the master and his party." The second continued, seeming to lose patience at the sight of Rosie, but she had walked all this way and would not be put off.

"I would be grateful if you would go up and tell him I am here, he may at least have a message for me."

The second began to move back towards the house, but the first called after her.

"Dido, wait!" Dido turned and looked at the other, "I'll see to this."

Dido moved into the house and Rosie saw her no more, the young woman remaining took her by the hand and led her to the step where they sat together.

"I'm Hannah, miss." She explained kindly once more, "Mr Childermass cannot see you for he is resting following an accident."

"An accident?" Rosie gasped.

"Yes, miss." Hannah replied, not forthcoming with any more information than that. Rosie felt acutely the fear for Childermass' wellbeing, but after a moment she composed herself.

"Would it be possible for me to see him?"

"Mr Norrell spends a good deal of time with Mr Childermass, he was very agitated when it occurred."

Rosie hoped indeed he was though she had no idea what had really occurred. SAomething far more amiss had occurred here, she was sure of it. But there would be nothing that this sweet faced young maid could tell her.

"Is he confined to bed?" Rosie asked.

"No, miss." Hannah replied kindly, her hand resting upon Rosie's again to offer some comfort, "The incident happened last week…. Mr Childermass is still recommended rest by the doctor."

Considering for a moment, Rosie decided she could not leave the house without at least trying once more for an opportunity to see him. It was a dangerous idea to try it in the eyes of all those of the house but distracted by worry she could not in all conscience return home yet.

"Would you tell him I am here… if he could come down for only a moment…"

Sensing her anxiety, Hannah's hand once more squeezed Rosie's and the young maid chewed her lip a moment in deliberation. As though a thunderbolt then hit her, she turned suddenly with a sense of almost excitement and began to tell of it.

"We have a boot polishing room, miss… if you have no objection to waiting in there, I could have him come down without too much trouble."

"Thank you, Hannah;" Rosie replied gratefully, "I have no objection in the least."

Whilst all the staff readied themselves to be off to church, Rosie was lead to the boot room by Hannah. The young maid then disappeared elsewhere to fetch Childermass. As voices passed the door and footsteps were heard, Rosie feared someone higher in the household would come upon her. Thankfully in this household, none of the higher class occupants went to church so would not need their fine boots today. As the house settled somewhat, Rosie moved to the small, dirty window that was at neck level and looked out, there was nothing in particular to observe but it passed the endless wait.

As last she heard light footsteps coming towards the door and soon Hannah reappeared.

"Sorry, miss. I had to wait until Mr Norrell and Mr Lascelles were in conversation. Mr Childermass will be down soon, he knows you are here but I must be off."

Rosie took Hannah's hands in her own out of extreme gratitude and utter several hurried thanks to the pretty, young maid. When they parted, Rosie's stomach fluttered with an acute agitation as everything came upon her at once. This was a far cry from their old life to be sure, things were turning dark and sour in her mind.

At last a heavier tread could be heard coming down the quiet corridor and soon the door knob turned and he appeared. He was dressed in his usual garb and aside from being a little paler than usual, he looked no different. The sight of him almost made her forget herself with want to rush over and fling her arms about him. But she had to keep a lid on things, this had only occurred last week and yet he had been absent for weeks. Childermass took a moment to scan her from tip to toe, clearly checking if anything was amiss. The dark circles under her eyes and her paled skin from a sleepless night could not escape his notice. Yet in all other ways she was well enough to outward appearances.

But Rosie looked him over too, he did not walk with any limp, he bore no scars, grazes or cuts. He was as well as she it appeared.

"Did you hurt your feet, John?" Rosie asked, he took a step further into the room and closed the door. "Or your hands perhaps?"

"Neither." He replied, seeming to wait for her to continue, he must know she was angry.

"Then were your fingers merely to dainty to write all of a sudden? It would've been prudent." Rosie tried to be curt but part of the relief of seeing him again in one piece after what she had been told made things difficult.

"Things have got rather busy here…" Childermass stopped and listened about, he was statuesque until satisfied they were still in private, "Things have happen'd."

"I am aware, but not one word from you seems a little ungallant." Rosie continued and seeing there was no apology in the offing, she would merely ascertain his health for her piece of mind and be gone. "You're better?"

"The bullet is out, the rest will heal." Childermass said slowly, knowing how his words would be received. Rosie's expression changed, her brow knitted in confusion and concern, anger quite gone for the moment.

"Bullet?"

"Yes, someone shot at Mr Norrell, I stepped in," he explained, "They're saying it was a French spy."

Rosie knew immediately that the talk of others clearly differed from what Childermass confronted and once more, anger born from worry rose up within her.

"And what actually happened?"

Childermass said nothing; he only came a little nearer with the intent of taking her by the shoulders. Rosie shrugged him off in annoyance and considered a moment. Generally, Childermass was not prone to impatience but this scene could not be done here, anyone could come after him to find what he was about. He did not want this part of his life exposed.

"Does this have anything to do with that tapestry you stole?" she asked, turning and looking him square in the eye, her pupils large and brilliant. When he did not answer again she grew furious. "John!"

"I am not doin' this now, it's no good carrying on so!"

His words silenced her, but she was by no means appeased, her body trembled with outrage yet she uttered nothing. Turning her back to him again, she rubbed her eyes which were sore and heavy from the previous night and suddenly she wished she were back in York again. Her free hand was taken in one of his and slowly she was turned to face him. But when her eyes were prepared to meet his, she found him examining the rough skin on her palm and fingers.

"What have you been doin'?" he asked.

"Workin' John, like you."

"For how long?"

"Weeks at a wash house, I can't live on fresh air you know… I have to work."

"Has it really been that long?" Childermass asked, realising indeed how long an absence it must have been, especially since he often brought provision, though he had not on his last visit.

"I did not come here for that," Rosie said, drawing her hand back to her side, "Merely out of concern. I can see to the rest myself."

"Not in that way, it's bloody slave's work!" Childermass grated but he stopped himself further and drawing in a breath his tone return to its usual drawl. "I'll be by tonight with money; I'll stay to all told."

"How much longer would you have left it had I not come?" Rosie asked honestly, "Are you really that taken up with it all? If so then I should be back to York until you are done here."

Childermass took her hand again in a manner of one who might be about to give an oath.

"I'll come tonight."

At first she did not believe him, but the seriousness of his expression persuaded her otherwise. When they parted Rosie had the relief of his well being, but both of them had many questions. Only for Childermass, not Rosie, nor Norrell and not even his cards could tell him the answers he sought.