London, England 1811
The servant girl tried to shoo away the stray dog, a shaggy mutt that stood obstinately at the foot of the front steps. The animal dropped it's rear on the icy cobblestones and lifted it's snout in challenge. Gingerly, she skirted down a few steps and hissed at it to scamper away. Her mistress was due home soon and though she was not a precious woman, the servant girl did not want her to be inconvenienced.
Truthfully, the girl liked Mrs. Arabella Strange and wanted to please her. Her duties were always preformed skillfully and to the letter of decorum for a person of her station. Even the head butler had commented on occasion that the girl was made for greater things. She might even aspire to the position of housekeeper someday if she remained faithful in her work.
"Get on with you," a man growled at the animal. He had materialized out of the shadows from a brick fissure, thickly swathed in naked ivy vines. The dog hopped to it's feet and pranced towards the stranger.
The girl was taken aback by the man's sudden appearance but it did not take her long to recover. After all, she was employed in the house of the great magician, Jonathan Strange. To be in service of such a man, one was expected to keep a cool head no matter what wonders came to pass. But upon further inspection, she found that the man could very well have been born from the shadows themselves.
His clothes, rich in fabric and make, were old fashioned. A jet garrick coat that had been patched and was muddy at the hem swung around his limber frame. A black hat crowned ragged black hair that frayed like a mass of crow feathers. His expression was wry if unsure as he studied her and patted the animal at his side.
The servant girl cleared her throat. "Is that dog yours, sir?"
"No." He didn't cut his dark eyes away, nor did he seem to have anything more to say.
The clatter of hooves on the street drew her attention. It was Mrs. Strange's carriage. The servant girl looked back to shoo both the man and the dog away but found herself alone. He had disappeared as swiftly as he had come into being. A chilled January breeze brushed a square of tattered paper to the foot of the steps. With a quick glance in the carriage's direction, she dropped to the sidewalk and snatched it up.
A dog eared card had been crudely illustrated on the back of a tavern bill then pasted to a thicker cut of cardboard. Two figures were intertwined, lovers, with a pair of goblets hovering over them. The words deux des tasses was written at their bare feet. Her fingers tingled as she ran them over the drawing. This was magic, she had lived in the Strange household long enough to recognize it. And that man, the one from the shadows, she surmised that he must have been a magician. But there were only two practical magicians in all of England, not even the yellow curtained vagabonds selling curses for cheap were true magicians.
Mrs. Strange's carriage pulled up to the curb and she considered telling her of the meeting. However, as the coachman opened the cab door to reveal her mistress with her arms full of shopping bags, the servant girl forgot the moment as though it had never occurred. She couldn't even remember what she had been doing out in the cold waiting for so long. She should have stayed inside the foyer to prevent catching a chill.
"Mary!" Mrs. Strange declared as the girl took the parcels from her. "Thank you so much, please let me help you bring them in."
"No need, ma'am," Mary Stewart chirped as she efficiently swept up the stairs. "I already have called for the tea to be set."
"Thank you, Mary. You are a God send."
The man in the black coat watched from the corner as the girl helped her mistress into the house. Having melted into the shadows of late afternoon, he had evaded her notice. The dog had trotted away, his task complete and happily gnawing on a turkey bone.
She had been everything he remembered, her upturned nose lifted high and curled lips perpetually on the verge of a smirk. Life as a servant had not tarnished her gleam, taken the smart clip from her step or stately turn of her head, mousy curls escaping her mob cap. But the shadows under her mossy brown eyes had been erased and a healthy pink tinted her cheeks. She was happy. And she was safe. It should have been enough. If it hadn't been for that strand of hair over her left ear, a shock of white in one too young.
John Childermass tucked his hands on his cloak as he strode away and played with the tattered deck of cards in his pocket. He would bring it up to his master. Whether Norrell approved of him seeing her, it didn't matter. Norrell owed the girl that much at least, no matter how he tried to excuse what had been done to her. If anything, it gave Childermass the chance to see her at least once more.