Sir Walter looked as if he would have thanked Strange to keep his curiosity to himself, but all he said was, “Lady Pole’s illness has left her nerves in a sad condition. The tolling of a bell is peculiarly distressing to her and I have asked the vestries of St Mary-le-bone and St Peter if they would, out of consideration for Lady Pole’s nerves, forbear from ringing the church bells, and they have been so obliging as to agree.”

This was rather extraordinary, but then it was generally agreed that Lady Pole’s illness was a rather extraordinary thing with symptoms quite unlike any other. Neither Mr nor Mrs Strange had ever seen Lady Pole. No one had seen her for two years.

When they arrived at no. 9 Harley-street Strange was anxious to begin looking at Sir Walter’s documents straightaway but he was obliged to curb his impatience while Sir Walter satisfied himself that Arabella would not lack for amusement in their absence. Sir Walter was a well-bred man and greatly disliked leaving any guest alone in his house. To abandon a lady was particularly bad. Strange on the other hand was anxious to be on time for his appointment with Mr Norrell, so as fast as Sir Walter could suggest diversions, Strange was endeavouring to prove that Arabella needed none of them.

Sir Walter shewed Arabella the novels in the bookcase, and recommended Mrs Edgeworth’s Belinda in particular as being likely to amuse her. “Oh,” said Strange, interrupting, “I read Belinda to Arabella two or three years ago. Besides, you know, I do not think we will be so long that she will have time to finish a three-volume novel.”

“Then perhaps some tea and seed-cake … ?” Sir Walter said to Arabella.

“But Arabella does not care for seed-cake,” interrupted Strange, absent-mindedly picking up Belinda himself and beginning to read the first volume, “It is a thing she particularly dislikes.”

“A glass of madeira, then,” said Sir Walter. “You will take some madeira, I am sure. Stephen! … Stephen, fetch Mrs Strange a glass of madeira.”

In the eerie, silent fashion peculiar to high-trained London servants, a tall black servant appeared at Sir Walter’s elbow. Mr Strange seemed quite startled by his sudden arrival and stared hard at him for several moments, before he said to his wife, “You do not want madeira, do you? You do not want any thing.”

“No, Jonathan. I do not want any thing,” agreed his wife, laughing at their odd argument. “Thank you, Sir Walter, but I am perfectly content to sit here quietly and read.”

The black servant bowed and departed as silently as he had come, and Strange and Sir Walter went off to talk of the French fleet and the missing English ships.

But when she was left alone, Arabella found that she was not after all in a mood for reading. On looking round the room in search of amusement her eye was caught by a large painting. It was a landscape comprising woods and a ruined castle perched on top of a cliff. The trees were dark and the ruins and cliff were touched with gold by the light of a setting sun; the sky by contrast was full of light and glowed with pearly colour. A large portion of the foreground was occupied by a silvery pool in which a young woman appeared to be drowning; a second figure bent over her – whether man, woman, satyr or faun, it was impossible to determine and, though Arabella studied their postures carefully, she could not decide whether it was the intention of the second figure to save the young woman or murder her. When she had tired of looking at this painting Arabella wandered out into the passage to look at the pictures there but, as these were for the most part watercolour views of Brighton and Chelmsford, she found them very dull.