Strange pondered this for a while. He was tempted to send Lord Wellington a note offering to make it stop raining, on the principle that it must be very uncomfortable for the British soldiers as well – but in the end he decided that the whole question of weather-magic was too vexed until he understood the war and Lord Wellington better. In the meantime he settled upon a plague of frogs as the best thing to drop on the heads of the French soldiers. It was highly Biblical and what, thought Strange, could be more respectable than that?

The next morning he was sitting gloomily in his hotel room, pretending to read one of Norrell’s books but actually watching the rain, when there was a knock at the door. It was a Scottish officer in the uniform of the Hussars who looked inquiringly at Strange and said, “Mr Norrell?”

“I am not … Oh, never mind! What can I do for you?”

“Message for you from Headquarters, Mr Norrell.” The young officer presented Strange with a piece of paper.

It was his own letter to Wellington. Someone had scrawled over it in thick, blue pencil the single word, “Denied”.

“Whose writing is that?” asked Strange.

“Lord Wellington’s, Mr Norrell.”

“Ah.”

The next day Strange wrote Wellington another note, offering to make the waters of the River Tagus rise up and overwhelm the French. This at least provoked Wellington into writing a rather longer reply explaining that at present the entire British Army and most of the Portuguese Army were between the Tagus and the French and consequently Mr Strange’s suggestion was not found to be at all convenient.

Strange refused to be deterred. He continued to send Wellington one proposal every day. All were rejected.

On a particularly gloomy day at the end of February he was passing through the hallway of Mr Prideaux’s hotel on his way to a solitary dinner when he almost collided with a fresh-faced young man in English clothes. The young man begged his pardon and asked if he knew where Mr Strange was to be found.

“I am Strange. Who are you?”

“My name is Briscall. I am Chaplain to the Headquarters.”

“Mr Briscall. Yes. Of course.”

“Lord Wellington has asked me to pay you a visit,” explained Mr Briscall. “He said something about your aiding me by magic?” Mr Briscall smiled. “But I believe his real reason is that he hopes I may be able to dissuade you from writing to him every day.”

“Oh!” said Strange. “I shall not stop until he gives me something to do.”

Mr Briscall laughed. “Very well, I shall tell him.”

“Thank you. And is there any thing I can do for you? I have never done magic for the Church before. I will be frank with you, Mr Briscall. My knowledge of ecclesiastical magic is very slight, but I should be glad to be of use to someone.”

“Hmm. I will be equally frank with you, Mr Strange. My duties are really very simple. I visit the sick and wounded. I read the soldiers the services and try and get them a decent burial when they are killed, poor fellows. I do not see what you could do to help.”