Sir Walter laughed. “And what shall you do now, without Mr Norrell to fill your days for you? Shall I tell Robson at the Foreign Office to send you some magic to do? Only last week he was complaining that he is obliged to wait until all the work for the Admiralty and the Treasury is done before Mr Norrell has any time to spare for him.”

“By all means. But tell him it cannot be for two or three months. We are going home to Shropshire. Both Arabella and I have a great desire to be in our own country and now that we need not consult the convenience of Mr Norrell, nothing remains to prevent our going.”

“Oh!” said Sir Walter. “But you are not going immediately?”

“In two days’ time.”

“So soon?”

“Do not look so stricken! Really, Pole, I had no idea you were so fond of my company!”

“I am not. I was thinking of Lady Pole. It will be a sad change for her. She will miss her friend.”

“Oh! Oh, yes!” said Strange, a little discomfited. “Of course!”

Later that morning Arabella made her parting visit to Lady Pole. Five years had made very little difference to her ladyship’s beauty and none at all to her sad condition. She was as silent as ever and as indifferent to every pain or pleasure. Kindness or coldness left her equally unmoved. She passed her days sitting by the window in the Venetian drawing-room in the house in Harley-street. She never exhibited the least inclination for any occupation and Arabella was her only visitor.

“I wish you were not going,” said her ladyship, when Arabella told her the news. “What sort of a place is Shropshire?”

“Oh! I fear I am a very partial judge. I believe that most people would agree that it is a pretty place with green hills and woods and sweet country lanes. Of course we shall have to wait for spring to enjoy it completely. But even in winter the views can be very striking. It is a peculiarly romantic county with a noble history. There are ruined castles and stones planted on the hilltops by who knows-what people – and being so close to Wales it has often been fought over – there are ancient battlefields in almost every valley.”

“Battlefields!” said Lady Pole. “I know only too well what that is like. To glance out of a window and see nothing but broken bones and rusting armour everywhere one looks! It is a very melancholy sight. I hope you will not find it too distressing.”

“Broken bones and armour?” echoed Arabella. “No, indeed. Your ladyship misunderstands me. The battles were all long ago. There is nothing to see – certainly nothing to distress one.”

“And yet, you know,” continued Lady Pole, scarcely attending to her, “battles have been fought at some time or other almost everywhere. I remember learning in my schoolroom how London was once the scene of a particularly fierce battle. The people were put to death in horrible ways and the city was burnt to the ground. We are surrounded by the shadows of violence and misery all the days of our life and it seems to me that it matters very little whether any material sign remains or not.”