“Do you know Childermass?” asked Mr Norrell, puzzled.

“I …” Mr Drawlight paused. “I have seen such a person as I described coming out of your house and I … Oh, Mr Norrell! Such a noodle I am upon occasion! I mistook him for you! Pray do not be offended, sir! For now that I behold you, I plainly see that whereas he has the wild, romantic looks one associates with magicians, you have the meditative air of a scholar. Lascelles, does not Mr Norrell have the grave and sober bearing of a scholar?”

The tall man said, without much enthusiasm, that he supposed so.

“Mr Norrell, my friend, Mr Lascelles,” said Drawlight.

Mr Lascelles made the slightest of bows.

“Oh, Mr Norrell!” cried Mr Drawlight. “You cannot imagine the torments I have suffered tonight, in wondering whether or not you would come! At seven o’clock my anxieties upon this point were so acute that I could not help myself! I actually went down to the Glasshouse-street boiling-cellar expressly to inquire of Davey and Lucas to know their opinions! Davey was certain that you would not come, which threw me, as you may imagine, into the utmost despair!”

“Davey and Lucas!” said Mr Norrell in tones of the greatest astonishment. (These, it may be remembered, were the names of Mr Norrell’s coachman and footman.)

“Oh, yes!” said Mr Drawlight. “The Glasshouse-street boiling-cellar is where Davey and Lucas occasionally take their mutton, as I dare say you know.” Mr Drawlight paused in his flow of chatter, just long enough for Mr Norrell to murmur that he had not known that.

“I have been most industriously talking up your extraordinary powers to all my wide acquaintance,” continued Mr Drawlight. “I have been your John the Baptist, sir, preparing the way for you! – and I felt no hesitation in declaring that you and I were great friends for I had a presentiment from the first, my dear Mr Norrell, that we would be; and as you see I was quite right, for now here we are, chatting so comfortably to one another!”

5
Drawlight

Spring to autumn 1807

Early next morning Mr Norrell’s man of business, Childermass, answered a summons to attend his master in the breakfast-room. He found Mr Norrell pale-faced and in a state of some nervous agitation.

“What is the matter?” asked Childermass.

“Oh!” cried Mr Norrell, looking up. “You dare to ask me that! You, who have so neglected your duties that any scoundrel may put a watch upon my house and question my servants without fear of disturbance! Aye, and get answers to those questions, too! What do I employ you for, I should like to know, if not to protect me from such impertinence as this?”

Childermass shrugged. “You mean Drawlight, I suppose.”

A short, astonished silence.

“You knew of it?” cried Mr Norrell. “Good God, man! What were you thinking of? Have you not told me a hundred times that, in order to secure my privacy, the servants must be kept from gossiping?”