Strange was still seated in the chair where Jeremy had placed him. His arms hung at his sides and he was staring at the floor. “I think I woke last night. I do not know when exactly. Arabella was sitting at the foot of the bed. She was dressed.”

“You did not say this before,” said Mr Hyde.

“I did not remember before. I thought I had dreamt it.”

“I do not understand,” said Captain Ayrton. “Do you mean to say that Mrs Strange may have left your house during the night?”

Strange seemed to cast about for an answer to this highly reasonable question, but without success.

“But surely,” said Mr Hyde, “you must know if she was there or not in the morning?”

“She was there. Of course she was there. It is ridiculous to suggest … At least …” Strange paused. “That is to say I was thinking about my book when I rose and the room was dark.”

Several people present began to think that as a husband Jonathan Strange, if not absolutely neglectful, was at least curiously unobservant of his wife, and some of them were led to eye him doubtingly and run through in their minds the many reasons why an apparently devoted wife might suddenly run away into the snow. Cruel words? A violent temper? The dreadful sights attendant on a magician’s work – ghosts, demons, horrors? The sudden discovery that he had a mistress somewhere and half a dozen natural children?

Suddenly there was a shout from outside in the hall. Afterwards no one could say whose voice it had been. Several of Strange’s neighbours who were standing nearest the door went to see what the matter was. Then the exclamations of those people drew out the rest.

The hall was dark at first, but in a moment candles were brought and they could see that someone was standing at the foot of the stairs.

It was Arabella.

Henry rushed forward and embraced her; Mr Hyde and Mrs Ayrton told her how glad they were to see her safe and sound; other people began to express their amazement and to inform any one who would listen that they had not had the least idea of her being there. Several of the ladies and maids gathered around her, asking her questions. Was she hurt? Where had she been? Had she got lost? Had something happened to distress her?

Then, as sometimes will happen, several people became aware at the same time of something rather odd: Strange had said nothing, made no movement towards her – nor, for that matter, had she spoken to him or made any movement towards him.

The magician stood, staring silently at his wife. Suddenly he exclaimed, “Good God, Arabella! What have you got on?”

Even by the candles’ uncertain, flickering light it was quite plain that she was wearing a black gown.

44
Arabella

December 1815