An hour later a little commotion was heard in the yard. Stephen and Mr Segundus went out to receive her ladyship. The horses and carriage had been entirely unable to cross the packhorse bridge and Lady Pole had been obliged to walk the last fifty yards or so of her journey. She entered the courtyard of the Hall with some trepidation, glancing round at the bleak, snowy scene; and it seemed to Stephen that only the cruellest of hearts could look upon her, with all her youth, beauty and sad affliction, and not wish to offer her all the protection in their power. Inwardly he cursed Mr Norrell.

Something in her appearance seemed to startle Mr Segundus. He looked down at her left hand, but the hand was gloved. He recovered himself immediately and welcomed her to Starecross Hall.

In the drawing-room Stephen brought tea for them.

“I am told your ladyship has been greatly distressed by the death of Mrs Strange,” said Mr Segundus. “May I offer my condolences?”

She turned away her head to hide her tears. “It would be more to the point to offer them to her, not me,” she said. “My husband offered to write to Mr Strange and beg the favour of borrowing a picture of Mrs Strange, so that a copy might be made to console me. But what good would that do? After all, I am scarcely likely to forget her face when she and I attend the same balls and processions every night – and shall do for the rest of our lives, I presume. Stephen knows. Stephen understands.”

“Ah, yes,” said Mr Segundus. “Your ladyship has a horror of dancing and music, I know. Be assured that they will not be allowed here. Here we shall have nothing that is not cheerful, nothing that does not promote your happiness.” He spoke to her of the books he planned they should read together and the walks they could take in spring, if her ladyship liked.

To Stephen, occupied among the tea-things, it seemed the most innocuous of conversations – except that once or twice he observed Mr Segundus glance from her ladyship to himself and back again, in a sharp, penetrating manner that both puzzled him and made him uncomfortable.

The carriage, coachman, maid and footman were all to remain at Starecross Hall with Lady Pole; Stephen, however, was to return to Harley-street. Early the next morning, while her ladyship was at breakfast, he went in to take his leave of her.

As he bowed to her, she gave a laugh half-melancholy, half-amused. “It is very ridiculous to part so, when you and I both know that we will be together again in a few hours. Do not be concerned about me, Stephen. I shall be more comfortable here. I feel I shall.”

Stephen went out to the stable-yard where his horse stood waiting. He was just putting on his gloves when a voice came behind him. “I beg your pardon!”