“But I did not do it!” said Mr Norrell in a tone of desperation. “Why would I? I detest fairy roads! I have said so upon many occasions.” He turned to Lord Liverpool. “I appeal to your lordship’s memory. Have I ever given you reason to suppose that I approve of fairies or their magic? Have I not censured and condemned them at every turn?”

This was the first thing that Mr Norrell had said that seemed in any way to mollify the Prime Minister. He inclined his head slightly. “But if it is not your doing, whose is it?”

This question seemed to strike at some particularly vulnerable spot in Mr Norrell’s soul. He stood, eyes staring, mouth opening and closing, entirely unable to answer.

Lascelles, however, was in complete command of himself. He had not the least idea in the world whose magic it was, nor did he care. But he did know precisely what answer would serve his and Mr Norrell’s interest best. “Frankly I am surprized that your lordship need put the question,” he said, coolly. “Surely the wickedness of the magic proclaims its author; it is Strange.”

“Strange!” Lord Liverpool blinked. “But Strange is in Venice!”

“Mr Norrell believes that Strange is no longer the master of his own desires,” said Lascelles. “He has done all sorts of wicked magic; he has trafficked with creatures that are enemies of Great Britain, of Christianity, of Mankind itself! This catastrophe may be some sort of experiment of his, which has gone awry. Or it may be that he has done it deliberately. I feel it only right to remind your lordship that Mr Norrell has warned the Government on several occasions of the great danger to the Nation from Strange’s present researches. We have sent your lordship urgent messages, but we have received no replies. Fortunately for us all Mr Norrell is what he always was: firm and resolute and watchful.” As he spoke, Lascelles’s glance fell upon Mr Norrell, who was at the moment the very picture of everything which was dismayed, defeated and impotent.

Lord Liverpool turned to Mr Norrell. “Is this your opinion also, sir?”

Mr Norrell was lost in thought, murmuring over and over, “This is my doing. This is my doing.” Although he spoke to himself, it was just loud enough for everyone else in the room to hear.

Lascelles’s eyes widened; but he was master of himself in an instant. “It is only natural that you feel that now, sir,” he said quickly, “but in a while you will realize that nothing could be further from the truth. When you taught Mr Strange magic, you could not have known that it would end like this. No one could have known.”

Lord Liverpool looked more than a little irritated at this attempt to make Mr Norrell appear in the character of a victim. For years and years Mr Norrell had set himself up as the chief magician in England and if magic had been done in England then Lord Liverpool considered him partly responsible at least. “I ask you again, Mr Norrell. Answer me plainly, if you please. Is it your opinion that this was done by Strange?”