The toll was paid. Davey shook the reins and the carriage moved on towards the Archway.

Snow began to fall. A sleety wind buffeted the sides of the carriage and made it rock from side to side; it penetrated every chink and crack, and chilled shoulders, noses and feet. Mr Norrell was not made any more comfortable by the fact that Lascelles appeared to be in a very odd mood. He was excited, almost elated, though Mr Norrell could not tell why he should be. When the wind howled, he laughed, as if he suspected it of trying to frighten him and wished to shew it that it was mistaken.

When he saw that Mr Norrell was observing him, he said, “I have been thinking. This is the merest nothing! You and I, sir, will soon get the better of Strange and his tricks. What a pack of old women the Ministers are! They disgust me! All this alarm over one lunatic! It makes me laugh to think of it. Of course Liverpool and Sidmouth are the very worst of them! For years they have hardly dared put their noses out of their front doors for fear of Buonaparte and now Strange has sent them into fits merely by going insane.”

“Oh, but you are wrong!” declared Mr Norrell. “Indeed, you are! The threat from Strange is immense – Buonaparte was nothing to it – but you have not told me what Drawlight said. I should very much like to see his letter. I will tell Davey to stop at the Angel in Hadley and then …”

“But I do not have it. I left it at Bruton-street.”

“Oh! But …”

Lascelles laughed. “Mr Norrell! Do not concern yourself! Do I not tell you that it does not matter? I recall it exactly.”

“What does it say?”

“That Strange is mad and imprisoned in Eternal Darkness – all of which we knew before – and …”

“What form does his madness take?” asked Mr Norrell.

The merest pause.

“Talking nonsense mostly. But then he did that before, did he not?” Lascelles laughed. Catching sight of Mr Norrell’s expression, he continued more soberly, “He babbles about trees, and stones, and John Uskglass, and,” (glancing round for inspiration), “invisible coaches. And oh, yes! This will amuse you! He has stolen fingers off the hands of several Venetian maidens. Stolen them clean away! Keeps the stolen fingers in little boxes!”

“Fingers!” said Mr Norrell in alarm. This seemed to suggest some unpleasant associations to him. He thought for a moment but could make nothing of it. “Did Drawlight describe the Darkness? Did he say any thing that might help us understand it?”

“No. He saw Strange, and Strange gave him a message for you. He says that he is coming. That is the substance of the letter.”

They fell into silence. Mr Norrell began to doze without intending to; but several times in his dreams he heard Lascelles whispering to himself in the darkness.