“So, you see, sir,” said Lucas to Lascelles, “nobody is stealing. Nobody is a thief. All of Mr Norrell’s property is to remain on Mr Norrell’s land – and we will take as good care of his horses as if they were still in his stables, but it would be a wicked cruelty to leave any creature in this Perpetual Darkness.”

Sometime later the servants left Hurtfew (there was no saying exactly how much later it was – their pocket-watches, like the clocks, had all turned to midnight). With baskets and valises slung over their arms and knapsacks on their backs, they led the horses by the halter. There were also two donkeys and a goat who had always lived in the stables because the horses found him agreeable company. Lascelles followed at a distance; he had no desire to appear part of this rag-tag and bobtail procession, but neither did he want to be left alone in the house.

Ten yards short of the river they walked out of the Darkness into the Dawn. There was a sudden rush of scents upon the air – scents of frost, winter earth and the nearby river. The colours and shapes of the park seemed simplified, as if England had been made afresh during the night. To the poor servants, who had been in some doubt whether they would ever see any thing but Dark and stars again, the sight was an exceedingly welcome one.

Their watches had started up again and they found by a general consultation that it was a quarter to eight.

But the alarms of that night were not quite over yet. Two bridges now led across the river where only one had been before.

Lascelles came hurrying up. “What is that?” he demanded, pointing at the new bridge.

An old servant – a man with a beard like a miniature white cloud stuck to the end of his chin – said that it was a fairy bridge. He had seen it in his youth. It had been built long ago, when John Uskglass still ruled Yorkshire. It had fallen into disrepair and been dismantled in the time of Mr Norrell’s uncle.

“And yet here it is, back again,” said Lucas with a shudder.

“And what lies on the other side?” asked Lascelles.

The old servant said that it had led to Northallerton once upon a time, by way of various queer places.

“Does it meet up with the road we saw near the Red House?” asked Lascelles.

The old servant shook his head. He did not know.

Lucas was losing patience. He wished to be away.

“Fairy roads are not like Christian roads,” he said. “Often they do not go where they are supposed to at all. But what does it matter? Nobody here is going to put so much as a foot upon the wicked thing.”

“Thank you,” said Lascelles, “but I believe I shall make up my own mind upon that point.” He hesitated a moment and then strode forward on to the fairy bridge.