From his coat-pocket Childermass took a little box, the colour of heartache. “Your ladyship,” he said, “give me your left hand.”

She laid her white hand in Childermass’s lined, brown one. Childermass opened the box, took out the finger and laid it against the empty place.

Nothing happened.

“We must find Mr Strange,” said Mr Segundus. “Or Mr Norrell. They may be able to mend it!”

“No,” said Childermass. “There is no need. Not now. You and I are two magicians, Mr Segundus. And England is full of magic. How many years’ study do we have between us? We must know something to the point. What about Pale’s Restoration and Rectification?”

“I know the form of it,” said Mr Segundus. “But I have never been a practical magician.”

“And you never will be, if you do not try. Do the magic, Mr Segundus.”

So Mr Segundus did the magic.³

The finger flowed into the hand, making a seamless whole. In the same instant the impression of endless, dreary corridors surrounding them disappeared; the two women before Childermass’s eyes resolved themselves into one.

Lady Pole rose slowly from her chair. Her eyes went rapidly this way and that, like someone who was seeing the world anew. Everyone in the room could see she was changed. There was animation and fire in every feature. Her eyes glowed with a furious light. She raised both arms; her hands were clenched in tight fists, as if she intended to bring them down upon someone’s head.

“I have been enchanted!” she burst out. “Bargained away for the sake of a wicked man’s career!”

“Good God!” cried Mr Segundus. “My dear Lady Pole …”

“Compose yourself, Mr Segundus!” said Childermass. “We have no time for trivialities. Let her speak!”

“I have been dead within and almost-dead without!” Tears started from her eyes and she struck her own breast with her clenched hand. “And not only me! Others suffer even now! – Mrs Strange and my husband’s servant, Stephen Black!”

She recounted the cold, ghostly balls she had endured, the dreary processions she had been forced to take part in and the strange handicap that would not allow her and Stephen Black to speak of their predicament.

Mr Segundus and the servants heard each new revelation with mounting horror; Childermass sat and listened with impassive expression.

“We must write to the editors of the newspapers!” cried Lady Pole. “I am determined upon public exposure!”

“Exposure of whom?” asked Mr Segundus.

“The magicians, of course! Strange and Norrell!”

“Mr Strange?” faltered Mr Segundus. “No, no, you are mistaken! My dear Lady Pole, take a moment to consider what you are saying. I have not a word to say for Mr Norrell – his crimes against you are monstrous! But Mr Strange has done no harm – not knowingly at any rate. Surely he is more sinned against than sinning?”

“Oh!” cried Lady Pole. “Upon the contrary! I consider him by far the worse of the two. By his negligence and cold, masculine magic he has betrayed the best of women, the most excellent of wives!”