But such thoughts as these provided only a temporary comfort. The house was too silent, the darkness too magical. He was too aware of the servants gathered together sociably in one place, and the two magicians doing God-knew-what in another place, and himself, alone, in a third place. There was an old longcase clock that stood in one corner of the room, a last remnant of Mr Norrell’s childhood home in York. This clock had, like all the others in the house, turned to midnight when Strange arrived. But it had not done so willingly; it protested very volubly against such an unexpected turn of events. Its ticking was all askew; it seemed to be drunk – or possibly in a fever – and from time to time it made a sound that was remarkably like an indrawn breath; and every time it did so Lascelles thought that Strange had entered the room and was about to say something.

He got up and followed the servants to the kitchen.

The kitchen at Hurtfew Abbey was very much like the undercroft of a great church, full of classical angles and classical gloom. In the centre of the room was a huge number of tallow candles and gathered there was every servant that Lascelles had ever seen at Hurtfew, and a great many that he had not. He leant against a pillar at the top of a flight of steps.

Lucas glanced up at him. He said, “We have been discussing what to do, sir. We shall leave within the half hour. We can do Mr Norrell no good by staying here and may do ourselves some harm. That is our intention, sir, but if you have another opinion I shall be glad to hear it.”

“My opinion!” exclaimed Lascelles. He looked all amazement, and only part of it was feigned. “This is the first time I was ever asked my opinion by a footman. Thank you, but I believe I shall decline my share of this …” He thought for a moment, before settling upon the most offensive word in his vocabulary. “… democracy.”

“As you wish, sir,” said Lucas, mildly.

“It must be daylight in England by now,” said one of the maids, looking longingly at the windows set high in the walls.

“This is England, silly girl!” declared Lascelles.

“No, sir. Begging your pardon,” said Lucas, “but it is not. England is a natural place. Davey, how long to turn the horses out?”

“Oh!” cried Lascelles. “You are all very bold, I must say, to discuss your thievery in front of me! What? You think I shall not speak out against you? On the contrary I shall see you all hanged!”

Some of the servants nervously eyed the pistols in Lascelles’s hands. Lucas, however, ignored him.