“There! You see!” exclaimed Mr Segundus, as he finished scribbling his notes. “This is what makes them think her mad – these odd stories and tales. But I have made a list of all that she has told me and I have begun to find correspondences between them and ancient fairy lore. I am sure that if you and I were to make inquiries we would discover some reference to a set of fairies who had some close connexion with songbirds. They may not have been songbird-herds. That, you will agree, sounds a little too much like settled occupation for such a feckless race – but they may have pursued a particular sort of magic related to songbirds. And it may have suited one of their number to tell an impressionable child that she was a songbird-herd.”

“Perhaps,” said Childermass, not much interested. “But that was not what she meant to tell us. And I have remembered the magical significance of roses. They stand for silence. That is why you see a red-and-white rose – it is a muffling spell.”

“A muffling spell!” said Mr Segundus, in amazement. “Yes, yes! I see that! I have read about such things. But how do we break it?”

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!”