“Where is who?”

“The other one.”

“The other what?”

“Magician!”

“Magici …” Mr Norrell began to form the word but it died upon his lips. “No, no! There is no other magician! I am the only one. I assure you I am the only one. Why should you think that …?”

“Of course there is another magician!” declared the gentleman, as if it were perfectly ridiculous to deny anything quite so obvious. “He is your dearest friend in all the world!”

“I have no friends,” said Mr Norrell.

He was utterly perplexed. Whom might the fairy mean? Childermass? Lascelles? Drawlight?

“He has red hair and a long nose. And he is very conceited – as are all Englishmen!” declared the gentleman with the thistle-down hair.

This was no help. Childermass, Lascelles and Drawlight were all very conceited in their ways, Childermass and Lascelles both had long noses, but none of them had red hair. Mr Norrell could make nothing of it and so he returned, with a heavy sigh, to the matter in hand. “You will not help me?” he said. “You will not bring the young woman back from the dead?”

“I did not say so!” said the gentleman with the thistle-down hair, in a tone which suggested that he wondered why Mr Norrell should think that. “I must confess,” he continued, “that in recent centuries I have grown somewhat bored of the society of my family and servants. My sisters and cousins have many virtues to recommend them, but they are not without faults. They are, I am sorry to say, somewhat boastful, conceited and proud. This young woman,” he indicated Miss Wintertowne, “she had, I dare say, all the usual accomplishments and virtues? She was graceful? Witty? Vivacious? Capricious? Danced like sunlight? Rode like the wind? Sang like an angel? Embroidered like Penelope? Spoke French, Italian, German, Breton, Welsh and many other languages?”

Mr Norrell said he supposed so. He believed that those were the sorts of things young ladies did nowadays.

“Then she will be a charming companion for me!” declared the gentleman with the thistle-down hair, clapping his hands together.

Mr Norrell licked his lips nervously. “What exactly are you proposing?”

“Grant me half the lady’s life and the deal is done.”

“Half her life?” echoed Mr Norrell.

“Half,” said the gentleman with the thistle-down hair.

“But what would her friends say if they learnt I had bargained away half her life?” asked Mr Norrell.

“Oh! They will never know any thing of it. You may rely upon me for that,” said the gentleman. “Besides, she has no life now. Half a life is better than none.”

Half a life did indeed seem a great deal better than none. With half a life Miss Wintertowne might marry Sir Walter and save him from bankruptcy. Then Sir Walter might continue in office and lend his support to all Mr Norrell’s plans for reviving English magic. But Mr Norrell had read a great many books in which were described the dealings of other English magicians with persons of this race and he knew very well how deceitful they could be. He thought he saw how the gentleman intended to trick him.