Spring returned to England. Birds followed ploughs. Stones were warmed by the sun. Rains and winds grew softer, and were fragranced with the scents of earth and growing things. Woods were tinged with a colour so soft, so subtle that it could scarcely be said to be a colour at all. It was more the idea of a colour – as if the trees were dreaming green dreams or thinking green thoughts.

Spring returned to England, but Strange and Norrell did not. The Pillar of Darkness covered Hurtfew Abbey and Norrell did not come out of it. People speculated upon the probability of Strange having killed Norrell, or Norrell having killed Strange, the different degrees to which each deserved it, and whether or not someone ought to go and find out.

But before any one could reach a conclusion concerning these interesting questions the Darkness disappeared – taking Hurtfew Abbey with it. House, park, bridge and part of the river were all gone. Roads that used to lead to Hurtfew now led back upon themselves or to dull corners of fields and copses that no one wished to visit. The house in Hanover-square and both Strange’s houses – the one in Soho-square and his home in Clun1 – suffered the same queer fate. In London the only creature in the world who could still find the house in Soho-square was Jeremy Johns’ cat, Bullfinch. Indeed, Bullfinch did not appear to be aware that the house was in any way changed and he continued to go there whenever he wished, slipping between number 30 and number 32, and everyone who saw him do it agreed that it was the oddest sight in the world.2

Lord Liverpool and the other Ministers said a great deal publicly about their regret at Strange and Norrell’s disappearance, but privately they were glad to be relieved of such a peculiar problem. Neither Strange nor Norrell had proved as respectable as they once had seemed. Both had indulged in, if not Black Magic, then certainly magic of a darker hue than seemed desirable or legitimate. Instead, the Ministers turned their attention to the great number of new magicians who had suddenly sprung up. These magicians had performed scarcely any magic and were largely uneducated; nevertheless they promised to be every bit as quarrelsome as Strange and Norrell themselves, and some means of regulating them would quickly have to be found. Suddenly Mr Norrell’s plans for reviving the Court of Cinque Dragownes (which had seemed so irrelevant before) were found to be of the utmost pertinence.3

In the second week of March a paragraph appeared in the York Chronicle, addressed to former members of the Learned Society of York Magicians, and also to any one who might wish to become a member of that society. It invited them to come to the Old Starre Inn on the following Wednesday (this being the day upon which the society had traditionally met).