Chapter Text
Norrell placed the two halves of the ceramic figurine carefully down on the table. It had been a courting couple, man and woman, but one of the housemaids had knocked it over while she'd been dusting. The porcelain figure of the woman had been separated from its arm which was still linked through her suitor's.
Strange's eyes lifted from his plate of breakfast and flickered from the broken ceramic halves to Norrell's face. His look quickly shifted into unhappy comprehension, and he set his knife and fork down and sat back in his chair with a sigh.
"Please, do not ask me."
"Surely you do not mean to abandon practical magic altogether?" said Norrell. "I think it would do you the world of good to work a simple spell or two."
Strange was looking towards the window.
Norrell lapsed from his brisk, cheery attitude. He slowly took the seat beside Strange and said, "What do you fear will happen?"
Strange's eyes seemed to be fixed on something very far away. After a while, he blinked, and looked down at the rug, and finally at Norrell.
"Surely you know."
"You will not bring down the black tower by performing a simple spell to mend broken pottery."
Strange's expression twisted faintly.
"Here." Norrell had the book of mending ready and open at the proper page. He placed it next to Strange, a safe distance from his bread plate.
"I believe you need to overcome this blockage, Mr Strange. There. It is Lobe. You have always enjoyed Lobe."
The servants came to clear the table.
They went into the entrance hall.
"You do not need to do it today," Norrell said while two footmen dressed him in his cloak and handed him his hat, his walking stick. "But I think it will help to do something simple to begin with."
Strange had the book in his hand, resting against his chest. He tapped his thumb against the binding, and, waiting until the footmen had moved off, in an undertone said,
"It is your wish that I do this?"
"Yes. Indeed, yes."
The footman opened the door, disclosing a grey morning and the waiting carriage.
"I shall be back before lunch," Norrell said.
Strange inclined his head. Norrell left him in the entry.
*
It was their custom after supper in the evenings to sit in the library in front of the fire.
Strange sat leaning towards the fire, his elbows on the arms of his chair, his head bent as he stared down into his wine glass.
"You are very quiet tonight, Mr Strange," Norrell remarked.
Strange looked for a moment surprised. "I was under the impression that you enjoyed the quiet. One can only read when it is quiet."
Norrell returned his smile, but he continued to watch Strange.
"What is it?"
"The...spell you gave me. The Lobe." Strange set his wine aside and passed his hand over his face with a wincing expression. "I must confess, I am finding it a struggle."
"What aspect of it?" Norrell looked at Henny, who lay at her master's feet. "I had concerns about keeping the hex on Henrietta for so many months - "
Strange raised his hand. "No. I believe that I can perform the spell. It is only that I dread to do it."
A log fell in the fire grate, sending up a curtain of sparks.
"I know that I will not call down the black tower again with such a small spell."
Strange paused. He rubbed his fingers across his mouth. There was something, Norrell could see, that he did not want to say.
"Tell me."
Strange quit his chair. He went to his usual place before the fire.
"I misused my magic. It all seems...tainted by what I did. I do not trust myself."
"I have every confidence in you that you will only do respectable magic from now on."
Strange spoke rapidly, his eyes glinting. "I have done things with magic - such things, that if you knew them -"
"There is nothing you can tell me that would change my opinion of you."
Strange looked wretched. "Mr Norrell -" He turned away. In a low, hollow voice, he said, "I do not know that I can be the magician that I once was. I have done too much. I have - debased myself. After the war, and after you and I had our - our falling out. I told myself I would be a theoretical magician only. I returned to using magic only because I thought I might be able to bring my wife back from the dead. It was unholy magic. From beginning to end. She would not have wanted it. There are few things I regret more, than that I even attempted it."
Norrell shut his eyes momentarily. Then he set his drink aside. "I should have thought of all this before I asked you to do magic again. That was careless of me."
"No. You wished me only to be as I was. I think that man is no more."
Norrell took the key from his inner pocket and went and unlocked the cabinet. He took down the case and opened it with a second, smaller key. The book inside was wrapped in a deep blue velvet cloth. Norrell traced his fingers along the gold lettering on the book's cover.
Then, overcoming momentary reluctance, he turned and held out the book to Strange.
"Perhaps it is selfish of me to ask you to do magic again," Norrell murmured. "The truth is, I have missed it."
Strange accepted the book, but upon recognising it, he tried to hand it back directly.
"I should not have this, sir."
"Mr Strange, this is your book."
"It should never have been written!" Strange shouted, with a sudden passion that seemed to fill the whole room.
"I understand" Norrell said slowly "why you might think that at the moment. Please." He gestured to the chair, encouraging Strange to resume his seat.
Strange did sit, but he held the book out to Norrell again.
"I cannot look at it."
Norrell took the book back gently.
"I thought they were all destroyed," Strange said, looking away.
"It is the last remaining copy." Norrell could not have held the book more gently if it were a newborn. "I consider it to be the most beautiful book of magic I have ever read."
Strange's eyes flashed to him in surprise.
"We none of us have lived unblemished lives, Mr Strange," Norrell said. "You have your regrets, and that is natural. I...have regrets of my own."
"Regrets?" Strange echoed, on a bitter laugh.
"You already know what this book contains," said Norrell. "It was written out of love. That has been plain to me each time I have read it."
Strange stared up at him a moment longer, his eyes now bright with tears. He dropped his gaze to the fire.
"You still love magic, I think," Norrell said.
Strange sat motionless. Then, abruptly, he stood and started towards the door. Henny scrambled up, following at his heels.
"Mr Strange!" Norrell hurried after him. "Mr Strange, I apologise."
"No. Forgive me. I think I shall not be very good company tonight."
"I will put the book away. We shall not speak about it any further tonight - "
"Really, I think I must retire." Strange attempted a smile. "What is that line by Ormskirk? Magic that melts the darkness...?"
"'I seek that bright magic which steals upon the night and melts the darkness'," said Norrell.
"Just so."
When Strange had left, Norrell sat for a while and read The History and Practice of English Magic, delicately handling each page as he turned it. Finally, he gazed into the fire with a troubled emotion, unhappily reviewing his conversation with Strange.
*
The next morning, Norrell came into the library to find the ceramic figure, now whole and new, sat on his desk.
*