Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell (52 page)

The hour before dinner was one of the busiest of the day and the room was crowded with officers bringing reports or collecting orders, or simply gathering gossip. At one end of the room was a very venerable, ornate and crumbling stone staircase which led to a pair of ancient doors. Behind the doors, it was said, Lord Wellington was hard at work devising new plans to defeat the French, and it was a curious fact that everyone who came into the room was sure to cast a respectful glance up to the top of that staircase. Two of Wellington's senior staff, the Quartermaster-General, Colonel George Murray, and the Adjutant-General, General Charles Stewart, were seated one upon either side of a large table, both busily engaged in making arrangements for the disposal of the Army upon the following day. And I pause here merely to observe that if, upon reading the words "Colonel" and "General", you fancy these are two
old
men sitting at the table, you could not be more wrong. It is true that when the French war had begun eighteen years before, the British Army had been commanded by some very venerable old persons many of whom had passed their whole careers without glimpsing a battlefield. But the years had gone by and these old generals were all retired or dead and it had been found more convenient to replace them with younger, more energetic men. Wellington himself was only a little more than forty and most of his senior officers were younger still. The room in José Estoril's house was a room of young men, all fond of a fight, all fond of dancing, all quite devoted to LordWellington.

The March evening, though rainy, was mild — as mild as May in England. Since his death, José Estoril's garden had grown wild and in particular a great number of lilac trees had appeared, crowding against the walls of the house. These trees were now all in flower and the windows and shutters of the house stood open to let in the damp, lilac-scented air. Suddenly Colonel Murray and General Stewart found that both they and their important papers were being comprehensively showered with drops of water. On looking up in some indignation they saw Strange, outside on the verandah unconcernedly shaking the water off his umbrella.

He entered the room and bid good evening to various officers with whom he had some acquaintance. He approached the table and inquired if he might possibly speak to Lord Wellington. General Stewart, a proud, handsome man, made no reply other than to shake his head vigorously. Colonel Murray, who was a gentler and more courteous soul, said he feared it would not be possible.

Strange glanced up the venerable staircase to the great carved doors behind which his lordship sat. (Curious how everyone who entered knew instinctively where he was to be found. Such is the fascination that great men exert!) Strange shewed no inclination to go. Colonel Murray supposed that he must be feeling lonely.

A tall man with vivid black eyebrows and long black mustaches to match approached the table. He wore the dark blue jacket and gold braid of the Light Dragoons. "Where have you put the French prisoners?" he demanded of Colonel Murray.

"In the belfry," said Colonel Murray.

"That will do," said the man. "I only ask because last night Colonel Pursey put three Frenchmen in a little shed, thinking they could do no harm there. But it seems some lads of the 52nd had previously put some chickens in the shed and during the night the Frenchmen ate the chickens. Colonel Pursey said that this morning several of his lads were eyeing the Frenchmen in a very particular manner as if they were wondering how much of the flavour of the chickens had got into the Frenchmen and whether it might not be worth cooking one of them to find out."

"Oh!" said Colonel Murray. "There is no danger of any thing like that happening tonight. The only other creatures in the belfry are the rats and I should think that if any one is going to eat any one else, the rats will eat the Frenchmen."

Colonel Murray, General Stewart and the man with black mustaches began to laugh, when suddenly they were interrupted by the magician saying, "The road between Espinhal and Lousá o is abominably bad." (This was the road along which a substantial part of the British Army had come that day.)

Colonel Murray agreed that the road was very bad indeed.

Strange continued, "I cannot tell how many times today my horse stumbled into pot-holes and slipped in the mud. I was certain she would fall lame. Yet it was no worse than any of the other roads that I have seen since I arrived here, and tomorrow I understand some of us must go where there are no roads whatsoever."

"Yes," said Colonel Murray, wishing very heartily that the magician would go away.

"Through flooded rivers and stony plains, and through woods and thickets, I suppose," said Strange. "That will be very bad for all of us. I dare say we shall make very poor progress. I dare say we shall not get on at all."

"It is one of the disadvantages of waging war in such a back-ward, out-of-the-way place as Portugal," said Colonel Murray.

General Stewart said nothing but the angry look he gave the magician expressed quite clearly his opinion that perhaps Mr Strange would make better progress if he and his horse took themselves back to London.

"To take forty-five thousand men and all their horses and carts and equipment, across such an abominable country! No one in England would believe it possible." Strange laughed. "It is a pity that his lordship cannot spare a moment to talk to me, but perhaps you will be so good as to give him a message. Say this: Mr Strange presents his compliments to Lord Wellington and says that if it is of any interest to his lordship to have a nice, well-made road for the Army to march along tomorrow, then Mr Strange will be glad to conjure one up for him. Oh! And if he wishes he may have bridges too, to replace the ones the French have blown up. Good evening to you." With that Strange bowed to both gentlemen, picked up his umbrella and left.

Strange and Jeremy Johns had been unable to find anywhere to stay in Lousá o. None of the gentlemen who found quarters for the generals and told the rest of the soldiers which damp field they were to sleep in, had made any provision for the magician and his servant. Strange had eventually agreed terms for a tiny upstairs room with a man who kept a little wine shop a few miles down the road to Miranda de Corvo.

Strange and Jeremy ate the supper the wine-shop owner had provided for them. It was a stew and their evening's entertainment chiefly consisted in trying to guess what had gone into it.

"What the devil is that?" asked Strange, holding up his fork. On the end of it was something whitish and glistening that curled over and under itself.

"A fish perhaps?" ventured Jeremy.

"It looks more like a snail," said Strange.

"Or part of someone's ear," added Jeremy.

Strange stared at it a moment longer. "Would you like it?" he asked.

"No, thank you, sir," said Jeremy with a resigned glance into his own cracked plate, "I have several of my own."

When they had finished supper and when the last candle had burnt out there seemed nothing else to do but go to bed ^^^ and so they did. Jeremy curled up upon one side of the room and Strange lay down upon the other. Each had devised his own bed from whatever materials had taken his fancy. Jeremy had a mattress fashioned out of his spare clothes and Strange had a pillow formed chiefly of books from Mr Norrell's library.

All at once there came the sound of someone's horse galloping up the road to the little wine-shop. This was quickly followed by the sound of someone's boots pounding up the rickety stairs, which in turn was followed by the sound of someone's fist pounding on the ramshackle door. The door opened and a smart young man in the uniform of the Hussars half-tumbled into the room. The smart young man was somewhat out of breath but managed to convey, between gulps of air, that Lord Wellington presented his compliments to Mr Strange and that if it was at all convenient to Mr Strange Lord Wellington would like to speak to him immediately.

At José Estoril's house Wellington was at dinner with a number of his staff officers and other gentlemen. Strange could have sworn that the gentlemen at the table had all been engaged in the liveliest conversation up to the moment when he entered the room, but now all fell silent. This rather suggested that they had been talking about him.

"Ah, Strange!" cried Lord Wellington, raising a glass in greeting. "There you are! I have had three
aides-de-camp
looking for you all evening. I wished to invite you to dinner, but my boys could not find you. Sit down anyway and have some Champagne and dessert."

Strange looked rather wistfully at the remains of the dinner which the servants were clearing away. Among other good things Strange believed he recognized were the remains of some roast geese, the shells from buttered prawns, half a ragoo of celery, and the ends of some spicy Portuguese sausages. He thanked his lordship and sat down. A servant brought him a glass of Champagne and he helped himself to almond-tart and dried cherries.

"And how do you like the war, Mr Strange?" asked a fox-haired, fox-faced gentleman at the other end of the table.

"Oh, it is a little confusing at first, like most things," said Strange, "but having now experienced many of the adventures a war affords, I grow used to it. I have been robbed — once. I have been shot at — once. Once I found a Frenchman in the kitchen and had to chase him out, and once the house I was sleeping in was set on fire."

"By the French?" inquired General Stewart.

"No, no. By the English. There was a company of the 43rd who were apparently very cold that night and so they set fire to the house to warm themselves."

"Oh, that always happens!" said General Stewart.

There was a little pause and then another gentleman in a cavalry uniform said, "We have been talking — arguing rather — about magic and how it is done. Strathclyde says that you and the other magician have given every word in the Bible a number, and you look for the words to make up the spell and then you add the numbers together and then you do something else and then . . ."

"
That
was not what I said!" complained another person, presumably Strathclyde. "You have not understood at all!"

"I am afraid I have never done any thing remotely resembling what you describe," said Strange. "It seems rather complicated and I do not think it would work. As to how I do magic, there are many, many procedures. As many, I dare say, as for making war."

"I should like to do magic," said the fox-haired, fox-faced gentleman at the other end of the table. "I should have a ball every night with fairy music and fairy fireworks and I would summon all the most beautiful women out of history to attend. Helen of Troy, Cleopatra, Lucrezia Borgia, Maid Marian and Madame Pompa-dour. I should bring them all here to dance with you fellows. And when the French appeared on the horizon, I would just," he waved his arm vaguely, "do something, you know, and they would all fall down dead."

"Can a magician kill a man by magic?" Lord Wellington asked Strange.

Strange frowned. He seemed to dislike the question. "I suppose a magician might," he admitted, "but a gentleman never could."

Lord Wellington nodded as if this was just as he would have expected. And then he said, "This road, Mr Strange, which you have been so good as to offer us, what sort of road would it be?"

"Oh! The details are the easiest thing in the world to arrange, my lord. What sort of road would you like?"

The officers and gentlemen around Lord Wellington's dinner-table looked at each other; they had not given the matter any thought.

"A chalk road, perhaps?" said Strange, helpfully. "A chalk road is pretty."

"Too dusty in the dry and a river of mud in the rain," said Lord Wellington. "No, no. A chalk road will never do. A chalk road is scarcely better than no road at all."

"What about a cobbled road?" suggested Colonel Murray.

"Cobbles will make the men's boots wear out," said Wellington.

"And besides the artillery will not like it," said the fox-haired, fox-faced gentleman, "They will have a devil of a time dragging the guns along a cobbled road."

Someone else suggested a gravel road. But that, thought Well-ington, was liable to the same objection as a chalk road: it would become a river of mud in the rain — and the Portuguese
did
seem to think that it would rain again tomorrow.

"No," said his lordship, "I believe, Mr Strange, that what would suit us best would be a road along the Roman pattern, with a nice ditch upon either side to drain off the water and good flat stones well fitted together on top."

"Very well," said Strange.

"We set off at daybreak," said Wellington.

"Then, my lord, if someone would be good enough to shew me where the road ought to go, I shall see to it immediately."

By morning the road was in place and Lord Wellington rode along it on Copenhagen — his favourite horse — and Strange rode eside him on Egyptian — who was
his
favourite horse. In his customary decisive manner Wellington pointed out those things which he particularly liked about the road and those things which he did not like; ". . . But really I have hardly any criticisms to make. It is an excellent road! Only make it a little wider tomorrow, if you please."

Lord Wellington and Strange agreed that as a general rule the road should be in place a couple of hours before the first regiment stepped on to it and disappear an hour after the last soldier had passed along it. This was to prevent the French Army from gaining any benefit from the roads. The success of this plan depended on Wellington's Staff providing Strange with accurate information as to when the Army was likely to begin and end marching. Obviously these calculations were not always correct. A week or so after the first appearance of the road Colonel Mackenzie of the 11th Foot came to see Lord Wellington in a great temper and complained that the magician had allowed the road to disappear before his regiment could reach it.

"By the time we got to Celorico, my lord, it was disappearing under our feet! An hour after that it had vanished entirely. Could not the magician summon up visions to find out what the different regiments are doing? I understand that this is something he can do very easily! Then he could make sure that the roads do not disappear until everyone has finished with them."