A gentleman was sitting alone by the fire, staring pensively into the flames. He was a vigorous-looking, active sort of man of fifty or so years, dressed in the stout clothes and boots of a gentleman-farmer. On a table at his side there was a little glass of wine and a small plate of biscuits. Clearly Jeremy had decided that the visitor had sat alone long enough to require some refreshment.

Mr Hyde and Jonathan Strange had been neighbours all their lives, but the marked differences in their fortunes and tastes had meant that they had never been more than common acquaintances. This was in fact the first time they had met since Strange had become a magician.

They shook hands.

“I dare say, sir,” began Mr Hyde, “you are wondering what can bring me to your door in such weather.”

“Weather?”

“Yes, sir. It is very bad.”

Strange looked out of the window. The high hills surrounding Ashfair were sheathed in snow. Every branch, every twig bore its burden of snow. The very air seemed white with frost and mist.

“So it is. I had not observed. I have not been out of the house since Sunday.”

“Your servant tells me that you are very much occupied with your studies. I beg your pardon for interrupting you, but I have something to tell you which can wait no longer.”

“Oh! There is no explanation necessary. And how is your …” Strange paused and tried to remember whether Mr Hyde had a wife, any children, brothers, sisters or friends. He found he was entirely without information upon the subject. “Farm,” he finished. “I recollect it is at Aston.”

“It is nearer to Clunbury.”

“Clunbury. Yes.”

“All is well with me, Mr Strange, except for something rather … unsettling which happened to me three days ago. I have been debating with myself ever since whether I ought to come and speak to you about it. I have asked the advice of my friends and my wife and all are agreed that I ought to tell you what I have seen. Three days ago I had business on the Welsh side of the border, with David Evans – I dare say you know him, sir?”

“I know him by sight. I have never spoken to him. Ford knows him, I believe.” (Ford was the agent who managed all the business of Strange’s estate.)

“Well, sir, David Evans and I had finished our business by two o’clock and I was very anxious to get home. There was a thick snow lying everywhere and the roads between here and Llanfair Waterdine were very bad. I dare say you do not know it, sir, but David Evans’s house is high up on a hill with a long view westwards and the moment he and I stepped outside we saw great grey clouds full of snow coming towards us. Mrs Evans, Davey’s mother, pressed me to stay with them and come home the next day, but Evans and I talked it over and we both agreed that all would be well providing I left instantly and came home by the most direct way possible – in other words I should ride up to the Dyke and cross over into England before the storm was upon me.”¹