It soon became clear that the newcomers fell into two distinct parties. Miss Redruth, the young lady in the red velvet gown, was one of the first to speak. Her voice was low and rather hurried. She was not used to speaking in public and not all of the magicians caught her words, but her delivery was very passionate. The burden of what she had to say seemed to be that Jonathan Strange was everything! Gilbert Norrell nothing! Strange would soon be vindicated and Norrell universally reviled! Magic would be freed from the shackles that Gilbert Norrell had placed upon it! These observations, together with various references to Strange’s lost masterpiece, The History and Practice of English Magic, drew angry responses from several other magicians to the effect that Strange’s book was full of wicked magic and Strange himself was a murderer. He had certainly murdered his wife4 and had probably murdered Norrell too.

The discussion was growing yet more heated when it was interrupted by the arrival of two men. Neither looked in the least respectable. Both had long, ragged hair and wore ancient coats. However, while one seemed to be nothing more or less than a vagabond, the other was considerably neater in his appearance and had about him an air of business – almost, one might say, of authority.

The vagabonding fellow did not even trouble to look at the York society; he simply sat down upon the floor and demanded gin and hot water. The other strode to the centre of the room and regarded them all with a wry smile. He bowed in the direction of Miss Redruth and addressed the magicians with the following words.

“Gentlemen! Madam! Some of you may remember me. I was with you ten years ago when Mr Norrell did the magic in York Cathedral. My name is John Childermass. I was, until last month, the servant of Gilbert Norrell. And this,” he indicated the man sitting on the floor, “is Vinculus, a some-time street sorcerer of London.”

Childermass got no further. Everyone began speaking at once. The former members of the York Society were dismayed to find that they had left their comfortable firesides to come here and be lectured by a servant. But while these gentlemen were unburdening themselves of their indignation, most of the newcomers were affected quite differently. They were all either Strangites or Norrellites; but not one of them had ever laid eyes on his hero and to be seated in such proximity to a person who had actually known and spoken to him wound them up to an unprecedented pitch of excitement.

Childermass was not in the least discomfited by the uproar. He simply waited until it was quiet enough for him to speak and then he said, “I have come to tell you that the agreement with Gilbert Norrell is void. Null and void, gentlemen. You are magicians once more, if you wish to be.”