Read Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell for Free Online

greatcoat and his hat and his muffler and his gloves and stamped off through the snowy streets to the place that Mr Norrell had appointed for this day’s wonders — the Cathedral of York.
    And I hope that all my readers are acquainted with an old English Cathedral town or I fear that the significance of Mr Norrell’s chusing that particular place will be lost upon them. They must understand that in an old Cathedral town the great old church is not one building among many; it is the building — different from all others in scale, beauty and solemnity. Even in modern times when an old Cathedral town may have provided itself with all the elegant appurtenances of civic buildings, assembly and meeting rooms (and York was well-stocked with these) the Cathedral rises above them — a witness to the devotion of our forefathers. It is as if the town contains within itself something larger than itself. When going about one’s business in the muddle of narrow streets one is sure to lose sight of the Cathedral, but then the town will open out and suddenly it is there, many times taller and many times larger than any other building, and one realizes that one has reached the heart of the town and that all streets and lanes have in some way led here, to a place of mysteries much deeper than any Mr Norrell knew of. Such were Mr Segundus’s thoughts as he entered the Close and stood before the great brooding blue shadow of the Cathedral’s west face. Now came Dr Foxcastle, sailing magisterially around the corner like a fat, black ship. Spying Mr Segundus there he steered himself towards that gentleman and bid him good morning.
    “Perhaps, sir,” said Dr Foxcastle, “you would be so kind as to introduce me to Mr Norrell? He is a gentleman I very much wish to know.”
    “I shall be only too happy, sir.” said Mr Segundus and looked about him. The weather had kept most people within doors and there were only a few dark figures scuttling over the white field that lay before the great grey Church. When scrutinized these were discovered to be gentlemen of the York society, or clergymen and Cathedral attendants — vergers and beadles, sub-choirmasters, provosts, transept-sweepers and such-like persons — who had been sent by their superiors out into the snow to see to the Church’s business.
    “I should like nothing better, sir,” said Mr Segundus, “than to oblige you, but I do not see Mr Norrell.”
    Yet there was someone.
    Someone was standing in the snow alone directly in front of the Minster. He was a dark sort of someone, a not-quite-respectable someone who was regarding Mr Segundus and Dr Foxcastle with an air of great interest. His ragged hair hung about his shoulders like a fall of black water; he had a strong, thin face with something twisted in it, like a tree root; and a long, thin nose; and, though his skin was very pale, something made it seem a dark face — perhaps it was the darkness of his eyes, or the proximity of that long, black greasy hair. After a moment this person walked up to the two magicians, gave them a sketchy bow and said that he hoped they would forgive his intruding upon them but they had been pointed out to him as gentlemen who were there upon the same business as himself. He said that his name was John Childermass, and that he was Mr Norrell’s steward in certain matters (though he did not say what these were).
    “It seems to me,” said Mr Segundus thoughtfully, “that I know your face. I have seen you before, I think?”
    Something shifted in Childermass’s dark face, but it was gone in a moment and whether it had been a frown or laughter it was impossible to say. “I am often in York upon business for Mr Norrell, sir. Perhaps you have seen me in one of the city book-selling establishments?”
    “No,” said Mr Segundus, “I have seen you … I can picture you … Where? … Oh! I shall have it in a moment!”
    Childermass raised an eyebrow as if to say he very much doubted it.
    “But