The words poured from Isabel’s lips without pause to consider. ‘I will find it,’ she said. ‘I promise it.’ She did not fully understand why she had made such a profound promise, and to a stranger, but it felt right to say it.
Something gathered in the air as she spoke; a sense of pressure, or expectation. The Ferryman’s eyes narrowed. ‘Ye ‘ave committed yerself,’ he said softly. ‘An’ there is no goin’ back on it now. I only hope ye may not come t’ regret it.’
Isabel merely curtseyed by way of answer, but as she rose she found both her hands taken, and lightly squeezed, and then kissed. She looked up into the Ferryman’s face in surprise, and found him gazing at her with warm regard.
‘Ye are fair unusual,’ he said. ‘Did I ever meet such a vast heart as ye seem t’ possess? I think not.’
Isabel coloured, and looked away. ‘You do me too much honour, sir,’ she said gravely. ‘Anybody must feel for you, and act as I have acted.’
He shook his head, still holding her hands in his own. ‘Tis t’ yer credit that ye can believe that, but there’s not so much as a flicker o’ truth in it. That ye must know. Few would even listen t’ my tale — I ‘ave told ye as much already. Fewer still would feel fer me, and no one else, I think, would ‘ave promised t’ help.’
‘When I have carried out my promise,’ said Isabel, ‘then you may thank me, but do not do so too soon! For I am not at all sure of my power to perform it.’
He nodded. ‘That’s wise enough, but I do thank ye. Fer carin’.’ He released her hands and swept her a bow. ‘I’ll be seein’ ye when ye’re ready t’ return.’
‘Will you be far away?’
He shrugged. ‘Who knows? Duty calls, an’ I answer.’
Tafferty growled impatiently and swatted Isabel’s legs with her lashing tail. ‘Time waits for no one, least of all thee!’
Isabel nodded, curtseyed to the Ferryman and hastened after her companion. She looked back, once, to see the Ferryman already aboard his boat and the craft rising rapidly into the sky; borne, apparently, on waves of white mist.
‘I hope you know the way to Sophy’s house,’ Isabel called after Tafferty. ‘For I am all turned about. I do not know this part of the town at all.’
Tafferty’s tail lashed. ‘Thou must trust thy companion in all things,’ she said crossly. ‘That’s the first lesson I must teach thee.’ She paused, bounded a few more steps away, and then added, ‘Twas a fine piece o’ foolery, that.’
‘How could I have done otherwise?’ Isabel protested. ‘I could not consent to leave anyone in such an intolerable situation!’
Tafferty’s tail whipped with irritation. ‘Cease thy protestin’, an’ keep up.’
Isabel subsided, and hurried after. Tafferty’s pace was not designed to cater to her convenience, and she risked being left behind if she lingered too long to look about herself. Her companion — the catterdandy, as the Ferryman had called her — navigated the twisting streets without an instant’s hesitation, and so Isabel trusted and followed along.
Chapter Seven
Now, I’m not sayin’ as I had owt to do wi’ the callin’ o’ the Ferry. An’ I’m not sayin’ as I didn’t, neitherwise. I’ll only say as I’ve known Eliza Grey fer many years, an’ she’s a woman wi’ a head on ‘er shoulders.
Poor Miss Ellerby! I felt fer ‘er. Such a deal o’ strangeness t’ fall upon ‘er all together-like, an’ she not at all prepared. It’s perhaps a help tha’ she was never the excitable kind, or she might ‘ave lost her good sense there awhile. But not Miss Isabel! Oh, no! Took it in ‘er stride, she did, more or less, an’ it’s very much t’ her credit tha’ she did.
The Ferryman, now. There’s a strange tale, an’ no mistake. I knew a thing or two about him, an’ the Kostigern besides, as ye’ll soon hear. Isabel’ s meetin’ wi’ that gentleman — if I may call ‘im such, I’m not rightly certain — was important in more ways than she knew, or he either. The tale grows stranger and darker from here; do ye wish t’ hear more? Are ye certain? Then I will continue.
Sophy’s shop, Silverling, was housed in an odd building near the centre of Grenlowe. It stood alone, surrounded on all sides by circling roads of haphazardly-placed cobblestones. It was three storeys high, built from the same dreamy-grey, silver-touched wood as many other buildings in Grenlowe, and its roof was a spectacular riot of sloping corners and sharp angles all covered over in sleek, dark thatch. The shop occupied much of the ground floor, though on Isabel’s previous visits she had seen a kitchen at the back. Sophy, her husband Aubranael and the princess Lihyaen lived in rooms above-stairs; Sophy’s friend and erstwhile servant, Mary, resided on the third floor, together with the brownie, Thundigle. It was a snug establishment, and a happy one. Isabel had always cherished the brief, sparse visits she had been able to make before, when the barriers between England and Aylfenhame fell on the solstice days.
On such days she was always expected, and welcomed promptly. But to arrive unannounced, with no warning given of her visit, was the very height of rudeness. A dear friend Sophy may be, but Isabel would never have presumed so far if she had been given any choice. She followed Tafferty until the streets began to look familiar to her, and she realised she was within a minute or two of Sophy’s house and shop. Despite her pleasure at the prospect of seeing her friends, she also suffered some feelings of dismay.
She paused for a moment at Silverling’s front door, looking up at the sign with some indecision. Ought she to repair to an inn, if such a thing existed here, and send word ahead of her arrival? It would be the courteous thing to do. But she knew of no such establishment, and when she ventured to suggest the idea to Tafferty, she received only a growl of irritation in response. To her horror, Tafferty turned her back on Isabel and trotted through the open door of the shop. Isabel could only follow, clutching nervously at her reticule.
Sophy was engaged with a customer. A young goblin, with lank black hair and features not wholly repellent, stood near the window, attired in a gown which, Isabel assumed, had just been completed for her. Reams of the lightest, airiest gauze floated around her in a silvery cloud, winking with wisp-lit gems and fluttering with rose-hued ribbons of pure fae silk. The effect of these luscious hues set against the goblin’s yellow complexion could only be termed unfortunate. The lady herself was blissfully unaware of this, however, and twisted and turned on the spot in pure delight, her crooked teeth bared in a smile as she observed the drape of the gown.
‘My informants did not exaggerate,’ said the goblin. ‘Are all Englishwomen so talented with a needle?’
Sophy, on her knees as she adjusted some small detail near the hem of the gown, laughed and shook her head. ‘You flatter me, Miss Tramble. The materials of Aylfenhame are of a quality far beyond those of England. Only here could I produce such fantastic creations.’
Miss Tramble’s grin broadened alarmingly. ‘Then it was a good day for Aylfenhame fashion when you came to Grenlowe, Mrs. Sophy.’
Tafferty stalked into the midst of this exchange without ceremony, her tasselled tail raised like a flag. She strolled up to the goblin, sniffed the hem of her luscious gown in a desultory fashion, and sat down.
‘Good morning!’ said Sophy brightly to the catterdandy. Finished with her adjustments, she stood up; her back was turned, so she did not see Isabel standing diffidently in the doorway. ‘If you are satisfied, Miss Tramble, then I will fetch your bonnet and shoes. Perhaps you will wish to wear your new ensemble home?’
Miss Tramble’s eyes flicked over Isabel with faint curiosity, but she said nothing, and directed another wide smile at Sophy. ‘To be sure!’ she said promptly, and handed over a bulging pouch of coins. Sophy took this, and after a little discussion with her customer on the topic of overpayment, disappeared into the back.
‘A fine confection t’ be stompin’ about the countryside in,’ observed Tafferty to the goblin.
Miss Tramble sniffed. ‘Mind your business, catterdandy, and I will mind mine.’<
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Tafferty’s tail twitched with derision. She leapt up onto the shop’s counter and began to wash one tufted paw.
Sophy reappeared an instant later, her hands full of shoes, bonnet, reticules and other fripperies, and at once noticed Isabel standing in the doorway. Her face lit up. ‘Isabel! And in excellent time, too. Just the briefest of moments, my dear, and I will show you to your room. I am sure you are very tired after such an unusual journey!’
She turned at once to Miss Tramble, leaving Isabel to blink in confusion at this speech. Had her aunt sent word of Isabel’s visit? How had she contrived it? Isabel was grateful to discover that her concerns had been misplaced, but she was puzzled as well — and a little awed. The aunt she had known her whole life through — the pleasant, courteous, respectable Mrs. Grey with whom she had always enjoyed a friendship — receded further and further. In her place stood a new Mrs. Grey, one who wielded powers Isabel could not begin to imagine or to understand, and whose connections with the once-distant and mythical land of Aylfenhame were inexplicably close. How had she contrived to hide all this from the placid, conventional social world of York? From her family?
Miss Tramble took her leave, tripping on the hem of her gown as she did so. This fazed her not at all, for she recovered herself in an instant and disappeared into the bright sun of the afternoon.
Sophy smiled after her. ‘I find her humbling,’ she said to Isabel. ‘In England, you know, a young lady would spend hours agonising over precisely the right shade of lavender to complement her complexion. Miss Tramble, on the other hand, merely revels in the beauty of the fabrics, and thinks nothing of how she appears in them. I think she has no vanity at all.’
Isabel smiled in response, and went to kiss her friend. Sophy looked as she ever did, since her move to Grenlowe: cheerful, blooming with good health, and just a little untidy. Her blonde curls were escaping from beneath the wispy lace cap she wore, and her simple, unpretentious blue gown was covered in stray, clinging lengths of threads snipped from some creation of hers. ‘She is a model for us all, perhaps,’ Isabel agreed. ‘Though she appears to have adopted one or two of the customs of England. Is she truly called Miss Tramble?’
Sophy laughed. ‘She chooses to be. I do not know if it reflects her true name. She questioned me closely on the topic of English titles, and insisted upon begin given a suitable one of her own.’
‘In that case,’ said Isabel, laughing, ‘I am surprised she did not choose something a little more prestigious. Why not Lady Tramble?’
‘She was taken with it,’ Sophy conceded, ‘but when she understood its true meaning, she would not choose it. It would be unbecoming, to pretend to a station she does not possess. That is what she said.’
‘A very honest goblin,’ Isabel said gravely.
Sophy agreed to it. ‘But come, let us settle you upstairs. You will want to rest, I should imagine, and perhaps arrange your dress?’
Isabel put a hand up to her hair, suddenly self-conscious. ‘Oh dear, yes. I must look a fright. I am sure the winds have caused much disorder. Oh, but I have brought no luggage! I was not aware I was to travel, until the moment of departure.’
‘The day has yet to come when you could manage to look a fright,’ Sophy said with a warm smile. ‘But you are, perhaps, slightly less beautifully turned-out than usual. You need not concern yourself about a lack of clothing, for I at least was given warning of your visit, and I have prepared a few things for you.’
Isabel allowed herself to be led upstairs, where a small but beautiful and comfortable room had been prepared for her. She had never before spent more than a few scant hours at Silverling, as the nature of travel between England and Aylfenhame did not allow for it. She took possession of the room with quiet satisfaction, delighted at the prospect of paying a longer visit to her dearest friend. Thoughts of the abandoned York assembly, of Mr. Thompson and her mother’s expectations would intrude, but she pushed them away for the present. Her aunt had promised to manage all of these problems, and Isabel could no longer doubt her perfect capability to do so.
The wardrobe of garments Sophy had provided was delightful, of course, and she had displayed both a clear knowledge of Isabel’s tastes and a desire to please her friend. There were three gowns hanging in her closet, together with two spencers and a pelisse, and matching shoes. All were fairly simple in style and without the fussy adornments which Isabel found repellent. They were also in her favourite shades of blue and green. Touched, Isabel thanked her friend sincerely, and received an affectionate smile in return.
Sophy left her to tend to her appearance, and to rest, but Isabel took advantage of only one of these offers. She was tired, but not terribly so, and other feelings took precedence over her desire to refresh herself with slumber or repose. She wished to see a great deal more of Sophy, without delay; and besides, her curiosity had yet to be assuaged. Within half an hour, she left her little room and made her way downstairs once more.
The shop was empty, so she stepped into the back. Sophy’s workroom lay directly behind the shop-floor, and beyond lay the kitchens of Silverling. To her surprise, Isabel found both full of people. She could hear the voices of Mary and Thundigle coming from the kitchen, while Sophy had retired to her workroom. Isabel went into the latter, and found two others present: Sophy’s husband, Aubranael, and the princess Lihyaen.
The two Aylir were remarkably similar in appearance; so much so that Isabel might assume them to be related, if she did not already know to the contrary. Aubranael was tall and lithe, with brown skin, long dark hair falling in a tumbled mess around his face, and brown eyes which typically twinkled with good humour. He had left off the wide-brimmed hat he used to wear indoors or out, which Isabel considered to be a good sign. His face was disfigured, an affliction which he had used to bear with considerable pain, and hid any way he could. Now he looked back at Isabel with no trace of self-consciousness, and smiled a genuine welcome.
Lihyaen was much shorter than he, though significantly taller than she had been upon Isabel’s last visit. Her skin and hair were almost as dark as Aubranael’s, though the latter curled delicately, and bore goldish streaks mixed in with the chocolate hue. Her eyes, though, were quite different: large and gold, a colour Isabel never saw in England. Her face was very pretty, and young. She looked to be perhaps eighteen years old, though Isabel knew her to be as old as Aubranael in truth. The lost princess of Aylfenhame, long supposed dead, Lihyaen had been a childhood companion of Aubranael’s. She had been discovered, alive (if not entirely well), imprisoned in the Outwoods by a strange and unbreakable enchantment. Hidenory, witch of the Outwoods, had made the sacrifice of taking Lihyaen’s place, and the princess had been free to resume her life.
Her growth, both mentally and physically, had been severely retarded during her long, long sojourn in the Outwoods. She had emerged with the appearance of a girl of perhaps fifteen, when she should have been of an age with Aubranael. Months of tranquillity and care had restored much of her shattered peace of mind, and she was growing and maturing very quickly. Still, Sophy thought she was often troubled, and suspected that the princess suffered much more in the aftermath of her ordeal than she would admit. These concerns had been confided to Isabel more than once, and she felt all the anxiety for Lihyaen’s recovery that Sophy could do; the girl had suffered terribly under the curse, and the loss of her parents besides. But she appeared calm and content, and smiled readily at Isabel’s appearance.
Aubranael and Lihyaen always welcomed Isabel in the kindest fashion, which gratified her exceedingly, for they were not very well acquainted with her. But Isabel herself had been one of the party which had ventured into Aylfenhame, a year ago, to bring back Sophy, and the excursion had resulted in Lihyaen’s freedom as well. Neither had forgotten.
‘Tell me, my dear,’ said Sophy, drawing Isabel’s arm through her own. ‘That delicious creature presently occupying my shop counter. Has she aught to do with you?’
‘Oh! Is Taf
ferty still there?’ Isabel said, with a guilty flush. In her delight at seeing Sophy, she had forgotten about the catterdandy. ‘Indeed, she came with me. She is my… my companion, she calls herself.’
‘Ah!’ said Sophy with apparent delight. ‘Yes, I quite see. I received the kindest and most interesting letter from your aunt not two days ago, and she explained everything to me. My dear, I do congratulate you! Only to think! I had no notion that you bore such connections to Aylfenhame, nor such powers! Nor, I suppose, did you. I do hope you are not too much dismayed. It will require some adjustment, to be sure, but I do sincerely believe it will prove to be very much to your benefit.’
‘Do you truly think so?’ said Isabel, looking searchingly into Sophy’s face. ‘I know that you have settled very well here, but I cannot help wondering if it is sometimes painful to you, to be so far removed from England. And then, there is the question of how to reconcile this new aspect of myself with the rest! It is, you must own, wholly incompatible with the future I must be expected to have.’
‘You are not to worry about any of that,’ Sophy said firmly. ‘Your aunt has given me the strictest instructions on this point, and I assure you I intend to carry them out! You shall not leave us until you are comfortable with this development, and at peace in your mind.’
‘Peace!’ said Aubranael, with a laugh. ‘That is rather too much to expect, my love. When the foundations of one’s world fall away and everything inverts itself, peace is not to be expected. But that is not wholly a bad thing. It is at such unsettling times that the most exciting and rewarding of developments can occur.’ He gave Isabel an encouraging smile, which she could not manage to return.
Miss Ellerby and the Ferryman Page 7
