Despite her confusion, she was flattered — and relieved. Her mother and father could not reproach her upon her return, for in spite of her absence, matters seemed to be progressing as they wished.
Dinner was a quiet affair. The young ladies seemed to have exhausted their effusions about the Piper — or perhaps they had finally obeyed the hints their mother and father had been attempting to give them for some time, and let the topic die. Conversation was kept up primarily between Mr. Thompson and Mrs. Grey, with occasional contributions by the elder Mr. Thompson, Mrs. Thompson and Isabel herself. Efforts were made to draw Isabel out more, and encourage her to talk, but she was not equal to it. Never a talkative woman by nature, she found the heavy atmosphere of the dining parlour stifling. She had preferred the earlier unreserve with which the young ladies of the house had talked. She ate quietly, listening to all that passed and attempting to persuade herself that she felt neither ill-at-ease nor bored.
Only once was she startled out of her quiet composure. When the first course was removed in favour of a second set of dishes, some mishap occurred. A young footman bent to set a platter of spiced beef in gravy near to Isabel’s elbow. By some unlucky chance, he stumbled; the plate tipped; a measure of red wine sauce descended onto Isabel’s gown. Seated and unable to move quickly enough to avoid it, she could only watch in dismay as the gravy left a dark stain over the beautiful gold silk of her overdress.
The footman was all apologies and consternation. Isabel did her best to reassure him, but unsuccessfully. His eyes repeatedly returned to Mrs. Thompson’s face, and with each passing moment his panic seemed to grow. Isabel was puzzled and confused by such an overreaction to a simple accident — and more so when she noticed the storm brewing in Mrs. Thompson’s face, for it belied the air of geniality she had hitherto displayed.
It was clear that the footman would not be lightly forgiven by his mistress. ‘Oh, such a fine gown!’ cried Miss Helena loudly. ‘Shall it never be right again? I fear not, for wine, you know, can never be got out of silk. What a pity! How clumsy! And I am sure it was worth more than your year’s wages.’ This last was directed at the footman with a glower of strong disapproval, and the poor young man redoubled his apologies.
‘It is but an accident,’ said young Mr. Thompson in a mild tone, for which Isabel felt gratitude. But the weight of opinion was against him, and his attempts at restoring harmony went unheard.
Would the footman be turned off, merely for the accidental ruining of a mere frock? Isabel could not bear the prospect. Her eyes met her aunt’s; Mrs. Grey winked at her, almost imperceptibly, and glanced pointedly at her gown.
Isabel took her meaning at once. Much of the gown’s appearance was already naught but Glamour; could she, with a few moments’ thought and effort, restore it to its former perfection?
She could. It was harder to focus, in the present chaos of the dining parlour, than it had been in the quiet and safety of her own bedchamber in her aunt’s house, but it was soon done. The dark splash of sauce shimmered and vanished, leaving her gown unblemished once more.
Mrs. Thompson was in the process of making a grave apology to Isabel for the incompetence of her servants, and assuring her that the damage would be taken out of the footman’s wages. Isabel heard this with quiet disapproval, and when she had finished, directly said:
‘There can be no occasion for that, ma’am. It was but a small lapse, which may happen to anyone. And I assure you, my gown is perfectly unharmed. The sauce has narrowly missed me, it appears.’
Startled, the footman glanced down at her skirt. Here was the difficulty. He had certainly been able to observe the damage with his own eyes. How would he react to its sudden and inexplicable disappearance? She saw confusion flicker across his face, and he blinked.
‘I am relieved to hear it,’ Mrs. Thompson said regally. She was seated opposite to Isabel, and therefore had no opportunity to witness the fate of the gown with her own eyes. She dismissed the hapless footman, who whisked himself away — but not without a final, puzzled glance at Isabel.
Isabel sat quietly, suffering a tumult of emotions. She was relieved to have saved the poor footman, though she could by no means feel certain that she had. Her hostess’s anger had seemed out of all proportion to the offence. Would she punish the poor boy anyway, for having embarrassed her? Even if Isabel’s gown had, ostensibly at least, taken no damage?
And how would her little piece of Glamour be interpreted by the footman? Would he spread the story among the servants, and if he did, would it reach the ears of the family? Or was it too late to conceal what she had done, even if the footman kept silent? For Miss Matilda was seated next to Isabel, and she, too, had been close enough to witness everything that had passed. She looked upon the fine golden lace with a degree of puzzlement which dismayed Isabel. ‘Why, how fortunate!’ she said. ‘For I could swear I saw a deal of damage! It is the poor light. Papa, there really must be more candles next time Miss Ellerby is invited.’
It was unlikely that the truth would be guessed, Isabel decided. Her venturing as far as Aylfenhame might be known, but no one would imagine that she herself bore any of the powers of the Ayliri or the fae. And she could not regret having done what she could to protect the young footman from the wrath of his mistress.
That wrath was another source of disquiet to Isabel. How could Mrs. Thompson appear so congenial to Isabel herself, and yet react with such disproportionate fury to the smallest lapse among her servants? It bespoke a wholly different personality hidden beneath the amiable exterior, and one which Isabel had no wish to further uncover. Miss Helena’s comments had also been ill-judged and uncharitable, and no one had spoken up for the footman save for Isabel herself, and the younger Mr. Thompson. He had done better than the rest of his family, in making some effort to deflect his mother’s anger from her servant. She respected him for that.
The subject passed after some minutes, and banal topics of conversation once again succeeded. The rest of the dinner passed in peace. When the ladies rose to remove to the drawing-room, Isabel found her gown scrutinised much more closely by all of the Thompson daughters. To her relief, they pronounced it unmarked, but the tight pinch to their mother’s lips suggested that this did not pacify her.
Isabel was relieved, later in the evening, to take her leave and return home. Mrs. Grey felt as Isabel did, and did not conceal her distaste for Mrs. Thompson’s behaviour.
‘I do not think we will return to that house in any great haste,’ she told her niece as they rode home in her carriage. ‘Your mother’s wishes notwithstanding.’
Isabel could only agree.
‘But I congratulate you!’ continued Mrs. Grey. ‘You will be a fine Glamourist, I have no doubt. I could not have managed the gown any better myself. Such perfect beauty in these butterflies! And the stain upon it, so neatly hidden! I hope you are pleased with your own skill, for I am most impressed.’
Isabel’s immediate reaction was denial. Of course she was not pleased! Her desire to reject the witch side of herself had not much diminished. But a moment’s reflection showed her the folly of such thoughts. The beauty of her gown delighted her, however it had been arrived at; and she had been relieved to rescue the Thompsons’ footman from the unmerited consequences of a minor accident. Today, then, she had learned two things about her powers: they may be used to add many a delight to her own life, and there were times where they could be of use to others. These were not insignificant advantages.
She retired to her bedchamber as soon as they arrived at Mrs. Grey’s home, and retreated to her bed with a heavy heart. It was a relief to her to put the puzzling questions of the Thompsons out of her mind in favour of perusing the first of the scrolls she had taken from the Chronicler’s Tower. She had given half of them to her aunt, as per Mrs. Grey’s request, but several large and densely-scribed scrolls still remained.
The writing thereupon was tiny and difficult to read, and she suffered a pang of dismay. Good heavens, but
at this rate it could take her two months to read everything upon these scrolls alone! For she must read closely and carefully, for fear of missing the very information she sought.
No matter. She must persevere, even if it took her six months together to find the Ferryman’s name. She had promised, and he was waiting. She spared a thought for his merry dark eyes, fixed upon her with a glow of regard, and settled to read with renewed determination. She read far into the night, and did not close her eyes in slumber until her candle burned low, and at last flickered out.
Chapter Fourteen
Isabel soon mastered the trick of reading the scrolls’ dense, crowded lettering and the sometimes curious phrasing and syntax the scribe had used. She and her aunt took to spending some part of their mornings together in the parlour, poring over a scroll each and conferring as to the contents. Isabel valued these hours, for they drew her ever closer to her aunt. Theirs had always been an amiable relationship, but Isabel felt that a real friendship was being forged through their shared endeavour.
Further, Mrs. Grey’s enthusiasm — or Eliza’s, as she began to insist upon being called — was contagious. Isabel had come to view her promise as rash and naive; how could she hope to discover something so small as a single name, long lost to time, and of a different world to her own? But Eliza was energetic and dauntless, and her optimism and motivation bolstered her niece’s spirits and built her hopes.
Nonetheless, they were obliged to read a great deal of material which bore no relevance whatsoever to their quest. For three days, they read of the Kostigern and his attempts to master the realm of Aylfenhame. Or her. Isabel was frequently puzzled, for it seemed that a great deal about the traitor’s identity was unknown. Sources differed as to the Kostigern’s probable gender; even the Chronicler did not appear to be able to say for certain. Further, a question hung over his or her race. Was the Kostigern Aylir, goblin, or something else? Some even whispered that the he or she was human, or part human, and had come out of England to conquer Aylfenhame. The Chronicler noted all such stories, whispers and tales without judgement, and Isabel was left mystified.
Nor was it apparent when this had occurred. The Aylfenhame way of marking time differed significantly from that of England. Isabel and Eliza spent more than an hour, one rainy morning, attempting to determine how the Chronicler’s timelines related to their own, but without success. They were obliged to conclude merely that the conflict had taken place some long time ago, but that it was not ancient history. The Ferryman had estimated the time at approximately a century, but his reckoning had been vague — and besides, he had slept most of the time away, and Isabel knew not whether she could rely upon his judgement.
Of the Kostigern, the emerging picture was that of a traitor — a sorcerer — who had materialised from somewhere unknown, had rapidly mustered a formidable network of supporters among the fae and Ayliri of the realm, and had come perilously close to taking Mirramay and the throne. They had been defeated, but narrowly. Isabel was delighted to find Sir Guntifer mentioned by name, as a hero of the conflict. He and his fellow tree-giants had been instrumental in the defence of Mirramay. The Goblin King, however, had not been. To the confusion of all, he had been recorded as assisting both sides at different times. Isabel sighed over this, for it struck her as all too Grunewald.
While interesting, none of this was of relevance. It was the fourth day of such studies before Isabel encountered the first mention of the Ferry-folk. They had been among the first to be corrupted by the Kostigern, and for good reason; such powers of transport were highly advantageous. Some had answered the traitor’s call, but some had not, and for a time battles had raged in the skies over Aylfenhame as ferry-boats from both sides encountered each other. Many of the boats had been outright destroyed.
But the Chronicler had recorded nothing more. Her heart had quickened as she read this, expecting at any moment to discover a list of the names of those who had assisted the Kostigern. But there was no such list. She sighed her disappointment, a sound which attracted her aunt’s attention.
‘It is a great shame,’ Eliza agreed, upon hearing the tale. ‘Perhaps the Chronicler did not know the names.’
‘I dislike that notion excessively,’ Isabel sighed, ‘for if he does not, then who ever will?’ She paused, as a notion struck her. ‘I had not thought. The Ferryman talked of the Kostigern, and as a he. “He was my Master.” And he implied that this apprenticeship of his lasted some years. How can it be that this information never reached the Chronicler?’
Eliza tapped a fingertip against her lips. ‘That is curious indeed. But the Ferryman has not been at liberty to talk to anybody very much, has he? Have we yet discovered how he came to be cursed?’
‘No, not yet. I imagine that is to come towards the end of these scrolls, for it must have followed the end of the conflict, I believe? But it is becoming clearer why he is the only Ferryman remaining.’ She tapped the scroll spread before her. ‘It is a terrible story, aunt. Many of them were slain, and their boats destroyed. They slew each other. I cannot help imagining our Ferryman caught up in such a war, forced to fight his own kind. Perhaps he killed some of them. Perhaps he was badly hurt himself. And all because he was oath-bound!’
Eliza’s face clouded, and she nodded. ‘I am curious as to how he became one of the Ferry-folk to begin with. I wonder if the Kostigern arranged it thus, in order to make use of him?’
‘It seems all too likely,’ Isabel agreed. The longer she read, the harder the task became, for to read of such terrible conflicts tore at her heart. The more so because she knew that her own friends had been closely involved. She regretted, now, that she had asked no further questions of the Ferryman, or of Sir Guntifer — and at the same time, she did not regret it. Could she bear to hear more, and from those who had been directly involved? But it was important that she persevered. She would have to muster her courage, and bear onward, in spite of the horrific images that formed in her mind with each new account that she read.
Of considerable interest, however, were the accounts of the Torpor that she soon afterwards discovered.
…and they whose treachery had so near brought the Betrayer to dominion over Aylfenhame were judged by Her Majesty, the Queen at Mirramay. In Her Mercy, She condemned them not to Death as her loyal subjects urged, but instead to the Torpor. Thus were many Lost to Time. And this marked the beginning of the Diminishing of Aylfenhame…
The Torpor. These words swiftly brought to Isabel’s mind the Ferryman’s words regarding his long absence. Well, in Aylfenhame, those things which nobody wants or needs can… fade. That fading was the Torpor, a kind of enchanted slumber, though during the Torpor even the sleeper’s body somehow faded from existence. The scroll advanced no information as to what the Torpor was, for that was not the nature of the discussion. It merely assumed that the reader knew of the phenomenon. Isabel hoped she was not incorrect to connect it with the Ferryman’s words, but it made sense.
What she now learned was twofold: firstly that a denizen of Aylfenhame may voluntarily go into the Torpor, if they wished it, although they may also sink into the enchantment involuntarily.
But they may also be compelled to go into the Torpor. Most of the Kostigern’s supporters had been pushed into the fading as punishment for their betrayal of the Crown. Had that been part of the Ferryman’s fate? If so, why had he also been cursed? It hardly seemed useful to impose both sets of consequences upon him, for the curse which bound him to his ferry-boat meant little if he was in the Torpor anyway. Perhaps they had been separately applied. Isabel might guess that he had been compelled to fade along with the rest of the Kostigern’s surviving supporters, but if so, who had cursed him?
These topics of conversation occupied Isabel and Eliza so completely that they began to resent the engagements which took them out of the house, and away from further study. Only the prospect of encountering the Piper’s troupe could persuade Eliza to accept as many invitations as she did, though she was disa
ppointed in that hope, for the Rade did not come to York. Isabel accompanied her aunt merely as a matter of duty. So absorbed was she by Aylfenhame, by its histories and mysteries and her promise to the Ferryman, that the quiet succession of entertainments which she would normally enjoy now wholly failed to interest her.
She did allow herself to be distracted, occasionally, by Tafferty. The wily catterdandy soon realised that Isabel’s attention was unlikely to be brought to bear upon her witchery as Tafferty wished; not while so many scrolls remained unread, and so little information had been gleaned. So she began to find ways to encourage Isabel to use her witchery to support herself and her aunt in their task. It began one morning when the tea and cakes which were generally supplied for their refreshment ran out, and Eliza reached out to ring the bell and summon more.
‘Stop a moment,’ said Tafferty, waking and stretching luxuriously. ‘Ye ‘ave a teapot an’ a plate. It may interest ye t’ know that they may, by the smallest bit o’ witchery, be encouraged t’ refill their own selves.’
Isabel stared at her companion. ‘I cannot imagine any such thing to be a mere trifle!’
‘There’s some as could never manage it,’ Tafferty admitted. ‘But I think thou hast the way of it. There’s two ways, in point o’ fact. Later, I will assist thee t’ fashion a teapot o’ yer own, of the enchanted variety. That manner o’ thing will keep itself filled at all times, an’ wi’ whatever thou wishest t’ find in it. But now, thou mayst simply coax yonder pot t’ recall what was in it before. An’ the plate, too.’
The ensuing lesson took up full two hours, time which Isabel sorely regretted losing. Particularly after the first hour, when her head ached and her thirst grew. But she was rewarded when the scent of fragrant citrus tea suddenly reached her nostrils. Lifting the lid of the elegant porcelain teapot, she discovered a steaming brew inside.
Miss Ellerby and the Ferryman Page 19
