Miss Ellerby and the Ferryman

by Charlotte E. English

  I ‘ad hoped that the Ferryman’s name’d be one o’ those things I could spirit out o’ my very fine hat, but that weren’t to be. Too many years ‘ad passed, an’ he was by no means a well-known person before he was packed off into the Torpor. But somethin’ else turned up. Many an unlikely myth an’ tall tale I ‘ad to wade through, thas fer certain, before I came upon sommat o’ use, but my network o’ whisperers came up wi’ the goods, an’ pretty quick-like too! So when Miss Isa an’ her aunt arrived to visit me good self, I ‘ad a titbit or two o’ news to share.

  Isabel was relieved when her aunt resumed her real form in order to travel — or what Isabel persisted in thinking of as her real form, despite knowing that handsome, middle-aged Aunt Grey was a mere construct of Glamour. Mrs. Grey was familiar to Isabel, and therefore comfortable, but the Eliza she had come to know had abruptly become a stranger. With her impossibly youthful looks, her strange coppery hair and stranger eyes, the coronet in her hair and the lush otherness of her garb, she was a creature with whom Isabel could not be at ease.

  Mr. Thompson called upon both ladies on the morning of their departure, though his visit was clearly intended for Isabel’s benefit.

  ‘I trust you will travel safely, rather than speedily,’ he said after he had made his bows and accepted an offer of refreshment. His eyes captured Isabel’s as he spoke, and his manner was significant. ‘But I know I may trust Mrs. Grey to take the very best care of her niece.’ His tone introduced a note of doubt in spite of the confidence of his words, to which Isabel took exception. Eliza, however, appeared to find him amusing.

  ‘I shall contain my wild ways long enough to convey Miss Ellerby home in perfect safety,’ she promised, her eyes glinting amusement over the rim of her cup as she sipped tea.

  Isabel expected Mr. Thompson to laugh at this sally, but he appeared to take Mrs. Grey’s words seriously. Isabel considered this unfair of him — though she could not but admit that her aunt had increasingly abandoned the appearance of sober respectability with which she had always cloaked herself, and had given rein to the more mischievous aspects of her personality. This troubled Isabel, for it was as though her aunt no longer cared what manner of figure she cut in society.

  ‘I will be seeing you soon,’ Mr. Thompson said to Isabel, without responding to her aunt’s remark. ‘I am charged to assure you that we will all be attending your mother’s ball at Ferndeane. My mother has already written to accept the invitation. My sisters are especially eager for the treat, as you may imagine, but I am scarcely less so. I must have you run no risks and take no harm, for I should be sorry indeed to lose the pleasure of dancing with you there!’

  Isabel smiled warmly. His manner may be over-protective and a little assuming, but it displayed a degree of regard for her well-being which she found touching. She murmured something assenting, and conversation progressed in a desultory fashion for some minutes. Mrs. Grey contributed little, choosing instead to observe Isabel and her suitor with a satirical eye. But Mr. Thompson was more than equal to carrying a conversation unaided, and required little from Isabel save a nod here and there and an occasional remark.

  When he rose to leave, Isabel felt a flicker of alarm as he requested a private word with her. He did so with perfect civility, excusing both of them from her aunt’s presence with faultless manners. Isabel found neither opportunity nor excuse to refuse, and moments later she was shut into the parlour with him. She waited in trepidation as he turned to her with a smile, and said: ‘You cannot doubt what it is that I wish to ask you.’

  Isabel opened her mouth, blinked, said something vague and hastily shut her mouth again.

  He scarcely seemed to notice her confusion, for he merely smiled, took her hand and kissed it. ‘You must allow me to claim the first two dances at Ferndeane,’ he said.

  Isabel blinked twice more, and took a breath. Oh. And swiftly afterwards, the words thank goodness drifted through her mind, rather to her confusion, for did she not find him a perfectly agreeable young man? And was not perfectly agreeable the height of felicity she could expect to encounter in a suitable marriage?

  ‘I shall be delighted,’ she said distantly, her heart pounding with the echoes of alarm. The moment had not yet come, then, but she felt that it would. Perhaps at the very ball he spoke of.

  ‘I did not like to ask in front of your aunt,’ he explained. She noticed that he had not yet released her hand. ‘It did not seem quite the thing.’

  ‘I am sure you are right,’ she agreed, and risked the step of gently withdrawing her hand.

  He took the hint, and bowed. Within two minutes he had conducted her back to her aunt, and left the house, together with profuse wishes for the safest of travels and a number of significant looks. Isabel did not quite like the faintly proprietorial air he assumed, but she had not time to consider its import nor how to discourage it, for her aunt demanded instant tidings of what had passed in the parlour.

  ‘Did you accept him?’ said Eliza. It struck Isabel that she spoke in a voice of forced calm.

  ‘He merely wished to secure me for the first dances at Ferndeane.’

  ‘Ah.’ Eliza’s very erect posture relaxed slightly in relief, but her eyes — hazel once more, at least for the present — remained fixed upon Isabel with a considering expression.

  ‘It must be time for our departure, I think?’ said Isabel, unwilling to face the question she read in her aunt’s gaze.

  ‘I believe it must be,’ said Eliza, and rose from her chair. She followed Isabel out of the drawing-room without voicing any of her thoughts, and Isabel was grateful for the reprieve.

  It had been agreed between them that they would visit Mr. Balligumph before returning to Ferndeane. The journey from York to Tilby was quiet, unattended by either interest or disaster, and they arrived at the toll-bridge late in the afternoon. Isabel, sleepy from boredom and inactivity, blinked in befuddled confusion at the empty bridge as they approached. The coachman stopped in the centre of it, as he had been instructed to do, and Isabel waited for the troll to appear. Moments passed, and he did not.

  ‘Can he still be in Aylfenhame?’ Isabel said with dismay. She opened the carriage door and stepped down. The moment her toes touched the smooth stones of the bridge, the sound of a great sneeze tore the air. So powerful was it that the bridge shook beneath her feet, and she caught hold of the carriage in alarm.

  ‘Mr. Balligumph?’ she called.

  A second sneeze followed, and a third. Several moments passed in silence, and Isabel judged it safe to release the carriage and step forward. Still she saw no one. Tafferty jumped out of the carriage with a yowl of protest and stood in the middle of the bridge, shaking herself violently and cursing.

  ‘I am comin’!’ cried a deep, rumbling voice. ‘Wait ye there jest a moment or two, an’ I’ll be wi’ ye.’

  Isabel frowned, for it sounded like Mr. Balligumph and yet not like him at all. She understood the reason why when at last he appeared, wrapped in a vast blanket and with a knitted cap upon his head in place of his usual tall hat. His nose was bluer than ever, and the smile he directed at Isabel was watery.

  ‘Do ye know,’ he said by way of greeting, ‘in years past they used to think that to bathe in the winter time was a dangerous lark indeed! Why, ye could die from it! There’s some as still believes it now. Mighty foolish, I used to say, but what do ye think has come to pass since my dip in the pool at home? I am sufferin’ wi’ the worst cold I can remember bein’ burdened with in many a long year. An’ if tha’ can come to pass in the summer, what might be the consequence o’ takin’ a bath in the winter? I consider meself chastened, that I do.’

  Isabel laughed, and expressed her sympathy in the kindest manner she was able. ‘I do hope you are being well taken care of,’ she added. ‘Should you be living under the bridge in this condition?’

  He winked at her, his great eyes twinkling. ‘It’s a deal snugger down below than ye’d think, Miss Isabel. But it is kind o’ ye to think o�
�� that.’

  ‘I will send Lucy with a posset,’ she promised. ‘Just as soon as I reach home.’

  Balligumph waved a huge hand dismissively. ‘Nay, ye’ve no cause to go troublin’ yer servants. I am well enough.’

  ‘Then I will bring it myself.’

  Balligumph smiled at her. ‘I can see there’s no refusin’ ye. I will accept a posset, then, an’ wi’ thanks. But if ye aren’t too tired from yer journey, I would first ‘ave a word wi’ ye.’ He nodded to Eliza, who now joined them, and added, ‘An’ wi’ yer good aunt, too.’

  ‘We came in search of you,’ Isabel replied. ‘For we have a particular question to ask.’

  ‘I’ll tell ye straight off: I ‘aven’t the faintest notion what yer Ferryman’s called.’ He sighed, sniffling with cold. ‘I did me best to learn it for ye, but wi’ no success. I am sorry.’

  ‘I did not know you had enquired! It is kind of you to try for it, and I am not at all cast down that you have not succeeded. Please, do not think yourself obliged to apologise.’

  ‘Ye aren’t?’ Balligumph squinted at her. ‘Ye’ve some plan in yer mind, then?’

  ‘The beginnings of a plan, at least,’ said Isabel, and glanced at her aunt.

  ‘It is my plan, in truth,’ Eliza said. ‘And therefore, if you do not like it you must blame me entirely. Isabel has a great deal more good sense than I do.’

  The troll narrowed his eyes at Eliza. ‘By this I’m to collect that it’s some manner o’ mad plan, is that the case?’

  Eliza smiled coolly. ‘Perhaps a little.’

  Tafferty hissed, her fur rising. ‘A little, I very doubt it! Cracked in the brain, that thou art.’ She bared her teeth, her tail lashing. ‘An’ do not be thinkin’ I will stand idly by an’ let thee haul my Isabel off into madness after thee!’

  Balligumph sighed, and blew his nose upon an enormous handkerchief he retrieved from beneath the blanket he wore. ‘Very well, I am braced fer somethin’ truly hair-raisin'. On ye go.’

  Eliza related her idea, briefly and with perfect composure in spite of Balligumph’s lowering brows and Tafferty’s bristling hackles. When she arrived at the part in which she and Isabel were to venture into Aylfenhame in search of the Kostigern’s lair, he sat up in alarm and shook his head.

  ‘Nay,’ he said firmly. ‘I’ll not help ye wi’ such madness as that. Tafferty is right. Do ye have any notion what ye’re fixin’ to do?’

  ‘We understand full well that it is dangerous.’

  ‘I don’t think ye do! Not if ye are plannin’ to go wanderin’ thataways wi’ no more premonition o’ disaster than a babe shovin’ its hand into the fire! The Kostigern, an’ all! He’s a goner, but his little world is no less dangerous for all that. An’ besides, we don’t even know for sure that he is a goner. Not absolutely for sure. Nobody knows what became o’ that one, an’ nobody much wants to risk bringin’ him back.’

  Eliza began to argue, but Balligumph held up a hand. ‘Tis ill-mannered o’ me to cut ye off, an’ I know it. But it is useless t’ remonstrate wi’ me on this. May I instead tell the two o’ ye my news?’

  ‘Please do!’ Isabel interjected. ‘We would very much like to hear it. Would we not, aunt?’

  ‘It is of use to ye, that I promise. Ye’ll have heard about the Piper’s Rade, I’ll wager?’

  ‘Indeed, we have heard of little else,’ said Isabel.

  Balligumph nodded. ‘Well, now. They used to ride through Aylfenhame an’ England on the eve o’ summer, many years ago, an’ at other times as well. But after the antics o’ the one we was just speakin’ of, there came the Diminishin’. Thas what they call it. Many o’ the fae-folk slipped off into the Torpor for one reason or another, or vanished into England an’ were never seen in Aylfenhame again. It must be nigh on a century since the last Rade.

  ‘An’ now they are doin’ it again, in a manner o’ speakin’. Less o’ the ridin’, an’ a deal more o’ such merriments as dancin’ an’ music. They are makin’ a deal o’ noise, an’ that’s important. Pipes! Fiddles an’ drums! Laughin’ and dancin’ and merry-makin’ all over England. An’ there’s some as is doin’ the same in Aylfenhame, since yer return.’ Balli nodded at Isabel. ‘It’s spreadin’. An’ I ‘ave heard an interestin’ theory as to why.’ He paused expectantly. Evidently satisfied with the avid look Isabel was certain he would see upon her own face and her aunt’s, he continued. ‘They are wakin’ people up. Draggin’ them out o’ the Torpor — kickin’ an’ screamin’, if necessary. It’s time fer the Diminishin’ to be reversed, an’ fer Aylfenhame to wake up!’

  ‘That sounds like a wonderful thing!’ said Isabel. She meant every word, for the prospect of Aylfenhame diminishing into silence was a terrible one. ‘But why now? What can have caused the Rade to suddenly form up once more?’

  ‘And why in England as well as Aylfenhame?’ added Eliza. ‘Are they seeking to draw back those who fled here after the Kostigern’s war?’

  ‘I reckon they are,’ said Balligumph, nodding at Eliza. ‘An’ one other thing.’ He transferred his blue gaze to Isabel and grinned, the tusks on either side of his mouth twitching with the gesture. ‘That bein’ ye, Miss Isabel.’

  Isabel stared. ‘Me?’

  ‘Not ye personally. Folk such as ye, an’ yer aunt as well. I think ye aren’t the only people with Aylir heritage wanderin’ about in England. Some, like Mrs. Grey here, are full aware of it an’ choose not to pursue it. Some, like yer own self, know nothin’ about it.

  ‘In some o’ that last group, well, they’s too far entrenched in their Englishness to be drawn to their fae side. Yer mother’d be one, Miss Isa. She witnessed the Rade, same as ye, but not a flicker o’ difference did it make to her.

  ‘In some, though! That heritage can be woken up, so to speak, an’ made lively-like. Ye bein’ one particularly fine example.’ He smiled at Isabel. ‘Tis no coincidence that yer witchiness showed itself after the Rade began to travel in these parts. An’ Tafferty arrived wi’ ye soon after ye saw them in Alford.’

  ‘Twas probably that very night I felt the call,’ Tafferty confirmed. ‘An’ it were very unpleasant, I’ll have thee know! Like an itchin’ under my fur.’ She shivered and shook all her fur out until it stood on end.

  ‘As to why they are wakin’ everyone up, an’ why now, well. Thas harder t’ answer.’ He glanced around at the deserted bridge and equally empty road and fields around, and leaned towards Isabel and Eliza. ‘The Diminishin’. It began after the Kostigern, but it worsened badly after They Majesties an’ the Princess were lost. They’re bound to the fabric of Aylfenhame in ways yer own monarchs are not. Wi’ them gone, the realm drifts an’ fades into slumber. But things change.’ He winked, and straightened up once more.

  Isabel understood. He would not say more for fear of being somehow overheard, but his meaning was plain. The Princess may not yet have set foot in Mirramay, but she was no longer lost; no longer enchanted, bound and disabled. Did the realm feel it, in some way? Did her presence begin to rouse those who slumbered, whether they understood the reason or not? Was that why the Ferryman had returned, and Sir Guntifer, and the Piper?

  If so, she could only feel that Sophy had been wise to keep Lihyaen away from Mirramay. If the Princess’s mere presence in any part of the realm, free and unimpeded, could have such a profound effect, what might occur once she finally returned to the royal city?

  ‘Does Sophy know?’ Isabel asked, for a disquieting thought had entered her mind. The folk of Aylfenhame must wonder why the Torpor was releasing those it had long held spell-bound and asleep. They must also be well aware of the connection between the Diminishing and the lost royals of Mirramay. Sooner or later, someone would begin to realise that one of that family walked the realm once more. Was Lihyaen safe? She was thought to have died, and few indeed knew of her true fate. But it was a danger, of which Sophy ought to be aware.

  Balligumph nodded, and smiled upon Isabel with approval. ‘Very good. Ye are thinkin’
quickly. Yes, Sophy knows everythin’ I am tellin’ ye. I keep her well-informed.’

  Isabel frowned, as her mind — ever to be relied upon for worrying ideas — continued to raise disturbing questions. The return from Torpor of Sir Guntifer and the Ferryman could only be considered desirable, but if they could be so released, did it not follow that other, less desirable folk might be released also? What of those who had been condemned to the Torpor for supporting the Kostigern — those whose hearts, unlike the Ferryman’s, were truly black?

  ‘I can practically see what ye’re thinkin’,’ Balli said in a grim tone. ‘Who else are we expectin’ to see poppin’ up out o’ the long sleep? Tis a worrisome notion. But I ‘ave many fine people keepin’ their eyes well peeled fer trouble, don’t ye worry.

  ‘Which brings me to the rest o’ my news. That Piper. Did ye never wonder how the Chronicler kept up wi’ the news across Aylfenhame, well enough to write it all down an’ save it in that fancy library o’ his? He had folk such as I do: news-bringers, I call ‘em. Folk what keep their eyes an’ ears open an’ bring back anythin’ of interest. But the Chronicler didn’t just record the happenin’s of Aylfenhame. He spread ‘em about, too — leastwise, those happenin’s which pleased They Majesties t’ have known. This Piper what’s loose an’ rattlin’ around in yer merry old England? He is one o’ the Chronicler’s news-bringers an’ news-bearers. Who better than a travellin’ musician to collect all the tales, an’ carry new ones about?’

  Balligumph sat back, beaming, his demeanour expectant. Isabel lost no time in offering the rapture and praise he was waiting for.

  ‘Why, Mr. Balligumph! That is wonderful news! For if he does not himself remember the story of the Ferryman, perhaps he may know of another who does? We will not need to go anywhere near the Kostigern!’