Miss Ellerby and the Ferryman

by Charlotte E. English

  Isabel had by this time descended to the ground herself, and she approached Talthimandar’s prone form with an unexpected sensation of shyness. Ought she to interrupt his raptures? But Eliza had no such qualms, nor did her other friends. They gathered around him, offering tumultuous congratulation, and barely noticed Isabel’s approach.

  Until Sir Guntifer turned to her, and offered a courtly bow. ‘Thou art true in heart, gentle Isabel. It is a pleasure to know thee.’

  ‘Aye, that it is,’ said the Ferryman, as he bounded to his feet. Isabel had not time to respond to either gentleman, for she was swept up that moment in a vast embrace and swung about thrice in a circle. Talthimandar kissed her soundly before setting her back upon her feet, and then he bowed to her. ‘I should not ‘ave done that, o’ course,’ he said merrily, ‘but I am unrepentant. Ye ‘ave earned ten thousand more such.’

  ‘I beg you will not attempt to bestow them all at once,’ said Isabel, laughing to cover her embarrassment. ‘And some few ought to be given to my dear aunt, for she has been quite as much involved in the business as I, I assure you.’

  Talthimandar turned to Eliza, who laughed and backed two steps away. ‘That will be unnecessary, sir,’ she said with a smile.

  He satisfied himself with a bow, his eyes twinkling with merriment as he straightened. ‘I’ll attempt t’ contain my exuberance, ma’am.’

  ‘Talthimandar,’ said Isabel, upon which he turned his attention back to her.

  ‘Ye must call me Tal, I believe,’ he said promptly. ‘Tis a mighty mouthful o’ sounds, is it not now?’

  Isabel smiled. She could not consent to such an informal mode of address, but time enough to argue that point later. ‘Have you… that is, do you recall yourself? Have you remembered?’

  The merriment faded from his face, and he shook his head. ‘Nothin’ has changed, in that respect.’

  Isabel was disappointed. ‘Perhaps your memory will return in time?’ she said hopefully.

  ‘Perhaps.’ He took one of her hands, raised it to his lips and kissed it. ‘But I will not repine if I am not t’ regain any o’ that. Ye ‘ave given me freedom, an’ that is enough. More than enough.’

  Isabel basked in Talthimandar’s joy, radiant with the happiness she had helped to win for him. But in the quiet of her mind, her fears remained. Just who had she promised to help, and in what way would she be required to assist? She decided at once, that unless compelled, she would never dim Talthimandar’s joy by telling him of the perilous bargain she had made. It was a burden she had willingly shouldered for his sake, and the knowledge of it must be hers alone.

  Epilogue

  The story of Miss Ellerby and the flying boat proved a persistent one in Tilby. It was talked of everywhere, and as is often the way with stories, with each telling its proportions grew larger and more fantastic. After a week, Isabel’s companions expanded to include not just Mr. Balligumph, a leafling fae and a strange cat, but also a gaggle of pixies, a trow fiddler and all the brownies of Ferndeane. It later began to be said that the Piper’s Rade had swept her away; even that Miss Ellerby had been a part of the Piper’s band from the beginning, for had she not been present for their first appearance?

  Isabel herself tried, with all the power of modest dignity and unassuming manners at her disposal, to divert the wildest of the stories, and steadfastly denied every part that did not perfectly coincide with the truth. But she was universally credited with more modesty, humility or perhaps secrecy than she possessed, and the stories continued to circulate unimpeded.

  Mr. and Mrs. Ellerby knew not what to think of their daughter’s fame. It was Charles’s opinion that the gossip would rather enhance, than harm, his sister’s reputation both in Tilby and beyond. With this theory Mrs. Ellerby could only vehemently disagree, and she was by no means reticent with the expression of her vast disapproval for all of Isabel’s actions.

  In truth, perhaps they were both right. There were some who considered Miss Ellerby’s behaviour to be, at best, highly improper, and ceased to consider her as a proper associate. Others sought her acquaintance much more assiduously than they ever had before; attracted, perhaps, by the romanticism of her supposed exploits.

  Isabel was pained by the former attitude and embarrassed by the latter. Worse, she could not disagree with her mother’s view that she had acted with gross impropriety, for she had. The only point of real disagreement between them was upon the topic of whether or not her behaviour had been either justified, or worth the outcome. Isabel sometimes doubted whether it had; but whenever she remembered Talthimandar’s excessive joy at his freedom, and reflected that he was now free at last to pursue the life he wanted, she could not repent.

  She often wondered what kind of life that might prove to be. He had returned her to England aboard the Mirisane, though she believed it had cost him sorely to climb back aboard his prison so soon after his release. Once he had set her down, she had watched him fly away back to Aylfenhame, unwilling to admit to herself the extent of her regret at his departure. She would not be drawn on the subject by anybody else — neither the curious gossips of Tilby who wished to know all about the handsome Aylir with whom she had flown away, nor even her aunt Eliza, who might more reasonably expect to be taken into her niece’s confidence. It was a topic upon which Isabel resolved to remain silent.

  It appeared for some days that the Thompsons, at least, had ceased to consider Miss Ellerby or her family as deserving of their acquaintance, for they departed Ferndeane upon the day following the ball and nothing more was heard of them for almost a week. But at the end of that period, the younger Mr. Thompson arrived at Ferndeane in person, to beg the family’s pardon for their silence and to seek an audience with Isabel.

  ‘I come bearing an invitation to you all to visit us at Ashford,’ he said as he made his bow to Mrs. Ellerby. ‘It was my mother’s intention to send it sooner, but an illness in the family unhappily prevented her from thinking of it until now.’

  Mrs. Ellerby was profuse in both her thanks and her evident relief at such an explanation. She was likewise prompt in accepting his request for a private interview with Isabel, without seeking her daughter’s approval. Isabel sighed inwardly, unwilling to commit so direct an act of rebellion as to refuse, but privately wishing that the gossip had been as effective in lowering Mr. Thompson’s opinion of her as it appeared to have been elsewhere.

  That realisation surprised her a little, for on the topic of his proposal she had been as silent as the subject of Talthimandar — with herself, as well as her family. She had not told her mother of his offer, and she had scarcely thought about it. Her disinclination, mild as it had been at the time of the ball, had grown since, in spite of her refusal to contemplate the idea.

  It was not, she thought, that she disliked him. There was nothing about him to dislike, in particular. He led her to the parlour, all quiet courtesy and neatness of dress, and she thought that she might have grown to like him very well, had her attention not been so diverted these past weeks. Eliza’s plan had been successful: though Isabel remained uncomfortable with her Ayliri heritage, she could no longer envisage herself as an English squire’s wife either — even if that squire was as supportive of her unusual ancestry as Mr. Thompson appeared to be. It was hard for her to move forward, but she could never go back to the person she had been.

  Mr. Thompson watched her as she quietly took a seat. His expression was quizzical, and his air uncertain; it took him some few moments to gather his thoughts and begin. ‘If I judge your manner correctly, I believe I may draw my own conclusions as to your answer to my offer.’

  ‘I am sorry,’ said Isabel simply. ‘I do not think we would suit.’

  He bowed his head. ‘May I enquire as to your reasons?’

  Isabel paused to consider. She could not precisely say why her interest in him had cooled. In every respect he was perfectly eligible and amiable, and if a little dullness was his worst flaw, Isabel would be considered a lucky woman inde
ed. Was it because his attitude towards her Aylir ancestry was not so much supportive, as eager — even grasping? Did she wish to be sought merely for the traits she might pass on to her children? That, she reminded herself, was no worse than being sought for her wealth or her beauty — both of which were common motives for marriage.

  Talthimandar’s image flitted briefly through her mind, but she ignored it.

  ‘You do not love me,’ she said at last. ‘Nor am I in love with you.’

  ‘You are a romantic,’ he said, and she could not tell from his manner whether he approved or condemned such an attitude. ‘It is not unusual for couples to marry without love, I think? It is to be hoped that we would in time come to feel all the affection for one another that we might wish. For my part—’ and he smiled at her in a way which, she could not deny, conveyed more than a little fondness ‘—I do not think I would find it difficult at all.’

  Isabel found herself with nothing to say. He was correct, but the truth of his argument made little impression upon her. She was unmoved.

  ‘Will you at least grant me a little time?’ he said. ‘Say not that this is a final, and irrevocable, refusal. I have been precipitate, perhaps. If we come to know one another better, perhaps you may feel differently.’

  Isabel did not wish to consent to his request, but she struggled to find a graceful way to decline, for there was nothing unreasonable in it. Besides, perhaps he was right; she might come to appreciate his qualities more, the closer her acquaintance with him.

  She opened her mouth to give her consent, however grudging, but she was prevented by the curious sight of the door suddenly opening, and Tafferty appearing in the doorway. How the little catterdandy had contrived to open it herself she could not imagine, but there did not appear to be anybody else with her.

  ‘Thou’rt wanted,’ said Tafferty abruptly. ‘I recommend a mite o’ haste.’ She looked at Mr. Thompson, sniffed, and whisked away again.

  ‘Isabel?’ said Mr. Thompson, with a note of urgency.

  Looking at him, Isabel realised she did not even know his first name. ‘Please excuse me,’ she said, and rose at once before he could further detain her.

  She found Tafferty in the hall, together with Mr. and Mrs. Ellerby, her brother Charles, her aunt Eliza, two of the brownies of Ferndeane and Tiltager. They were gathered around a stranger who had, she surmised, but this moment arrived. There appeared to be some manner of disagreement in progress, for voices were raised, and she detected more than one symptom of grave disapprobation in her parents’ posture and manner.

  ‘Tafferty?’ she said quietly, making her way to her companion’s side. ‘How am I wanted?’

  ‘Yonder caller is fer thee. Thy mother did not wish fer thee t’ be disturbed.’

  Well she might not. Picturing her mother’s disappointment at her refusal of Mr. Thompson’s offer, Isabel sighed. But that was to be borne later. She moved forward, saying, ‘I am here. Who is it that calls upon me?’

  ‘I am sorry you have been interrupted, Isabel!’ cried Mrs. Ellerby. ‘Go back to the parlour with Mr. Thompson, my dear. This gentleman can have nothing to say to you.’

  Charles, however, caught hold of his sister’s arm and drew her into the knot of people. She came face-to-face with the strange gentleman, who stared back at her in dismay.

  He was elegantly dressed in sand-coloured trousers, a pale waistcoat, and an elegant blue coat, all of the best quality and of the highest fashion. His boots were polished to a mirror shine, and he held a tall black hat tucked under his arm. But his black hair was not at all fashionable, for he wore it long and tied back with a length of red ribbon. His golden skin and bronze-hued eyes were likewise at odds with his attire. She felt a surge of pure joy as she recognised him, and in that moment she understood why she could never marry Mr. Thompson.

  Talthimandar. His eyes widened as he saw her, and he bowed, but his face did not lose its stricken expression.

  ‘Miss Isabel,’ he said. ‘It seems I must apologise t’ ye. I wanted t’ see ye, but I… did not realise how unwelcome such a visit must be t’ ye. An’ yer family.’

  Isabel felt a flicker of anger ignite. ‘I do not know who has told you that you are unwelcome to me, but it is not the truth. Nor are you unwelcome in my home.’ She offered him her hand, and he took it, though with an air of confusion.

  ‘My dear!’ said Mrs. Ellerby. ‘Mr. Talthimandar ought to know that he may not freely call upon a household where he has never been introduced.’ Nor ever will be, her tone seemed to say.

  ‘He is very welcome to me, Mama.’ Isabel spoke quietly and with dignity, but her anger was growing.

  Mr. Thompson appeared next to Isabel, and made the Ferryman a cold bow. Talthimandar’s eyes flicked to that gentleman, and he released Isabel’s hand. ‘I also did not know that ye ‘ad a gentleman caller already,’ he said in a quieter voice. Isabel could see that he imagined matters between herself and Mr. Thompson to have progressed further than they truly had, and she wondered what her mother had said to him.

  ‘May I offer you some refreshment, Mr. Talthimandar?’ she said. ‘I will ask Lucy to bring tea to the drawing-room.’

  Talthimandar said nothing. His gaze travelled from Isabel to Mrs. Ellerby to Mr. Thompson and back to Isabel, and her heart sank at the trapped look in his eyes. ‘No, I thank ye. I will take my leave,’ he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. He bowed to Isabel, clutching his new hat too tightly.

  ‘Please,’ she said softly. ‘Do stay.’

  He straightened up slowly, and directed a searching look at Isabel. ‘If ye wish me t’ stay, then I will.’ A smile returned to his face. It was tentative and weak, but it held.

  Isabel smiled back.

  ‘Isabel!’ exploded Mrs. Ellerby. ‘I must insist upon this gentleman’s leaving at once!’

  Isabel turned to her mother, her brow creasing in a frown. ‘Why must you, Mama?’ she said softly, but making no attempt to conceal the simmering anger she felt. ‘May I not welcome my friends to my home?’

  ‘That depends very much upon the friend, I would say!’ Mrs. Ellerby swelled with indignation.

  ‘I should say so, indeed!’ said Mr. Ellerby, standing directly behind his wife.

  ‘Why should Mr. Talthimandar be considered so objectionable?’ Isabel directed the question at both of her parents. She was conscious of her aunt Eliza moving to stand behind her, offering the same kind of support — albeit silent — that Mr. Ellerby provided for his wife.

  ‘Honestly, Isabel!’ said Mrs. Ellerby crossly. ‘A gentleman of no birth, no family, no connections! And though he is very well turned-out I should think it unlikely that he is a man of any property. Indeed, he is not even of your own world, let alone your own society. A fit connection for an Ellerby of Ferndeane! I should say not.’

  Mrs. Ellerby spoke brusquely, but Isabel detected a note of fear in her eyes. Mr. Ellerby, a vision of cold disapproval, said nothing, but he, too, betrayed signs of anxiety.

  Isabel understood. If she married Mr. Thompson, she was — in their eyes — safe. He was a person they could understand. His family and connections were well-known and conventional, and his property was nearby. But Talthimandar, or anybody like him, was wholly unknown. They saw that his intentions towards Isabel tended towards more than friendship, as she saw it herself. How could they entrust her safety and her happiness to one such as him? And how could they bear to relinquish the prospects of greater importance that came with her prospective marriage to Mr. Thompson, besides?

  In preferring Talthimandar, she knew she was dashing those hopes, and forever. No child of theirs would improve the Ellerby’s social standing through marriage; neither their son nor their daughter would bring an increase of either wealth or status through connection to a family of importance. These were not goals with which Isabel could sympathise herself, but she understood that they were of great importance to others — not least her mother and father. As such, it cost her a pang to disoblige t
hem; but disoblige them she must. She gathered herself to resist these arguments, searching her mind for the best way to represent Talthimandar’s worth to her parents — but she was forestalled by Talthimandar himself.

  ‘Actually,’ he said, ‘Cursed I may’ve been, but I never said I was destitute.’

  There was a speechless silence for several moments, which was broken at last by Mr. Ellerby. ‘You are a man of property?’ he said in pure disbelief.

  ‘Not rightly speakin’, no,’ said Talthimandar. ‘In no way as t’ impress ye fine folk, fer certain. But I ‘ad some thoughts t’ purchasin’ somethin’ in the way of a dwellin’ in these parts.’

  ‘You are going to live in Tilby?’ said Isabel, feeling suddenly breathless.

  He smiled faintly upon her. ‘That depends, a bit, on whether I could expect t’ find a welcome here.’

  ‘And a bride?’ said Mr. Thompson, somewhat acidly.

  Talthimandar looked at him in silence. ‘I appear to ye as a threat t’ yer hopes, an’ ye would like t’ despise me for it. That I can understand, fer I’m minded t’ think the same o’ ye. But the choice lies wi’ the lady, now, does it not?’

  ‘When the lady is an Aylir witch as much as she is English, it is hard to compete with a sorcerer who possesses a flying boat.’ Mr. Thompson spoke wryly, but he was certainly disappointed. Whether he was so because he regretted Isabel herself or merely the prospect of an Aylfenhame alliance, Isabel could not tell.

  ‘I may be missin’ the mark in sayin’ so, but it does not seem t’ me that Miss Isabel is likely t’ be so much impressed wi’ that kind o’ thing.’

  ‘Indeed, I am not,’ said Isabel, feeling more than a little indignant at the notion that she would be so influenced.

  Mrs. Ellerby spoke at the same time. ‘An Aylir witch?’ she said faintly. ‘But no! That is by no means true!’

  ‘Now, Harriet,’ said Eliza. ‘Take a moment to consider, I beg you.’

  ‘Lizzy?’ said Mrs. Ellerby, her voice growing fainter still. ‘What can you mean?’ Realisation began to dawn on her, and she stared first at her sister, and then at her daughter, in growing horror. ‘Isabel?’