Bessie Bell and the Goblin King

by Charlotte E. English

  'Grunewald works for the King of the Goblins?' Bess blurted.

  Mrs. Aylfendeane looked sharply at her. 'Did he say so to you?'

  'No. But he called Tatterfoal a pony, if you please, and said that he didn't have leave to be partyin' in these parts. How would he know that, if he weren't workin' for Tatterfoal's master? And, 'twould explain why he was willin' to go right up to the beast.'

  Mr. and Mrs. Aylfendeane exchanged a look. 'That is possible,' said the lady. 'But Bess, I believe we must consider the question of how we may assist you. Your returning to Hapworth Manor is out of the question, naturally, but I collect that you did not receive a character?'

  Bess's mood darkened at once. 'Aye. Right enough.'

  'How perfectly revolting,' she said in tones of strong disgust. 'But there I may be of assistance. I shall be happy to write you such testimonials as you require, and we will perhaps be able to find you a new position with some one or other of our friends.'

  This was kindness, and everything Bess would have hoped for on the previous evening. But a deal had changed since. Her heart sank low at the prospect of returning to her housemaid's labour; so much so that she could not welcome Mrs. Aylfendeane's offer, no matter how kindly meant. She had never wished to go into service; it had merely been the only option available to her. Motherless since birth, her father had died eight years before, and considering her youth, inexperience and lack of either money or connections she had been obliged to keep herself thereafter by any means possible.

  Now that she was a stout young woman of four-and-twenty, she ought to be able to do better for herself. But how? She was no more skilled now than she had been at sixteen, except at such delights as cleaning fireplaces, stuffing mattresses, mending bed linen and beating carpets. She could not expect to be taken as an apprentice at any higher profession; not at her age, and with no money to offer to a prospective master.

  Her options, in short, were limited indeed. After eight years of toil, she was no nearer to improving her situation.

  'You need not answer at once,' said Mrs. Aylfendeane. 'There is time to consider.'

  Was there? She could hardly expect this obliging couple to continue to house her while she debated her choices — especially knowing that, in the end, her choices numbered but one.

  'I must accept your offer,' said Bess. 'And I thank you for it.'

  Mrs. Aylfendeane looked concerned, and a frown appeared upon her perfect brow. 'I do rather wish that—' she began, but she did not complete the sentence. She stopped speaking, lips parted upon whatever the next word would have been. 'I think I hear...' she said, and then turned to her husband. 'Do you hear that?'

  'Aye, love,' he said grimly. 'I hear it well enough.'

  Bess heard nothing out of the way at all, and she was confused. But within a few moments, something odd reached her ears: strains of music, distant but coming closer.

  It was strange music at that, utterly removed from the popular ditties and ballads Bess had heard before. The melody was a fluid ripple of notes played at a rapid, almost frantic, pace, and the piercing notes of a pipe rose above it all.

  The Aylfendeanes rose from their chairs and went into the hall, forgetting Bess entirely. She trailed after them, puzzled, as the music grew louder. Soon it began to seem as though the melody emanated from directly outside the house; moments later there came a loud rapping upon the great front door of Somerdale House.

  A butler had appeared from somewhere, and now went forward to open the door. But Mr. Aylfendeane waved him back, and went to admit the visitors himself. He threw open both doors, and Bess received a clear view of a marvellous and surprising sight.

  In the preceding months, a band of Ayliri musicians and their attendant dancers had been wandering across England, attending assemblies and balls all over the country. They were known as The Piper's Rade, and their appearance — though looked upon with suspicion, at first — had come to be welcomed, even celebrated. But when the summer came to an end, the Rade's progress had apparently ended as well.

  Until now? For the array of colour spread before Bess's wondering gaze could be nothing else. A company of Ayliri had drawn up in front of the house; Bess counted at least eight of them, all mounted atop long-legged horses whose coats shone in strange and beautiful colours. Their riders were still more magnificent: each wore an approximation of the fashions of English gentry, but cut from silks and velvets of impossibly rich colours. Their clothes shimmered in the weak morning sun, decked in ribbons and lace and glittering with magic.

  Even this astonishing magnificence could not cast their wearers' beauty into the shade, for the Ayliri were more handsome than Bess would have imagined possible. Their skin ranged in hue from icy-pale to as dark as chocolate; their features were sculpted perfection, almost eerily beautiful; their eyes and hair were of the shades and hues of flowers and precious jewels.

  Their leader was the Piper. He held a curiously curled pipe to his lips and played a whirling melody upon it, and this he did not cease until the doors of Somerdale were opened to him. Then he dismounted, revealing himself to be remarkably tall. His hair, worn long and loose, was indigo in hue, and his eyes were an intense violet.

  He also appeared to be in a flaming temper. He strode up to the door and demanded, without preamble, 'Has Grunewald been here?'

  'Aye,' said Mr. Aylfendeane, surprised. 'Last night.'

  The piper scowled. 'Oh, he was up to a deal of mischief last night! Tell me at once. Are you in some way involved in this matter?'

  'We are unsure to what matter you refer, Lyrriant,' said Mrs. Aylfendeane in a calm way. 'Do, please, elaborate.'

  Lyrriant's eyes narrowed. 'Do not seek to dissemble. I can only be referring to the abrupt reappearance of Tatterfoal in these parts.'

  'Then of course, it is naught to do with us.'

  Lyrriant stepped closer to her, his manner far from conciliatory. This angered Mr. Aylfendeane, who took his wife's hand and drew her closer to himself. 'Do not seek t' frighten my wife, Lyrriant. Tell us at once what's the matter wi' ye.'

  'Grunewald is the matter,' snarled Lyrriant. 'For him to go riding about the countryside upon such a mount as that! You, above all others, must realise the dangers of such reckless behaviour.'

  'I do not believe he was riding Tatterfoal at all,' said Mrs. Aylfendeane. 'Indeed, he is as much puzzled by the horse's appearance as any of us.'

  Lyrriant's scowl deepened. 'Naught but the purest falsehood. He was observed.'

  'Oh? By who?'

  'Oh, by many! Too many to imagine that they are all mistaken. If Grunewald has told you that it was not he atop Tatterfoal's cursed back, then he has lied to you.'

  Mr. and Mrs. Aylfendeane exchanged a troubled look. And then, inevitably, both of them looked at Bess.

  'But we have a witness,' said Mrs. Aylfendeane.

  Lyrriant's violet gaze turned upon Bess, and with no very friendly expression. His lip curled. 'This is your witness?'

  Bessie stepped forward. 'I was wi’ the one you're callin' Grunewald last night, sir. And I can vouch for what he has told the Aylfendeanes. He were chasin' Tatterfoal and tryin' to catch him. He was not ridin' the beast.'

  Her words set up a murmur of comment from the piper's attendants, which he hushed with a wave of one long-fingered hand. He looked hard at Bess. 'Explain.'

  Bess was obliged to recount her story all over again, which she did as succinctly as possible — not least because a cold autumn wind was blowing into the house, and she had not the garments to withstand the chill in any comfort. It did not appear to her that Lyrriant believed her tale, which caused her some pique. But he did not altogether discount it, either.

  'You appear to be sincere,' he said when she had done. 'But if your story is the truth, then there would have to be two Grunewalds wandering about in Lincolnshire.'

  'Wi' the arts o' Glamour, that's not impossible,' said Mr. Aylfendeane.

  Lyrriant nodded. 'But if someone has stolen his semblance,
answer me this: Which of the two is the real Grunewald, and which the lie?'

  'The real Grunewald is the one who visited us last evening,' said Mrs. Aylfendeane. 'I would swear to it.'

  'I hope that you are correct,' said Lyrriant. 'But if you are, we must face the possibility that this semblance is capable of fooling even His Majesty's most loyal servants. And that is no pleasing prospect.'

  'Are ye sure ye didn't wake up Mister Tatterfoal yer own selves?' said Mr. Aylfendeane. 'Wi' yer ridin' and pipin' about, ye've been wakin' up a deal o' long-lost folk.'

  'Tatterfoal is beyond our power to influence. He answers to none but His Majesty.' Lyrriant strode to his horse — jade-coloured, its pearly mane whipping in the wind — and jumped back onto the creature's back. 'If he returns, notify me,' he said. Without awaiting a response, he lifted his pipe to his lips and began, once more, to play. His mount darted forward, and Lyrriant rode away from Somerdale at a rolling canter. The rest of the Rade fell in behind him, and the whole party thundered away.

  Bess and the Aylfendeanes watched their departure until every last scrap of colour and light had faded from sight, and the Piper's music could no longer be heard. Then, at last, the butler was permitted to close the doors of Somerdale upon the chill wind.

  'I wish Lyrriant did not have to be quite so dictatorial,' said Mrs. Aylfendeane with a sigh. 'I confess, I do not see why it should matter to him that Tatterfoal roams the countryside.'

  'It used t' be said tha' the appearance o' Tatterfoal presaged some kind o' disaster,' said Mr. Aylfendeane. 'I am inclined t' doubt that it means any such thing, but mayhap Lyrriant disagrees.'

  Mrs. Aylfendeane looked worried by this suggestion, and her husband immediately fell to reassuring her. But Bess said nothing. Her mind was busy, turning over everything that Lyrriant had said. One part of his speech was of particular interest to her: Tatterfoal answers to none but His Majesty.

  'Are ye full certain, love, tha' last night's visitor was Grunewald?' said Mr. Aylfendeane. This question recalled Bess's attention, for she had been wondering the same thing.

  His wife gave the matter some thought, her brow furrowed. 'I am sure of it. Consider. If there is an imposter wandering about Lincolnshire in Grunewald's form, and this person is responsible for the appearance of Tatterfoal, then we must assume that his intentions are at least questionable, if not outright malevolent. But the person we met last evening took the trouble of bringing poor Bess here, out of naught but kindness. Would an imposter have done it?'

  It did not appear to occur to Mrs. Aylfendeane that she had said anything to cause any alarm. But an alternative interpretation of last night's events evidently entered her husband's mind, and his gaze settled upon Bess with a hint of suspicion.

  Bess could easily guess the direction of his thoughts. 'I am everythin' I claim to be, I swear it!' she protested. 'I never met Mr. Green, or whatever he calls hisself, before yesterday, and he took me up in his curricle pretty unwillingly.'

  'Let us not forget Derritharn, love,' added Mrs. Aylfendeane. 'I am persuaded that she would never consent to take up with anyone who could not be trusted.'

  'There I must disagree wi' ye,' said her husband. 'Brownies are simple folk, true enough, and rarely get themselves mixed up in such matters. But it 'appens. An' Derritharn is no more known t' us than Bess.'

  'I will ask Alleny,' said Mrs. Aylfendeane.

  As though summoned by the mere mention of her name, a brownie darted into the hall moments later and presented herself at her mistress's feet. Her hair was corn-coloured, and she wore a tattered sage-green dress. 'Aye, Mrs. Isabel?' said she.

  'I would like you to vouch for Derritharn, if you can. And for Derritharn's companion.' Mrs. Aylfendeane gestured at Bess.

  Alleny looked Bess over carefully. 'I know naught of the human, but Derri, now! Her granny is cousin to my gramper, and her brother Balso is wed wi' my niece Valline.'

  'Ah! So she is well-known to you. And has she indeed been resident at Hapworth Manor, until recently?'

  'Oh yes! Though we told her them was a bad lot.' Alleny put her hands upon her hips and tutted. 'She would not listen!'

  'Derri has known me all of this past year,' offered Bess. 'She would know if I was not meself.'

  'Thank you, Alleny,' said Mrs. Aylfendeane, and the brownie dashed away again. Bess did not think her words had entirely satisfied both of her hosts, which injured her a little. But with the likes of Tatterfoal abroad, she could not blame them for being wary.

  Any lingering suspicion Mr. Aylfendeane may have felt about Bess did not manifest in any alteration in his treatment of her. They kept Bessie with them for most of the day, and the lady of the house questioned her closely about her life, her skills and her interests — most likely with a view to finding Bess a suitable new position thereafter. But it pleased Bess nonetheless, for no one had ever taken such an interest in her before. She and her husband were also forthcoming about themselves, and answered Bess's questions with the greatest good nature, though she took care to ask nothing too personal or probing. She did not wish to give them cause, however inadvertently, to suspect her of harbouring some ulterior motive for her show of interest.

  Derritharn came down in the afternoon and joined Bess and their hosts in the parlour. Bess noticed that Mr. Aylfendeane found myriad subtle ways to test Derri's knowledge of Bess, and her loyalty, without seeming to examine her. This did not unduly trouble Bess, for she knew that Derri could say nothing out of place, and she gave her host full credit for subtlety and sensitivity in his questioning. If Bessie was part of some plan to introduce a threat at Somerdale, then of course he must discover it, in order to protect his family. But by the end of the afternoon, she felt that these fears had been assuaged.

  She herself remained unsettled. By the end of a day spent in near idleness, the question of how best to dispose of herself was as pressing as ever, but still unanswered. The matter was driven from Bess's mind when, come four o' clock, dense fog began to drift over the fields and soon engulfed Somerdale. The weak and fading October sunlight vanished altogether, and within a few minutes all was darkness outside the house.

  Mrs. Aylfendeane rose and went to the parlour window. 'I can see nothing!' she reported. 'It is worse than last evening, I am sure of it.'

  'Tatterfoal,' said Bess.

  Mr. Aylfendeane looked at her. 'The fog?'

  'Aye. Mr. Green said Tatterfoal brings it.'

  'He is out there somewhere, then,' said Mrs. Aylfendeane. 'I wonder what it is that he wants in these parts?'

  Half an hour passed in a state of some tension. Bessie could not settle, for she was too well able to picture Tatterfoal in all his nightmarish glory marauding through the Wolds — and not, in all likelihood, very far away. Was Mr. Green out in the fog once again, chasing down his errant steed? Would he be any more successful at bringing him back under mastery, this time?

  Soon afterwards there came a violent pounding upon the door, which caused Bess to startle almost out of her wits, for the sound was amplified beyond all reason; it seemed to shake the very house itself. The Aylfendeanes shot out of their chairs and, as one, left the room. Bess went after, and arrived in the hall just in time to see Mr. Green come striding through the front door. He ignored the butler who, half-indignant and half-atremble, attempted to ask him his business.

  Bess received her first clear view of the man who had assisted her. He was taller than she had thought, and though he still wore the great black driving-coat of last evening, she received the impression that his was a spare, trim frame. His skin was excessively pale, almost stark white; his shock of red hair stood out all the more prominently in contrast.

  His eyes were bright, vivid leaf-green, and at the present moment they were livid with fury.

  'Isabel!' he bellowed. 'The effrontery! The thrice-damned nerve! That traitorous, lily-livered, fatuous-minded pony is not merely wandering about taking his ease among your beautiful Lincolnshire hills. He is here by instructi
on! Nay, by cordial invitation! And whose the instructions, you might ask, sent the ridiculous creature flitting about the English countryside like an oversized butterfly?' He paused with awful deliberation as he took a deep breath. 'MINE!' he roared. 'My own blessed invitation, if you please! For who should I have glimpsed tearing about upon the poppinjay's back but my own self!'

  'We 'ave discovered the same, this mornin', by way o' Lyrriant,' said Mr. Aylfendeane.

  'Oh, you have! How very obliging of him! I suppose he has told the rest of the neighbourhood as well! Dear folk of Lincolnshire, if you wish to know by whose order your roads and hills are being terrorised by a vision of hell itself, you need look no further than Mr. Green, of Hyde Place!' Grunewald was working himself into a visible fit of apoplexy, for with every word his pale complexion grew a shade redder, and his eyes flamed with rage.

  Mrs. Aylfendeane went towards him with her hands outstretched. 'I do not imagine him to have done any such thing, Grunewald. I assured him, of course, that Tatterfoal's appearance was none of your doing, and that we had heard as much from your own self only last night.'

  Mr. Aylfendeane pointed to Bess. 'You do recognise tha' young lady, I suppose?'

  Mr. Green's livid gaze fell upon Bess, who merely raised an eyebrow in response. 'Yes, of course I recognise the baggage,' he snapped. 'What has that to say to anything?' Enlightenment dawned, and if anything, his rage grew fiercer. 'Oh, I see!' he said with awful sarcasm. 'There was some question, was there, that your visitor of last night was the other Grunewald, and the baggage some manner of accomplice! Permit me to reassure you! That deuced tangle of problems fell into my lap by the most damnable piece of ill-luck and it was of the greatest inconvenience!'

  Bess bridled at that. 'Gentleman, are you so? I have met pigs wi' better manners.'

  Grunewald pointed one long, thin finger at Bess. 'You watch your mouth, my girl! I am in no humour to brook any of your sauce this evening!'

  'Then you'd best address me with a bit more courtesy! For I had no desire whatsoever to be hauled off on your hare-brained venture, and that you know full well! You think I enjoyed it, I suppose! That I congratulated meself on runnin' into you just at the right moment to be swept up into the maddest ride of my life and imaginin's both, when I was already cold and tired and more frightened than I have ever been in all my years! You were welcome to leave me in the road where you found me wi' my blessin', and so I said to your face once before!'