Grunewald looked as though he would cheerfully throttle her, which only angered Bess the more. Impossible man! If he thought he could so easily disrespect her because she was naught but a maid, he was full mistaken!
'Grunewald, do please calm yourself,' said Mrs. Aylfendeane. 'Bess, please! It is clear that there is something gravely amiss and we must discover what it is together. This howling at each other is of no conceivable use.'
Grunewald's fierce gaze fixed upon Isabel, and Bess feared that he would next begin to shout at her. But he took a big, big breath and let it out, and his rage seemed to dissipate along with it. 'I apologise,' he said shortly. 'You are perfectly right.' He bowed, first to the Aylfendeanes and then — to Bess's astonishment — to her as well. 'Yes, baggage, I also apologise to you. Of course, it was not your fault that you strayed into my path, and it was not much to your benefit either.'
'Well,' said Bess, disconcerted. 'To be fair, you did bring me here. I only wish we could've dispensed wi' the mad part aforehand.'
A twinkle of amusement appeared in Grunewald's eyes. 'Yes, well. It does not appear to have produced anywhere near so lasting an effect as I had hoped, for here is the wretched creature returned!' He looked at the Aylfendeanes, and his expression grew sober indeed. 'Isabel. Tal. It is not merely my semblance that has been stolen, do you understand? For semblance alone would not fool Tatterfoal. No, whoever has helped himself to my image is able to mimic me to my core, and that not only angers but terrifies me. There is no end to the trouble such a person could cause — not only to me, but to others. To England. To Aylfenhame.'
Silence met these words. Bessie was more appalled by Grunewald's seriousness, and his acknowledgement of fear, than she had ever been by his rage. She did not yet know the full secret of Grunewald's identity, whatever her suspicions might be; but that he was a strange and powerful being, that she had no doubt of. Anything capable of terrifying him was fearsome indeed.
'Is there some way we can be of assistance?' said Mrs. Aylfendeane. 'You did not come here merely to deliver yourself of a tirade, I imagine.'
'I have some hopes that you can. I must discover who is behind this masquerade, but the Glamour is too perfect; even I cannot expect to penetrate it without significant assistance.' Grunewald stared intently at Somerdale's lady. 'You are a witch.'
'I am,' said Mrs. Aylfendeane guardedly. 'But of no great talent, I am afraid.'
'Thou art bein' overly modest, again,' said a voice Bess had never yet heard. To her amazement, the most peculiar creature emerged from some shadowed corner where it had lain entirely undetected. The beast resembled a cat, though its ears were those of a bear and its face was somewhat bat-like. Its fur, thick and luxurious, was striped in brown and gold, and the tip of its long tail was crowned with a crimson tuft. 'Thou'rt new t' the witchin' arts, but nonetheless thou'rt passing skilled at Craftin'.'
Grunewald stooped to stroke the creature's ears, which ministrations it did not at all seem to mind, for it wrapped its tail around his knees and purred. 'Tafferty, I rely upon you to support me!' said Grunewald. 'You and Isabel are my best hope of a speedy resolution.'
'Aye, I understand,' said Tafferty. 'Thou hast fairy ointment in thy thoughts, I collect?'
'I do.'
Isabel gasped, and Tafferty's tail twitched. 'Thou'rt askin' a great deal, admittedly.'
'I know it,' said Grunewald. 'But will you try?' This last was directed to Mrs. Aylfendeane, with a look of such soulful entreaty that Bess did not think she could have resisted it.
'I will try,' said Mrs. Aylfendeane doubtfully. 'With Tafferty's help, perhaps I might... oh, but I do not know what it is to be out of! I have no materials for such creations at Somerdale.'
Grunewald collected a packet of soft cloth from a pocket in his driving coat, and handed it over. 'Wild thyme, four-leaf clovers and snowfoot boletes,' he said. 'And but two strands of butterbyne moss.'
'Thou'rt already astray wi' thy mushrooms,' said Tafferty. 'Tis velvet queen parasols we require, with the boletes.'
Grunewald frowned. 'In truth? Perhaps my information is unsound. Nonetheless, will you make the attempt?'
Isabel took the packet with a nod. ‘I could not refuse, though I beg you will not allow your hopes to rise too high. Tafferty is right: I am but new to the arts.’
Grunewald smiled upon her with a glow of gratitude, and perhaps more. It entered Bess’s thoughts that he harboured a degree of special fondness for Mrs. Aylfendeane. ‘Thank you, Isabel.’
The Aylfendeanes went away with the talkative, striped creature, leaving Bessie alone with Grunewald. He appeared to have forgotten Bess’s existence, for he stared after Isabel with a meditative expression, and did not move.
‘You cannot simply catch ahold of this person and remove them from the neighbourhood?’ Bess enquired.
‘Not a chance,' Grunewald said absently. 'His choice of Tatterfoal as steed is no accident, for there is no swifter creature in your world or mine. I would need Tatterfoal to catch him. Nay, better than Tatterfoal.’
Bessie accepted that without further comment, and her thoughts took a swift turn. ‘I am wonderin’,’ she said conversationally. ‘How does a person get to be a witch?’
Grunewald blinked at her, and it took a moment before his eyes focused upon her face. ‘What? Oh. Have a fancy to take up witching, have you?’
‘It seems to me a deal more interestin’ than sweepin’ floors.’
‘No doubt. Unfortunately, it is not an art one may simply decide to practice. It comes with blood heritage from Aylfenhame, and even then, but few are able to attempt it.’
Bess sighed. ‘Tiresome. Does it sometimes seem to you that all the best things are kept for those wi’ the right bloodline? Tis a mite dull for those of us wi’ the poor luck to be born from naught but mud.’
‘Perfectly true, but alongside your understandable cynicism you must consider two points. Firstly, that one may just as easily inherit burdens and disasters with one’s bloodline as advantages, and the two sets of birth-gifts often occur together. Secondly, that a lack of inherited advantages need not curtail your choices. Only a fool or a weakling abandons themselves to disappointment merely because they were not dealt a perfect hand of cards at birth.’
Bess was briefly silenced. She could not reasonably argue with any of his points, for she felt the sense of them keenly enough. But it did not alter the fact that her choices, as he termed them, were but few. ‘What would you do, in my shoes?’ she said.
He took her question literally, and glanced at her feet. ‘Cast-off shoes from a careless mistress, rather an older gift than is reasonable. Worn to the point of being not only uncomfortable but, I should imagine, painful.’
Bess’s feet had blossomed with a few new blisters after last night’s wanderings, and she nodded.
‘I would stop walking around in someone else’s shoes,’ he concluded.
‘Shoes ain’t exactly in the habit of growin’ on trees around here.’
‘Then you must go somewhere else.’
Bess snorted, and abandoned the conversation. It was evident that Mr. Green’s thoughts were on his own problems rather than hers, which was reasonable enough; she could hardly expect him to care what became of her. Why, he still called her baggage. Nonetheless, she felt a moment’s resentment that he, dripping in wealth as he was, could so flippantly cast out such advice. Where else was she to go – some place where shoes grew on trees? What nonsense.
Derritharn appeared at Bess’s feet. ‘There is a shoe-tree in Avarindle,’ she offered, quite as though she had heard Bess’s sour reflections.
Bess frowned. ‘A what?’
‘A shoe tree. A wood-gnome fell on hard times and had no shoes for his children. So he buried a worn old shoe in the ground and wished and shed a few tears, for his children were crying with the pain of their cold and sore feet. Tis said that a passing witch heard and cast an enchantment, and the next day a tree grew upon the spot. And it sprouted shoes,
of all shapes and sizes.’
‘Derri, you are makin’ that up,’ said Bess suspiciously. ‘Such wonders don’t happen, not even in Aylfenhame.’
Derritharn smiled up at Bess. ‘It is as true as that I stand here.’
‘I’ll be needin’ a bit more’n a magic shoe-tree to make a life for meself.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Derri. ‘But it would be a fine start.’
Bessie had no further comments to make, being outfaced by the sheer absurdity of Derritharn’s arguments. She left Grunewald to his agitated pacing and Derri to improve her friendships with the brownies of Somerdale, and wandered into the garden. The time of year was not conducive to any impressive display of verdure, but she welcomed the solitude, and revelled in the unaccustomed freedom to wander in the garden in the middle of the morning. At this hour, only a day previously, she would likely have been busily engaged in airing the beds of Hapworth Manor, with a long day’s duties still ahead of her.
Her resolve strengthened. She must not, at all costs, permit dreary necessity to force her back into service. She felt in her heart that she was made for more; that she wasted herself and all her resources of wit and liveliness, her youthful strength and her passionate nature on the menial life of a housemaid.
But where in England could she go in search of better? Who would ever be moved to give her the opportunity to better herself?
Nowhere. That she knew. But another idea had seeded in her mind, and Bess spent some little time engaged in the consideration of this new possibility. Aylfenhame. Thither Miss Ellerby had gone, and returned a witch – and an Aylir. Nor was hers the only such story, for a year or more ago the reverend’s daughter had likewise ventured Aylfenwards. Bess had heard the tales with lively interest, but never had she thought that she would seek to follow the example of those fine ladies. Nor that she would be granted any opportunity to do so.
Now the interest was hers, and opportunity also, if she could only find a way to take it. Bess wandered and thought for some time, until her fingers were numb with cold. When she returned into the house, she bore with her the beginnings of a plan.
Chapter Four
Strange happenin’s, are they not? When word o’ Tatterfoal’s return reached my ears, I was none too happy. That ye can bet on. Tatterfoal! And in my neighbourhood! Poor news indeed. An’ puzzlin’. I knew right off tha’ sommat odd were goin’ on. I know Grunewald. Odd fellow, an’ no mistake, but not one to set such a beast wanderin’ the roads at will.
So I weren’t surprised to learn that he had a fetch. Ye know the term? An apparition o’ some kind, tha’ looks just like another. In this case, most likely some kind o’ Glamour bein’ employed to change th’ appearance o’ someone wi’ questionable intentions. Who it could be, though? I ‘ad no notion. Considerin’ th’ events o’ the summer, however, I thought it poor news indeed. What wi’ Mrs. Aylfendeane’s adventure not long since, an’ the darklin’ bein’s she had come into contact with, I ‘ad to wonder if it were related.
Well, it were a while afore I learned anythin’ along those lines. Many another strange event was to come first, an’ poor Bessie Bell were right in the middle of ‘em all.
Well. I say poor lass, but between you an’ me, I think it were all a deal more to ‘er likin’ than she might ‘ave wished t’ admit.
Bessie was invited to dinner.
Not merely dismissed to take her dinner in the kitchen with the servants, as she had expected, but invited to dine with the Aylfendeanes and Grunewald. Not only that, but Mrs. Aylfendeane sent her own maid to Bessie for the arranging of her hair, and lent to her a fine, wine-red gown to wear for the occasion.
At first discomfited by this unlooked-for and puzzling solicitude, Bess soon came to enjoy it – particularly when she donned the rustling silk down, and admired the new vision of herself in the mirror. The maid – Sally, Bess soon learned, a girl only a year or two younger than herself – was skilled indeed, and Bess barely recognised her own black curls, organised as they were into an elegant style, with ringlets at the fore. Sally did not appear to resent her instructions, in spite of Bess’s obviously being on a social level with herself. Her confidence in the Aylfendeanes’ judgement seemed absolute.
Bess descended the stairs feeling like another person entirely. Her skirts felt heavy and luxurious around her legs; the neckline of the gown, while modest enough, displayed her natural assets in a fashion she was wholly unused to; and with her hair nicely done, she felt quite a lady.
When she saw the look of surprised appreciation in Grunewald’s eyes as she walked into the drawing-room, her satisfaction was complete. She observed Mrs. Aylfendeane casting an intrigued glance at Grunewald at the same moment, and began to wonder whether the lady’s motive in treating Bess so had aught to do with him.
The mood over dinner, however, was subdued. Bess gathered at once that Mrs. Aylfendeane’s attempts to create fairy ointment had not been successful. The lady seemed to feel her failure keenly, for her spirits were low, and her manner apologetic.
‘It is of no moment,’ Grunewald assured her. ‘I wish you will not torment yourself about it. I knew it to be but a small chance, and there are others I can ask.’
Mrs. Aylfendeane raised her eyes to his face in surprise. ‘Can that be true? I had understood it to be a rarity indeed.’
‘Oh, yes. A decided rarity. But there is another witch of my acquaintance who may be able to produce it. Hidenory, you will perhaps remember her?’ He paused in the act of bringing a portion of stewed pork to his mouth, and frowned. ‘I need merely persuade her compliance, which, I grant you, is no inconsiderable task. Besides that, I may go in search of another capable witch. There are others in Aylfenhame, one assumes. And then there are the Markets.’
‘Hidenory!’ said Mrs. Aylfendeane. ‘I know that Sophy would be interested to know of her whereabouts!’
‘Ye’ll not have much luck at th’ Markets, I fear,’ said Mr. Aylfendeane. ‘I ‘ave found them t’ be lackin’, these days. Not what they used t’ be.’
Grunewald scowled. ‘Alas, I must agree with you. Baubles and trinkets and little else! But I must make the attempt. I have some hopes of Grenlowe, but if that should fail… I will call a Goblin Market.’
Mr. Aylfendeane’s response to that was but a shocked silence, and he stared at his dinner guest with eyes rather wide. ‘Nay, surely it ‘asn’t come t’ that,’ he finally ventured.
Grunewald’s eyes sparkled with some amusement. ‘Come, come! What tales have been told abroad? The Goblin Market is not so bad as all that.’
Mr. Aylfendeane grinned. ‘Oh, do ye say so? ‘Tis said that if ye ‘appen t’ be in the market fer the darkest o’ wares, the Goblin Market is the place t’ be. Curses an’ poisons an’ tricksy enchantments, all that manner o’ thing. Is tha’ not so?’
Grunewald served himself from a dish of pudding before him. ‘Oh, that is largely the truth,’ he admitted.
‘Oh, Grunewald!’ said Mrs. Aylfendeane. ‘Surely you cannot consent to make such questionable goods available in Aylfenhame, all in search of a mere ointment?’
Grunewald eyed her with an unreadable expression. ‘I should lament the necessity, my dear Isabel, though the consequences are likely to be considerably less severe than I see you imagine. But perhaps you do not fully understand the problem I am facing. It is no minor undertaking, to impersonate such a being as myself.’ Here his gaze strayed to Bess’s face, and he did not elaborate on what he meant by that statement. ‘It has not been done merely for the imposter’s entertainment. I do not yet understand the purpose behind it, but that it may prove to be a grave threat to more than this neighbourhood’s peace I have little doubt.’
Isabel sighed deeply. ‘Yes, yes. I quite see that the matter is urgent.’
Bess felt sorely out of her depth. ‘What is meant by the Goblin Market?’ she ventured to ask.
‘It is the largest market in Aylfenhame,’ said Grunewald. ‘And that is because any kind of goods ma
y be sold there, with no restrictions, as there are in other markets. It takes place but rarely, for it is called at need.’
He had omitted some important details. ‘Called by who?’ Bess asked shrewdly. ‘Are you able to call such a thing?’
Grunewald scowled. ‘My compliments to your cook, Mrs. Aylfendeane,’ he said, instead of answering Bess. ‘Rarely have I tasted such a fine sago pudding.’
Mr. Aylfendeane laughed softly, and his wife looked conscious. ‘Thank you, Grunewald,’ said Mrs. Aylfendeane smoothly. ‘I will ensure your compliments are conveyed.’
‘I will learn the truth some day or other,’ said Bess. ‘There can be no use tryin’ to keep it from me.’
Grunewald’s eyes narrowed as he looked at her. ‘I fear you may be perfectly correct, baggage, but I should like to postpone that day as long as possible.’
Bess smiled at him. ‘No secret is safe around me, sir.’
‘I imagine not. On which topic,’ said Grunewald unexpectedly, and he turned his attention fully upon Bessie. ‘Perhaps you will answer a question for me.’
‘Course I will,’ said Bess in some confusion.
‘The Adairs. How long were you employed in that household?’
‘One year only,’ said Bess with a grimace, for it had felt longer than a single year.
‘That is full long enough. Tell me: Did you ever chance to observe anything unusual? Particularly as regards the behaviour of the family.’
‘Why would you ask that?’ she said, wary and surprised.
‘Odd visitors,’ Grunewald pressed. ‘A member of the family behaving in uncharacteristic ways. Particularly recently.’
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