The goblin landlady appeared to guess her thoughts, for her grey eyes twinkled amusement and she said, ‘It’s my way. It’s what the Motley is for. The name don’t refer to the patchworks or the mismatched things, though ‘tis fitting enough. It’s about the people. I takes in all those as has no place elsewhere, an’ poor Rasgha was one o’ them, right enough.’
Bessie could well imagine that to be the case. A half-human, half-goblin girl, forsaken by her father and born to a servant girl scarcely able to take care of herself, let alone a child? She would have needed Maggin’s help like no other.
‘Tis why I brought you here,’ added Drig. ‘Humans are uncommon in Gadrahst, and not many bother to cater to ‘em.’
Bessie nodded. ‘I understand all that. And what?’
‘His Majesty has asked me to take care o’ her again,’ said Maggin. ‘He has her tucked up snug in some secret place, but he don’t want her to be alone. And there’s nobody but me as’d take on the job o’ being caretaker and companion to that.’ Maggin was brisk and unsentimental, but she was kind-hearted. Bessie was surprised at the note of steel she discerned in the landlady’s cool tones. Somewhere under her congenial manner, Maggin was very angry with Rasgha.
‘So you’ll be leavin’ the Motley?’ Bessie guessed. ‘Is that what you came to tell me?’
‘The Motley needs a new landlady,’ said Maggin bluntly. ‘Someone as understands what it’s here for. Someone who’ll take good care o’ my guests.’ She smiled at Bessie, the wrinkles deepening around her eyes. ‘Drig says as how ye’re looking for sommat to do?’
Bessie blinked, speechless.
‘Which brings me to that favour you owe me,’ Drig said, stepping smoothly into the silence. ‘I have for some time wished to leave His Majesty’s service. I would like you to secure my release, and to accept me as co-landlord of the Motley thereafter.’
Bessie had been harbouring a dark knot of tension somewhere within, ever since Grunewald had vanished out of her life and taken Rasgha with him. What she was to do with herself next, stranded as she was in Gadrahst and with no prospects to return to in England even if she could, was a troublesome question – one she had been able to conjure no answer to. But Maggin’s proposal was perfect; she sensed at once that she was as ideal for the role of landlady as Magg imagined her to be. And to retain Drig’s companionship besides! Her heart soared with gladness, and she accepted both Maggin’s and Drig’s requests with delight. ‘Only!’ she cautioned Drig, ‘I cannot say as our Gent will let you go. I can but try.’
Drig nodded, serene. ‘All I ask,’ he said laconically.
‘Besides, that also depends on him turnin’ up again. I've not seen hide nor hair o’ him.’
‘He’s downstairs,’ said Drig, suspiciously nonchalant.
Bessie eyed him. ‘Oh, is he? You did not care to mention that before now, I note.’
Drig eyed her in return, his expression a trifle sullen. ‘Didn’t want him persuading you off somewhere before we’d had chance to talk to you.’
‘Tis most unlikely he has any such thoughts in mind,’ said Bessie firmly.
Drig merely grunted, and waved a hand towards the door in invitation. ‘You can go now.’
Bessie wanted to return some unfavourable retort, if only to punish him for his assumptions. But she could not. The prospect of Grunewald alone somewhere downstairs, waiting for her, set her heart beating a little too quickly, and she could not resist. With parting thanks for Maggin, she swept through the door and hastened down the stairs.
She found Grunewald in the best parlour. He was comfortably ensconced in a large, wing-back chair, smartly dressed in the newest fashions from England. Her right eye saw the red-haired, green-eyed human visage that he liked to wear, but her left still saw him as he was: half-goblin and half-Aylir, with few of the beauties of either.
He was equally beloved in both forms.
She stood in the doorway, studying him for a moment. He had not yet seen her, and he appeared to be so lost in thought that he had not even heard her approach. He looked tired, and a little drawn. His attire might be pristine, but his hair was disordered, as though he had been running his hands through it. There was something new in his air, too; another layer of hard disappointment, or perhaps betrayal. She wondered how deeply lonely he had really been, and for how long.
‘Well?’ she said tartly. ‘Some greetin’! Ignored, and after all we have been through together!’
His gaze focused upon her, and he gave her a slow grin which had a most disagreeable effect upon her heart. ‘Ignore my Bess? Never.’
He had been aware of her, she realised. He had merely given her a few moments to collect herself, or to decide how to greet him. And she, uncomfortable and at a loss, had chosen to show none of her real feelings. She returned the smile, if weakly, her brain busily trying to discover how best to recover the situation.
But he spoke, and the opportunity was lost. ‘Sit,’ he invited, waving a hand at an adjacent chair. ‘And tell me something.’
Bessie could see no reason to decline, so she seated herself as invited and directed a look of enquiry at him.
He stared at her, his eyes faintly narrowed. After a moment, Bessie realised he was not staring at her so much as at her eyes – first the left, and then the right.
Oh, dear.
‘I am curious,’ he said in a hard voice. ‘I would be pleased to learn precisely when it was that you stole the fairy ointment from me.’
Bessie hesitated. She had not forgotten – could not forget – how he had kissed her, only two days before. But his manner now was in sharp contrast to his former exuberant display of affection. She read a spark of real anger in his leaf-green eyes, and a tightness about his jaw that suggested he was holding back a tirade.
Well; what matter if he was angry? She had stolen from him, it was true, and she was not proud of herself. But she had done it for good reason. She had been helping him, when he had been too stubborn to accept either that he needed assistance, or that she was capable of providing it! He ought to be grateful to her.
Bessie lifted her chin. ‘Not long after Isabel gave it to you.’
Grunewald nodded once. ‘I see. And may I be permitted to ask why you presumed to do such a thing?’
‘I thought I might need it. And I was right! It was of the utmost usefulness.’
His anger grew, blossoming in an instant from a spark into a burning rage. But his voice, when he spoke, was wintry-cold. ‘You had no right, Bessie Bell.’
She lifted a brow. ‘Oh? Perhaps you had no right to keep it from me.’
‘It was mine, to do with as I chose.’
‘Aye. But I have hardly done you or anybody else any harm wi’ the share I took, so I dunnot see why you are angry.’
But as she spoke, it dawned upon her. She knew her arguments to be reasonable enough; why had he not chosen to give her a supply of her own, after all? There had been enough for both of them to use; more than enough. It could scarcely have hurt him to do so.
But in his mind, it did hurt. ‘You were askin’ somethin’ else,’ Bessie said shrewdly. ‘Yer question was not: when did I steal the ointment. ‘Twas rather: how long have I been able to see yer real face?’
Grunewald stared at her, the lines deepening around his mouth. He was white with anger, but she read something else behind it: not fear, as she might have expected, but a sense of weary resignation.
‘I ain’t goin’ to tell anybody, if that is what yer worried about.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘I am glad to hear it.’
That was not the trouble, it seemed. Then what? Bessie gazed at him, long and thoughtful, and a new idea entered her mind. ‘You think I will have naught to do wi’ you, now that I know the truth about you?’
He looked away, frowning. ‘Something like that.’
Bessie sighed deeply, torn between a desire to embrace him and an equally powerful desire to box his ears. ‘Have you learned nowt from yer friend Aub
ranael’s story? Full ruined, his face, but that weighed as naught wi’ Sophy.’
Grunewald refused to look at her. ‘Sophy is a woman in a million.’
‘And I am not?’
He blinked and turned his head, startled. ‘That… is not what I meant.’
Bessie threw up her hands. ‘A fine pair you make, you an’ Rasgha! What nonsense! Wi’ yer half-breed worries an’ yer vanity. As fine an’ finicky as a pair o’ English aristocrats, that you are!’
Grunewald growled his annoyance. ‘There are some among Gadrahst society who deplored my father’s marriage to my mother. Purists, you might say. They wanted a goblin for a queen, not an Aylir, no matter what her connections. Those of my subjects would have despised Rasgha’s mother still more. In that, she and I are justified in our doubts.’
Bess shrugged. ‘And you care about them lot so much? I find that hard to believe.’
Grunewald muttered something, and at last met her gaze squarely. ‘I must care about them to some extent, baggage. There has been discontent for years untold, and I have sometimes but barely retained my throne. It is a matter of some import, especially now.’
‘Why especially now?’
His green eyes gazed into hers, dark and intense. ‘If I am to raise a human over them as queen, I must expect such discontent to grow. It will not be easy for either of us.’
Bessie’s eyes narrowed, ruthlessly ignoring the way her heart fluttered at this declaration. ‘That yer plan, is it?’
He inclined his head. ‘It is.’
‘Seems to me you are forgettin’ somethin’, my Gent.’
‘Oh?’
Bessie stood up, folded her arms, and stared him down. ‘You forgot to ask me.’
He blinked his confusion. ‘What? But you just said—’
‘I said that I dunnot find you repellent! That ain’t a proposal o’ marriage!’
‘Fine,’ he snapped. ‘If we must go through the charade.’ He rose to his feet, took Bessie’s hands, gazed into her eyes with a credible approximation of a soulful attitude, and whispered, ‘Will you marry me, baggage?’
‘No!’ said Bessie stoutly, and withdrew her hands. ‘Absolutely not.’
He scowled. ‘And why am I to be rejected, if I might ask?’
‘Because you’re still callin’ me baggage, for a start.’
‘You are quite right. I shan’t call you that anymore.’ He smiled, as though the question were now resolved, and attempted to kiss her.
Bessie pushed him away. ‘I ain’t marryin’ you! Queen o’ the Goblins! Me! ‘Tis a laughable thought! Right proper absurd. And that’s without takin’ into account yer promisin’ description o’ the reception I am likely to receive.’
‘Only from the Purists, Bess! Most of my subjects will love you.’ Grunewald captured her hands and insisted upon kissing them. Nor would he be so obliging as to release them, tug though she might.
Bessie lost her temper. ‘STOP kissing my hands!’ she roared.
Grunewald was so startled as to drop her hands at once. He even took a step backwards, and stood staring at her in wide-eyed astonishment.
‘I ain’t interested in gettin’ wed,’ Bessie said, in a more moderated tone. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘I am takin’ over as landlady o’ the Motley. Did Maggin not tell you?’
He shook his head. ‘I had not heard.’
‘And for that matter, Drig is leavin’ yer service and comin’ to help me. You won’t object.’
Grunewald detected the warning note in her voice and wisely agreed. ‘Very well.’
Bessie glowered at him. ‘If we are to be spendin’ some time together, you’ll need to get over that habit o’ dictatin’. It ain’t goin’ to work wi’ me.’
Grunewald blinked.
‘For the first time, I have the freedom to make me own choice as to what I do wi’ meself! I am to be the boss o’ me own life, an’ I ain’t givin’ that up lightly! Not even for you. That clear?’
The Goblin King gazed long at her, his anger visibly dissipating. At last, shockingly, he grinned – swift, sharp and delighted. ‘That’s my Bess.’
‘I ain’t yer Bess,’ she said shortly. ‘Not ‘til I say so.’
He bowed, a floridly gallant gesture. ‘Very well. Are you my Bess?’
‘Maybe,’ she said grudgingly. ‘Long as you behave yerself.’
‘I have never been any good at behaving.’ His eyes twinkled merriment, and Bessie found herself smiling in response.
‘Eh,’ she said. ‘We will have to muddle along somehow.’
Grunewald claimed one of her hands again – tentatively this time, giving her plenty of opportunity to object. She did not, and he was permitted to raise it to his lips. ‘So I may visit the Landlady?’
Bessie grunted her assent. ‘But if you track mud through me best parlour, we’ll be havin’ words.’
Grunewald laughed and pulled her closer. Bess did not so much accept his embrace as hurl herself at him, and what little remained of her own anger or his dissolved under a rain of kisses.
An’ that’s that! Another happy endin’, I am pleased to be able to tell ye.
Not that everythin’s ended, quite yet. I have one or two questions outstandin’, meself, and mayhap you do likewise. What o’ that Kostigern, fer starters? He is meant t’ be long gone, but Rasgha’s right certain that he’s only sleepin’. Mayhap in the Torpor, like so many others. Can he be woken? And will it be Lady Thayer’s blood as does it? I been keepin’ a close watch on her ladyship ever since that day, I can tell you. Not tha’ she is helpless! Oh, no! What a way she has wi’ them pipes!
Besides that, Rasgha woke up a deal o’ folk wi’ the help o’ Tatterfoal, an’ we ain’t managed t’ catch all o’ them. There’s mischief stirrin’ there fer the future, if I’m not mistaken. It’s vigilance fer me, until everythin’ rights itself about.
But Bessie’s been happy as a lark at the Motley, ye’ll be pleased to know! Maggin was right about tha’, for certain: Miss Bell is perfect fer the job. She an’ Drig make a fine pair o’ landlords-an’-ladies, an’ the Motley’s more popular than ever.
Grunewald spends as much time at the Motley as he does at court, these days. He’s becomin’ quite the fixture. But the patronage o’ the Goblin King ain’t doin’ the inn any harm! It’s my belief he weren’t bluffin’ when he told Rasgha he’d have handed her the monarchy job. Bored senseless, that he’s been fer many a long year, an' weary t’ boot. Now there’s Bess, and she won’t wed him while he’s still His Majesty. Tis a puzzle, an’ one thas yet t’ resolve itself. But they’s clever. They will find a way t’ manage.
But I have rambled on long enough! Ye’ll be wantin’ to get on yer way. I have detained ye longer’n I meant to, I’ll give ye a bit o’ help. Just a mite of a Quickly-spell to gi’ ye a tiny boost, thas all. Oh, I don’t make ‘em meself. Mrs. Aylfendeane gave ‘em to me! An’ a wisp t’ guide ye on yer way. There, Mr. Coachman, follow tha’ ball o’ light an’ ye’ll be home in no time.
Good journey to ye, an’ come back soon! I’ve a feelin’ I’ll have another yarn t’ spin afore long.
***
End Notes
Thank you for reading Bessie and Grunewald's story! I hope you enjoyed the read.
If you'd like to be the first to know when the next Tales of Aylfenhame book is released, sign up to my email newsletter at http://www.charlotteenglish.com/newsletter.
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Art credits:
Cover design by Elsa Kroese (elsakroese.com)
Illustrations by The PicSees (onceuponaworkshop.com)
Also by Charlotte E. English:
Tales of Aylfenhame
Miss Landon and Aubranael
Miss Ellerby and the Ferryman
Bessie Bell and the Goblin King
The Dra
ykon Series
Draykon
Lokant
Orlind
The Lokant Libraries
Seven Dreams
The Malykant Mysteries
The Rostikov Legacy
The Ivanov Diamond
Myrrolen's Ghost Circus
Ghostspeaker
The Drifting Isle Chronicles
Black Mercury
Bessie Bell and the Goblin King Page 26
