Miss Landon and Aubranael (Tales of Aylfenhame Book 1)

by Charlotte E. English

  He nodded wisely. ‘By which I understand you to mean that you are a terrific seamstress, and you are also very dutiful as regards the expectations of society.’

  ‘Not very dutiful. Society places so many and varied demands upon a person; it would be far too tiring to keep up with them all.’

  ‘Oh, quite! I am exhausted with it myself. For instance, I should like nothing better than to invite you to walk with me; but that could never be considered proper, and so I must resort to subterfuge.’

  Her brows rose at the word subterfuge. ‘What manner of deviousness did you have in mind?’

  He thought for a moment. ‘If, say, you were to walk in Tilton Wood one morning—say tomorrow, for the sake of argument—and if you were to walk just a little too long, and find yourself suffering under the affliction of a head-ache—and if, by the most complete chance, you happened to encounter me there as you turned towards home—why, common decency would oblige me to see you safely home, would it not?’

  Sophy pondered this for a moment in silence. Judging, from his smile and his gentle manner, that he meant nothing objectionable by it, she returned his smile and said: ‘It would not be wholly out of character for me to do so, certainly.’

  ‘I would, of course, offer you my arm, so that you may lean upon it. I would not wish to see you faint from over-exertion and the pain of the head-ache. And if anyone should happen to observe us, I may disarm any prospect of talk by claiming mere gentlemanly good behaviour. May I not?’

  The picture he painted was an attractive one. The prospect of walking through Tilton Wood on a sunny morning, her arm linked with Mr. Stanton’s, her time whiled away by pleasantries and amusing nonsense, charmed her immensely. But dare she do so by prior agreement? Such behaviour would be considered intolerably bold, were it known.

  But her social standing was already very low. Her likelihood of marrying had already been largely written off by Tilby (as well as herself). Her social credit, then, could hardly grow worse; and since she had no particular position to protect, no prospects to guard and no connections to offend, she might think herself free to consult her own pleasure.

  ‘I imagine I will wake tomorrow morning with every intention of walking in Tilton Wood,’ she said. ‘And it would be the very height of courtesy in you to rescue me from the ill effects of the head-ache which, I feel sure, must inevitably strike.’

  This won her a smile of genuine delight; but he had not time for more, because Isabel at that moment returned to the room, now properly attired in a morning-gown. ‘Oh!’ said she, on perceiving Mr. Stanton. ‘I do beg your pardon! I had no idea that Miss Landon had a visitor.’

  ‘It is of no moment, Isabel; do please sit down! Mr. Stanton called to consult with father, but unluckily he is at this moment laid down upon the bed, and I am reluctant to disturb him.’

  Isabel cast her a sharp look which proclaimed that she did not for an instant believe Sophy’s story; but as Mr. Stanton went along with it, she was obliged to likewise. She took a seat near to Sophy’s, arranged her skirts tidily, and proceeded to be entirely silent.

  Sophy began to talk of the weather, of the roads, of the markets—anything, in short, that she could seize upon to fill up the silence. Mr. Stanton obliged her with a number of sensible comments, proving that he could indeed manage the delicate art of small talk; but the charm of their earlier conversation had gone. The entrance of a third party put paid to the easy intimacy which was beginning to grow between them, and the conversation was stilted. Sophy was not surprised when Mr. Stanton rose to depart.

  ‘I will look forward to seeing you both very soon,’ he said in parting, with a swift look at Sophy bespeaking his dependency on seeing her very soon indeed. She smiled her assent, and bid him goodbye with, she flattered herself, a very convincing calmness.

  Isabel was not at all convinced. As soon as Mr. Stanton’s steps had retreated beyond their hearing, she turned to Sophy, her eyes shining. ‘Why, Sophy! What a Banbury tale! He came to see you, I am sure of it.’

  ‘You are fully as bad as Anne,’ Sophy said, with an attempt at severity; but she could not contain her smile. It would return, no matter how she tried to suppress it.

  Isabel clapped her hands together in genuine delight. ‘Now, Mama will have to stop teasing me about him! I will tell her so directly. I only hope Mr. Green may prove as enchanted with Anne, as she is quite wild over him. I fear it is rather improbable, however.’

  It was like Isabel to think of everyone else’s prospects, and omit her own. ‘Come, now,’ Sophy said, regaining her seat. ‘The likelihood of Mr. Stanton’s paying me any attentions was highly improbable, too.’ She picked up the cooling cup of tea which Mary had provided—pouring the tea for her, even, in the knowledge that Miss Landon would be sure to spill it—and sipped. It was cold, but the apple-tart was delicious; as Isabel declined any, she finished Mr. Stanton’s neglected slice as well as her own.

  Later that day, Sophy sat alone with one of her father’s shirts in her lap, diligently mending the fraying seams, when Thundigle came trotting into the room. He made her a hasty bow, with none of his usual fastidious courtesy, and gasped out: ‘Mr. Balligumph wishes to talk to you, Miss Sophy! He says it is important.’

  This came as a considerable surprise to Sophy, for Balligumph had never summoned her before. He prided himself on not being a needy acquaintance, as he put it, leaving it to Sophy to decide when she wished to visit him.

  What could he possibly have to say that was so important? Sophy had no notion at all, but she would not trifle with Balli’s concerns. She rose at once, folding her mending neatly and leaving it upon a side-table. ‘Thank you,’ she said to Thundigle. ‘I am much obliged to you for bringing me the message. Do you have any idea at all what Mr. Balligumph wishes to discuss?’

  Thundigle looked grave. ‘Not very much, but it relates to that Mr. Stanton, and his friend.’

  A small feeling of disquiet invaded Sophy’s heart, spoiling the sunny mood she had been in ever since Mr. Stanton’s visit—ever since the ball, in truth. ‘Is there some manner of trouble?’

  ‘I couldn’t say, Miss, though Mr. Balligumph was awfully serious.’

  Balli, serious? This was unlike him indeed! Sophy’s heart began to pound with alarm. ‘I will go at once,’ she said to Thundigle.

  It was the work of mere moments to collect her bonnet and spencer, and then she was out of the door, walking as fast as was seemly on her way to the bridge. Thundigle did not accompany her, and so she had no one to distract her from the unpleasant reflections that passed through her mind as she walked.

  Balli was extremely knowledgeable about local business. Gossip, one might even say. He extracted many a secret from Tilby’s citizens as they passed over his bridge, and he maintained something of a network of observers among the brownie helpers of the town, and other fae. Sophy occasionally consulted him, if there was something she wished to know; but when she had asked him about Mr. Stanton and Mr. Green some days before, he’d had only commonplace information to give. Had he uncovered something new? Thundigle’s manner suggested that the news was poor.

  She arrived at the bridge somewhat out of breath, her heart beating rapidly from exertion as well as trepidation. ‘Balli?’ she called.

  The moment her foot touched the bridge, he appeared. ‘Ye’re a good girl, Miss Sophy,’ he said at once. ‘I knew you’d come.’

  The familiar twinkle in his eye was absent, and Sophy’s alarm deepened. ‘Of course, why should I not? What is it that you have to say to me?’

  Balligumph sat down on the bridge—a sight which always worried Sophy a little, for fear that the hefty stone bridge would collapse under the troll’s considerable weight—and folded his hands over his stomach. ‘What do ye know of them two fine gents as are up at Hyde Place?’ he asked. ‘Mr. Green, Mr. Stanton? Do ye know much o’ them at all?’

  ‘No, no at all. No more than all the neighbourhood knows, that is: that they are of good family; th
at they have been friends since they were up at Oxford together; that they are both of good fortune—‘

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Balli interrupted, waving a meaty hand. ‘They told me all o’ that themselves. But I cannot find out that any of it’s the truth.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I can’t find anything to contradict it, precisely, but there’s nothing in support of it, neither. No one’s heard o’ these two, not so much as a whisper. An’ there’s some mighty strange things about the way they conduct theirselves, too. For instance, did you know there ain’t a single brownie in that house?’

  Sophy frowned, puzzled. ‘No? I am sure I heard otherwise—that they were adopted remarkably quickly, in fact, as soon as the house was opened.’

  Balli shook his great head. ‘Whatever’s in that house, it’s not brownies. They just look like brownies. Got a glamour on ‘em, I’d wager.’

  ‘A glamour!’

  ‘Quite so! I don’t know who in that house has a way wi’ the fae-magics—whether it be your Mr. Stanton or Mr. Green—but sommat’s not right. An’ it makes me wonder: what else might be lurkin’ under them glamours?’

  Sophy’s heart instantly absolved Mr. Stanton of guilt in the matter. He seemed too…too normal. It was Mr. Green who possessed a certain fey quality: something in his air at times, in his wild red hair and his leaf-green eyes.

  ‘Does it matter?’ Sophy asked. ‘Say that Mr. Green does know some of the fae-magics; is it so very bad?’

  Balli eyed her with evident misgiving. ‘There’s sommat not right in a house wi’ no brownies,’ he stated bluntly. ‘I can’t get a straight answer out o’ the brownie-folk, neither, as to why they’re avoidin’ the place. They say only there’s no need of ‘em there, or suchlike. An’ you know what else? Not a single local chap or girl was hired to work at the house. It’s like the two of ‘em brought their own staff along. Unheard of!’

  Sophy’s puzzlement only deepened. For sure, it was unusual for a gentleman to use the arts of glamours, or at least to own to it; but it did not imply any particular villainy if they did. Nor did it seem all that terrible for them to staff their own household; it was a shame for the locals to lose the prospect of a job there, for certain, but Sophy could see no other harm in it. ‘Is there something in particular that you fear, Mr. Balligumph?’ she asked. ‘For my part, I can see no great harm in anything that they are doing, or said to be doing.’

  Balli sighed gustily. ‘Not in so many words, Miss Sophy. Only, I hear as ye’re quite the favourite wi’ that Mr. Stanton, an’ I would be happier to know the household’s all right-and-proper in that case.’

  ‘I am much obliged to you for your kind solicitude, and I have no wish to dismiss your concerns. If you hear of anything more specific, I trust you will inform me?’

  Balli nodded. ‘That I will, Miss.’

  Sophy smiled her thanks. ‘In the meantime, I shall not be too alarmed. Mr. Stanton is one of the most agreeable gentlemen I was ever in company with, and I cannot believe anything too awful of him.’

  ‘Ye’re that impressed?’ Balli said, his thick brows disappearing behind the brim of his hat. ‘I heard the talk, but I didn’t know ye were sweet on him.’

  ‘Sweet on him! Gracious, no. It is far too early to think of such things. But that I find him very agreeable I shall not deny.’

  Balli’s blue eyes twinkled down at her, something of his customary joviality restored. ‘I want to like him meself,’ he admitted. ‘If he can see the merits in my Sophy, he must be all right! I’d only be glad to be assured of it on more impartial grounds.’

  ‘Try not to be too concerned,’ Sophy told him. ‘I feel perfectly easy about it, myself.’

  Balligumph eyed her severely. ‘Aye, but bein’ none too concerned about things is your way, Miss Sophy—even when ye ought to be thinkin’ differently.’

  It wasn’t the first time that Balli had alluded to the difficulties of her situation, and Sophy knew he was right. But she saw no merit in worrying about troubles she had no power to change. If trouble came, then she would worry about how to solve it. In the meantime, the only way she knew to get from one day to the next was to fret as little as possible, and take pleasure in the good things she did possess.

  ‘All will be well,’ she said to Balligumph. ‘I feel it in my heart!’

  ‘That heart o’ yours is a mighty powerful piece o’ magic, then,’ he told her in a laughing tone. ‘Ah, well. I’ll trust it, ‘till I have reason to think otherwise.’

  Chapter Nine

  When Sophy arrived at Tipton Wood, she found Mr. Stanton awaiting her in a little clearing near the centre. He was seated upon a fallen tree, with his hat in his hands and the top two buttons of his waistcoat undone. He had the air of a man who had been waiting for some time, but who minded it not at all; he appeared relaxed and in fine spirits. The smile he directed at her when she approached suggested that the one thing that could improve the day for him had now arrived, and her heart beat a little faster.

  He said nothing, however, by way of greeting. He merely moved over a little on the tree, making room for her to sit down. After a momentary hesitation, during which she suffered more than a few feelings of awkwardness, she accepted his unspoken invitation—although she did take care to leave a few clear inches of space between herself and Mr. Stanton.

  The next few minutes passed away in a companionable silence. Sophy sat quietly, enjoying the warm sunshine, the flourishing greenery of Tipton Wood and the birdsong drifting down from the canopy overhead. She allowed her eyes to rest on patches of spring flowers, and velvet-green moss, and the gleaming feathers of the birds that sailed merrily by, breathing deeply of the delicious fragrance of the woods in the height of May.

  The silence was so comfortable that her awkwardness soon faded, and she began to feel as relaxed as Mr. Stanton looked.

  At length he broke the silence by saying: ‘Do inform me when your head-ache reaches intolerable proportions, Miss Landon, or I may not be aware when it is time for me to escort you home.’

  Sophy smiled. ‘I will be sure to do so. It is not yet an insurmountable affliction.’

  Another few moments’ silence ensued. Sophy’s mind wandered back to the topic of her recent conversation with Mr. Balligumph, and the doubts he had raised about Mr. Stanton’s household. She had resolved on making some enquiry with him, in order to set Balli’s mind—and her own—at rest, but she was reluctant to break the comfortable mood that existed between them. Nor could she think of a subtle way of raising the topic—some manner of approaching the subject that would give her the information she wanted, but without making him feel interrogated.

  She began by asking him questions: perfectly ordinary ones about his family, his background, and his pursuits. He seemed equally desirous of learning more about her, and so for some minutes they engaged in an amicable exchange of information. Sophy learned that, like herself, he had no siblings; that both of his parents were gone; that he had grown up in a small village in Nottinghamshire, and he had hopes of soon making a permanent home for himself through the purchase of an estate.

  His lack of relatives went some way towards explaining how he and Mr. Green had come to settle at Hyde Place without a lady to do the honours; though it was undeniably peculiar that both Mr. Stanton and his friend should find themselves with no one to call upon. But she gave this barely a moment’s thought. He was even poorer in connections than she was herself; and as he talked about this, she detected a degree of loneliness in him that echoed her own. He desired to build a settled home for himself; to rectify his solitary state through the happy additions of a wife and children. These, too, echoed her own secret wishes, and she felt drawn ever closer to him.

  But Balli’s doubts remained unaddressed, and so she began to turn the conversation towards the topic of domestic arrangements, and the difficulties most households faced in securing suitable help. She led the way with an honest appraisal of her own lack of housekeeping talent
s, and warmly praised Thundigle’s inexhaustible energy in assisting Mary.

  This gambit failed, for he was far more interested in her lack of proper help than the subject of household brownies. He asked her a number of questions about Mary, and her father’s income, and her own inability to assist. His questions became so particular, and he laughed so heartily at her recounting of her own clumsiness, that she began to feel a little offended; but he instantly noticed the fact, and began to praise her fortitude instead.

  This was almost as bad. ‘Oh!’ she said hastily, ‘I deserve no such praise, for really, Thundigle makes everything easy. I am sure you are aware of the very great difference a dedicated brownie or two can make to a household.’

  ‘Oh, well, as to that, I hardly know what to say,’ he said, laughing. ‘I admit, I have always left such matters up to my housekeeper to arrange; but I daresay my friend would agree with you.’

  ‘Mr. Green?’

  ‘Yes, for he handles everything of that kind at Hyde Place—as far as it is necessary. I am left with nothing at all to do.’

  This was not quite the information Sophy was hoping to receive, but it interested her nonetheless. If Mr. Green was primarily responsible for the house they shared, then he was very likely the person responsible for any unusual arrangements within it—as she had suspected before, though without nearly so substantial a reason. She was pleased, for this news would give direction to any enquiries Balli might wish to make—and that direction would be away from Mr. Stanton. His careless statement seemed to absolve him of any collusion in Hyde Place’s peculiarities.

  Sophy did not feel inclined to press him any further, and the conversation lapsed. Mr. Stanton soon broke the renewed silence, however, by turning to her with an expression suddenly intense, and saying: ‘Miss Landon! I do wish—that is, if there were some way that I could—if only it were possible to—to assist, somehow, with the difficulties you have just now described! You should not be left with so little assistance—with so many troubles—it is not right.’