He could do no such thing, of course, so he had merely hovered, exchanging awkward pleasantries with Miss Landon until he judged that it was time to withdraw. The meeting had taken barely fifteen minutes, and he had gone away with so many things unsaid…
If he could, he would have settled the matter once and for all, there and then. But there remained the problem of the mess in which he had embroiled himself. He could hardly ask her to marry him in the character of Mr. Stanton, when she had no idea who she was truly engaging herself to, and he had no home to take her to, nor the means to acquire one. And so, as the days passed, the neighbourhood took his inactivity as confirmation of their expectations. Edward Adair had even had the effrontery to congratulate him on his escape! On his having, as the revolting boy put it, “come to his senses”! It was intolerable.
But he had only himself to blame. What had possessed him to begin this ridiculous masquerade? Where had he expected it to end? The truth was, he hadn’t thought that far. Seduced by the prospect of beauty, he had succumbed to the temptation with the greatest of ease. At the beginning, it had all seemed so easy; by the time his month was up, he and Miss Landon would of course be on such good terms that she would accept the truth about him with equanimity.
Almost four weeks had passed, and he had only a few days left before Hidenory’s enchantment expired. It no longer seemed so easy, and he could only curse the appalling naivety—and insecurity, and fear—that had got him into this mess. He was stuck, and he could see no solution that would end in the way he wished.
‘Aha!’ came a cry from behind him. ‘Got you!’
He turned to find Grunewald standing in the doorway, holding a household brownie by the ear. It took Aubranael a few moments to shake off his preoccupied daze and fully register the scene before him. When he did, he frowned. Grunewald appeared to be searching the creature.
‘What are you doing?’
Grunewald flashed a brief glance at him, his leaf-green eyes shining with anger. ‘It seems we have a visitor,’ he said lightly. ‘Though uninvited visitors are usually given less courteous names, are they not? Intruder, perhaps? Or spy?’
The brownie stared up at Grunewald with calm passivity. She was dressed as most of her kind, in ragged clothes stained with dirt and dust; her hair was a mass of flyaway brown curls, and the expression in her dark brown eyes was gentle. She showed no signs of fear or alarm at Grunewald’s treatment, however, merely staring up at him with flawless calm.
‘I don’t understand,’ Aubranael said. ‘Is not this one of your people?’
‘Why, no,’ Grunewald said. ‘This one is a real brownie.’ He finished his search, apparently finding nothing interesting or incriminating about the person of his “visitor”, and frowned down at her. He was a great deal taller than she and wearing such a fierce expression that Aubranael felt quite sorry for her.
‘Certainly I am a real brownie,’ she said, calmly smoothing herself down.
‘And why are you here?’ Grunewald demanded. ‘I thought I established that this house was not to be infiltrated.’
It was a curious choice of word, Aubranael thought. Infiltrated, as if a brownie helper might be expected to have some ulterior motive in moving into the house.
The brownie smiled gently up at Grunewald. ‘I am here to help.’
Grunewald smiled nastily back. ‘As I am sure you have had ample opportunity to observe, I am in need of no help.’
‘Indeed, sire, for your entourage is considerable.’
Aubranael blinked. There was that word again: sire. He’d thought he had heard it before, at Grunewald’s house in Nottinghamshire, but he could have been mistaken. This time, he was sure he had not misheard.
Grunewald was scowling in annoyance. ‘My name is Mr. Green,’ he said shortly.
The brownie merely nodded and said, ‘Of course, sire.’
Grunewald sighed and released her. He muttered something under his breath, of which Aubranael could just catch the words interfering trolls.
‘You may tell Mr. Balligumph that his surmise is quite correct, that we are all awfully impressed by his cleverness, and that he will certainly be the first person I will ask should I be requiring information at any time in the future,’ Grunewald said severely. ‘You may also inform him that he is not welcome to send his spies and snitches into my household and that any further incursions will be greeted with the utmost severity.’
The brownie smiled gently at him again, and bowed. ‘My name is Pharagora,’ she said politely. ‘In case you were interested.’
‘I was not.’
She bowed again. ‘Very good. I will take your message to Mr. Balligumph.’ She walked calmly past Grunewald—her head barely reaching his knee—and disappeared.
Grunewald smiled sunnily at Aubranael. ‘Now that that’s cleared up,’ he said, and turned to leave.
‘A moment,’ Aubranael said. ‘What was that about?’
‘Nosy, self-appointed bridge guardians prying into our business,’ Grunewald replied. ‘In other words, nothing at all of any import.’
‘Oh? But you were quite angry with her.’
Grunewald’s green eyes glittered dangerously. ‘I dislike spies.’
Aubranael smiled faintly at him. ‘You have many secrets, sire.’
Grunewald pointed one long finger at him and said, ‘Do not call me that.’
‘Why not? If that is what you are.’ Aubranael spoke calmly, but the revelation that his suspicions might be correct—that Grunewald was the Goblin King—rattled him somewhat. He had heard all manner of strange stories about the king of the goblins. That he was famously eccentric was patently true, and not terribly alarming; but he had also heard tales of a poor temper, a tendency to tire quickly of other people, and occasional forays into shocking violence when he was thwarted.
Grunewald smiled a slow, not very pleasant smile. ‘Whatever I am,’ he said coolly, ‘you will find me a much more congenial companion if you do not attempt to pry into my secrets.’
‘That is evidently true,’ Aubranael said with a smile, and a slight inclination of the head.
Grunewald sighed, and further disordered his wild red hair by running a hand through it. ‘Complications,’ he muttered. ‘I suppose it is better than boredom.’
With that slightly mystifying comment, he disappeared into the corridor. But a moment later he was back. ‘Aubranael?’ he said.
‘Yes?’
‘Will you please, for the love of my sanity, make a decision? And then act upon it?’
Aubranael opened his mouth to reply, but Grunewald had gone. He sighed, and ran a hand through his own hair.
Grunewald had thought only of his own secrets when he had caught Pharagora, but Aubranael spared a thought for his own. Mr. Balligumph was, he knew, friendly with Miss Landon. Had Pharagora discovered anything about Mr. Stanton’s real identity? Was that news even now on its way to the troll? If so, he knew it would not be long before Sophy was informed of it.
A flutter of panic shot through him, turning his knees to water. He was not a worldly gentleman, and he could at times be astonishingly naive; but even he knew that if Miss Landon was informed of his true identity by anybody but himself, she might not react well to the revelation at all. All thoughts of the mystery of Grunewald’s true identity fled from his mind, in the wake of the realisation that he had run out of time. He had no way of confirming how much Pharagora had discovered, but she only needed to have heard Grunewald call him by his real name, and that was by no means impossible.
He glanced at the handsome library clock, and learned that the hour was already past four. He would have time to see Miss Landon this afternoon, if he hurried; and he had better hurry. The time for indecision was past; he would have to do as Hidenory had insisted, and tell Miss Landon the truth. Whether or not she would forgive his deception remained to be seen—his heart thumped uncomfortably at the prospect that she might not—but if she did, then he would do his utmost to win her over enti
rely.
Given the desperation of her circumstances, perhaps she would be grateful for his timely appearance, and not be too hard upon him.
Perhaps.
***
Ye may be able t’imagine my feelin’s when Pharagora came back wi’ the news. The Goblin King! In my town, messin’ about wi’ Miss Sophy! An’ that Mr. Stanton bein’ somebody else entirely! I don’t like to leave the bridge unattended, as a rule, but what could I do? Miss Sophy had t’ know! Off I went wi’ barely a second thought. I caused a bit of a stir rampagin’ through Tilby, but it ain’t like anybody’d dare to stop me, now is it?
Aubranael was in too much of a hurry to walk—or even to wait for the carriage to be prepared. He called for his horse to be saddled with the utmost urgency, and within ten minutes he was astride and on his way to the parsonage.
It was an anxious ride. He barely noticed the beauty of the golden sunlight filtering through the leaves of the roadside trees, or the sweet, cooling breeze that swept over the fields; his mind was too busy with the problem of how to tell Miss Landon that he had lied. The short journey stretched interminably, and he could have sworn he had covered three times the distance before he finally came within sight of Miss Landon’s home; but he had no better idea of how to confess than when he had started.
He pulled up his horse just outside the parsonage, jumped down and hastily secured the bridle to the house’s gate-posts. All the while his eyes searched the house for any signs of Miss Landon. What would he do if she was away from home? He would have to sit and wait for her to return.
He all but ran up to the front door, and, seizing the brass knocker in a hand that shook, he hammered it against the solid wooden door several times. When no one answered after a few seconds, he hammered again; and he was just about to begin for the third time when the door swung open. On the other side stood a shortish, stoutish woman of middle years with untidy, grey-brown hair. She wore the plain, practical clothing of a servant, along with an expression of alarm on her lined face.
‘Mary!’ he gasped. ‘Is Miss Landon at home?’
Mary shook her head, and his heart sank. ‘She went out more’n an hour ago,’ Mary said.
‘When will she be back?’
‘Oh,’ said Mary cautiously, eyeing him with some suspicion. ‘Reckoned she’d be gone a while, so she said.’
Aubranael blinked. A while? What did that mean? A few hours—or days? He asked, but Mary merely shrugged. If she knew the answer at all, she was not inclined to tell him.
‘Is something amiss?’ Mary asked.
He sighed, leaning his shaking hand against the doorframe. ‘Somewhat,’ he said bitterly. ‘It is most important that I see her. I need to speak to her on an urgent matter.’
Mary softened slightly, her suspicious manner relaxing. ‘I cannot invite you in, not with the mistress gone,’ she said apologetically.
‘Certainly I would not presume to intrude,’ he said hastily. ‘Perhaps I might leave her a note, or something of the like?’
‘I suppose you could,’ Mary said doubtfully. She began to look flustered—Aubranael guessed she was trying to think of where to find paper and pen, and coming up blank—but before she could resolve her dilemma, Aubranael heard a great shout from behind him and the sounds of rapidly approaching feet.
Whoever owned those feet was rather large, he judged. Was he imagining it, or did the entire street shake with every pounding step?
He turned around, and beheld Balligumph.
He had already met the bridge guardian, of course, on his arrival in Tilby. He had also heard of Mr. Balligumph; he was a minor legend in Aylfenhame.
Neither this previous meeting, nor any tale he had heard, could have prepared him for the sight that now met his eyes. The troll was in a high temper—a burning rage, Aubranael would have said—and given his height and considerable bulk, this was no trifling matter. The troll approached the parsonage at a dead run, his eyes blazing fury and fixed upon Aubranael.
Aubranael swallowed.
‘Hi!’ yelled the troll, as soon as he was close enough to be heard. ‘Hi! If it isn’t the so-called Mr. Stanton!’
If Aubranael had been entertaining any hopes that Mr. Balligumph had yet to hear from Pharagora, those hopes instantly evaporated. He stood a little straighter, took a deep breath to quell the fresh surge of panic in his gut, and straightened his shoulders.
‘I am called that, sometimes,’ he said calmly.
Balligumph kept on coming. For a moment Aubranael suffered a paralysing certainty that the troll meant to crash straight through him and into the parsonage, perhaps taking poor Mary with him along the way. Instead, he came to a thundering halt a mere few feet away from Aubranael, and stood glaring down at him, his huge chest heaving with exertion.
‘And?’ the troll demanded. ‘What have ye to say for yerself?’
‘On which topic?’ Aubranael replied.
Balligumph’s great blue eyes blazed anew, and he actually spluttered with indignation. ‘On—on the topic o’ Miss Landon, and yer friend,’ he bellowed. ‘What have the two o’ ye been gettin’ up to wi’ Miss Sophy?!’
‘Nothing at all, I assure you,’ said Aubranael.
‘Ha!’ roared the troll. ‘I like that! “Nothin’ at all”, says he, as cool as can be! But it will not do. There’s more to ye than meets the eye, that’s fer certain; and do ye deny that yer friend Mr. Green is a great deal more than he’s pretendin’?’
Aubranael held up his hands in a pacifying gesture. ‘I deny nothing,’ he said in a low voice. ‘But I never meant any harm to Miss Landon—nor did Grunewald. You must believe me.’
Balligumph glared down at him. ‘I don’t have t’ believe anythin’ ye’ve got t’ say.’
‘I know, but it is the truth! If you will give me a moment to speak, I will explain.’
The troll shook his enormous head and actually stamped one of his enormous feet, sending a tremor through the ground. Aubranael winced and hastily backed away, expecting a blow to fall upon him at any moment.
Before he could collect his scattered wits and find some way to defend himself, however, Mary waded into the fray. ‘See here!’ she shouted at Balligumph. ‘I’ll tell you what won’t do! It won’t do to run about terrorising the townfolk, just because you’re bigger’n everyone else!’ She actually shook a fist at the troll—a pitiful gesture, given the huge discrepancy in size between the two of them—but the fervour in her voice apparently made some impression, for Balligumph looked taken aback. ‘That’s better,’ Mary said firmly. She adopted an aggressive, no-nonsense stance: feet planted wide apart, hands upon her hips, and glared up at the troll. ‘It’s disrespectful to Miss Sophy, carryin’ on like this on her own doorstep! You ought to be ashamed.’
To Aubranael’s mild disbelief, Balligumph actually did look ashamed. He backed off a step or two, then took off his hat and held it in his two hands in an unquestionably remorseful gesture. ‘Sorry, Mary,’ he said contritely. ‘Ye’re right at that. I meant no harm.’
Mary nodded crisply and relaxed her battle stance. ‘Very good,’ she said. ‘Carry on.’
She returned into the house, though she continued to hover near the door—probably to keep an eye on Balligumph, Aubranael supposed. Relief mixed with anxiety and more than a little panic weakened his knees, and with a deep sigh he sat down upon the parsonage step.
Balligumph stared down at him, all the wind taken out of his sails. Perhaps Aubranael’s obvious dejection softened him a little further, for he said kindly enough: ‘Ah well, lad, ye cannot blame me fer bein’ concerned, can ye? What is it that ye’re doin’ in these parts? Tell me everythin’ that ye can.’
So Aubranael began at the very beginning, from the day that Miss Landon had entered his life in Grenlowe, and spared no detail. The tale took some time, but he resisted the temptation to hurry and skip over things. Balligumph’s obvious concern for Miss Landon seemed to warrant a thorough and honest narration (quite apart from h
is terrific size), and besides, he had nothing else to do but wait for Sophy to return.
Balligumph was kind enough to refrain from interrupting. He said nothing at all until Aubranael had finally finished, after which he spent a few minutes in silent reflection.
‘Well then,’ he said at last. ‘The next thing t’ ask is: where’s Miss Sophy got to?’
Aubranael shrugged his shoulders hopelessly. ‘If you have no idea, I am sure I do not.’
Balligumph directed an enquiring glance at Mary, but she had no more information to give.
‘I’m afraid she’s gone through, then,’ said the troll.
‘Gone through?’ repeated Aubranael. ‘To where? You mean Aylfenhame?’
‘Aye. She came to me a day or two ago, wantin’ the means to return. I gave it her, naturally!’ He eyed Aubranael suspiciously and said: ‘She spoke o’ havin’ met someone in Grenlowe. I got the distinct impression she was off in hopes o’ seein’ him again. I suppose she meant you.’
‘Did she?’ Aubranael said, his pulse quickening. She had liked him well enough to go in search of him again? This was news, and very welcome news at that; but she would not find him in Aylfenhame, of course, and he still had a few days left before Hidenory’s enchantment wore off.
Curse it all! What had possessed him to engage in this absurd masquerade? If he had only had the patience to wait, Miss Landon would have come to him!
‘I had better go after her,’ he said, jumping resolutely to his feet.
‘Had ye?’ Balligumph said. ‘How do ye plan to find her?’
Aubranael blinked up at him. ‘I… well, if she is looking for me, perhaps she will return to the places we visited together before?’
‘That she may,’ the troll conceded. ‘An’ when she doesn’t find ye there, what then? Will she stand about an’ wait for ye, day after day? No, not Miss Sophy! She has other business there.’
Miss Landon and Aubranael (Tales of Aylfenhame Book 1) Page 14
