‘What other business?’
Balligumph launched into a tale of his own, regarding Sophy’s stitchery and her hopes for a shop in Grenlowe. A shop! In Grenlowe! She actually intended to settle in Aylfenhame, for good! This news electrified Aubranael, flooding him with a mixture of unlooked-for hope and renewed remorse and self-recrimination. The more he learned about Miss Landon, the more his masquerade seemed wrong-headed and ill-advised.
No matter. It was too late to regret what he had done: he had to focus on how to set matters to rights.
‘Then I must go after her,’ he declared when Balligumph had finished talking. ‘She will need help, perhaps, and guidance.’
‘I have arranged fer both,’ said the troll bluntly.
‘It cannot hurt for her to have more help and guidance,’ Aubranael said stubbornly. ‘Especially if she is looking for me!’
‘Aye, an’ so I’ll ask ye again: how are ye goin’ to find her?’
Aubranael opened his mouth, and closed it again, stumped. Balligumph had a point, damn him! ‘But I cannot simply sit here and await her return!’ he protested. ‘Who knows how long she might be?’
‘Not all that long, I reckon,’ Balligumph said confidently. ‘She has business still to finish in Tilby.’
Aubranael pondered the question of simply waiting for Sophy’s return. He was sorely tempted to ignore Balligumph’s advice and charge after her; but the situation was complicated enough. Miss Landon had gone in search of Aubranael, never knowing that she had left him behind in the person of Mr. Stanton; if he followed her and failed to find her, she would return to Tilby only to find that Mr. Stanton had also left. They could go on forever, narrowly missing each other, and the task of revealing his duplicity would fall to someone else—Balligumph, or Pharagora, or even Mary—and she would probably never forgive him.
As much as it tried his patience, he had to trust that she would soon return, and wait for her in Tilby.
‘I will wait,’ he said heavily. ‘Though it is hard.’
Balligumph clapped him on the shoulder, knocking all the wind clean out of him. ‘Tis the wisest course,’ he nodded. ‘Ye can keep me company at the bridge, an’ tell me all about yerself and yer plans to marry my Sophy.’
Aubranael was relieved to note a gleam of approval in the troll’s eyes as he said this, though there was an edge to his voice that suggested Aubranael still had some talking to do.
Very well, so be it. If he could win over Miss Landon’s self-appointed guardian, perhaps the troll would be able to help him in winning over Miss Landon herself.
It gave him something to do for the next two days, anyway.
Chapter Twelve
Sophy’s second journey through to Aylfenhame was considerably less pleasant than the first.
Previously, the crossing-over had been as simple as walking. A mere few steps had carried her over the invisible threshold between the worlds, and a mere touch of the gates had returned her to England.
The process was no more complicated, the second time; she had dropped the crystal Balli had given her, it had turned into a will-o-the-wyke and she had followed along, with none of the doubts that had assailed her before.
She had not been expecting pain, or the sensation of being squeezed, as though she was attempting to fit herself between two very solid gateposts placed a bare few inches apart. When she had emerged, panting and shocked, on the other side, she expected to find her clothing in shreds and her skin in ribbons. To her surprise and relief, however, she was intact; the sensations had felt physical, but perhaps they were not.
Now she understood Balli’s previous insistence that she travel on Beltane. There were days when the barriers between Aylfenhame and Sophy’s world disappeared, she concluded, and travellers did well to time their visits accordingly.
She wondered when the next such day would be.
She had dropped the crystal sphere directly outside of her house, this time, so she emerged into Aylfenhame in a different place, too. For a moment, she stood confused, taking in the rows of jumbled, mismatched cottages without recognising anything. But, there: a shop sign announcing a cobbler’s establishment caught her eye. The sign depicted a pair of glittering shoes, one clear and apparently made of glass, the other deep black as if wrought from obsidian. She recognised that sign. And there was the funny, twisted tree with purple bark and silver leaves; she had passed it with Aubranael.
She was in Grenlowe, then, some distance from where she had first stepped through—and some distance from the place where she had met Aubranael, too. But that was all right.
Having established her whereabouts, she was keen to get started; but how? Where would she go? Balligumph had promised her a guide, but the streets were largely empty, and those who did pass by seemed in a great hurry and did not stop. She waited for a little while, watching as a succession of gnomes, hobs, trows, dryads, goblins, brownies, Ayliri and even an occasional ogre stepped briskly past. Where was Balligumph’s promised guardian?
The wind blew, a mighty gust that carried with it the scent of flowers and the distant sounds of bells. It also brought a quantity of dust, some of which settled in Sophy’s eye. She devoted herself to removing it, with many a flutter of her eyelids and a great deal of moisture seeping from her eye. When at last her sight was restored to her, she noticed a newcomer.
Before her sat an enormous, purple-furred cat. She recognised it at once as Aubranael’s mischievous companion, and, delighted, she stepped forward with a joyous greeting on her lips.
‘Felebre, I believe?’ she said with a sunny smile. But the cat did not react, and her certainty faltered. It looked exactly like Aubranael’s companion, but what did that signify? If there was one purple cat in Aylfenhame, of course there were probably more.
‘Is it not Felebre? I am sorry,’ she said. ‘Even if you are Felebre, you may not remember me. I spent precious little time with Mr. Aubranael, after all.’
The cat stared at her with unblinking eyes.
It occurred to her that this may be Balli’s promised guide, whether or not it was the same cat she had met before. ‘Are you a friend of Mr. Balligumph’s?’ she asked. ‘He did promise me a guide and helper, and perhaps you are it.’
Still the cat did not react, but nor did it leave. It sat, staring at her with wide golden eyes, and Sophy began to feel unnerved.
‘Very well; my mistake on both counts,’ she said. ‘I am sorry to have bothered you.’ She made the cat a curtsey—feeling just a little silly as she did so—and made to leave.
But as soon as she showed signs of wanting to wander off, the cat’s manner changed completely. It—she?—got in Sophy’s way, blocking her departure. To Sophy’s surprise, the cat bumped her head against Sophy’s waist and rubbed her ears over her gown. The gesture seemed friendly—affectionate, even—and Sophy was instantly charmed.
‘Well, then!’ she laughed. ‘Perhaps you are Felebre after all. I hope you will not mind if I address you by that name, at least until I am given a different one.’
The cat made no objection.
‘Very well, and are you here to assist me?’ Sophy enquired.
Felebre gave a great purr and, with one more affectionate bump against Sophy’s hip, she turned and began to walk away. She looked back at Sophy, twitched her tail meaningfully and took another few steps.
Sophy understood. ‘I am coming,’ she said, and followed. She was unsure precisely who had sent Felebre—if anyone had—but it seemed very likely that this was Balli’s promised help; or if not, perhaps the cat would take her to Aubranael! Privately hoping for the latter more than the former, Sophy followed along as Felebre wove her way through the streets of Grenlowe and out of the north gate.
After walking for an hour or more, she began to feel a little concerned. Felebre had led her through meadows and woods, over bridges and across streams, and at quite a brisk pace; where could she possibly be going? The town of Grenlowe had been left far behind, and Sophy had seen
no sign at all of any other settlements. For a while she enjoyed the tour, for Aylfenhame had many beauties to offer: the streams were covered with lily-pads and water-blossoms, the meadows strewn with fragrant grasses and vividly-coloured flowers; the woods were dense with ash and rowan and oak trees, and many more she did not recognise, their varicoloured bark and leaves a delight to the eye.
But as time wore on she began to feel tired, and wondered with rather more urgency where Felebre was bent on taking her. She tried to enquire a few times, but Felebre made no attempt to answer.
At last she stopped, panting for breath, and sat down upon the trunk of a fallen tree. Felebre went on for a few moments; then, realising that Sophy had stopped, she came stalking back, her fur rising along the back of her spine and her tail lashing angrily.
‘I know,’ Sophy panted. ‘I am sorry, but I must rest for a moment.’
Felebre continued to bristle and lash her tail for a while, then—with an almost audible sigh—she curled up at Sophy’s feet, tucked her nose beneath her tail and went to sleep.
‘Lovely idea,’ Sophy muttered. She was hungry and thirsty as well as tired, but she could see no way to remedy these complaints. Not that she should, perhaps, even given the opportunity: Thundigle’s warning about food sounded in her mind, loud and alarming, and she tried to persuade herself that she was not in urgent need of water and sustenance. But, she realised, that warning had been given some time ago, when she had been only a visitor; if she planned to settle in Aylfenhame, it need not apply, perhaps?
This realisation cheered her, and she looked around herself in case a handy crop of fruit or a clear stream might conveniently present themselves. They did not, however; it was too early in the year, yet, for fallen fruits, and no amount of wishing could conjure up a steam of water.
‘I hope we are not going very much further,’ she said to Felebre. ‘Not that I am not grateful for your kind assistance, but I am quite tired and rather in need of refreshment.’
The cat slept on.
Suddenly and incongruously, a shriek of laughter reached Sophy’s ears. It sounded far away, but another, much nearer laugh followed immediately afterwards. Sophy stood up and turned about in circles until she saw the source: a large table set among the trees some way off, its surface covered in a neat white table-cloth and crowded with tea-things. Chairs were crammed up and down the length of the table, or at least as much of it as Sophy could see, for only one end was visible. The chairs were all occupied, but she had not time to observe who the picnic guests were, for a gust of wind sent the trees into a brief paroxysm, blocking her view. When the wind calmed once more, the table had vanished.
Felebre remained inflexibly asleep, and Sophy sat beside her for some time, pondering what she had seen—or thought she had seen. The whole scene had faded away like a dream upon waking, and she was by no means certain that she had not imagined it. Perhaps hunger and thirst had unbalanced her mind a little.
At length she sighed, and stood up. ‘Very well, let us carry on. The sooner we arrive, the sooner I may rest properly.’
Felebre uncoiled herself, stood up, and stretched luxuriously, curling her back and her tail. Then she padded off, without even the briefest of glances at Sophy.
They walked for another two hours. Sophy managed to quench her thirst, but her hunger remained, eating away at her insides and sapping her strength. When at last Felebre stopped, she felt ready to drop with weariness.
The day had waned, the hour now early in the evening, Sophy judged. The sun hung low and heavy on the horizon, casting a rich golden light over the deep, tree-studded valley Felebre had taken her to. She saw nothing to suggest that her journey was over; no sign of a house, let alone a village or a town.
‘Where are we?’ she said to Felebre.
The cat said nothing.
‘Are you sure this is the right place?’ Sophy turned in a few anxious circles, taking in tree after purple-barked tree, shining leaves of silver and gold and shades of green, a luscious carpet of grass and nothing whatsoever to suggest the presence of another living soul.
What had she been doing, following this strange golden-eyed cat? Just because she had seen Aubranael keeping company with the same creature, or a similar one! She deserved her predicament. These reflections did not help her to decide what to do, however, so she banished them, straightened her shoulders and began to think more productively.
Before she had got very far with this, however, a voice split the air. ‘Who is at the door!’ said the voice merrily. It sounded like a woman.
Sophy cleared her dry throat. ‘Um, I… Miss Sophia Landon,’ she answered. ‘And Felebre.’
‘Excellent!’ sang the voice. ‘Come in!’
To Sophy’s surprise, a door opened in the centre of an enormous tree, or what she had taken to be a tree. Light shone from within, and Sophy was glad enough to step inside.
The room beyond was far too large to fit into the trunk of any tree. It was a sumptuous room, luxuriously decorated and furnished, dripping in silver and jewels. The air smelt of herbs and spices and fruit, and she could hear the rippling notes of a harp.
The music stopped abruptly, and someone—the owner of the merry voice, presumably—stepped into the room. Given the beauty of her voice, her music and her home, she was not what Sophy had expected to see. She was an elderly woman, dressed in shrouding layers of homespun fabric in drab colours. Her skin was a map of wrinkles, her hair a mess of rough, tangled grey-and-white strands. Only one of her rheumy eyes focused on Sophy; the other looked off in a different direction, rolling sometimes in its socket. The woman even had warts on her face, three that Sophy could see.
Flustered, Sophy tried to hide her surprise behind a polite curtsey. ‘I am sorry to intrude upon you like this,’ she said, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor. ‘Felebre has brought me to you; I hope I was not mistaken in coming.’
‘Ohhh,’ said the crone. ‘No, not at all mistaken. Miss Landon! You are very welcome. I will give you tea.’
‘Thank you,’ said Sophy. The woman’s courtesy made her still more ashamed of her reaction, and she forced herself to meet her hostess’s gaze.
‘And something to eat,’ said the crone. ‘You are famished, I should imagine!’
‘Thank you,’ Sophy said again. ‘I am indeed. We walked for some hours.’
The woman nodded and patted Felebre’s sleek head approvingly. Then she raised her beautiful voice and called: ‘Pharagora!’
A small door opened in the wall and a brownie appeared, her ragged skirts dragging on the floor and her brown hair flying out in a hundred directions. ‘Madam?’ said the brownie.
‘Tea, please, and refreshments! The usual.’
The brownie nodded and began to bustle about. Within minutes a little tea-party was spread upon a low table, and Sophy sat down to take tea with her new friend.
‘I am called Hidenory,’ said the crone, catching Sophy’s inquisitive gaze. ‘You were not expecting to meet me, I think?’
‘No. That is, I knew that Mr. Balligumph had arranged for some kind of assistance, but he did not say who I should expect.’
‘Ah yes! Mr. Balligumph. He speaks very highly of you.’ Hidenory sipped daintily at her tea, her good eye fixed on Sophy’s face. ‘Perhaps you will tell me what you are looking for?’
So Sophy recounted her problems and her hopes. Hidenory listened avidly, interrupting with an occasional question. How had her prospects in England become so limited? Was there no other way to resolve her difficulties? No gentleman in the question?
Blushing, Sophy shook her head “no” to the last question. Mr. Stanton flitted through her thoughts—his height, his athletic build, his handsome face and his kindness—but she pushed the image away. She would not fall into the trap of relying on a proposal of marriage to solve all of her problems—and then, when none came, of falling into hysterics or into despair and having no notion what to do with herself. Mr. Stanton and his intentions—if he had a
ny—were entirely irrelevant.
Hidenory appeared to realise that she was not telling the whole truth, for she gave Sophy a long, considering look and smiled a sly smile. ‘Oh, very good! I applaud your resolve. Why should we rely on men, hmm? I enjoy your plan much more.’
Sophy hesitated, suspecting mockery, but Hidenory’s expression was pleasant and apparently sincere. ‘Can you help me?’ Sophy said. ‘Perhaps you may know somebody already in the business—someone who may need an assistant? I only need somewhere to begin, you see, and I will see to the rest myself.’
Hidenory nodded wisely. ‘Quite, yes. Oh, I have the very thing for you.’
She lapsed into silence, no longer looking at Sophy. Her reverie seemed to be a thoughtful one, and Sophy did not wish to interrupt, so she turned her attention to the food. It was excellent, of course, beyond anything she had ever taken at home; fruits so rich and full of juice she could scarcely believe they were real, tarts bursting with flavour and colour, and tea heady with a rich, spiced fragrance that was almost intoxicating. So busy was she in sampling and enjoying that, for a time, she forgot about Hidenory and her deliberations. By the time she had finished, the light outside had faded, night had fallen and Pharagora began to light twinkling lamps to lift the gloom.
When Sophy looked up, she received a shock. The chair opposite to her was still taken—she would have sworn that Hidenory had not moved from it for an instant—but it was no longer Hidenory sitting there. The woman sitting opposite to her was younger—much younger. She was of Sophy’s age, or thereabouts; her grey-white, tangled hair had been replaced by shining golden locks; her eyes were no longer rheumy, and both were fixed on Sophy’s face, gleaming with amusement. Her features were perfect, her skin was perfect, her clothes were perfect. She sat with perfect grace, sipping from her cup with the same dainty manner as before, only now it suited her.
Miss Landon and Aubranael (Tales of Aylfenhame Book 1) Page 15
