Miss Landon and Aubranael (Tales of Aylfenhame Book 1)

by Charlotte E. English

  Whoever was wearing Sophy’s face had been fairly well informed about her life—and had known all about Aubranael. Now that he thought about it, she had not seemed particularly surprised to learn that Mr. Stanton’s face was not his own.

  Who could possibly have known these things? He remembered Pharagora, and sighed. She had learned a fair few of his secrets, and Grunewald’s, before she had been caught; and if she could do it, then others could too.

  But then the supposed spy must have infiltrated Miss Landon’s home as well, a thing very easily done, he was sure, but why? Someone must have felt an overpowering interest in his business and Miss Landon’s in order to begin such a project, and why then interfere? And how? The art of glamour was not commonly known—certainly not in England, and not even in Aylfenhame. Not very many were sufficiently adept in the practice to mimic a real person with enough accuracy to fool even their closest friends.

  His thoughts turned to Hidenory. She knew all about his masquerade, of course, and the reason behind it. And she certainly possessed the necessary talents. But he could imagine no reason at all why she might wish to take Sophy’s place, and deceive him into marriage.

  But that did not matter. He thought of the long, deep kiss Hidenory had given him before he had left her house; and he thought of the long, deep kiss he had shared with Miss Landon at the assembly. He was not a man of experience, so he could not say for sure; but he was almost certain that a kiss of that kind was somewhat out of character for a similarly inexperienced young woman like Miss Landon.

  He had been kissing Hidenory both times, he was sure of it.

  Aubranael stood up. ‘Why are you all here?’ he said, aware that the question sounded abrupt but unwilling to waste any more time.

  Miss Daverill spoke up first. ‘I went into the parsonage this morning, and if it is rude to walk in without a direct invitation, well, I make no apology for it! Sophy has never given two straws about it. But it was not Sophy I saw in the parlour! Quite another woman entirely! I suppose she must be something to do with the new parson—his mother, or something—but as I had heard nothing at all about a new arrival, I went to see Isabel.’

  Miss Ellerby nodded and took up the tale. ‘I was concerned as well, for I have three times attempted to visit Sophy these last two days, and every time she has denied me! And I received no reply at all to my notes, either.’

  Mr. Ellerby said: ‘My sister and Miss Daverill were determined on consulting Mr. Balligumph. If a new parson had arrived in Tilby, he would certainly know about it; and being a close friend of Miss Landon’s, he might be supposed to know what had become of her as well.’

  ‘And Mary and I accompanied them, of course,’ said Thundigle. ‘Once we had compared our separate information, we were highly concerned.’

  Aubranael looked at Pharagora, but she merely gave him a small smile and said nothing.

  ‘So we are all here to help Sophy?’

  A chorus of assent and emphatic nods answered him, and he felt relieved. It was good to have help.

  ‘Very well, then,’ he said. ‘I believe I may know who has taken her place.’

  ‘I do, too,’ said Pharagora, and everyone stared at her.

  Half an hour later, Aubranael knocked at the door of the parsonage, feeling tense and curiously exposed. He was alone, at least ostensibly: the Ellerbys, Thundigle, Mary and Miss Daverill were sitting in his carriage just around a turn in the road, out of sight of the parsonage but close enough to come to his aid. Mr. Balligumph had stayed at the bridge; he was calling in his many “associates”, he said, gathering every scrap of information he could about Miss Landon’s actions over the past few days (either one of the Miss Landons, that is). Pharagora was assisting him in some unspecified way.

  Aubranael’s task was to confront the version of Miss Landon who was currently staying at the parsonage. He was not surprised when no immediate answer came in response to his knock; she must first establish that it was him, and not one of Sophy’s friends coming to complicate her masquerade. Once she had established that to her satisfaction, she would come to the door.

  And the door opened, revealing the old woman he had met the last time. It occurred to him—rather belatedly—to feel some relief at the morning’s revelations, for it meant that that the curse afflicting the person before him had nothing to do with his Sophy.

  ‘Miss Landon,’ he said with what he hoped was his usual smile.

  ‘Ah! Mr. Stanton!’ she said winningly, beckoning him inside. ‘I was hoping very much to see you this morning.’

  He followed her through to the parlour, trying his best to appear at ease. ‘You are looking well,’ he said. ‘I trust you are in good health?’

  She sat down with curious grace, given her appearance, and chuckled. ‘I look in the very best of health, do I not? I believe these rags are very becoming.’

  ‘Why do you wear the rags?’ he asked, with real curiosity. ‘I presume it is merely the appearance of age that is beyond your control; not the attire as well.’

  She shrugged one shoulder, her expression suddenly bleak. ‘But why would I bother? I will be ugly however I choose to garb myself.’

  Aubranael could think of no sensible response to such a statement, especially in the face of the violent bitterness she evidently felt at her condition. Instead he said, ‘And how is Felebre? I have not seen her since my visit to your abode. Why, that must be a full month at least.’

  ‘She is, as usual, an enigma,’ came the reply. ‘I do not see her for weeks, and then all at once she will arrive with some—’ Abruptly she broke off, and stared at Aubranael with such obvious consternation that he could not help smiling.

  ‘Hello, Hidenory,’ he said.

  The silence stretched as Hidenory visibly attempted to find a way to prolong the masquerade. But then she sighed gustily, and slumped in her chair. ‘And it was all going so well,’ she said peevishly. ‘A curse upon all clever gentlemen! The stupid ones are, after all, so much more worth knowing.’

  ‘A curse?’ Aubranael repeated. ‘Truly?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ she snapped. ‘I am not a complete monster.’

  ‘That remains to be seen,’ said Aubranael coldly. ‘Your behaviour does require some explanation.’

  ‘It is true about the curse.’

  ‘So you did just curse me!’

  Hidenory smiled maliciously at him. ‘Perhaps he is just a little bit stupid, after all,’ she said, apparently to herself. ‘No, foolish boy, the curse upon me. Only it is not so very obliging as to afflict me for only a few days every month. I must spend each and every day in this abominable guise! Every daylight minute! Only at night may I return to a more… pleasing shape.’

  ‘And you were attempting to use me to break the curse,’ Aubranael said. He spoke as angrily as he could, in order to smother the stirrings of sympathy he was beginning to feel. He of all people understood her pain.

  ‘I thought you would understand me,’ she said, unconsciously echoing his thoughts. ‘I was going to tell you the truth in time!’

  ‘After we had been bound together for eternity?’ he said acidly.

  ‘I would have made you happy,’ she said, with a salacious smile he found thoroughly unnerving.

  ‘I doubt that. And what of Miss Landon? What have you done with her?’

  ‘Nothing too terrible, if that is what is worrying you.’

  ‘Of course it is worrying me! Do you feel nothing at all?’

  ‘Not often, no,’ said Hidenory with perfect unconcern. ‘Not anymore.’

  ‘Where is Sophy?’

  ‘She went through the door.’

  ‘Which door?’

  ‘The same door you went through.’

  ‘So she is at Grunewald’s house?’

  Hidenory rolled her eyes. ‘No, of course not. What use is a door that always opens in the same place?’

  ‘Quite useful, as a rule,’ said Aubranael. He stood up and crossed to her chair, allowing every s
hred of anger he could muster to show upon his face. He was able to loom over her quite satisfactorily from this position. ‘Where is Sophy?’ he repeated.

  Hidenory smiled up at him. ‘Truthfully, I have very little idea.’

  For a moment Aubranael was sorely tempted to hit her. That smirking smile of hers…! The brazen way she admitted to him that she had lost his love! But she was a lady, even if she was evil, and besides, he did not hit people who were at a disadvantage.

  He did not hit people at all, come to think of it.

  He took a deep breath and said, with as much calm as he could manage: ‘Tell me what happened.’

  Hidenory’s recitation was brief, and within a very few minutes he had the whole story. Sophy had gone through the door, expecting to find help on the other side. But she had been knowingly sent into a trap. Tut-Gut had a reputation in Aylfenhame: he was not among the most evil of the fae, but he had a vicious side, and he was very willing to put to use any lost souls who wandered into his cottage.

  Aubranael began to lose the little concern he had felt for Hidenory’s safety. Unceremoniously he grabbed a handful of her robes in one hand and her arm in the other, and hauled her to her feet.

  ‘We are going to find Miss Landon,’ he hissed at her. ‘You are going to help us, or I will personally ensure that your personal curse becomes the least of your worries.’

  Hauling Hidenory behind him, he opened the front door of the parsonage to find Mr. Ellerby standing on the other side.

  ‘Ah,’ said the other young man. ‘The ladies were beginning to feel concerned.’

  ‘We will be taking this lady to see Mr. Balligumph,’ said Aubranael, shoving Hidenory forward. ‘And then we are going to the Outwoods of Aylfenhame to find Miss Landon.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Mr. Ellerby. ‘Very well.’

  Aubranael was surprised—nay, astonished—to find Grunewald awaiting them at the bridge. He was sitting with Mr. Balligumph, sipping a cup of tea and looking thoroughly comfortable. The Goblin King smiled pleasantly at Aubranael and Mr. Ellerby, and then smiled upon Hidenory with very warm approval.

  Aubranael turned Hidenory over to Balligumph, with a quick recital of everything he had learned, and then turned his attention to Grunewald with a quizzical smile.

  ‘I was asked to come,’ said Grunewald in answer to his unspoken question.

  ‘Are you here to help us?’ said Aubranael. He found that difficult to believe: Grunewald had made it very clear that he had no desire to help Aubranael any further at all.

  But Grunewald nodded once, and smiled. ‘To be precise, I intend to begin by paying my very particular compliments to the lady.’ He rose and did so, bowing over Hidenory’s withered hands and murmuring something about excellent scheme and admirable wits and congratulate you most sincerely.

  Hidenory smiled in triumph. ‘I knew you would appreciate the scheme,’ she said proudly.

  But Grunewald’s tone turned gently chiding as he said: ‘But it is a trifle outrageous, do not you think? I cannot help being mildly discontented with you, my dear. This young man is quite a delicate flower, you understand. He could never keep up with you.’

  Aubranael bridled at that, but he stopped himself from raising any objection. Grunewald’s observation was not entirely unfair, and besides, he appeared to be working his way around to declaring himself on Miss Landon’s side.

  Hidenory realised the same thing, for she glared at Grunewald and snatched back her hands. ‘You admire my cunning but you will devote your own to undoing all my fine work? Ah! Treacherous indeed.’

  ‘You will have heard the adage,’ Grunewald said smoothly. ‘Never trust the Goblin King, eh? But no matter. This is how the game proceeds, is it not? It is all a matter of wit and counter-wit. You have played your very best pieces, and now we will play ours. And may the best goblin win.’

  ‘Much as I appreciate the prospect of receiving your help,’ Aubranael said, ‘I cannot understand you. Yesterday you swore you’d had done with me.’

  Grunewald turned his glittering green gaze upon Aubranael. ‘Not at all, my dear fellow. I merely refused to give you the specific type of help you were requesting.’

  ‘And you warned me not to place myself too far in your debt,’ Aubranael reminded him. ‘Does that no longer stand?’

  ‘Oh, it does. But,’ he said gently, ‘has it not occurred to you, dear Aubranael, that this matter is somewhat larger than you and your romantic affairs?’

  Aubranael blinked. ‘I do not understand you,’ he repeated.

  ‘That is very evident. But do not let it concern you. I am here on Mr. Balligumph’s request, and so it has nothing at all to do with you.’

  Silenced, Aubranael felt a little injured by this cold statement. Then he realised that he would benefit from Grunewald’s help in finding Sophy, but without being considered to be any further in debt to the Goblin King himself. He swallowed his feelings of affront—if he had come to think of the Goblin King as a friend, he was indeed a fool—and nodded.

  ‘But,’ he said, frowning, ‘how do you know what any of this is about?’

  ‘I do not know, for certain,’ Grunewald said, with a sideways glance at Hidenory. ‘But the common thread to all your various little tales is the cat. Felebre. And that may be far more significant than you know.’

  That silenced Aubranael altogether. Felebre? His friend and companion? The cat had always been enigmatic, but Aubranael had never doubted that she was much as she appeared to be. A cat. One who enjoyed the hunt and the chase, and who did not shun him because his face was unsightly.

  But it had been Felebre who had guided him to Hidenory, he remembered. How else had the cat been involved, and what did it mean?

  ‘Very well, now,’ said Balligumph, interrupting his train of thought. The troll had hitherto watched the proceedings with great interest but without making any attempt to intervene. Now he stood up and clapped his hands together, instantly focusing everyone’s attention upon him. ‘Who is to come along to the Outwoods?’

  Everybody volunteered without hesitation, excepting Hidenory and Grunewald.

  ‘Ye’ll come along too, miss,’ said Balligumph, eyeing Hidenory with a glimmer of fury in his bright blue eyes.

  Hidenory waved a hand dismissively.

  ‘An’ what of His Majesty?’ said Balligumph, looking at Grunewald.

  ‘I can do a little better than that, I believe.’ Grunewald produced a gleaming silver horn from somewhere, put it to his lips, and blew a long note. The sound was so loud Aubranael was forced to cover his ears; even then the noise beat down upon him, a riotous racket comprising the mingled notes of thousands of horns blown at once. Finally the notes died away, leaving silence.

  Balligumph nodded approvingly, and Hidenory began to look afraid. Miss Daverill and Miss Ellerby were standing as far from the troll as they could, Aubranael noticed, and now they began to back away from Grunewald as well. Poor Mary looked terrified but grimly resolved; she had Thundigle at her knee, patting her leg to comfort her. Mr. Ellerby was keeping up a protective stance over the entire group.

  Would this curious mix of company be enough to find Sophy, he wondered, and to rescue her from any dangerous predicament she might be in? He could only hope so.

  Then the wind began to blow. It was a harsh, cold wind, utterly unsuited to the warmth of an afternoon in June, and it brought with it the distant howling of hounds.

  Aubranael stared at Grunewald, awed and afraid. Could it be… had he just…?

  He did not have time to complete these fragmented thoughts, for a terrific gust of wind threatened to knock him off his feet. He saw it then, approaching from across the fields: the Goblin Hunt. Borne by the wind, they came: a sea of hounds, ghostly and insubstantial, galloping through the air at full tilt and baying for blood. Suddenly he was surrounded by the dizzying whirlwind of the Hunt; ghostly shapes swirled and danced around him with appalling speed, bringing a wind cold enough to chill him to the bone. Each hound bore
an insubstantial goblin upon its back, and each rider bore a raised spear or a knife or a garden rake—anything at all, it seemed, so long as it could be enthusiastically brandished.

  Grunewald shouted something over the wind. It was in a language Aubranael could not understand, but it brought the Hunt into a knot gathered tightly around the Goblin King and Hidenory. Grunewald shouted something else, and abruptly the Hunt wheeled and galloped away.

  ‘Follow them, then!’ hollered Balligumph. ‘An’ be quick, now, or ye’ll be left behind!’

  A flood of energy rushed through Aubranael, strengthening his tired limbs and clearing his mind. He remembered the day he had met Miss Landon: he had been running through Grenlowe in pursuit of Felebre, and he had almost knocked Sophy down.

  Well: to run swift and sure was something that he knew how to do. He would do it again, and if he was lucky, he would find Miss Landon once again.

  Chapter Sixteen

  After another hour or two of walking—or perhaps it was ten or twenty or more—Sophy was no longer feeling grateful for her guides. She felt like a long-suffering nurse escorting a party of young children. Pinch would insist on teasing Tut-Gut, and he would not leave off, no matter how earnest her entreaties; and then Tara-Tat began needling Graen, and before long the two were squabbling mightily in their high, piping voices. Pinket alone proved a restful companion, but perhaps that was merely because he lacked the means to make any noise. She had no notion what might be passing through the wisp’s thoughts—if anything at all.

  But after a long time—two hours or ten?—the combatants appeared to exhaust themselves, and a heavy silence descended on the company. It possessed a decided air of sulkiness and more than a hint of petulance, but Sophy cared not a whit for that. She took full advantage of the reprieve: collecting her scattered thoughts, calming her shredded nerves and reassembling what was left of her patience.

  When the voices began again, her heart sank with dismay and she stared hopelessly at her troublesome companions. ‘Please,’ she sighed. ‘Please, just a little more peace!’