Miss Ellerby and the Ferryman

by Charlotte E. English

  ‘Yes, let us return home,’ agreed Sophy. ‘No more may be done abroad today, I think.’

  The journey from Mirramay to Grenlowe was surprisingly short. Isabel was struck, and realised anew how lengthy was the delay the Ferryman had wilfully imposed upon her passage from England. He appeared to recollect it too, for he winked at her as the boat descended into the meadow on the edge of the town, and smiled. ‘I ‘ad a desire t’ detain ye as before, but I must not, must I? Ye ‘ave done enough fer me as it is, an’ I must release ye t’ yer business elsewhere.’

  Isabel smiled, and blushed a little. How odd, that he should be so desirous of her company! For it did not seem that he felt the same temptation in Sophy’s case. ‘I wish I might stay, sir,’ she said seriously. ‘But I must not, indeed.’

  He nodded gravely, his hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers, and heaved a great, exaggerated sigh. ‘Aye, then, ‘tis back t’ my loneliness.’

  Isabel winced, and attempted to conceal her distress by fidgeting with her reticule. ‘I would stay if I could,’ she said, without looking at him.

  ‘Would ye?’ said the Ferryman softly. ‘An’ why is that?’

  ‘I do not like to think of you… of anyone, adrift in the world without companionship. And without the freedom to go in search of it, either.’ She kept her gaze fixed upon the ribbon of her bag as she spoke, her fingers working to loosen a knot which had unaccountably become ensnarled within it. But a gentle touch upon her chin compelled her to raise her face, and she found the Ferryman looking closely at her.

  ‘Ye are a mite unusual,’ he said in a thoughtful tone, his gaze taking in every part of her face. ‘Are all the ladies of England like ye?’

  ‘They are not, sir,’ said Sophy. Isabel could hear the smile in her voice. ‘I can take it upon myself to assure you that Isabel is unique. There is no other heart like hers.’

  The Ferryman glanced Sophy’s way, then returned to his scrutiny of Isabel’s face. She was growing uncomfortable with both his attention and his proximity, and took a step backwards. He smiled down at her. ‘We are embarrassin’ the lady wi’ such talk. Fortunately, it is time t’ expel ye all from my keepin’, an’ let ye go home.’

  Isabel said nothing, torn between relief and disappointment. Moments later Isabel was being handed out, Sophy directly behind her. Sir Guntifer, silent and stoic, had already descended, the two pixies ensconced upon his shoulders. Both ladies curtseyed politely to the Ferryman, who doffed his hat in response. It seemed to Isabel that he smiled particularly at her before he turned away.

  They watched as the boat rose into the skies and disappeared into a bank of clouds. Then Sophy took Isabel’s arm and turned her in the direction of her home.

  ‘Ye must stay safely behind me, ladies, I pray,’ said Sir Guntifer.

  ‘Aye!’ cried Pinch. ‘For we are in the wildest of wilds, you know, and there is no telling what catastrophes could befall us here!’ He looked around at the serene meadow as he spoke, brandishing an imaginary rapier and twirling the feather of an imaginary hat.

  ‘It is kind of you to escort us, Sir Guntifer,’ said Sophy firmly, ignoring Pinch. ‘You have performed your task kindly indeed; particularly so, considering that it was not of your choosing.’

  Sir Guntifer bowed to her. ‘Balligumph was a rogue to so force me from my sloth, but it was not misguided in him. I am truly awake, and it has been a century since I last swept the cobwebs from my eyes.’

  ‘I am delighted if it has been of some service to you,’ said Sophy with a smile. ‘Never have I felt so safe as under your kind care! We will be glad of your escort to Silverling, and I hope you will accept some refreshment once we arrive.’

  Sir Guntifer inclined his head with utmost politeness, but Pinch gave a horrified gasp. ‘Refreshments!’ he repeated. ‘And not to be offered to us! For shame! We are hardly used indeed. And after we ran off the trows, too!’ He shot a dark look at Pinket, who merely smiled gently back.

  ‘How wretchedly rude!’ Sophy protested. ‘I had not forgotten the two of you, though I am minded to do so after such a speech as that.’

  Pinch slumped down upon Sir Guntifer’s shoulder and crossed his tiny arms, sullen. ‘All right, I apologise.’

  He was prevented from making any further comments as Sir Guntifer strode away, and at no inconsiderable pace. Isabel was left to the peace of Sophy’s company, and immediately took her friend’s arm.

  Sophy smiled at her. ‘I do believe you have impressed the good Ferryman,’ she said conversationally as they walked towards Grenlowe.

  ‘I imagine he is very lonely,’ said Isabel.

  ‘Undoubtedly, poor fellow. However, he has most assuredly not developed the same degree of interest in me. It might simply be because you are by far the prettier of the two of us, but I will do him the justice to assume that he has discerned the merits of your character.’

  ‘Merits which you do not possess?’ Isabel protested. ‘The greatest nonsense, Sophy! You are the kindest person I know.’

  ‘Besides your own self, you mean. And you are certainly the most modest. Consider! You no sooner meet him and hear his story than you are sorely afflicted with compassion for his plight, and promise to help him. That alone is far more than anyone else has ever done, I would wager. But that is not all! For it was no empty promise. You went as far as Mirramay in search of his name, faced down the mighty Keeper of the Chronicles and emerged with a promising armful of scrolls which you abstracted from right under that worthy’s nose. Which, by the by, is the greatest transgression I have ever known you to make, and I am proud of you!’ She squeezed Isabel’s arm, and continued, ‘I might even be inclined to conclude that the Ferryman has impressed you as well.’

  Isabel suppressed a familiar urge to apologise for her conduct, and sought for a safe reply. ‘I do feel for him, but I would feel the same pity for anyone in his situation. It is very hard.’

  ‘It is a hard fate, indeed. Especially so, perhaps, when it befalls a gentleman who is both handsome and amiable, and who possess besides a great deal of wit to recommend him.’

  ‘He is of the Ayliri, Sophy!’

  ‘You have Aylir blood! Did you forget? And the powers of witchery besides. It is not so inconceivable a match.’

  Isabel was silent. She had forgotten — or dismissed it from her mind. Lurking somewhere inside was a vague sense of trepidation as to what her mother and father would say when they learned the truth about their daughter — if they learned the truth. Should she tell them? Would Aunt Grey tell them? Perhaps she had already done so. Perhaps their reaction awaited her upon her return.

  Her stomach clenched at the thought. They would be… angry. Perhaps. Hers had been a careful upbringing; they had sought to prepare her to take her position in society, and at a higher station than their own. At best, her witching powers were an intolerable distraction, at a time when all of her powers ought to be exerted to please Mr. Thompson — or another, still more eligible, suitor. At worst, her heritage may prove to be unattractive. The Ayliri were not hated in England, but they were poorly understood, and many people scarcely knew they existed. They were not loved, and not trusted. How would society view the intrusion of Ayliri blood into their own circles? Would she still be considered marriageable, when any children of hers would share that same heritage, and possibly inherit the powers that sometimes occurred along with it?

  Isabel herself was frightened of these possibilities, though she had hesitated to name them to herself. She did so now, and quailed. If the path in life that had been so clearly marked out for her were to fail, what would she do? What could she do? For she had no option but marriage. No woman in her position could accept with equanimity the prospect of a celibate existence. Her fortune was not equal to it, and she lacked the extensive education necessary to seek a post as a governess — even supposing she could wish for such a life, which she could not. Marriage was the only choice she had.

  ‘That cannot be, Sophy,’ said
Isabel. ‘Even supposing you are right, and I am by no means certain that you are. I am not fitted for this world. I was made for other things.’

  ‘I was not fitted for this world, either, but I have made myself a part of it. Your destiny is your own, Isa. It is not for anyone else to decide your future for you; not even your mother and father. Much as I respect them, I agree with your aunt. I cannot stand idly by and permit them, or anybody else, to dictate your choices.’

  ‘Perhaps my choices are the same as theirs.’

  Sophy stopped walking, and looked seriously at her friend. ‘If they are, and sincerely so, then I will urge you no more.’

  ‘They… they are,’ said Isabel, rather without the certainty she had hoped to convey. ‘I am not unhappy with my father’s choice of husband for me, nor with my mother’s expectations. Her life has been happy, I believe, and I have no reason to imagine mine will be less so.’

  Sophy frowned as the words not unhappy passed Isabel’s lips, and she indulged in a moment’s silent thought before replying. ‘It had not previously occurred to me to bless the circumstances that brought me here. My father’s death, my lack of prospects — it was a frightening time for me. But it had one advantage, in that it compelled me to think differently about the world, and the alternatives that I had before me. Blessed as you are in wealth, comfort, beauty and all the prospects I did not have, you are unhappily circumstanced in that respect. You have nothing to force you to be brave.’

  ‘I do not lack courage, Sophy!’ Isabel protested, stung.

  Sophy raised a brow at her. ‘I would like you to be more than merely not unhappy,’ she said. ‘So would your aunt. So would all who care for your happiness.’

  ‘My mother and father do care for my happiness.’

  Sophy said no more. They walked in silence through the streets of Grenlowe, following in Sir Guntifer’s wake, until they arrived at the door of Silverling. Sophy immediately disappeared inside, with a quiet word to Sir Guntifer as she passed him. She did not invite him in, simply because he was too big to fit into the little shop. But Pinch and Pinket clambered down from his shoulders and followed Sophy inside.

  Isabel paused to make her own thanks to Sir Guntifer. He was a kind soul, and his courtly manners pleased her. His great green eyes twinkled down at her as she spoke, and he made her a bow.

  ‘Tis a kindness in thee,’ he said, ‘thine efforts to extract the Ferryman from the confines of his miserable curse. I heard his speech to thee. It was correct of him to speak so, for few would do as thou hast done. I wish thee success upon thy quest.’

  Isabel curtseyed, touched. There was not time for more, as Sophy re-emerged at that moment with a great platter in her two hands. The plate was heaped with delicacies; judging by their aroma, they were fresh from the oven. Isabel recognised the piles of cakes, tarts and tiny pies as the work of Mary and the brownie Thundigle, who between them produced treats as extraordinary in their way as were Sophy’s gowns. It crossed Isabel’s mind to wonder whether the giant, half-tree as he was, would be tempted by such viands as this. Apparently he was, for Sir Guntifer accepted the offering with a smile of pleasure.

  ‘Isabel,’ Sophy said next, turning to her. She put into her hands a letter, saying, ‘This arrived but this morning. It appears it is urgent.’

  The letter was an odd one. It was but a small piece of paper, and folded smaller still. The paper, meanwhile, was oddly translucent, and shimmered faintly. It opened easily the moment Isabel’s fingers touched it; against her hands it felt as soft as silk. A few lines were written upon the letter in neat, elegant script.

  My dear Isabel. It pains me to urge your return so soon, as I had hoped to allow you some two or three weeks in Aylfenhame. But alas, my resources are quite at an end! I cannot much longer conceal your whereabouts from your mother and father. I leave it to you, my dear, to decide upon an appropriate course of action. - E. G.

  Isabel folded the letter and put it into her reticule. If she understood the missive correctly, she had little time in which to return home — if she wished to keep the secret of her adventure from her mother and father. She concluded from this that her aunt had not confided in her sister and brother-in-law regarding Isabel’s heritage, and nor would she without Isabel’s concurrence.

  This relieved Isabel considerably, but it also heightened her sense of urgency. She must return at once, but how was she to do so? The Ferryman had only just departed. He would not wish to return for her so soon.

  Isabel showed the note to Sophy, who read it quickly and then met Isabel’s eyes with a questioning look.

  ‘I will go,’ said Isabel.

  Sophy nodded. ‘I am sorry for it, for I shall miss you! But I will see you on the next Solstice.’

  ‘Yes.’ Isabel frowned as she spoke the word, and hesitated. ‘Sophy, it is possible that I shall be married by that time. And I do not know… that is, I am not sure if I shall have the same freedom to visit you, as I have before.’ Freedom was a misleading term, as her mother and father had not precisely liked her venturing into Aylfenhame, even if it was to visit a person so well known to them as Sophy. But they had permitted it. Whether her husband would do so likewise was another question. Her heart sank a little at the thought, but she concealed her distress, and mustered a smile. ‘I shall always do my best to see you.’

  Sophy made no answer to this, merely looking at Isabel in silence. ‘I have a gift for you,’ she said at last, and beckoned Isabel inside.

  Isabel paused to bid farewell to Sir Guntifer, who was still busily employed in the delectation of the treats Sophy had provided. She entered Sophy’s shop, and was immediately presented with a wrapped package.

  ‘Open it when you arrive at home,’ Sophy said, putting the gift into Isabel’s hands. ‘Or it will take far too long to wrap it up again.’

  Isabel stared at the parcel. It was a box, moderately sized, and wrapped up in paper as delicate and shimmery as a dragonfly’s wing. ‘May I know what it is?’

  ‘I will leave it as a surprise, and only say this: It is in exchange for a kindness you once did me.’ Mary entered as Sophy finished speaking, and gave to Isabel a large, prettily embroidered band-box. ‘Take that away with you, my dear girl,’ said Mary with a wink. ‘All them fine, pretty bits are in it.’

  ‘The dresses! But no, Sophy! You will perhaps wish to sell them.’

  ‘I made them for you,’ Sophy said, laughing. ‘How like you to try to give them back! No, please. They were made with love, and fitted to precisely your measurements. I could not sell them even if I wished to.’

  And so Isabel was obliged to depart, laden down with gifts, her heart overflowing with a mixture of gratitude and an obscure feeling of guilt for all the trouble her friends had gone to for her sake. Moreover, she was now obliged to summon the Ferryman once more, and so soon after his departure. She hoped he would not be angry with her, but what could she do? She had no other means of returning home, and he had said that he had been engaged to escort her home. And paid for it, too, though she could not imagine what he had been paid with. Did the Ferryman accept ordinary currency? Could he use it, in his condition?

  She thought of the scrolls she had taken from the library, and hesitated. To leave Aylfenhame without the Ferryman’s name, and with no prospects of a near return! It was a great shame, to be sure, but the urgency of her aunt’s message swiftly banished any thoughts of studying the scrolls prior to her departure. She carefully unrolled one of them, thinking perhaps to breeze speedily through it in search of the relevant passages. But a glance dispelled that notion as well, for the scroll was so densely scribed, and written in such minute, and peculiar, characters, that nothing would serve to decipher its contents but a period of prolonged perusal. As near as she could imagine, it would take hours to read even a single one of the pile of scrolls she had acquired. The task would have to wait. She consoled herself with the reflection that she still possessed the whistle, and might summon the Ferryman to England the instant
she learned his name.

  This decision made, Isabel paused only long enough to make a final request of Sophy, as Sir Guntifer’s obvious relish of his platter of delicacies inspired her with an idea. And then, with some regret, she turned away from Silverling, unsure when — or even if — she would be able to return.

  Sophy walked with her back to the outskirts of Grenlowe, until they reached an open space where the boat might land. Isabel raised the whistle to her lips with more than a little trepidation, and blew. The ferry appeared in the skies almost at once; he had not been far away, then. She waited, her heart pounding unaccountably, as it sailed gracefully down from the skies and came to rest among the tall gold-and-green grasses of the Grenlowe meadows.

  The Ferryman tipped his hat to her. ‘Ye could not live without my company!’ he said, with a wide smile. ‘I admit, I ‘ad suspected it might be the case.’

  Isabel was so relieved, she laughed. ‘I am so sorry! Only I received word as soon as I arrived, and my return is expected at once.’

  He assumed a tragic air. ‘Ah, so! Naught to do wi’ me after all. My heart is fully broken.’ He jumped down from the boat and extended his hand to Isabel, winking at Sophy as he helped Isabel aboard. ‘So ye’re t’ lose yer friend already, Miss Sophy? A pity.’

  ‘Indeed, I shall miss her very much,’ Sophy said. ‘But I am sure you will bear her good company on the journey home.’

  ‘That I shall, to be sure.’ The Ferryman bowed to Sophy, lifted Tafferty aboard and vaulted after, and soon they were away once more. Isabel watched, feeling more than a little forlorn, as Sophy’s tall, wind-blown figure receded, and finally disappeared from sight.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘I have brought something for you,’ Isabel said, and offered the Ferryman a small box. The contents had been her last-minute request of Sophy, and she hoped it would please.

  His brows rose in surprise, and he quickly opened it. A delicious aroma of freshly-baked pastry drifted out.