It had certainly taken hold of her by now.
Soon it was Isabel’s turn to talk, and that she did very willingly. It took some time to recount everything that had happened to her in Grenlowe and Mirramay, but she did not hurry, and left nothing out. It was a pleasure to her to share it with her aunt, knowing that she must conceal it from everyone as soon as she returned to Ferndeane.
‘Are there a great many of these scrolls?’ Mrs. Grey enquired when Isabel had finished.
‘Some five or six, I believe, and they are not small. It will take me some little time to read through them.’
‘I will take one or two, if you will permit me. We will work faster together.’
Isabel smiled at her aunt. ‘I believe you are forming one of your soft spots for the Ferryman.’
‘Without doubt! Quite as you did. Who could help feeling for him, poor man? We must certainly discover his name.’
Isabel felt obscurely better at this staunch support, for she had been feeling a little overwhelmed with the task, and the pressures it brought to bear upon her. For all the Ferryman’s kind words to her on her departure, she fervently wished that she would not disappoint him.
She separated from her aunt soon afterwards, to rest before she was obliged to ready herself for her dinner engagement. She spared barely a thought for the prospect of meeting Mr. Thompson again; all her ideas were fixed upon the Ferryman, and the piper, and Mirramay.
Belatedly, she recollected the parcel Sophy had given her as she had left Silverling. It had been placed by the maid at the foot of her bed; she caught it up and quickly unwrapped it. She was not surprised when a gown emerged, though the garment itself caused her to catch her breath in wonder.
It was velvet, dyed in her favourite shade of blue: the serene, cool shade of twilight. The fabric was silk, though woven with something else; something fae, which felt cool against her hands, and caused the gown to ripple with the fluid shimmer of water. It was simple, as suited Isabel’s taste, trimmed modestly at the neckline and sleeves with bunches of ribbons. An underskirt of darker blue silk peeped into view at the hem.
It was a ball gown, of course. Isabel had once given a gown of her own to Sophy, so that her friend might have something new to wear for a grand ball given in the neighbourhood. Sophy now returned that favour with a gown far, far more beautiful!
Isabel held it against herself, smiling delightedly. ‘Tafferty! Is this not the loveliest thing you have ever seen?’
‘No,’ said the catterdandy, bestowing the briefest glance upon the gown. ‘But it is pretty enough, I grant thee.’
‘Fie upon that, for it is glorious. I only hope there will soon be a ball, so that I may wear it!’ Her face fell as she recollected an obstacle. ‘But I have nothing suitable to wear with it! Any ordinary accessories will fade into insignificance beside such loveliness.’
‘That is a problem most easily fixed,’ said Tafferty. ‘An’ thou didst promise me to work on thy Glamour.’
Isabel brightened. ‘Do you think I might Glamour something to match? I had not thought to consider!’
Tafferty sighed, her head drooping. ‘If I had known I need only promise thee somethin’ extra pretty t’ wear t’ some ball, I need not ‘ave wasted my time makin’ complicated bargains with thee over the Ferryman.’
Isabel blushed, and laid aside the gown. ‘Is it frivolous of me? I fear that it is! But I cannot help it. Such beauty is a delight to me, and I must make myself worthy of it in other respects as well.’ She paused, and added more honestly, ‘I believe I am growing accustomed to the idea, Tafferty. It has taken a little time, but my aunt’s notion of sending me into Aylfenhame was a good one. I shall be happy to bring a little of it back with me.’
‘I am delighted t’ hear it.’
‘Provided, of course, that my mother and father should not discover it.’
Tafferty flopped into a heap upon the carpet. ‘Still some way t’ go, then. No matter. Thou art makin’ some feeble kind o’ progress.’
Isabel went to her companion, and tentatively stroked one of her thickly-furred, gloriously tufted ears. ‘I am sorry, Tafferty. I know I am a careful, shrinking creature, and it must be intolerable for someone as bold as you. But I am trying.’
Tafferty held herself rigid for a space, but finally softened, and leaned into Isabel’s hand. ‘Thy mother and father have somethin’ t’ answer for, I’ll wager. They ‘ave taught thee t’ be dutiful, and by all accounts far too obedient. I must teach thee t’ have confidence in thine own choices, an’ t’ think on things thy parents may not ‘ave ever planned for thee.’ She grinned up at Isabel, one long tooth showing around her top lip. ‘I ‘ave more than a little assistance from thine aunt, in that. An’ she is a capable woman.’
Chapter Thirteen
Well, an’ what a deal o’ happenin’s! I tell ye, I were never more surprised in the whole of me life. Oh, not about his Majesty, the Goblin King. I ought t’ have known that he would be lurkin’ in Mirramay, stickin’ his tricky fingers in all manner o’ business. Small wonder that he’d be kickin’ up some kind o’ lark thereabouts. But that Miss Isabel’d find the gumption t’ carry on wi’ her intended purpose regardless, an’ steal away wi’ a bundle o’ scrolls! She felt a deal o’ guilt, poor lass, but she was forgettin’ somethin’. Scarce another person in the whole o’ England could be better trusted wi’ somethin’ o’ value – an’ so I told the Keeper meself. She’d take ‘em back in time, an’ without so much as a scratch on ‘em. That I knew.
Her powers, though. Thas another story. Tafferty ‘ad a problem t’ solve there, an’ no mistake. How do ye persuade so reluctant a miss t’ take a proper degree of interest in the arts t’ which she was born? Well, that catterdandy’s a wily one an’ no mistake. The Ferryman, thas part of it; Miss Isa’s one t’ keep t’ her word, an’ stick t’ bargain. But t’other part, thas real clever. Ye simply tell ‘er ‘bout all the many things she could be doin’ t’ make her life an’ loves a mite simpler. An’ prettier. An’ if she can use ‘er witchery t’ do some kind o’ good in the world, all the better.
That Ferryman, now. I’ll admit, I ‘ad an interest there. Good fellow, that, an’ it irked me that I ‘ad no more an idea what his deuced name was – beggin’ yer pardon, fer my language – than anybody else. ‘Tis a lapse, right enough! I, that prides meself on collectin’ up all the choicest bits an’ snippets of information! I ‘ad t’ do better. Not only that, mind. I also ‘ad no notion what ‘ad become o’ the Chronicler. Two lapses, an’ important business t’ boot! Oh, I set all my very best folk t’ work on that brace o’ problems, ye can bet.
Isabel entered the drawing-room of the Thompsons’ handsome York townhouse with a feeling of mild trepidation, and for two reasons: Firstly, because it was the first time she had been in Mr. Thompson’s company since learning of her Aylir heritage, and she felt an obscure and irrational certainty that it would somehow show. Secondly, because Tafferty had persuaded her to embark upon her first proper Glamour in honour of the evening’s events, and that most certainly did show.
She had not worn the beautiful gown of Sophy’s creation. It was too fine for a dinner; it deserved to be kept for a ball. Instead, she had worn one of her own, fairly new, gowns and dressed it up for the occasion. But instead of adjusting its style and trim with a needle and thread and labour of her own, she had done so with Glamour.
And so she was clothed in an elegant, short-sleeved gown of ivory silk with an overdress of pale gold lace. The latter had originally been white, but she had altered its colour. She had also adjusted the shape of the neckline, and added bunches of ribbons at the sleeves in mimicry of Sophy’s style. Her boldest — and favourite — alteration was the extremely life-like, gold-and-auburn butterflies which sat poised atop each shoulder. They looked as though they were perfectly real, which may prove to have been unwise. She berated herself for it as she entered the room, and watched as Mrs. Thompson’s gaze went straight to the butterflies. They we
re so beautiful, though, that she had not been able to resist.
It was an oddity, Glamour. She knew well that underneath her witchery, the gown remained exactly the same as it had always been. But she had compelled it to portray an alternative appearance, weaving its new shapes and shades around it like a new cloak. It had been a long and difficult process, contriving to cast each little Glamour in a fashion both aesthetically consistent and stable, and it had tired her considerably. But she could not deny feeling a sense of accomplishment upon looking at her finished, re-wrought gown, together with a tinge of excitement. The effect was so convincing, even she was sorely pressed to remember that it was mere illusion.
To her mingled relief and dismay, she had enjoyed the process of adjusting her gown. She had been persuaded into acquiescing to Tafferty’s demands against her will; it did not suit her to find that Tafferty had been, on some level, right to push her. It threatened to render her objections foolish, when to her they were as important as ever.
The butterflies drew the immediate attention of the three Misses Thompson, who at once pressed her to name the seamstress responsible for the creation. That they were interested in dress themselves was perfectly apparent. Isabel well remembered the gowns they had worn to the Alford Assembly: similar to each other in style but varied enough to differentiate each sister, and dyed in complementary shades. They had employed the same approach today. Miss Thompson wore palest pink; Miss Helena wore a darker shade of rose; and the youngest, Miss Matilda, wore fuchsia. Their glossy, curling hair was in shades of brown, too, from chestnut to auburn. Seated in a row upon a sofa, they resembled a neat little line of flowers in a cottage garden.
Isabel avoided their questions as to her gown as best she was able, with a little assistance from Mrs. Grey. She was grateful for more than one reason when their brother chastised them for their persistence.
‘And when Miss Ellerby is but just risen from the sick-bed!’ he said, with mild severity. ‘Not a single enquiry as to her health have I heard!’
‘It is remiss of us,’ said Miss Thompson, with a gracious smile. Her air and composure were in better order than her sisters; Isabel received the impression that she took her role as the eldest sister seriously. ‘Our apologies, Miss Ellerby. I hope you are fully recovered?’
‘I am, thank you,’ Isabel replied, blushing inwardly for the deception, and the lie. Why, she had never felt in better health in her life!
‘You have missed a great deal of excitement!’ said Miss Helena, with a bright, vivacious smile. ‘None of us has yet encountered the Piper, or the Fiddler, or any of them! But we are living in hope, are we not, Matilda?’
Miss Matilda actually bounced a little in her seat with excitement. Isabel was bemused to note that volume of enthusiasm also appeared to run in a strict, inverse order from eldest to youngest. ‘Oh, we are! It makes me wild with envy to think that my family and two of my dearest friends have actually seen the Piper, and I have not! It is too unfair!’
‘Nor have I!’ said Mrs. Grey with a laugh. ‘It is vexing indeed. And I have been accepting all the invitations I have received, purely in the hope of catching a glimpse.’ Her words were received with vigorous nods of agreement from Matilda and Helena, and a serene nod of assent from Miss Thompson. The sisters were united in their enthusiasm for the piper, and his dancers.
Isabel stared. Fresh in her mind was the totally opposite reaction to the Alford Assembly, which had taken place barely two weeks previously. The hushed silence on the topic had given way to excitement — not merely that, but chatter — and in so short a time! ‘He is become a popular figure, then?’ Isabel enquired.
‘To be sure!’ said Matilda. ‘Everyone is wild to see him! And the Fiddler, too, and all the ladies and gentlemen. It is said they are very handsome.’
‘And heavenly exotic,’ added Helena.
‘I scarcely noticed whether or not they are handsome,’ Isabel said, truthfully enough. ‘Their music is very… absorbing.’ She could think of no better way to describe the curiously compelling melodies they had played, nor her reaction to them. ‘It is generally true that the Ayliri are of a handsome order.’
All three girls stared at Isabel. ‘Have you seen them?’ gasped Matilda. ‘Oh, but you are too, too lucky!’
‘Tell us everything!’ demanded Helena. ‘Were they as exotic as everybody says? What were they like? Did you dance all night?’
‘What were they wearing?’ added Miss Thompson. ‘Miss Jackson said their gowns were remarkable, and she has never seen the like! And that they have hair in strange colours. Is that so?’
Isabel, bemused, answered the onslaught of questions as best she could. It appeared that the Ayliri musicians and dancers had somehow become fashionable. She had never expected to find herself become a subject of envy for having been in their presence. Mr. Thompson and his father and mother listened to this conversation without contribution, but Isabel thought that they, too, were more interested in hearing the tales than they showed. Mr. Thompson caught Isabel’s eye more than once as she spoke, and smiled at her in a manner both encouraging and faintly conspiratorial. He was laughing gently at his sisters’ eagerness, but without being so discourteous as to openly show his amusement.
When Isabel’s tale was finished, the reaction of her audience was still more amazement, eagerness and awe, followed by a renewed barrage of questions. ‘To be sure,’ said Mr. Thompson, laughing, ‘it will be no longer be possible for any hostess to call her party a success unless the Rade should invite themselves to it! And as for the young men hereabouts, they will find themselves sadly out of luck. No young lady within seventy miles has eyes for any but an Aylir partner.’
‘The Rade?’ Isabel repeated.
‘That is what they are now being called, The Faerie Rade. It is long since the folk of Aylfenhame rode in procession through England, and indeed, that is not precisely what they are doing. But it is close enough, perhaps.’
‘They have never been seen riding, I believe,’ said Miss Thompson. ‘Or travelling at all. That is curious, is it not? For how should they contrive to appear at so many disparate occasions, and so far apart, if they did not travel between them?’
Isabel thought of the Ferryman. He had been summoned to bear the Rade from Aylfenhame to England in the first place; perhaps they also used him to convey them from town to town. Though if the boat had been seen flying about the skies of England, she could hardly suppose that it would not be talked of.
‘Miss Jackson says that they have hidden ways,’ said Helena.
‘How I should like to go into Aylfenhame!’ sighed Matilda. ‘Everyone Ayliri, and each handsomer than the last! Like the Piper.’ She sighed dreamily.
Mr. Thompson smiled at Isabel. ‘I have heard it said that Miss Ellerby has ventured so far, some once or twice.’
Helena and Matilda gasped in unison. ‘Oh, is it true?’ said the latter.
Isabel could only own that it was. This prompted looks of such awe from all three ladies that she coloured with embarrassment. ‘My friend, Miss Landon, now lives there,’ she said, hoping to deflect attention from herself.
Matilda gaped. ‘You mean that it is possible?’ she said in a breathless whisper. ‘To live there? Oh, Mama, may we go?’
‘Certainly not,’ said Mrs. Thompson coolly, though she smiled at Isabel as she spoke. ‘You will give the oddest idea of yourself to Miss Ellerby, my love. We all enjoy the stories of the Piper and his dancers, of course, but it is quite another thing to talk of living in Aylfenhame.’
‘Though I am sure we wish Miss Landon every happiness in her life there,’ added the elder Mr. Thompson, gravely, and with a glance at his wife.
‘Of course,’ said Mrs. Thompson.
‘Is she going to marry an Aylir gentleman?’ demanded Helena.
‘She is married to an Aylir,’ Isabel replied. ‘His name is Aubranael.’
‘Oh, but you called her Miss Landon!’ said Miss Thompson. ‘Surely she is Mrs, and with
a terribly exotic Ayliri surname.’
‘If she has such a name, I do not know it. Family names are not common in Aylfenhame, I believe.’
‘How very odd.’ Miss Thompson frowned as though the idea displeased her. It would not be altogether surprising if it did. Most women derived whatever status they enjoyed from their nearest male relative, or their husband, and marriage generally increased a woman’s standing. The title of Mrs, then, together with a respectable (or in this case, exotic) surname was something in which women took pride. To marry and yet to be denied those advantages may well strike Miss Thompson as displeasing.
Isabel well understood those feelings, but for her own part she found every aspect of Sophy’s life intriguing. Terrifying as well, for it was devoid of every single one of the usual rules and conventions — rules which Isabel found comforting in their familiarity. They marked a clear path through life, and all of its various events, great and small. It was difficult to go far wrong, if one kept an eye to the conventions and ordered one’s doings according to the expectations of society. To manage without them all was to throw comfort and familiarity to the winds, and leave oneself exposed to untold vagaries. Isabel admired her friend’s courage, but the prospect frightened her.
She was obscurely ashamed of herself for feeling so. Was it not cowardice?
These reflections had overtaken her while her companions talked on, sometimes about the Piper and then about various acquaintances of theirs, to whom Isabel was not known. But her thoughts were interrupted when dinner was announced. Young Mr. Thompson approached Isabel and offered his arm. ‘May I escort you to the dining parlour?’ he enquired, with a soft smile.
Isabel accepted, and was conducted thither at the head of the little procession. This was giving her distinction indeed, and she hardly knew how to understand it. Neither her standing nor her wealth were such as to explain any of the Thompson’s apparent eagerness to honour her, or to promote her match with their son. What could be the reason for it?
Miss Ellerby and the Ferryman Page 18