Miss Ellerby and the Ferryman

by Charlotte E. English

  Balligumph nodded vigorously. ‘Aye. Thas the way I like to hear ye talkin’. Forget yer ideas in that direction! Go ye t’ the Piper an’ see what he can tell ye.’

  ‘That is easier said than done,’ observed Eliza. ‘You are a resourceful fellow, Mr. Balligumph, and this piece of news is encouraging indeed. We thank you for it! But we have just come from York, where half the city is agog for a glimpse of the Rade. And so far, they have been disappointed. Nobody can predict when or where they will next be seen, and merely showing up at every available ball or assembly in hopes of encountering them is a strategy which has benefited few. How are we to find him?’

  Balligumph replied with a gusty sneeze, and a watery sniff. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered damply. ‘They’re in the Hills,’ he added thickly as he groped for his handkerchief.

  ‘The what?’

  Balli blew his nose mightily, and took some time about mopping up afterwards. Isabel averted her gaze, slightly appalled at the sight of the mess pouring from the troll’s nose. It was iridescent blue, and looked disturbingly pretty given its provenance.

  ‘The Hills,’ Balligumph said when at last he finished cleaning himself up. ‘The Hollow Hills. Ye both know what I’m sayin’.’

  Isabel exchanged a puzzled look with Eliza. ‘Do we?’

  Balligumph blinked at her in horror. ‘Ye don’t?’ He looked up at the sunny sky in despair, and shook his head. ‘Have the folk of England forgotten everythin’? Tafferty, I am done. Ye must explain fer me.’

  Tafferty sat up and stretched languorously, her every movement expressive of disdain. ‘The Hollow Hills,’ she repeated. ‘They was known as the Other, once upon a while. Not England an’ not Aylfenhame. Somethin’ in between, if ye believe the tales. In truth, I think no one knows where they fall. But if thou wert t’ wander in the right direction, an’ find thyself at just the right one o’ yer English hills, thou mayst be so fortunate as t’ find a door. An’ beyond that door, there’s the Other. The Hollows. Where many sleep, an’ eat, an’ dance, an’ sometimes travel.’ Her tail twitched and she shook herself. ‘Some folk say that it is pretty well half an’ half, under there. Fae an’ humans mixin’ themselves up all higgledy. But I cannot say. I ‘ave ever been into them.’

  Balligumph nodded along as Tafferty spoke, and shrugged when she reached the end of her speech. ‘Nor ‘ave I. But I’ll wager ye anythin’ ye like that the Piper an’ his merry musicians are hidin’ themselves in the Hollows. I’ll go further: there’s said t’ be an entrance somewhere in the Wolds, an’ given how they keeps appearin’ in these parts, I’d say there’s like t’ be some truth t’ that notion. If ye want t’ find ‘em, there ye must look.’

  There was silence for a moment as Isabel turned this over in her mind, and her aunt perhaps did the same. They exchanged another long look, and Isabel saw her own thoughts reflected in her aunt’s face. ‘How would we know if we were wandering in the right direction?’ she said. ‘Or when we arrived at the right hill?’

  ‘Good questions both,’ said Balligumph cheerfully. ‘There I cannot help ye, just at present. Tafferty?’

  ‘I ‘ave not a blinkin’ notion,’ said the catterdandy.

  ‘Eh, well. I am workin’ on it.’

  Isabel smiled and thanked him, but absently, for her mind was busy. An idea had surfaced as he spoke. ‘I think I may know someone who can help, but it requires a little thought.’

  Balligumph looked enquiringly at her, but she shook her head. ‘I will say nothing more at the moment, as I am unsure whether it will be of any use at all.’

  ‘Intriguin’,’ said the troll, and grinned. ‘Miss Ellerby has a secret! I am curiously impressed.’

  Isabel blushed, for no reason she could understand. She looked away, annoyed with herself. Why should Balligumph’s words make her feel guilty? There was no shame in sometimes keeping things to herself.

  ‘I believe we must be going, my love,’ said Eliza. ‘Your mama has been expecting us this half-hour at least, I imagine.’

  Isabel could not but admit the probability, and immediately made her curtsey to Balligumph. ‘I will return with a posset for you,’ she promised. ‘Or if I cannot, I will send another. Pray do take care of yourself, Mr. Balligumph!’

  The troll smiled genially in response and made her an awkward half-bow, still clutching the blanket around himself. ‘Ye’re a sweet thing, Miss. I’ll await yer posset.’

  The carriage conveyed Isabel, Eliza and Tafferty to Ferndeane within ten minutes, giving Isabel little time to absorb the information she had lately heard — let alone to prepare herself to meet her parents. When the carriage came to a stop outside of the front door of Isabel’s home and the door was opened to permit her egress, she found she still had not decided what to tell her mother and father.

  She was not immediately called upon to speak at all beyond the barest civilities. Eliza, as the guest, naturally dominated the majority of Mr. and Mrs. Ellerby’s attention, and until she had been settled in the best guest room and partaken of the tea spread out in the parlour, there was no occasion for anybody to pay much heed to Isabel. She took the opportunity to order Balligumph’s posset from Cook, and to give orders for its delivery to the bridge.

  So occupied was Mrs. Ellerby in her role as hostess to her sister that she was long in noticing Tafferty. The catterdandy had refused to be concealed, in spite of Isabel’s attempts to persuade her. She would not be sent around to the rear door and given her dinner in the kitchens. Nor would she consent to be wrapped up in Isabel’s shawl and carried swiftly up to her chamber. She stalked into the house with her tail and her nose high in the air, and only Eliza’s swift forethought in entering first prevented her being noticed immediately.

  When the bustle of arrival was over and Mrs. Ellerby at last had leisure to look about herself, her eye soon fell upon Tafferty curled up upon one of the parlour chairs, and her dismay was immediate. ‘Oh, Isabel! You have not brought that creature in with you! I have seen nothing of it these past weeks, and quite thought it had taken itself off.’ She went to shoo the catterdandy off the chair, and encountered a dark stare from Tafferty together with an utter refusal to be moved.

  Isabel sighed inwardly, her tremulous spirits sinking. ‘Mama, there is no harm in her!’ she said, in what she hoped was a firm but respectful tone. ‘She is friendly, and a suitable pet for me. I have grown fond of her.’ Tafferty’s tail flicked with disdain at the word pet, but to Isabel’s relief she did not speak.

  ‘How can that be, my dear, when you have but just arrived from York?’ said Mrs. Ellerby. ‘Surely you did not take the animal along with you.’

  Isabel cast about for a sensible response to make to this, and came up with nothing. How could she explain how she came to adopt Tafferty, without admitting the full truth — that Tafferty had, more rightly speaking, adopted her?

  ‘Isabel was heart-sick at the poor creature’s weariness and hunger,’ Eliza interjected. ‘You know her tenderness of heart, Harriet! She could not bear to leave her new friend behind. You may imagine my surprise when I received not only my niece, but also her cat, for a visit.’

  Mrs. Ellerby sighed deeply, abandoning her attempts to move Tafferty off the chair. ‘Is it a cat? I have never seen its like. It looks to me more like something fae. Now, does it not, Mr. Ellerby? It would be much more at home with the brownies, in the kitchen.’

  Isabel winced, torn between annoyance at her mother’s insistence on referring to Tafferty as “it” and dismay that she could relegate the brownies and Tafferty both to the kitchens, as though all things fae belonged in the servants’ quarters.

  ‘I would like Tafferty to stay with me, Mama, please,’ she said, quietly but firmly. ‘She is my friend.’

  Mrs. Ellerby sighed again, and cast Isabel a look of pure annoyance. But she sat down, and made no further attempts to oppose her daughter’s wishes. ‘Truly, I think the whole of the neighbourhood has gone fae-mad!’ she said instead. ‘Chattering on about the Piper,
and the Fiddler, and the dancers! The Rade, indeed! It is such nonsense. It had much better all be forgotten.’ She regarded Isabel again, but her annoyance had given way to something else Isabel could not identify. Was there a tinge of concern? ‘I have not seen the like since Miss Landon went away, and Isabel was drawn after. Do you remember, my dear? The things that befell you in Aylfenhame! I was never more alarmed. They had better keep to themselves, and stop pulling good English folk into their nonsense.’ She nodded her head at her own self at the conclusion of this speech, well satisfied with her reasoning.

  Isabel could not agree, but Eliza spoke first. ‘But Miss Landon is as happy as can be in Aylfenhame, Harriet! Isabel brings me the liveliest tales of her. Truly, I think no better fate can have befallen her.’

  Mrs. Ellerby looked askance at her sister, and clucked her tongue. ‘You always were a little strange in your notions, Lizzy.’

  Eliza smiled faintly, and said nothing.

  ‘She is right, Mama!’ said Isabel. ‘Sophy was never happier in her life before. It is always a pleasure to visit her.’

  ‘That is not saying a great deal, for I am sure she had little to please her before. I do wish you would stop visiting her, my dear, though I am sorry to have to say it! To be sure I always liked Sophia very well, but it gives me the greatest uneasiness to think of you travelling in such an odd place. It can hardly be safe. But I dare say you will not be persuaded, not even to please your poor Mama.’

  ‘It would be the shabbiest thing to abandon her, and besides, I should miss her very much.’

  Mrs. Ellerby eyed Tafferty with displeasure. ‘I dare say you are right, only do please bring us no more of their odd creatures to Ferndeane.’

  ‘I will do my best, Mama.’

  Tafferty laid her tail over her eyes and grumbled something. Then she said, quite distinctly, ‘Thou’rt a worryish bein’. That must be where thy daughter comes by ‘er wibblishness.’

  Mrs. Ellerby gaped at Tafferty, but before she could speak Eliza rose from her chair and set down her tea cup. ‘I find I am tired after our journey, and I am sure you are likewise, Isabel. You will excuse us, Harriet? Mr. Ellerby? A little rest before dinner will refresh both of us marvellously.’

  Isabel rose gratefully, and cast a significant look at Tafferty. The catterdandy refused to budge, however; indeed, her tail remained stubbornly wrapped over her eyes, and she probably had not seen Isabel’s attempts to catch her attention.

  ‘Tafferty, do come upstairs,’ Isabel said, for it was hopeless now to pretend that she was any ordinary beast. ‘It is much more comfortable upon the bed, if you are going to sleep.’

  Tafferty’s tail twitched upwards, and Isabel encountered a green stare. ‘I am tired. Go upperty-stairsy I will not, lest thou’rt offerin’ t’ carry me.’

  ‘I shall be happy to do so,’ said Isabel, and scooped the catterdandy up in her arms. She curtseyed vaguely in her mother and father’s direction and hastily made her exit.

  Eliza followed her upstairs, barely troubling to conceal her laughter. ‘Beautiful, Tafferty! I have not seen that look on my sister’s face in many years.’

  Isabel could not share her aunt’s amusement. Her mother had relented with respect to Tafferty, but that was before she knew that the catterdandy spoke — and moreover, was possessed of strong opinions and a tart tongue. But she would fight that battle later, if fight she must. Her aunt was correct: she was tired.

  But she was not yet to rest. Eliza followed her to her room and closed the door behind her, first ensuring that they were alone. ‘I have something else I must tell you,’ she said, and her demeanour puzzled Isabel. She appeared to experience some difficulty in meeting Isabel’s gaze, and her manner spoke of some measure of… guilt?

  Isabel deposited Tafferty gently upon the bed, and found her a shawl to sleep upon. ‘What is it, aunt?’

  Eliza looked at her hands. ‘When I told you of your Aylir heritage, you scarcely believed me at first. I had told you of distinctive features and colouring, and you had them not. Commonplace, you called yourself. Do you remember?’

  She looked up at she spoke, and fixed Isabel with an intense, unnerving stare. Isabel felt a sense of deep foreboding, and had to swallow her unease before she could reply. ‘I remember.’ Eliza had also said that Ayliri features had not manifested in her either, but that had not proved to be true, for the ordinary, human appearance she wore was but a Glamour. Her aunt’s appearance was distinctly other, her fae heritage stamped clearly upon her features.

  But she had hidden that truth from everyone — even those who knew her best. Because she was a mistress of the art of Glamour.

  Isabel’s breath stopped.

  ‘I see you have anticipated me,’ said Eliza with a faint, crooked smile. Her cloaking Glamour melted away in an instant, leaving her youthful and obviously Aylir once more.

  ‘Oh, no…’ whispered Isabel. She rushed to the mirror and stared hard into it, examining every inch of the features which were so familiar to her. Her dark eyes, a little large but perfectly ordinary. Her hair, a comfortable brown shade, curling a little. Her features were attractive enough, but not arresting. It was her face. ‘Is this… is this not…?’

  Eliza sighed. ‘I had to do it,’ she said. ‘You heard your mother downstairs. She has never had much time for anything fae — excepting, of course, the brownies who obligingly keep clean her house. Many agree with her. My mother used the Glamour more and more as she grew older, muting and fading her more remarkable features until she was able to blend in with those around her. And she camouflaged me. Harriet would not recognise me as I am now.’

  Isabel clutched at her own face, as though she could retain it by force of will alone. ‘No. This is me.’

  But as she spoke, her reflection rippled like water and changed. Her hair was not commonplace brown at all, but as rich in hue as chocolate and threaded with gold. Her eyes were burnished jade. Her features were more regular, and somehow more distinct; her cheekbones sharper; her lips more finely sculpted, her nose straighter, her lashes longer. As she stared at heself, Isabel detected a hundred tiny signs, impossible to describe, that these were not human features.

  She did not know when she began to cry; she only became aware that her cheeks were wet and tears were dripping from her jaw. ‘This is not me,’ she said indistinctly. ‘Tell me this is a Glamour.’

  Eliza came up behind her and laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘I am sorry. I have wanted to tell you for so many years, but I did not know how you would react. I did not know if you had inherited Harriet’s opinions about the fae. For a long time, it seemed that you had. All you wanted was an English life! The same life, the same concerns, as all your neighbours.’

  ‘That is still what I want!’ said Isabel fiercely. She turned away from the mirror, dabbing angrily at her tears with the edge of her shawl. ‘When did you begin this charade?’

  ‘Soon after you were born. Your eyes, and your hair! Your Mama noticed. So did your father, and others. They were uneasy. I watched your mother withdraw from you, unsure what she had given birth to; unsure whether she could love you. When I altered those things, fractionally only, they were able to believe that it was but a brief and passing thing, or perhaps some trick of the light. And they accepted you, and loved you as the child they had wanted. Was I wrong to do it?’

  Isabel could not answer that question; not now. ‘Is there nothing of me that is real? Who am I, aunt?’

  ‘You are still Isabel,’ said Eliza quietly. ‘You are who you have always been.’

  ‘I do not know who that is. It seems I have never known.’

  Eliza bowed her head. ‘I will leave you to grow accustomed. Would you prefer it if I were to restore the Glamour?’

  Isabel shook her head blindly. ‘I do not know. It can be of no consequence now.’

  Eliza nodded, and quietly withdrew. Isabel paced the room for some time, gripping her shawl so tightly that her fingers hurt. Nothing that she had ever know
n of herself was the truth! Nothing, nothing. Not even her face was her own. She could not bear to look again in the mirror, for she saw a stranger.

  At length she yielded to the impulse of weariness, and lay down upon the bed. To her surprise, Tafferty uncurled herself and lay down by Isabel’s side. She was warm, and a rumbling purr vibrated her small body. ‘Aye, an’ thou’rt bound t’ struggle wi’ the lot of it fer a time. Yer aunt acted wi’ the best o’ wishes fer thee, but I could wish she ‘ad told thee before now. ‘Tis a shock fer thee.’

  Her companion had never before been so understanding, and her kindness soothed Isabel a little. She tangled her fingers in Tafferty’s fur and closed her eyes, curling up around her catterdandy. ‘I do not know who I am,’ she said in a hollow voice. ‘Miss Ellerby has been naught but a lie.’

  ‘Miss Ellerby, perhaps,’ said Tafferty. ‘But Isabel, now. Thou’rt still she.’

  ‘I do not know who Isabel is, either.’

  ‘Thou wilt,’ said Tafferty simply. ‘In time.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Isabel did not again trouble her aunt to restore the Glamour of her human face. With Tafferty’s assistance, she was able to restore it for herself. She wept as she did so, recognising the artifice that lay in every line of her familiar features. But once the Isabel she knew looked back at her from the looking glass, she dried her tears and returned to Miss Ellerby’s world.

  She was more disturbed than she cared to admit by her aunt’s story. What would have become of her had Eliza not modified her face, when she was newborn? Would her mother have grown accustomed to her daughter’s differences, and accepted her as she was? Or would she have rejected the child? And if so, what would that have meant for Isabel’s life?

  She could hardly imagine that Tilby society — and, even moreso, beyond — would have accepted so obviously fae a child as one of their own. Isabel might have grown up as an outcast, and her family forever looked at askance, as not quite right. So far, at least, she could understand both her mother’s feelings and her aunt’s actions.