The fetch’s eyes focused upon Bess, and she said, ‘I would make a friend of you, Bessie Bell.’
‘Would you, now? Why might that be?’
‘For reasons of my own.’
Bessie shook her head. ‘I made some show of seekin’ rather more from the Goblin King than charity, but we seem to be droppin’ pretences all around, so I’ll tell you straight. As long as yer purpose is to cause him some manner of harm, then we cannot be friends.’ She looked down at the vision of Grunewald, slumped in an oversized armchair. The pose struck her as dejected, which stirred a little pity in her. ‘If it were not for that, I wouldn’t say as it would be so hard for us to find some common ground.’
She could not imagine what she had said in that to cause offence or to invoke suspicion, but she seemed to have done both. The fetch sat up, and growled something inaudible. ‘You are here for him, then?’ she said coldly. ‘Not for your own advantage, and certainly not for mine.’
‘I never made any pretence of bein’ here for yours.’
The fetch said nothing more, and after a moment Bessie quietly withdrew. The conversation had given her much to consider, though it had shed little real light. But Bessie now felt, that if she could only bring about some honest communication between brother and sister, much may be done.
But she had never met two such stubborn characters in her life. How could she possibly coax them to talk, when they seemed so irrevocably set against one another?
She was tired, but one task remained before she could rest. She summoned Derri, and had the little brownie pen a note to Mrs. Aylfendeane.
'Tis my belief that the fetch is after her brother's throne, right enough, but how she means to bring that about I cannot discover. She ain't looking for her human family at the ball, at any rate. Grunewald says as the blood sorcerers are here to take a drop or two from him, but I doubt it, for she ain't a bit doubtful that he is her brother, and nor is anyone else like to be. No, it's something else. Someone important is meant to show up tomorrow, and the fetch has all her hopes pinned upon it. I plan to get in the way of her project, as I doubt not that it's something shady.
Please to bring plenty of useful friends tomorrow night. I'm thinking I will need the help.
This she dispatched to Somerdale by way of Drig, knowing that it would find its way into Grunewald's hands before the morning. Then she sternly sent herself to bed. She would need her slumber, for the morrow promised to be a demanding day.
She could not sleep. Bess had never been disposed to worry, but the predicament she now found herself in was somewhat out of the ordinary way. She had taken it upon herself to champion Grunewald's interests, and she had done her best. Nor had her efforts been futile; they knew much more about the fetch's doings and plans for Bessie's interference than they could otherwise have hoped to discover, and perhaps it would be enough to allow them to counter whatever scheme she had in mind.
But that perhaps haunted Bessie's mind as she lay in the darkness. Perhaps! For all her efforts, maybe was the best that she had managed to accomplish. She pictured Grunewald, deposed and forced to bow to his resentful sister. Injured? Perhaps even killed…
At length she was obliged to read herself a grim lecture. She would be of no use at all to Grunewald if she was worn out with lack of sleep before the ball even began, and what a wretched little cabbage she was being to so fret herself!
Having suitably cowed herself into submission, she slept.
And the day of the ball dawned.
The fetch woke earlier even than Bessie, and proceeded to embark upon the day in a high fever of anticipation; all her melancholy of the night before seemed forgotten. No debutante fresh from the school-room had ever looked forward to her first appearance with such an inexhaustible zeal, and Bess could hardly account for it. She did not suppose that the ordinary pleasures of a ball could in any way interest her hostess, let alone to such an extent. What, then, was she expecting to occur that could raise her spirits so high, and send her flying about the house in such a bustle of energy?
Drig and Derri shed some little light upon this question some way through the morning, when they contrived to appear in Bessie’s room. She had been downstairs since an early hour, endeavouring to engage Grunewald's sister in conversation; for she had every intention of carrying out Grunewald’s request, if she could. But every attempt was defeated, for her quarry barely consented to remain still for more than three minutes together. What she could find to so occupy her, Bess could not imagine.
At last she retired to her room, for some quiet reflection as to her plans for the ball. But she had not been returned more than five minutes before Derri crept out of the cold fireplace, and Drig sidled after her.
‘We cannot stay long,’ whispered Derri. ‘We shall be suspected, if we are discovered here.’
‘Or if we are long missed,’ agreed Drig. ‘All is bustle and chaos below, as you may imagine.’
Bess knew well the burdens shouldered by the servants upon the day of a grand ball, and this one was to be grander than most. On such days at Hapworth Manor, she had often been obliged to rise two hours early, and had not been able to seek her bed until long past midnight. ‘I shan’t keep you,’ she agreed. ‘What have you to tell me?’
‘Mrs. Torig has had word,’ said Derri. ‘She is to expect several additions to the family party by tonight, and rooms are to be prepared.’
Mrs. Torig was the housekeeper. Bessie’s fairy ointment informed her that the elderly, grey-haired lady with her soft-spoken ways was in fact a goblin, in all likelihood much more aged even than her human appearance suggested. She was a competent housekeeper and, Bessie believed, entirely loyal to Grunewald.
And she was to prepare rooms. That information was of interest to Bess. She had wondered before, whether Grunewald’s sister had taken possession of Hyde Place purely in order to host the ball, and might afterwards relinquish it. But if she was fixing to entertain guests there, that seemed less likely.
‘Is it known who these additions are to be?’ Bessie asked.
Derri shook her head.
‘Old friends,’ said Drig. ‘That is all I’ve been told. It is all that anyone yet knows, I think.’
‘How many?’
Drig shrugged. ‘Every room in the house not presently in use is to be prepared.’
That chilled Bessie a little, for it was a large house, and comprised a great many chambers. ‘That had best be sent off to Balligumph,’ she said. ‘But I don’t suppose either of you can get away?’
‘I’ll send a wisp,’ Drig said.
‘Good. I have little to report, meself, for she’s as busy as a swarm of bees all by her own self. I cannot pin her down to any conversation.’
‘We are having the same problem, with the servants,’ said Drig. ‘It’s no matter. Keep your ears open, and be careful of yourself.’
Bessie could only agree to this, and Derri and Drig took their leave once more. Bess was left to her reflections, which were not much furthered by the news her friends had brought.
Well, an’ so the day came o’ the grand ball! By that time ‘twas all but certain wha’ the fetch was up to – leastwise in the matter o’ Tatterfoal. I reckon it all but certain, too, tha’ she had a mind t’ unseat her brother from the Goblin Throne, an’ was fixin’ to wake some o’ her associates of old. She would need help to overthrow Grunewald, no mistake. He likes t’ affect the appearance of a bored an’ useless gent, but he ain’t nothin’ of the sort. None crosses the Goblin King lightly.
Whether she found them as she was lookin' t' wake, thas another question. I reckon she had, in point o’ fact. Two o’ the goblin servants at Hyde Place – them as Drig an’ Derri encountered – were not long out o’ the Torpor by then, or so I reckoned. An’ thas what I made o’ the news they brung. All those rooms to be prepared? The fetch was mighty certain of havin’ a deal o’ folk t’ entertain. The ball was like to be a memorable occasion – an’ mayhap a dangerous one. I made sur
e o’ havin’ as many o’ my own folk attendin’ as possible.
Bessie wandered the house once more, late in the day, but to no avail; not a glimpse of Grunewald’s sister did she catch. But when she returned to her room, she found that all was not quite as she had left it.
Laid out upon the bed was a fine ball gown. It was a deep purple in colour, a hue which Bessie found thoroughly agreeable, but in its fashion and construction it was odd indeed. It barely conformed to the prevailing fashions, insofar as it featured a high waist, a narrow skirt and short, puffed sleeves. In every other respect, it was different indeed. An overdress of purple silk floated over layers of dreamy, whisper-thin gossamer; the former was made from something reminiscent of butterfly wings, if such a thing could be possible, and the latter looked like the winds caught down and spun into gauze. The neckline – cut almost immodestly low – was adorned with gems that did not precisely resemble garnets, or rubies, or amethysts, but some hitherto unseen combination of the three. As Bessie drew closer to the lovely thing, she discovered that it even smelled delightful; an aroma hung in the air around it that she could not place, but it teased her nostrils with something dark and rich and seductive. An evening shawl of cloudy, silver-stitched gauze was laid next to it, and a pair of dark purple, silken slippers rested at the foot of the bed.
Bessie was very well pleased. She had nothing with her that would fit her for the ball, and had supposed that she must wear her own, ordinary gown and suffer it to be Glamoured. This was much better! She donned the luxurious garment with unabashed pleasure, revelling in the sensation of silk and gossamer against her skin, and the way the skirts whispered when she moved.
There was naught to be done with her hair. No lady’s maid resided at Hyde Place, as Grunewald had no need of one; and Bessie, of course, had never had cause to learn the trick of arranging her own hair after the fashion of refined ladies. She merely caught it up loosely and pinned it, using an array of delicate silver pins she had discovered within her dressing-table. It was not fashionable, but her face and form were to be altered by Glamour, and so it could hardly signify.
But the hour of the ball approached, and Bessie saw no sign of the fetch. Nor did anyone else arrive to adjust Bess’s appearance. The wan daylight faded, and chill night closed in; wandering the upper floors, Bessie felt grateful for the gauzy shawl, which proved to be more warming than it had any right to be.
When carriages began to arrive at the house and the great doors were thrown open to admit the first guests, she realised with a thrill of horror that she was expected to present herself as she was.
But not, apparently, just yet. She watched from the top of the great stairs, concealed from the sight of those arriving below, as the-fetch-as-Grunewald — but just emerged from wherever she had concealed herself – stepped forward to welcome her guests. There ought rightly to have been a lady of the house to perform this duty, but the fetch was either unaware of the convention or cared nothing for it. Mr. Green's reputation for eccentricity would be considerably enhanced by the close of the evening.
Bessie was pleased to observe that the Aylfendeanes were among the first to arrive, together with Sophy and Aubranael. There was no sign of Grunewald; if he still intended to come, he had chosen to appear separately from his friends.
More families arrived in a steady stream of guests. When there came, at last, a brief lull, the fetch looked unerringly up at Bessie.
Bess returned the bright, leaf-green gaze stolen from Grunewald, and made no move.
The fetch bounded up the stairs and stopped before Bessie. ‘Will you not come down?’
‘I am not ready.’
The fetch looked Bessie over, focusing in particular on the gown. ‘You appear fully equipped to me.’
Bessie pointed at her face. ‘All exceptin’ that. Thank you for the gown, by the by.’
She received in response a dazzling smile, and a bow. ‘What could possibly be considered amiss with your face?’
‘The fact that it remains me own face, and no Glamour.’
‘It is as serviceable a face as any I ever saw. Are you ashamed of it?’
‘No!’ said Bessie. ‘But I have no right to be here, as meself. My former masters are attendin’, are they not?’
The smile widened. ‘You forget, Bess,’ said the fetch in a low, purring tone. ‘These fine folk are entering my world now, and the rules are made by me.’
Bess could not but admire the towering confidence of this attitude, but nor could she help feeling some scepticism as to its effectiveness with the cream of Lincolnshire society: gentry and aristocrats all, and well-used to ruling in their turn. Her opinion showed upon her face, perhaps, for the fetch let her satisfied smile fade into a frown.
But rather than turning autocratic, as Bess might have expected, and ordering her compliance, the fetch hesitated, and then said with all apparent sincerity: ‘I need you present, Elisabeth Bell, and as yourself.’
It was an entreaty, an honest entreaty, and it surprised Bessie into speechlessness. At length she was able to say: ‘But why?’
The fetch frowned more deeply. ‘I know you are here for my brother, and I admire your loyalty to him. I do, though I think it sadly misplaced! But you are the only person in this house with whom I bear any real kinship. You alone can understand…’ She left the sentence unfinished, shaking her head with a show of impatience and frustration. ‘Will you oblige me? I swear that it will in no way harm you to obey.’
‘I cannot understand you,’ Bessie said frankly. ‘How can I be said to bear any kinship wi' you? More so than your own brother?’
‘It is a kinship of – of background and situation. Of circumstance.’
‘You are no servant.’
The fetch merely smiled, rather wistfully. ‘No. I was never that.’
Bessie shook her head in frustration. ‘I need to know more, if I am to risk meself for your benefit.’
The fetch did not seem disinclined to confide further; she opened her mouth, and seemed about to speak. But a bustle went up below, a bustle of arrival. Glancing down, Bessie saw that the Adair family had entered the hall, with all the pomp and noise that could suit their consequence. The time for quiet conversation had clearly passed.
The fetch shut her mouth with a snap, an expression of acute irritation passing over her borrowed face. ‘I swear it shall not harm you!’ she said again. ‘Remember: this is my world.’
With these words she was gone, bounding away down the stairs to return to her duties as host. Bessie was left to consider these inexplicable words as best she could, and to decide, if she could, whether or not to comply with the fetch’s request.
The decision was soon made. She could not help but fear the consequences of being recognised, by the very people who now occupied the hall below. But she would not cower in her chamber; to do so would be to agree with their categorisation of her as worthless. If the house’s present host bid her welcome, then she had as much right to attend the ball as the Adair family, or any other.
Bess descended the stairs.
The shock, as she reached the hall and stepped into the Adairs’ field of vision, was mutual.
On their side, it was the inexplicable surprise of recognising their erstwhile maid, dressed in magical finery and attending a society ball. Not that the elder Mr. Adair – nor, Bessie thought, his daughter – saw in the well-dressed, faintly fae-looking woman before them their former servant; she did not think either paid enough attention to their staff for that. But that Mrs. Adair realised Bessie’s identity, she could have no doubt from the arrogant, cold stare she received.
And the younger Mr. Adair certainly knew her.
But Bessie’s shock was, if anything, greater than theirs. For the fairy ointment that still anointed her left eye revealed something about the family which she could not possibly have predicted.
They were not all fully human.
No sign of other heritage was visible in the features of Mrs. Adair; nor,
interestingly, in either of her two children. There, Bessie thought, lay a scandal for another day. But the head of the family was quite another matter. In Bess’s right eye, he appeared to be of perhaps fifty years of age, grey-haired and dignified in the manner of wealthy middle-aged human gentleman. But in Bessie’s left eye, he was fully Ayliri: tall and unbowed by age, his hair not grey but pale blond, his ears tapered and curling at the tips. It amused Bessie to recall her own lies to the fetch about the Adair family, and to realise that while the details of her fabrications may have been false, the substance was not.
Furthermore, when the fetch moved to greet him, she received the distinct impression that Grunewald’s sister was surprised by what she saw – but not as Bessie would expect. She was… displeased. Something that she saw in Mr. Adair disappointed her expectations.
The younger Mr. Adair spoke. ‘You have been imposed upon, Green,’ he said, with sneering arrogance. ‘That is no lady.’
‘You have not engaged yourself to her, I do hope,’ added Mrs. Adair, withdrawing her gaze from Bessie as though she might be contaminated by eye contact.
They received in response a stare so icy, so replete with all the disdainful superiority of long ages lived, of royal goblin blood, and of powers unknowable, that even the arrogance of Edward Adair shrank beneath it.
‘How impertinent,’ said the fetch at length, with a sharp, malicious smile. The fetch-as-Grunewald offered an arm to Bessie, who took it with a smile.
Mrs. Adair turned upon her heel. ‘I will not stay an instant longer,’ she announced.
‘Ah,’ said the fetch gently. ‘I am afraid I cannot permit you to leave.’
Mrs. Adair ignored this and marched on towards the great doors without slowing her step one whit. Her children followed, Miss Adair spinning with a display of graceful indignation which Bessie could not but admire, whatever the ill-will that lay behind it. Their father, however, did not move.
Bessie Bell and the Goblin King Page 21