Miss Landon and Aubranael (Tales of Aylfenhame Book 1)

by Charlotte E. English

  As the old stone bridge came into view, Sophy was glad to see that it was empty; no carriages waited to cross the worn stone structure, and there were no other walkers in sight. Stepping lightly into the middle of the bridge, she paused and called, ‘Mr. Balligumph?’

  Almost before she had finished speaking, she heard a familiar low chuckle. ‘Well, Miss Sophy,’ said a rumbling voice from somewhere beneath the bridge. ‘I was beginnin’ to think you was avoidin’ me.’

  An enormous, vividly blue face emerged to peer at her from beneath the bridge. She smiled as the rest of the self-appointed bridge guardian stepped out into the sun. He was much taller than she was; much bigger in every respect, for his eyes were as big as the palms of her hands, and the two tusks that showed around his congenial smile were as long as her forearms. She had no idea how he contrived to fit himself under the Tilby Bridge, which was by no means large enough to accommodate him.

  ‘Good morning!’ Sophy called. ‘I have not been avoiding you; the very notion is absurd, as you well know. Here I am in the flesh, and with another visitor for you!’

  Balligumph turned his enormous golden eyes on Anne, and smiled toothily. ‘Always a pleasure, Miss Daverill.’

  Anne mumbled something that sounded like ‘pleasure’, and inched a little closer to Sophy.

  ‘Aww, now, I’ll not be after hurtin’ ye! I only smitherise them as have ticked me off, an’ no friend o’ Miss Sophy’s has ever been known to do that.’

  ‘Smitherise?’ Anne said faintly.

  ‘Pulverise,’ Balli elaborated, his smile widening. ‘Bash to smithereens, that is. An’ I may as well add, anybody who’s clunch enough to tick off my Sophy is likely to get smitherised likewise, an’ I’ll be happy as can be t’extend tha’ offer to her friends as well.’

  Anne stared at him.

  ‘That is most kind of you, Mr. Balligumph,’ Sophy said. ‘Fortunately there will be no need to smitherise anybody today.’ The look of strangled horror on Anne’s face and the beaming congeniality on Balli’s made her desperately want to laugh, and she had to cough a time or two to cover it up.

  Balli eyed her. ‘Well now, I can’t help noticin’ that ye ain’t exactly empty-handed, Miss Sophy. Is tha’ fer me?’

  Sophy held out the enormous hat box with a sunny smile. ‘It isn’t very likely to do for anyone else, is it?’

  ‘Tha’s what I was thinkin’,’ the troll said smugly, his eyes lighting up at the gift. He took the box from her, taking great care not to crush her small hands with his gigantic ones. He ripped off the lid, threw it casually over his shoulder, and shook out a hat.

  It was a tall hat, a little like Thundigle’s but quite distinct. Where the brownie’s aped the tall, polished, slightly conical hats that the gentry wore, Balligumph’s was shorter, wider and blockier. Moreover, it was earth-brown instead of black. It also had a wider brim, the better to shade his eyes from the sun.

  Sophy had chosen the style with care. I’m no gent, me, Balli had often said. Just a workin’ troll. A hat like Thundigle’s would never have suited or pleased him, but this one matched perfectly with the slightly shabby, city-attorney-crossed-with-a-farmer attire that he chose to affect.

  Balli began to chuckle, his huge chest heaving with laughter as he plonked the hat onto his head. ‘Ain’t you a rare one! I can think o’ nothin’ more perfect.’ He posed for admiration, his messy pale hair sticking out crazily from beneath the brim, his smile larger than ever.

  Sophy applauded, relieved to see that the hat fitted him. ‘You’re a vision,’ she told him, grinning.

  Balli bowed low. ‘Only watch them ladies try t’ resist me now! Won’t be possible, mark my words.’

  Stealing a glance at Anne, Sophy noticed that she looked utterly appalled. ‘He is quite safe,’ she whispered while Balli busied himself with inspecting his new hat. ‘Have you ever heard of Balli harming anyone?’

  ‘No…’ Anne admitted. ‘But he is so big.’

  ‘Well, he can hardly help that,’ said Sophy reasonably. ‘You are a great deal larger than a sparrow; does that mean that you intend to inflict harm upon any that you see? Of course not.’

  Anne did not seem convinced; but just then Balli looked up again. ‘Top notch, this,’ he informed Sophy. ‘Mr. Peck’s work?’

  Sophy nodded.

  ‘Ain’t cheap, then,’ he said bluntly. ‘Ye’ll forgive me fer askin’, for there never was a sunnier nature this side o’ Aylfenhame. How’s a threadbare miss such as yerself come up wi’ a shiny piece such as this?’

  Sophy shook her head. ‘That is an impertinent question which I shall not answer!’

  Balli twinkled at her. ‘Impertinent I may be, but that’s me: the manners of a goat, an’ at least twice the hair. But it would be impolite not t’answer me, now, would it not? An’ you bein’ a proper gentry-miss wouldn’t care to be rude.’ He winked roguishly and Sophy couldn’t help smiling back.

  ‘I bartered for it,’ she said with dignity. ‘The use of my sewing fingers in exchange for some of Mr. Peck’s time.’ And it had taken her many hours of work to earn Balli’s hat, for Mr. Peck—while not unkind—was canny, with an eye to the profit. But she would not tell Balli that.

  Balligumph nodded thoughtfully. ‘It’s that nice o’ ye, I’m minded to make a gift in return,’ he said.

  ‘That is not necessary at all, I assure you,’ Sophy demurred.

  ‘No argument out o’ ye,’ Balli said, waving a fat-fingered hand. ‘I’ll do as I please, and no shrimpin’ scrappit such as the likes o’ ye is goin’ t’ stop me, understand?’

  Sophy suppressed a grin, and curtseyed. ‘Quite understood.’

  ‘Good.’ He eyed her seriously, from the top of her blonde-curled head to the tips of her booted feet, and said abruptly: ‘How’s that old man o’ yours?’

  Sophy blinked. ‘Papa is well enough, thank you.’

  ‘Yes? His health is good?’

  ‘I—well enough,’ Sophy said again, with less certainty. In fact, a lack of exercise in his daily routine combined with an overabundance of rich food had caused a steady deterioration in the Reverend Landon’s health, but she had no wish to own as much.

  She feared that Balli knew that already, however, for he nodded knowingly and tapped one sausage-like finger against his cheek in thought. ‘An’ what o’ ye? Any nice young men comin’ callin’?’

  Sophy flushed, and managed a laugh. ‘No, of course not. Why should there be?’ She had no need to elaborate: at her age, without either money, or connections, or even particularly striking looks to recommend her, her prospects were not bright. When one took into account her lack of musical ability or other accomplishments along with her hopelessness as a housekeeper, well… she had never really expected to wed.

  To her mingled relief and pain, Balli chose not to challenge her on this point. Instead he looked at Anne. ‘Well? Is she tellin’ the truth?’

  Anne looked uncertainly at Sophy and hesitated. ‘I… know of no gentlemen, sir,’ she said.

  Balli nodded. All of his hearty good cheer had vanished; he began to look ready to… well, to smitherise someone. ‘Come back in two days,’ he said abruptly. ‘Just Miss Sophy, if ye don’t mind, Miss Daverill. First o’ May. Don’t be too late, now.’

  Bemused and rather mortified, Sophy quickly agreed. Unsure of how to recover from the awkwardness of Balli’s enquiries, she bid him goodbye and hurried away, Anne following close behind.

  Now, will ye look at that? As fine a woman as any could wish fer, Miss Sophy—a prize fer any chap as has sense. But there ain’t a scrap o’ sense to be found in these parts, for all the young men to pass her over just ‘cause she ain’t rich, an’ her features is perhaps not so well arranged as the imagination might fancy! Crowd o’ great loobies, the lot of ‘em. I had to do somethin’. All the town knew tha’ the silly old Reverend was eatin’ himself to an early grave, an eatin’ her inheritance with it; and what would become o’ my Sophy then? I ‘atched a plan, t
hat’s what I did. Listen some more, an’ I’ll tell ye all about it…

  Chapter Two

  Sophy left her father’s house sharply at one o’clock on the first of May. The two days had passed slowly since Mr. Balligumph’s offer, and she remained none the wiser as to what he had in mind. The sun was strong, the skies blue and the wind fair as she made her way back to the bridge; mindful of the weather and the lack of company, she had chosen to wear her spencer jacket and felt considerably more comfortable for it.

  The fine weather lifted her spirits as she walked, and the breeze cleared her head. She had spent the morning housekeeping, a process which always left her feeling disheartened: for all her efforts and care, she often felt that she created as many problems as she solved, and left more work for Mary and Thundigle to do. But there had been such an excess of work to be done that she had been left with no choice but to do her best. Now, towards the end of a trying morning, a visit to Balligumph was very welcome indeed; he always had a smile and a jest for her, and cheered her considerably.

  Thundigle had retired an hour ago, back to wherever it was that he lived when he wasn’t at the parsonage. She was a little surprised, therefore, to find him waiting for her when she reached the bridge.

  ‘Miss Sophy,’ he said, offering a polite bow. ‘I hope the labours of the day have not left you too fatigued.’

  ‘Not at all, I thank you,’ she said, frowning in puzzlement. ‘What brings you to the bridge today?’

  He opened his black eyes wide in surprise. ‘Why, Mr. Balligumph particularly requested my presence.’

  His manner suggested that the matter ought to be clear to her, which only puzzled her more. But then Balli himself clambered into view and sat weightily down, and she directed a smile at him instead. ‘Mr. Balligumph, I hope I am not too late. There was a great deal of work to be done this morning, as Thundigle will tell you.’

  ‘Not at all, Miss Sophy,’ he rumbled. ‘Yer timin’ could scarcely be better, in fact, as it’s taken me much o’ the mornin’ t’secure this pretty.’ He held up something that twinkled in the sun, and offered it to Sophy.

  She took it a little doubtfully. It was a glass sphere, just big enough to fit into her curled hand. At first she could see nothing remarkable about it—nothing at all to explain why Balli had gone to such lengths to find and present it to her. But as she held it, a spark of light grew in its depths until it began to shine in more colours than Sophy could count.

  ‘Balli… what is this?’

  He winked. ‘A bundle o’ feisty entertainment, Miss. Now, I want you to go a little way yonder—’ he pointed out into the fields—‘an’ let it go. An’ then ye must follow my little chap wherever he goes—don’t let him out o’ your sight! Thundigle will be goin’ along t’mind ye.’

  Sophy’s gaze strayed back to the little ball of shifting light in her hand, and she stared at it, half mesmerised. ‘Let it go?’ she repeated. ‘But I do not wish to let it go.’

  ‘It will be worth yer while to do so, that I promise.’

  Sophy blinked and shook her head, breaking the strange trance. ‘It sounds as though this may take some time, and I have not much to spare this afternoon. I shall come back on the morrow.’ She directed a smile at Balligumph and started to thank him, but the genial troll was shaking his great head.

  ‘Ye must do it today or not at all!’

  Sophy wanted to object; his words made no sense, and her own arrangements seemed considerably more logical. But she would have to trust him. He had never led her astray before, nor would he now. She nodded, and clutched the sphere more tightly, afraid to drop it too soon. ‘Thank you,’ she said with a smile. ‘I am not sure what I am thanking you for, but I am much obliged to you for your kindness.’

  The troll winked and cocked his head in the direction of the fields. ‘Ye’ll soon find out, Missy. Off wi’ ye now.’

  Sophy curtseyed by way of reply, and crossed the bridge. ‘Off after her now, Mr. Thundigle,’ she heard Balli say. ‘An’ mind ye keep up!’

  Thundigle’s quick, light steps came pattering after her. ‘Not too fast, Miss Sophy!’ he called.

  Sophy tried to slow down, but a strange kind of eagerness had seized her as she crossed the bridge and she began to hurry along. Before she could think about dropping the sphere, it jerked itself out of her hands; but it did not fall instantly to the floor, as she might logically expect. Instead it rose up into the air and floated away, streaming light and colour as it went.

  ‘A will-o-the-wyke!’ Sophy realised, her heart beating faster at the thought. All the folk of Tilby knew never to follow a will-o-the-wyke, if one chanced to encounter such a thing, for they were notoriously mischievous and known to lead unwary folk astray. But Balli obviously trusted this one… she stepped quickly after it.

  ‘Slow down just a little, Miss Sophy!’ Thundigle called, and she tried, but her feet had rejected her command and now followed some other purpose. The wind picked up, catching at her clothes and her hair, and the sky clouded over, hiding the golden spring sun. The wisp shone still brighter in response, its colours growing more brilliant in the deepening gloom. When a white mist came rolling in, the wisp shone against the background of thickening fog like a tiny multi-coloured sun. Her heart beating fast with excitement and alarm, Sophy could look at nothing else.

  She heard a stifled curse as Thundigle caught up with her, panting and wheezing, and collided with her legs. He clutched at her skirts as the mist began to clear, revealing a green landscape.

  At first, she noticed nothing amiss. A field of flourishing grain stretched ahead of her; the sun shone overhead in wide blue skies; her nostrils detected the fresh and floral spring fragrances that she loved.

  But as she stood, dazed and blinking, the differences began to intrude themselves upon her notice. The tall, waving crop in the field around her was of no variety that she recognised, and tinged besides with a hint of blue. She inhaled a lungful of air, rich and heady with a pungency of fragrance that made her head spin. A gust of wind brought with it the sound of distant bells; no church bells, these, but a melodic chiming that had never reached her ears before. Even the air tasted rich, like honey on her tongue.

  ‘Mr. Thundigle,’ she said slowly, ‘this is not Tilby.’

  Thundigle was grumbling crossly under his breath, but now he spoke up. ‘How like a troll! A fine trick, to send an unsuspecting human across with only a brownie to guide her steps—and without even a word of warning to the lady beforehand! Without asking her leave! Why, it is so—so very—’

  ‘It is of no particular matter,’ Sophy interjected.

  ‘—so very RUDE!’ Thundigle finished.

  ‘The manners of a goat, and twice the hair,’ Sophy agreed, with a wry smile. ‘He said it himself!’

  Thundigle continued to bristle. ‘Of all the hare-brained, empty-headed, sap-skulled notions to spring on a helpless young lady…’ Thundigle began to stamp in circles, shaking his head and working himself up into a fine rage.

  Sophy put out her hands, alarmed. ‘Stop! There is no harm done; I am sure Mr. Balligumph had a good reason for acting as he has done, though it may not be clear to either of us just yet. And I, dear Thundigle, am hardly helpless.’

  Thundigle subsided, though the sceptical look he bestowed upon her at her closing statement was not entirely flattering. Sophy let this pass.

  ‘What we need to do,’ she said reasonably, ‘is remain calm.’ Her words belied the flutter she was in, for to find herself inexplicably elsewhere, without warning and with no obvious means of return, alarmed her more than a little. She took a few deep breaths to soothe her rapidly beating heart—noticing anew the peculiar fragrance of the air, and the way her head swam under the influence of it—and looked around. ‘I wish Balli had given some idea of what he meant for us to do,’ she added.

  Thundigle occupied himself with straightening his cravat, and said nothing.

  ‘We are in Aylfenhame, are we not?’ Sophy hazarded
. Aylfenhame was the name given to the lands that mirrored the mortal worlds—home of Thundigle’s people, and Balligumph’s, and many another creature from the stories of Sophy’s childhood. Some of its denizens migrated across to the human world, making their homes anew around human hearths (and bridges). Most chose to remain.

  ‘The Faerie realm,’ Thundigle said with a sigh. ‘Yes, ‘tis to Aylfenhame we are come. And don’t you run away being all delighted,’ he added, eyeing Sophy with grave disapproval. ‘Tis perilous, and we must take care.’

  Sophy turned in a circle, shading her eyes from the sun. All around her she saw neatly-tended fields, well-kept hedgerows and, in the distance, a collection of rooftops. ‘Perilous? It looks perfectly harmless to me.’

  ‘That’s the crossing,’ the brownie replied, nodding wisely. ‘The Humanfolk are remarkably good at self-deception; ‘tis a known fact in Faerie. What you are seeing is—mostly—what you expect to see. Fields, farms and so on, yes? That will change.’

  Sophy did not like the sound of this, but she swallowed her disquiet. Balligumph had no logical reason to wish her harm; quite the contrary. So he must intend for something good to happen to her in this place. ‘He has sent you along as my guide, has he not? Then please: by all means, lead on!’

  Thundigle grumbled a little, but he set off in the direction of the rooftops Sophy had seen. Putting aside her fears, Sophy followed.

  She soon realised that Thundigle’s prediction had been perfectly accurate. As they walked, colours shifted in her vision; shapes turned fluid and reformed; the light changed, scents grew stronger and more alien and strange sounds began to reach her ears. Gradually, bit by bit, the pretty fields faded away, the hedgerows disappeared, and Sophy found that she was walking through a meadow of golden grass, peppered with luxuriant, sweet-smelling blooms and buzzing with colourful insects. As they drew nearer to the rooftops, Sophy saw that they were not neat tile, as she had thought, but instead composed of grey wood topped with erratic thatch, the likes of which she had never seen before. A sloping hill stretched away to her left, sparsely dotted with gnarled silver-barked trees with abundant foliage. As the branches swayed in the breeze, she realised that here was the source of the chiming she had heard. Someone had decked the branches which coloured ribbons and dozens of silver-and-gold bells.