Miss Ellerby and the Ferryman (23 page)

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.

‘This… this is food,’ said the Ferryman in a faint
voice.

‘Some
of the best food,’ Isabel agreed with a smile. ‘Made by Mary and
Thundigle, of Sophy’s household. They are very talented.’ Sophy and
Isabel had packed the box themselves, cramming as much into it as
they could manage to fit. There were iced berry pies, moonweed
tarts with marzipan, pastries stuffed with rose apples and drizzled
with syrup, and finally — Sophy’s favourites — cheerful little sun
cakes.