Miss Ellerby and the Ferryman (26 page)

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?

Despite her confusion, she was flattered — and relieved. Her
mother and father could not reproach her upon her return, for in
spite of her absence, matters seemed to be progressing as they
wished.

Dinner was a quiet affair. The young ladies seemed to have
exhausted their effusions about the Piper — or perhaps they had
finally obeyed the hints their mother and father had been
attempting to give them for some time, and let the topic die.
Conversation was kept up primarily between Mr. Thompson and Mrs.
Grey, with occasional contributions by the elder Mr. Thompson, Mrs.
Thompson and Isabel herself. Efforts were made to draw Isabel out
more, and encourage her to talk, but she was not equal to it. Never
a talkative woman by nature, she found the heavy atmosphere of the
dining parlour stifling. She had preferred the earlier unreserve
with which the young ladies of the house had talked. She ate
quietly, listening to all that passed and attempting to persuade
herself that she felt neither ill-at-ease nor bored.

Only
once was she startled out of her quiet composure. When the first
course was removed in favour of a second set of dishes, some mishap
occurred. A young footman bent to set a platter of spiced beef in
gravy near to Isabel’s elbow. By some unlucky chance, he stumbled;
the plate tipped; a measure of red wine sauce descended onto
Isabel’s gown. Seated and unable to move quickly enough to avoid
it, she could only watch in dismay as the gravy left a dark stain
over the beautiful gold silk of her overdress.

The
footman was all apologies and consternation. Isabel did her best to
reassure him, but unsuccessfully. His eyes repeatedly returned to
Mrs. Thompson’s face, and with each passing moment his panic seemed
to grow. Isabel was puzzled and confused by such an overreaction to
a simple accident — and more so when she noticed the storm brewing
in Mrs. Thompson’s face, for it belied the air of geniality she had
hitherto displayed.

It
was clear that the footman would not be lightly forgiven by his
mistress. ‘Oh, such a fine gown!’ cried Miss Helena loudly. ‘Shall
it never be right again? I fear not, for wine, you know, can never
be got out of silk. What a pity! How clumsy! And I am sure it was
worth more than your year’s wages.’ This last was directed at the
footman with a glower of strong disapproval, and the poor young man
redoubled his apologies.

‘It
is but an accident,’ said young Mr. Thompson in a mild tone, for
which Isabel felt gratitude. But the weight of opinion was against
him, and his attempts at restoring harmony went unheard.

Would
the footman be turned off, merely for the accidental ruining of a
mere frock? Isabel could not bear the prospect. Her eyes met her
aunt’s; Mrs. Grey winked at her, almost imperceptibly, and glanced
pointedly at her gown.