Miss Ellerby and the Ferryman (36 page)

Mr.
Thompson had already claimed her hand for the first dances, and
Isabel knew it was her mother’s wish that they should open the ball
together. She performed this duty with her colour high, for she was
conscious that the attention of all those guests who were not
dancing was fixed upon her — or rather, upon her gown, and the
ornaments in her hair. Such scrutiny might please some women, but
it could not please her, and she was by no means used to it.
Afterwards she was much sought after as a partner, and was not
obliged to sit down for any of the dances. This was more than
merely flattering. It reduced the opportunities her mother’s guests
could find to comment upon her appearance, or question her about
the provenance of her gown.

Her
Mama was clearly delighted with the attention she was attracting.
Isabel thought she was far too inclined to attribute it to her
daughter’s beauty, rather than to the remarkable nature of her
garments. But she trusted it went some way to reconciling her to
the choice of attire, which she had still never
approved.

There
had been much speculation, prior to the beginning of the ball, as
to whether the Piper and his dancers might be disposed to make an
appearance. Considering the outcome of her venture into the Hills,
Isabel thought it to be, of all things, the most unlikely. She
could hardly explain that to her mother’s guests, however. As such,
hopes ran high, unimpeded by mundane probability. Every time the
strains of a violin became particularly prominent in the music, or
some unexplained bustle occurred in some part of the room, there
was a collective sense of excitement, as though it must surely
presage the event they all hoped for. But it never did.

Isabel was glad
of it. Such an occurrence could appear to her mother in no other
light than that of a catastrophe, and she would still be
complaining of it a decade hence.

One
source of discomfort proved both distressingly persistent and sadly
troublesome to Isabel. Mr. Thompson was not contented with opening
the ball with her; he would seek her hand for further dances
throughout the evening, in spite of the clear impropriety of her
standing up with the same gentleman more than twice. Only a
forthcoming engagement could make such particularity respectable,
and the significant manner he thought it appropriate to adopt
whenever he interacted with her led her to feel that a proposal was
imminent. The conspiratorial air she detected whenever her mother
stood talking with Mrs. Thompson only seemed to confirm
it.

Her
reaction to the idea puzzled her, for why should she not welcome
it? She had long since determined that she was not at all
ill-disposed to encourage Mr. Thompson’s suit. Well might her
mother expect him to offer, and her to accept, for she had never
expressed any disapprobation for the idea. Not out loud, and not
even to her own self. She wanted a home of her own, respectability,
and a family. All of these, Mr. Thompson could surely
provide.

Where, then, had her disinclination come from? She was
surprised at herself, and vexed; for to decide only at the last
moment that she did not wish for a proposal of marriage was poor
timing indeed. And she had encouraged him — or at least, she had
not actively discouraged him, which amounted to the same
thing.

The moment came.
In between one dance and the next, Mr. Thompson approached, smiling
in a manner both familiar and affectionate. He took her hand and
bowed over it.

‘May
I request the favour of a moment’s audience with you?’ he said in a
soft voice.

Isabel sighed inwardly, unable to think of a reason to
decline. She murmured her assent, and he led her to an alcove and
took a seat beside her.

The proposal was
quietly and properly made, for which she gave him all due credit;
at least he had not postured and made wild professions of love. But
his manner was so collected that her puzzlement increased, and at
first she made no reply at all, merely examining his face for some
sign as to his intent. She saw none.

‘Why
is it that you wish to marry me?’ she said at last. The question
emerged in a blunter fashion than she had intended, and she
coloured a little, but she lifted her chin and awaited his response
in silence.

His
smile turned quizzical. ‘Any man would wish to marry you,’ he said,
with more gallantry than truth. ‘You are a young woman of sense,
intelligence and beauty, and of a good family—’

‘The
real reason, if you please,’ she said, cutting him off without
compunction. ‘I understand perfectly why my mother and father are
in favour of the match, but I do not at all comprehend why yours
should be. Or why you would consent to go along with the plan. Your
family is far beyond mine, in terms of fortune and connections; and
for all your compliments just now, you are not in love with
me.’

He
winced at her uncompromising speech, but she did not care. It was a
relief to her to speak nothing but the plain truth, at long
last.

To
his credit, he made no further attempts to persuade her of
affection he clearly did not feel. Instead, to her confusion, he
gestured at her gown. ‘I had thought that your appearance this
evening indicated your perfect understanding of the
case.’

Isabel glanced down at her gown in surprise. ‘I am afraid it
does not, sir. I have no notion as to what you are
referring.’

His
brows went up. ‘Do not you? Is it not true that your family bears
some hereditary connection to the Ayliri of Aylfenhame?’

Isabel stared at him, for some moments unable to speak for
surprise. ‘I beg your pardon?’ she managed at last.

‘Our
mothers were at school together, were not they? And your mother
once confided as much to mine.’

‘Nothing would surprise me more! For Mama has always viewed
those connections as deplorable.’

Mr.
Thompson spread his hands in a helpless gesture. ‘That I cannot
explain. I gather only that there was some family trouble occurring
because of it at that time, and she found some comfort in talking
to my mother.’

Perhaps he referred to some action of Eliza’s. She had no
time to give the matter further consideration, as he hurried on. ‘I
take it that it is indeed the truth! Then you can require no other
explanation.’

‘I am
afraid I do, sir! Can you truly be seeking my Ayliri connections?
Why would you do so?’ The idea puzzled her exceedingly, accustomed
as she was to her mother’s mild but persistent distaste for all
things Aylfenhame — and Eliza’s long habit of concealing all trace
of it, both in herself and Isabel.

By
way of answer, Mr. Thompson reached out and gently touched the
fragile wings of the butterfly at Isabel’s throat. ‘Because of
marvels such as this. Who would not wish to have such wonders at
their disposal?’

Isabel was silenced. The sheer strangeness of being sought
out because of her Ayliri heritage, instead of being shunned for
it, left her with nothing to say. Not least because she could not
immediately decide how she felt about it. Was it somehow worse to
be sought for her witch heritage, than for her inheritance or her
beauty? Many a marriage had been arranged because of the desirable,
preferably noble, family lineage of one or both parties; it was
merely unusual for Ayliri lineage to be considered worth
chasing.

Nonetheless, she felt peculiarly displeased. Perhaps her
illusions of good sense had been baseless after all; she had been
foolish enough to imagine that some part of his family’s interest
in her had been on more personal grounds. Perhaps she had even
hoped that he himself sought her for reasons particular to herself
as an individual, whether he was in love with her or not. It was
pleasant, in some ways, for the heritage she had viewed with such
suspicion to be sought after and revered, rather than condemned.
But overall she felt reduced by his explanation; reduced to naught
but an accident of birth.

She
also felt not the smallest desire to accept his proposal — however
congenial he may be, and however respectable and luxurious was the
home he could offer her. To her surprise and dismay, visions of the
delights of life as Mrs. Thompson faded rapidly in favour of the
Ferryman’s face, and he was all she could think of.

She
was prevented from answering, as she wished promptly to do, by some
commotion spreading rapidly through the room. A buzz of excitement
began with it, and for a shocked instant Isabel wondered — feared?
— that Lyrriant had chosen to attend the ball at Ferndeane after
all. But an instant’s reflection reassured her on that point, for
the music was unchanged, and soon it stopped altogether.

She
stood up, murmuring some abstracted courtesy to Mr. Thompson as she
did so. It was the work of a minute or two to weave through the
chattering crowds. The scene that met her wondering eyes brought
her to an instant halt, and she stared.

The
Ferndeane Ball had indeed received a number of uninvited guests,
but they were not Lyrriant and his companions. Isabel was
astonished to perceive Mr. Balligumph ducking his head to fit
through the doorway. He had abandoned the blanket and cap he had
been wearing last time Isabel had seen him, and was attired once
more in his usual trousers, waistcoat, boots and tall hat. On one
shoulder he carried Tafferty; ensconced upon the other was
Tiltager.

‘I am
lookin’ fer Miss Ellerby,’ he bellowed, causing an immediate stir
as everybody in the room tried to point out her probable location
at once. In their eagerness to assist — and perhaps to get the
noisy troll out of their ball room again — they impeded Isabel’s
attempts to present herself, and she found herself engulfed in a
wave of humanity which must utterly conceal her from Balligumph. To
her surprise, she found her arm taken by Mr. Thompson, who pushed
his way to the front of the room without the compunction Isabel
would have felt in doing so, and drew her after him.

‘Here
she is,’ he said, with a bow. ‘I imagine there must be some
important matter at hand?’

Balligumph tipped his hat to Isabel, but before he could say
another word Tiltager spoke up, clearly agitated. ‘Mistress! They
are going to the place to do bad things to it!’

Isabel smiled up at Tiltager in a manner she hoped was
calming. ‘Who are going, Tiltager, and where?’

‘Lyrriant!’ she proclaimed.

‘They
are plannin’ t’ burn it,’ added Tafferty.

‘Best
make haste, my lass, if ye wish to search it before they has chance
to destroy the lot,’ said Balligumph.

Putting these disparate pieces of information together,
Isabel arrived at the conclusion that Lyrriant’s people had decided
to go to the Kostigern’s former residence after all — with the
express intention of ensuring that no one else ever would again.
‘How is it that you know?’ she said quickly.

‘I
went back,’ said Tiltager. ‘They did not see Small Me! And I heard.
And then I came back.’

‘She
knew not where to find ye, but she found me quick enough.’
Balligumph’s face was unusually grim as he spoke, with no trace of
his amiable smile. ‘Ye’ve still time to catch up wi’ them, if ye
can be fast.’

‘I am
coming this moment,’ said Isabel at once.

‘And
I shall also go,’ said Eliza. She came up beside Isabel, and
together they all but ran from the room and out of the front door
of Ferndeane. None tried to impede them, and their progress was as
rapid even as Isabel could wish. She was aware, however, that more
than a few of the ball guests followed along behind.

It
was only once she was outside in the driveway that she realised she
did not have her reticule with her. She was obliged to turn about,
but the crowd had closed in behind her. ‘Pray excuse me!’ she
cried, exasperated and half-despairing.

‘MOVE
yerselves out o’ the way, my fine ladies an’ gents,’ hollered
Balligumph. ‘Tis a matter o’ grave importance to the young lady!
There we go! Very good, now.’ The mighty troll did not stop at
words; he used his great arms and hands to push people aside,
gently but firmly, in order to clear a path. Isabel instantly took
advantage of it, caring nothing either for the grumbles of
discontent or the excited speculation that she heard taking place
among those she passed. She darted upstairs to her bedroom, where
she snatched up her reticule. Abandoning propriety and dignity
both, she picked up her skirts in her hands, drawing them out of
the way of her feet, and ran downstairs.