Miss Ellerby and the Ferryman (4 page)

But
as she climbed into the carriage and the door was shut upon her,
the creature abruptly darted up, and cast after the departing
vehicle a look which Isabel could only interpret as dismay. This
smote her a little, but she heartened herself with the reflection
that the creature had come to think of her as a source of food, and
now feared that the food as well as Isabel had gone away. Soon
enough Cook, or one of the kitchen maids, would appear with more,
and the creature would be reassured.

Isabel sat back as the carriage began upon the six-hour
journey to York, and tried to put the matter from her mind. It
would not do to trouble herself any more about the little animal,
though it had borne a woeful look about it. After all, she had
ensured that it would be provided for.

Arriving at her aunt’s handsome townhouse at four o’clock,
Isabel was grateful to alight from the sweltering carriage. The day
had been hotter than she liked, and she was sorely in need of
refreshment and rest.

Her
aunt, a sensible woman some few years older than her sister Mrs.
Ellerby, had anticipated such a need and her arrangements were
everything that Isabel could wish. Isabel was directly conducted
upstairs to her bedchamber, where a basin of water and a maid both
awaited her requirements. When Isabel descended the stairs again
some little time later she felt considerably refreshed, and the tea
and tarts which Mrs. Grey immediately ordered laid out in the
parlour were of significant benefit in reviving her further. She
was able to speak to Mrs. Grey with composure, and the first hour
soon passed away as Isabel conveyed all of her family’s
news.

‘Now,
my dear,’ said Mrs. Grey, as Isabel finished recounting Charles’s
wedding plans. ‘I understand something of a most unusual character
has lately occurred.’

Isabel’s heart sank a little. She had hoped that news of the
Alford Assembly could not have travelled so far, considering the
neighbourhood’s reluctance to speak of it. Her mother had not
precisely forbidden her to mention the subject, for that would have
necessitated her raising it herself in the first place. But it had
been tacitly forbidden, and Isabel felt some discomfort under her
aunt’s scrutiny.

For
Mrs. Grey was displaying far more interest in this topic than she
had in every other particle of the news Isabel had already shared.
She was a tall, elegant woman, somewhere above forty years of age;
still handsome, and well-dressed. Isabel had never known her to be
anything less than impeccably groomed and attired, and she was
typically serene of countenance and composed in her manner. But now
she regarded Isabel with an expression of intense interest which
seemed wholly at odds with her usual placid demeanour, and her eyes
were oddly alight.

‘Well, aunt, I scarcely know what to tell you!’ Isabel began.
‘You must know, it is not much to be talked of…’ She allowed her
words to tail off, for Mrs. Grey clearly knew no such thing. ‘How
came you to hear of it, if I may enquire?’ Isabel said
instead.

Mrs.
Grey sat back a little, and tapped the tip of one long finger
against her lips. ‘That would be telling, my dear.’

Isabel regarded her aunt in silent thought. The expression
the older lady now wore was one Isabel had never before seen. It
comprised a degree of interest bordering upon avidity, together
with a hint of smugness and something else harder to classify –
something eager, even rapacious. It was most puzzling.

‘Ayliri, were they not?’ Mrs. Grey offered, apparently tiring
of her niece’s silence. ‘Ayliri! In England! But how came they to
be there?’

Isabel set down her tea cup and took a calming breath. ‘I do
not know,’ she said gravely. ‘No explanation for their presence has
been discovered. They were not expected, of course, and how they
came to be aware that such an assembly was planned, or to feel the
smallest interest in attending so modest an affair, is beyond
anybody’s power to account for.’

Mrs.
Grey leaned forward a little. ‘My dear Isabel. I will not keep you
to this topic for very long, if it troubles you, but I must ask you
to tell me just one thing more.’

Isabel nodded
once.

Mrs.
Grey took a deep breath and let it out slowly, as though she were
trying to calm some tumult of spirit. At last she said: ‘What were
they like?’

Isabel blinked, a little surprised. This had not been the
question she might have expected. ‘Like?’ she repeated. ‘Why, they
were wild and strange, as you may imagine.’

Mrs.
Grey nodded impatiently. ‘That much I do imagine, indeed. It is
details I require. Humour me in this one request, my dear, if you
please.’

Isabel could not resist such an entreaty. With a silent
apology to her mother, she recounted everything that had occurred
at the assembly, from the moment that the music had changed. She
described those melodies as best she could, though words failed her
in the attempt, for it was far too wild and strange to admit of
easy representation in words. Her accounts of the dancers were more
successful, for their curious appearances, the magnificent and
beauteous oddity of their garb and the dizzying strangeness of
their behaviour had lodged themselves in her memory with peculiar
exactness. Mrs. Grey listened to all of these particularities with
breathless eagerness, and did not interrupt by so much as a
syllable while Isabel spoke.

Then
she came to the piper, and that moment when he had seemed to see
Isabel, and she alone, out of all the company. Her voice softened
near to a whisper as she recounted this, for she had been tempted
to omit the incident altogether. But the intensity of her aunt’s
interest urged her on to greater confidences than she might
otherwise have been inclined to offer. She could not begin to
imagine the source of Mrs. Grey’s eagerness to hear of the affair,
but it was evident that it mattered greatly to her. This being the
case, having once begun her account, Isabel could not bring herself
to leave out anything of note.

‘A
piper,’ mused Mrs. Grey, when Isabel at last fell silent. She had
ended with her confusion at waking up at home on the following
morning, with no recollection of having travelled there. But Mrs.
Grey’s thoughts seemed to be fixed upon the piper.

‘He
was the leader, we must assume,’ Mrs. Grey continued. ‘He brought
the dancers to the assembly. The lady with the butterflies. His
consort, perhaps?’

Mrs.
Grey paused, her eyebrows raised. Isabel realised this was a
question, not mere musing on her aunt’s part, but she could only
shake her head. ‘I do not know. I detected no symptom of particular
regard for her, but I cannot say that I received more than
occasional glimpses of either of them during the
evening.’

Mrs.
Grey was silent for some time. Isabel returned to the quiet
contemplation of her tea, allowing her aunt time to indulge in her
reflections. At length, Mrs. Grey opened her lips to say, in a tone
of deep reverie, ‘I once knew a piper.’

Isabel set down her cup. ‘In England, you mean,
aunt?’

Mrs.
Grey’s only response was a considering look which swept over Isabel
from her curled hair to the tips of her shoes. ‘Hmm,’ she said
impenetrably, and sat back in her chair. ‘I thought we might pay a
visit to the library this afternoon. You will wish for some
reading, perhaps, to while away those hours we are not spending in
pursuit of Mr. Thompson.’

Isabel cast a shocked look at her aunt, whose blue eyes
twinkled back at her with irrepressible humour. Managing a laugh,
she protested, ‘We are not in pursuit of Mr. Thompson, I hope! How
lowering a thought.’

Mrs.
Grey’s smile widened. ‘But of course, we are. I have the strictest
instructions from your mother about it. If I do not send you home
avowedly engaged, I shall be declared the wretchedest person
alive.’

‘Wretchedest?’ repeated Isabel faintly.

Mrs.
Grey nodded. ‘Her word. And underlined! Twice!’

Isabel sighed. ‘Aunt—’ she began.

Mrs.
Grey did not wait for her to complete her remonstrance. ‘Do you
wish to marry this Mr. Thompson?’ she said, in a serious
tone.

Isabel hesitated. ‘My mother and father wish it very
much.’

‘That
is not what I asked.’

Isabel looked at her hands. ‘I can have no objection. He is
an agreeable man, not ill-looking, and it will be a suitable
establishment for me.’

Mrs.
Grey sighed softly. ‘How drear it all sounds.’

Isabel cast her a suspicious look. ‘Are these not the reasons
why you married my uncle?’

‘Why,
yes,’ said her aunt. ‘So they were.’

‘And
were you not contented with your choice?’

Mrs.
Grey’s gaze wandered over Isabel’s face, and she said nothing for
several moments. ‘My dear niece,’ she finally said, and softly.
‘All I wish to know is what you want for yourself.’

Isabel stared, bewildered, and tried to recall when she had
ever been asked such a question before. ‘I… I am fully aware of the
importance of seeking a suitable establishment. My fortune is not
such that I can expect to secure the necessities of life without
marrying, and it will be a pleasure to me to please my family as
well as myself.’

Mrs.
Grey’s eyes narrowed. ‘A pretty speech, my love. But is it what you
want?’

Isabel had no answer to give. Gentlewomen were not raised to
think of such questions as wants; or at least, she certainly had
not been. Her duty had been clearly marked out for her since her
birth, and she had never imagined that she might prefer to deviate
from the ascribed course of an arranged marriage, and all the
happiness that a well-chosen alliance could bring. ‘Then… then you
are not in favour of the match?’

‘As
far as my sister is concerned, I am fully in favour of it,’ said
Mrs. Grey. ‘We shall do our appointed duty, and attend all the
necessary social engagements. But I shall not scruple to present
you with alternatives to marriage with Mr. Thompson. I see you
consider this a sacred duty, and one which you have no power to
avoid. That, my love, is taking entirely the wrong view of the
case.’

Isabel sat a little straighter. ‘I am not aware of any
alternatives, ma’am.’

‘Because you have not been given any. And really, the wretched
selfishness of your brother — I could throttle him for it, if I
were not much more inclined to applaud him.’

Isabel blinked at that. ‘Charles is happy,’ she said. ‘I
cannot accuse him of selfishness, in having contracted an
engagement that is so clearly of benefit to himself.’

Mrs. Grey merely
looked at her, and smiled.

‘An
engagement to Mr. Thompson would be of considerable benefit to me!’
Isabel insisted. ‘Mama only has my happiness in view.’

‘That
is a wilful misunderstanding,’ said Mrs. Grey. ‘She has a great
deal more in view than your happiness, as you are well
aware.’

‘Mama
would not wish for me to be unhappy.’

‘No,
indeed. I can acquit her of ruthlessness, but perhaps not of
carelessness.’

Isabel opened her mouth, and closed it again with a short
sigh. ‘This cannot be a proper way of talking, aunt! My poor
Mama.’

‘Not
at all dutiful, is it?’ said Mrs. Grey cheerfully. ‘I have had my
fill of duty, as you will discover before many days have passed.
But I shall not discomfort you further. Let us instead consider all
the many delights we are to enjoy in the coming weeks! What heights
of tea-drinking and small conversations! What promenades! And we
shall talk over every evening engagement exhaustively, upon each
succeeding morning.’

Her
aunt’s sarcastic tone troubled Isabel a little, as to her mind
these delights sounded reassuringly familiar. But she did not say
so. Instead, she nodded her acquiescence to these plans and rose
from her chair. ‘If you will excuse me, aunt—’ she began, but an
interruption unluckily occurred to prevent her immediate
departure.

Mrs.
Grey, inattentive, had rung the bell, and a servant entered the
room immediately afterwards; so promptly that Isabel could not help
suspecting that the girl had been hovering outside the door. ‘Ah,
Jane! Please remove the tray,’ said Mrs. Grey, and the girl
complied at once.

Entering the parlour in her wake was a household brownie. To
Isabel, this was no unusual sight, for it was common enough for
Tilby households to house one or two of the creatures — or more
than that, in some cases. It was not so common in York. Some
speculated that the beings of Aylfenhame disliked the bustle of
human cities, which might very well be true, though Isabel had
never enquired into the matter. Perhaps Sophy would
know.

What
struck her more than the brownie’s appearance was the way in which
the little creature reacted to Isabel’s presence. The brownie was a
female, Isabel judged from the ragged dress she was wearing. Her
hair was a mop of black curls, her eyes wide and dark. Those eyes
were fixed upon Isabel with an arrested expression; so intent was
she in her scrutiny that she stopped in the doorway, her errand
forgotten.

Isabel looked away, confused. Did she present so very odd an
appearance? Discreet examination assured her that there was nothing
amiss with her gown, but perhaps something untoward had happened to
her hair. She caught her aunt’s eye, questioning her with a silent
look as to the respectability of her appearance.