Miss Ellerby and the Ferryman (9 page)

His
eyes flicked back to hers, and narrowed. ‘That is a tale fer some
other day,’ he said, after a short pause. ‘I ‘ave told ye enough.
Besides, we shall soon be settin’ ye down in Grenlowe.’

‘It
is a long journey,’ Isabel commented. ‘I have been through twice
before, on the solstice, and it was but a short distance. I thought
that Tilby and Grenlowe were not so very far apart.’

The
Ferryman grinned. ‘Truth be told, they are not. I ‘ave been
indulgin’ in a little mischief, an’ have kept ye aboard longer than
I should ‘ave. We ‘ave been goin’ in circles a while.’

Isabel’s mouth opened in surprise. ‘But why should you do
that?’

‘Because the pleasure o’ talkin’ t’ anyone at all is more’n I
expected ever t’ have again,’ he said, his grin fading. ‘An’ when
my passenger is a pretty maid o’ England, with wit an’ brains an’
more besides, I am loathe t’ let her leave.’ His eyes twinkled at
Isabel, and he laughed at her blush. ‘Fear not, for leave ye shall,
an’ I will not keep ye very much longer. But I will be lookin’
forward to takin’ ye home once again, when ye should be ready t’
return.’ He held out his hand: Isabel saw a tiny silver whistle
nestled in the palm. ‘Take it,’ he urged her. ‘When ye wish t’ go
home, ye must simply blow a tiny toot upon this shiny thing, an’
I’ll be able t’ find ye.’

Isabel took the whistle carefully, and tucked it into her
reticule. ‘Thank you,’ she said cautiously.

He
nodded. ‘I cannot promise not t’ keep ye longer’n I should on that
day, but I will see ye safely home. That I do promise.’

Isabel murmured her thanks. She said no more, for she was
struggling with a variety of feelings, none of which she could
express. The startling realisation that he had, via magics beyond
her comprehension or control, kept her trapped in his boat for
above an hour was no welcome news, for it reminded her how
powerless she was. Could she trust him to keep to his word, and
release her?

And
there was the matter of his compliments. A pretty maid o’ England,
with wit an’ brains an’ more besides. She ought to be offended at
such freely-expressed admiration; these were not the words of a
gentleman, and nor was his manner such. But she was not offended.
On the contrary, the knowledge that her journey was almost at an
end left her feeling curiously dismayed. If he did not choose to
release her just yet, would she be sorry?

Her
mother’s long-ago admonition drifted through her mind. If you are
ever in doubt as to what to say to a gentleman, my love, say
something gracious, and remember your manners. ‘I thank you for
your kind care,’ she said.

‘Aye,’ he said, his frank gaze running over her from her hair
to her boots. ‘Ye are all in one piece, to be sure. I ‘ave not
permitted ye t’ fall over the side.’

Isabel glanced up at his hat, still soaring some way above
their heads. ‘That does not appear to have been a danger, if I may
judge by the behaviour of your hat.’

‘Ye
may, in point o’ fact. Would ye like t’ try it?’

Isabel looked at him, startled. ‘Your hat?’

‘No!
Would ye like t’ fly like my hat, up there?’

Isabel stared up at the silky sail rippling gently in the
breeze. The hat hovered just before it, bobbing in the air like a
feather. For a moment, she was tempted to accept his offer. To fly
like that! Such felicity! Her lips parted on the word yes, but she
left it unspoken. She was no feather. There would be no protecting
her modesty under such circumstances — the winds would play havoc
with her light muslin gown — and it would end with her hair and
attire in such a state of disorder as could not be put to rights
without significant attention. Such a flight was incompatible with
the decorum expected of her; her mother would be shocked that she
could even consider such an offer.

‘I
thank you, but I cannot,’ she said quietly, folding her hands in
her lap.

‘No?
An’ why not, if I may ask?’

Isabel attempted
to explain her reasons, in as few words as possible. She felt an
unsettling degree of embarrassment on recounting them, perhaps from
the realisation that such scruples could only seem absurd to
him.

The
Ferryman looked at her with disbelief, and shook his head. ‘Strange
notions ye ‘ave, in England,’ he said.

She
coloured, and looked away. ‘They are of importance to
us.’

He
bowed gravely, reclaimed his hat, and returned it to his head.
‘Then I’ll not speak further against them. Mind yerself, now, for
we are goin’ t’ land.’

The
mist streamed away as he spoke, leaving a clear vista spread before
Isabel. Aylfenhame looked as wondrous and strange from above as
from below: meadows of bronzed-golden grass covered the ground
almost as far as she could see, melding into a thick, vast forest
to the north. Trees with silvery bark were dotted here and
thereabout, their leaves shining in shades of cerulean, indigo,
sage and moss-green. Colourful birds and enormous butterflies
flitted lazily from tree to tree, wings glinting in the sunlight.
In the midst of all this stood the town of Grenlowe, a haphazard
knot of grey stone-and-wood buildings, riotously thatched and
cheerfully painted. The ferry came down a little way to the south
of the town. As soon as it had ceased to move, the Ferryman vaulted
easily out and offered his hand to Isabel.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured, taking the proffered hand with, she
feared, heightened colour in her cheeks. She managed the descent
gracefully, and curtseyed to her guide. ‘You have been very
kind.’

He
surveyed her frankly, and with scepticism. ‘I ‘ave not been kind,’
he corrected her. ‘I ‘ave merely performed my assigned duty, an’ I
found a way t’ be selfish about it, at that.’

Isabel bowed her head, feeling chastened. ‘My thanks,
nonetheless.’ She hesitated, and added, ‘It was a pleasure to meet
you.’ And it had been, in spite of his directness and his odd
manners. She had met no one even half so interesting in
Tilby.

He
stared at her, and blinked. ‘Was it indeed?’

He
seemed surprised, and Isabel felt uncomfortable. Nonetheless, she
smiled. ‘Very much so.’

The
Ferryman smiled back. An ironic tilt to his lips suggested that he
found something amusing, but she thought that he smiled with real
pleasure. ‘I did not find it entirely displeasin’, my own self,’ he
said with a twinkle, and Isabel’s smile grew. She hesitated. His
tale had afflicted her, for a lonelier life she could scarcely
imagine. She wished to offer more than thanks, but she was
uncertain as to the nature or degree of her acquaintance with him.
Could she properly term him an acquaintance at all?

‘The
house of my friend is not far,’ she said, with some diffidence. ‘It
would please them to meet you, I have no doubt. May I invite you to
call upon us there?’

The
Ferryman merely blinked and stared, his whole expression one of
such surprise that Isabel felt deeply uncomfortable. ‘I am sorry,’
she said quickly. ‘It was presumptuous of me.’

He
opened his mouth, closed it again, and then shook his head. ‘It
was… kind o’ ye,’ he said softly. ‘An’ it’s been many a year since
I was offered kindness.’ He tipped his hat to her and smiled with a
deep warmth. ‘I’d be delighted t’ accept yer offer, only fer the
fact that I can’t.’

‘You
cannot?’ Isabel said with a frown. ‘It is true that we are barely
acquainted, but I assure you—’

He
cut her off with a wave of his hand, his eyes glinting with
amusement. ‘Tis not that. Such niceties are of no matter in
Aylfenhame. I cannot, because of somethin’ in the nature of a
curse. I may not leave the boat.’

It
was Isabel’s turn to stare, aghast. ‘Never?’ she said in a choked
voice. ‘But whyever not?’

The
Ferryman’s amusement faded and his face turned grim. ‘That, as I
‘ave said, is more than I wish t’ share.’

Recalling his earlier words, Isabel surmised that the
circumstances of his becoming a Ferry Keeper and the curse that
kept him from relinquishing the post were the same tale, and she
nodded. ‘Forgive me, it was not my intention to pry. But then…
shall you be bound forever?’

‘Mayhap,’ he said. ‘Most like.’

Isabel thought back to her first excursion into Aylfenhame,
and the peculiar enchantment that had entrapped the princess
Lihyaen. She had been cursed to remain as hostess of the Teapot
Society, a party which never ended, and which no one was ever
permitted to leave — unless someone consented to take her
place.

‘Can
you not be released?’ she ventured. ‘What if someone were to take
your place here?’

He
laughed. ‘I could hardly expect anyone t’ agree t’ that, now could
I?’ he said. ‘For who would be so foolish? An’ there’s the fact
that I ‘ave been gone so long, there’s none as remembers me now.’
He paused, and added, ‘Though there is a way.’

‘What
is it?’ Isabel said eagerly. ‘For truly, if there is some way I can
help you, I will.’

He
looked at her oddly. ‘Ye ‘ave but just met me, an’ ye freely make
such promises?’

Isabel hesitated, taken aback. ‘But of course,’ she said.
‘How can I but feel for such a plight as yours? I am free, and I
will help you.’

His
brows lifted. ‘Ye cannot, I think. ‘Tis my name. It is held
hostage, lost entirely t’ time, an’ I must remain until it is
found.’ Isabel felt a flicker of excitement, for this seemed no
impossible task! But he smiled ruefully and shook his head at her.
‘Tis not so easy as I see ye fancy,’ he cautioned. ‘My name is
long-lost, and well hid. An’ many o’ my memories are gone along
with it. I can remember little that’d be of use t’ ye in yer
search.’

The
words poured from Isabel’s lips without pause to consider. ‘I will
find it,’ she said. ‘I promise it.’ She did not fully understand
why she had made such a profound promise, and to a stranger, but it
felt right to say it.

Something gathered in the air as she spoke; a sense of
pressure, or expectation. The Ferryman’s eyes narrowed. ‘Ye ‘ave
committed yerself,’ he said softly. ‘An’ there is no goin’ back on
it now. I only hope ye may not come t’ regret it.’

Isabel merely curtseyed by way of answer, but as she rose she
found both her hands taken, and lightly squeezed, and then kissed.
She looked up into the Ferryman’s face in surprise, and found him
gazing at her with warm regard.

‘Ye
are fair unusual,’ he said. ‘Did I ever meet such a vast heart as
ye seem t’ possess? I think not.’

Isabel coloured, and looked away. ‘You do me too much honour,
sir,’ she said gravely. ‘Anybody must feel for you, and act as I
have acted.’

He
shook his head, still holding her hands in his own. ‘Tis t’ yer
credit that ye can believe that, but there’s not so much as a
flicker o’ truth in it. That ye must know. Few would even listen t’
my tale — I ‘ave told ye as much already. Fewer still would feel
fer me, and no one else, I think, would ‘ave promised t’
help.’

‘When
I have carried out my promise,’ said Isabel, ‘then you may thank
me, but do not do so too soon! For I am not at all sure of my power
to perform it.’

He
nodded. ‘That’s wise enough, but I do thank ye. Fer carin’.’ He
released her hands and swept her a bow. ‘I’ll be seein’ ye when
ye’re ready t’ return.’

‘Will
you be far away?’

He
shrugged. ‘Who knows? Duty calls, an’ I answer.’

Tafferty growled impatiently and swatted Isabel’s legs with
her lashing tail. ‘Time waits for no one, least of all
thee!’

Isabel nodded, curtseyed to the Ferryman and hastened after
her companion. She looked back, once, to see the Ferryman already
aboard his boat and the craft rising rapidly into the sky; borne,
apparently, on waves of white mist.

‘I
hope you know the way to Sophy’s house,’ Isabel called after
Tafferty. ‘For I am all turned about. I do not know this part of
the town at all.’

Tafferty’s tail lashed. ‘Thou must trust thy companion in all
things,’ she said crossly. ‘That’s the first lesson I must teach
thee.’ She paused, bounded a few more steps away, and then added,
‘Twas a fine piece o’ foolery, that.’