Miss Ellerby and the Ferryman (29 page)

‘I
agree. I think the Chronicler knows a great deal more than he has
recorded in these scrolls.’

‘Then
we must find him. He may, perhaps, know the Ferryman’s name
himself, in which case our task is complete. And if
not…’

‘If
not,’ said Eliza, ‘then we must make him tell us where to seek the
Kostigern. And then, my love, we must have courage enough to follow
the trail. Have we, do you think?’

Isabel could not but hesitate. To return to Aylfenhame so
soon, and with such a quest! To seek the Kostigern’s domain must be
to venture into the darkest, wildest and most dangerous parts of
the realm, for she could hardly suppose such a person to have lived
in a charming house in a town such as Grenlowe, or
Avarindle.

‘We
must make the attempt,’ she said, concealing her sinking heart as
best she could. She was a little heartened by her aunt’s manner of
speaking, for she had said we.

Eliza
beamed. ‘Yes, I believe we must! I confess, I am ready for an
adventure. I have had peace and tranquillity enough to last me full
a lifetime.’

Isabel did not feel nearly so ready, but she left those
thoughts unvoiced. Courage enough.
She
could have courage. The journey would not, in all likelihood, take
very long.

‘But
my mother and father!’ she cried, struck by a recollection of their
inevitable disapproval of the plan. ‘How may it be kept from
them?’

Eliza
looked strangely at her. ‘Must it be?’

‘They
will be certain to forbid it.’

‘I
imagine it very likely.’

Isabel stared. ‘You do not mean that I should directly
disobey them?’

‘Sometimes,’ said Eliza with a strange smile, ‘the very best
things in life come about when one misbehaves. Just a very
little.’

To
leave her father’s house without his approval, venture into the
depths of Aylfenhame with no companion save her aunt and all in
order to go in search of the greatest villain in the history of the
fae realm did not strike Isabel as misbehaving a very little at
all. She stared at her aunt in consternation. ‘They will condemn
me, utterly. Society will condemn me. My father may cast me out
entirely.’

‘He
will not cast you out,’ said Eliza scornfully. ‘And some tale may
be concocted to explain your absence as far as Society is
concerned.’ Isabel was not convinced. Her dismay must have been
clearly visible upon her face, for her aunt continued, ‘Will you
permit two things?’

‘What
are they?’

‘Firstly, to consult Mr. Balligumph. He is a person of
information, and may be able to shed some light on the questions we
are grappling with.’

Isabel inclined her head. ‘I can have no objection to
that.’

‘Secondly, to talk to your mother and father about our
venture.’

‘Certainly not!’

Eliza
reached across the table and grasped Isabel’s hand. ‘Truly, Isabel,
you might trust me in this. They may surprise you. And I will
support you in everything! Can you doubt it?’

‘I do
not doubt you at all,’ Isabel said in confusion.

‘I
say again, your mother and father may surprise you.’

Isabel said nothing. Eliza released her hand, and sat back
with a sigh. ‘We may begin with Mr. Balligumph,
regardless.’

Her
manner was expressive of disappointment, and Isabel endured a stab
of guilt — and shame, in herself. But her father! Eliza may choose
to disdain a parental influence she would not feel, but Isabel
could not lightly do so.

‘I am
always happy to see Mr. Balligumph,’ she said quietly. ‘Will you,
then, accompany me home?’

Eliza
grinned, and touched her coronet again. ‘I believe I
will.’

Isabel looked long at her aunt. She was astonished, not
merely by the peculiarity of seeing a much younger woman seated
opposite, but also by the perfection of the Glamour. Nothing was
out of place, nothing amiss; Isabel could swear that the person
sitting opposite was Eliza as she was meant to appear. Her powers
of Glamour far outstripped Isabel’s own! Her aptitude rivalled that
of Hidenory and the Goblin King, both of whose Glamours had
deceived Isabel in the past.

‘Shall you come with me as your own self?’

Eliza
raised an eyebrow. ‘My real self? No. I do not think that I
will.’

Isabel nodded, but with doubt. There was a glint in her
aunt’s eye which suggested some hidden meaning to her words.
‘Aunt,’ Isabel said slowly, as a strange thought occurred to her.
‘Which one of these visions is your real self?’

Eliza
laughed delightedly. ‘You have a bright mind, my dearest girl. It
is an intriguing question, is it not? Which of my utterly
convincing selves is the true one?’

‘Surely, it must be the one that I know.’ Isabel hesitated.
‘Otherwise —’

‘Because the one that you know shows the appropriate signs of
age? That would make the most sense, would it not?’

‘Are…
are the Ayliri particularly long-lived?’

Eliza
smiled. ‘Very good. Given everything that we have read, I believe
we must assume that they are.’

‘In
that case —’ Isabel could not finish her sentence, and left the
rest unsaid.

‘In
that case, Aylir blood does have the effect of lengthening one’s
lifespan.’ She smiled, and touched her lustrous, curling hair. ‘We
are nowhere near so long-lived as one of pure blood,
naturally.’

Isabel
stared.

‘I
was obliged to manufacture the process of aging,’ Eliza continued.
‘Or my youthfulness would certainly have aroused comment and
speculation by now.’

‘But
then —’

‘Yes,
you too must expect to experience aging at an unusually slow rate.’
Her amusement faded, and she leaned forward, speaking in an earnest
tone. ‘My dear Isabel. I have not been urging you out of an idle
desire to see you succeed in Aylfenhame where I did not. There are
aspects of your blood which will make it very difficult for you to
lead a normal life in England. It may be done, through use of the
Glamour and your other powers. But it will not be easy for you to
conceal the fact that you do not age as you should — not from your
husband, nor from your children.’

Isabel absorbed this news in silence. At first thought, the
idea that her youth would be prolonged was delightful. Who truly
wished to leave their liveliest years behind after a mere decade or
two?

But she did not
need her aunt to raise the idea of her future husband and children.
Thither her thoughts had instantly flown. How long would she live?
And how far would she outlive those she would love the
most?

Eliza
saw the pain in her face, and took her hand once more. ‘I am sorry,
Isa. I have been trying for weeks to find a gentle way to break it
to you, and I think I have not succeeded. But it was important for
you to know.’

Important to know before she accepted a proposal from Mr.
Thompson. Yes. ‘Did Mr. Grey never know?’

Eliza
shook her head. ‘I never told him. I wanted to, but he was… a
creature of convention. He would not have understood.’

Isabel sighed. If
she decided to marry, should she expect to tell her husband of her
heritage, and its connotations? Or try to keep it a secret, as her
aunt had done?

‘I
have given you much to think about,’ Eliza said. ‘Know this: If it
is your decision to stay, and it is of all things most likely to
make you happy, then it may be managed. I am proof of that. But you
must bear in mind the difficulties.’

The
difficulties worked both ways, Isabel thought with a little
sourness. She was too long-lived for an English husband, and
presumably too short-lived for an Aylir one. Her mind reeled. In
mere weeks, she had gone from an Englishwoman of modest prosperity
and prospects to a part-Aylir witch of unusually long life. Where
was she now? Who was the real Isabel, in the midst of these
mismatched things?

Eliza
squeezed her hand and stood up. ‘We are bidden to the Thompsons
this evening. It is the last time we will encounter them here, but
I believe it is your mother’s intention to invite the family to a
ball at Ferndeane soon.’

‘Indeed, Mama wrote to me of it. Do we depart for Tilby
tomorrow?’

‘If
that is agreeable to you.’

It was, and it
was not. Isabel longed for the familiarity and the comforts of
home, but it would be the first meeting with her parents since the
whole truth of her heritage had burst upon her. She felt utterly,
irrevocably changed. How would she contrive to behave as though she
was the same Isabel she had been when last at Ferndeane?

Chapter Fifteen

While
Miss Isabel was swannin’ about in York an’ hobnobbing wi’ the
Thompsons, I ‘ad not been idle. When I need to know sommat fast, I
can usually rustle up somethin’ o’ use sharpish-like. It ain’t
cheap, mind, but fer Miss Isabel — sweetest lass ye could wish to
meet, an’ a friend o’ Miss Sophy’s besides — there ain’t much I
wouldn’t do.

I ‘ad
hoped that the Ferryman’s name’d be one o’ those things I could
spirit out o’ my very fine hat, but that weren’t to be. Too many
years ‘ad passed, an’ he was by no means a well-known person before
he was packed off into the Torpor. But somethin’ else turned up.
Many an unlikely myth an’ tall tale I ‘ad to wade through, thas fer
certain, before I came upon sommat o’ use, but my network o’
whisperers came up wi’ the goods, an’ pretty quick-like too! So
when Miss Isa an’ her aunt arrived to visit me good self, I ‘ad a
titbit or two o’ news to share.

Isabel was relieved when her aunt resumed her real form in
order to travel — or what Isabel persisted in thinking of as her
real form, despite knowing that handsome, middle-aged Aunt Grey was
a mere construct of Glamour. Mrs. Grey was familiar to Isabel, and
therefore comfortable, but the Eliza she had come to know had
abruptly become a stranger. With her impossibly youthful looks, her
strange coppery hair and stranger eyes, the coronet in her hair and
the lush otherness of her garb, she was a creature with whom Isabel
could not be at ease.

Mr.
Thompson called upon both ladies on the morning of their departure,
though his visit was clearly intended for Isabel’s
benefit.

‘I
trust you will travel safely, rather than speedily,’ he said after
he had made his bows and accepted an offer of refreshment. His eyes
captured Isabel’s as he spoke, and his manner was significant. ‘But
I know I may trust Mrs. Grey to take the very best care of her
niece.’ His tone introduced a note of doubt in spite of the
confidence of his words, to which Isabel took exception. Eliza,
however, appeared to find him amusing.

‘I
shall contain my wild ways long enough to convey Miss Ellerby home
in perfect safety,’ she promised, her eyes glinting amusement over
the rim of her cup as she sipped tea.

Isabel expected Mr. Thompson to laugh at this sally, but he
appeared to take Mrs. Grey’s words seriously. Isabel considered
this unfair of him — though she could not but admit that her aunt
had increasingly abandoned the appearance of sober respectability
with which she had always cloaked herself, and had given rein to
the more mischievous aspects of her personality. This troubled
Isabel, for it was as though her aunt no longer cared what manner
of figure she cut in society.

‘I
will be seeing you soon,’ Mr. Thompson said to Isabel, without
responding to her aunt’s remark. ‘I am charged to assure you that
we will all be attending your mother’s ball at Ferndeane. My mother
has already written to accept the invitation. My sisters are
especially eager for the treat, as you may imagine, but I am
scarcely less so. I must have you run no risks and take no harm,
for I should be sorry indeed to lose the pleasure of dancing with
you there!’

Isabel smiled warmly. His manner may be over-protective and a
little assuming, but it displayed a degree of regard for her
well-being which she found touching. She murmured something
assenting, and conversation progressed in a desultory fashion for
some minutes. Mrs. Grey contributed little, choosing instead to
observe Isabel and her suitor with a satirical eye. But Mr.
Thompson was more than equal to carrying a conversation unaided,
and required little from Isabel save a nod here and there and an
occasional remark.

When
he rose to leave, Isabel felt a flicker of alarm as he requested a
private word with her. He did so with perfect civility, excusing
both of them from her aunt’s presence with faultless manners.
Isabel found neither opportunity nor excuse to refuse, and moments
later she was shut into the parlour with him. She waited in
trepidation as he turned to her with a smile, and said: ‘You cannot
doubt what it is that I wish to ask you.’

Isabel opened her mouth, blinked, said something vague and
hastily shut her mouth again.

He
scarcely seemed to notice her confusion, for he merely smiled, took
her hand and kissed it. ‘You must allow me to claim the first two
dances at Ferndeane,’ he said.