The Tales of Aylfenhame Compendium

Chapter Two-3

‘Apologies,’ he said quietly, bowing his head to hide his face, once more, behind his hair. ‘I should not have asked; now I have made you uncomfortable.’ He spoke without a trace of bitterness or resentment, or even self-pity, and he made no attempt to chastise the cat. His apology seemed sincere, and Sophy cursed herself for her reaction. What could it possibly matter, when he was such congenial company?

‘In England,’ she said, summoning back her smile, ‘it is considered impolite to withdraw an invitation once given, especially to a lady. Here I had taken you for a gentleman!’

Aubranael studied her for a moment, perhaps weighing the sincerity of her words. At last, his smile returned; faint, but growing stronger.

‘And you, Miss Landon of Tilby, are every inch a lady, I am sure,’ he said. He offered her his arm, and without hesitation, she took it.

‘Will your companion be joining us?’ he enquired, looking down at Thundigle.

The brownie drew himself up to his full, diminutive height and looked down his nose at Aubranael’s knees. ‘Miss Landon requires a chaperon, sir, as you would know if you were indeed a gentleman.’

Aubranael’s face lit up in a delighted grin. ‘Does she? Excellent! By all means, do come along and protect the lady from unwanted attentions. Who knows but what I may do, if left unspied-upon?’

Thundigle eyed him, very ready to take offence.

‘Do please come along,’ Sophy begged him. ‘I am in need of your company rather more than your chaperonage, I assure you.’

Mollified, the brownie nodded stiffly and bowed. ‘It would be my pleasure,’ he pronounced.

The whole party set off under Aubranael’s direction. He chatted easily as they walked, and joked often; Sophy found herself perfectly at ease with him. She thought, though, that some part of his mood had not recovered from the unveiling of his face. His merriment was, perhaps, a little forced. She felt she had much to make up for, and worked harder to be agreeable because of it.

The tea-room he selected was called The Golden Queen, and it was thoroughly enchanting to Sophy. The aromas of strange teas and untasted beverages tormented Sophy’s nose, and she was sorely tempted to ignore Thundigle’s advice. She persisted, however, her good sense winning over her curiosity; and besides, Aubranael was such an agreeable companion that she had no cause to repine.

She was touched to note that Aubranael was served with only a glass of water, no doubt on her account. He may not know the customs of England, she thought, but he had the spirit of a gentleman as far as courtesy and consideration went.

At last, the sun began to sink and the shadows lengthened. Late afternoon arrived, and Sophy began to talk of returning home.

‘Though I do not know quite how,’ she admitted. The matter ought to give her more concern, but she felt serene and at ease in a way she had rarely experienced before.

‘But it is Beltane, and therefore the simplest thing to achieve,’ Aubranael assured her. ‘I do not know if I wish to tell you any more, however.’

Sophy blinked in surprise. ‘Whyever not?’

‘Perhaps… because I do not wish you to leave.’

Sophy smiled, but shook her head. ‘We have only just become acquainted. I cannot believe you are so very pleased with my company as all that.’

‘From this I judge that you are by no means so enchanted with me. But you are a little bit pleased; that is more than I tend to hope.’ He stood up before Sophy had chance to reply, and offered her his arm once more. ‘I will show you a little more of Grenlowe, if you’ve no objection, and then I will send you home.’

Sophy accepted readily enough, feeling slightly uncomfortable. Truthfully, she was delighted with him and did not at all enjoy the prospect of her imminent departure; she may never see him again. He had been far more agreeable than the other young men she knew, who saw only her lack of fortune, her lack of connections or her faults of face and figure, and offered her politeness as a mere matter of form.

But it would not be at all proper to say so, and besides, she could not find the words. So she walked along in distracted silence as Aubranael toured her back through the market square—now much more peaceful than before—and showed her street after street of eccentric, jumbled up houses, shops and gardens.

Sophy was struck by the weird beauty of everything she saw. The buildings might be irregular and outlandish in design, but they were painted and decorated and hung with all manner of adornments in a display of good cheer which warmed her heart. Gardens overflowed with peculiar blooms in hundreds of colours; fruit trees stretched over the paths, laden with many-coloured produce Sophy had never seen before; she saw metals, wood and sparkling stones that would fetch a great price in England, lovingly set into doorways and windowsills, walls, roofs and garden paths. The riot of colour would probably offend the people she knew in Tilby, especially those of higher status: pale hues, regular structures and relative simplicity of design were considered much more the thing. But to Sophy, the golden afternoon sun softly illuminating this feast of colour warmed her heart and lifted her spirits.

She was disappointed when Aubranael stopped at the Grenlowe gate. Beyond it she could see the verdant meadow she had passed through on her arrival, and the bell-bedecked trees, and beyond all this the promise of a great forest to explore.

‘If it is your wish to return, you need merely touch the gate,’ Aubranael told her.

Sophy stretched out her hand, then paused. Did she truly wish to leave this vibrant, exciting place? Much was said of the dangers of Aylfenhame, or Faerie; she had heard many such stories ever since her infancy. But she had seen nothing of danger. She had seen only colour and life and beauty, and met with kindness and considerable charm.

She hesitated.

But if she stayed, where would she go? What would she do? She had no home here, and could hardly expect anybody to provide her with one. And what of her father? Had she forgotten him? Her cheeks flushed warm with mortification at the idea, and she berated herself for her selfishness. Who would look after him if she did not?

‘I thank you, sir, for your kindness,’ she said to Aubranael. ‘I have been most happily detained, and I cannot think when I have enjoyed an afternoon more. But I must return home.’

She thought she saw a flicker of regret in Aubranael’s dark eyes, but he beamed at her and swept an extravagant bow—taking notes, she thought, from Thundigle. ‘Very well, fair lady! Well met and I wish you health and prosperity and joy and, indeed, anything else good you can think of.’

His grin was irresistible; though his words suggested a belief that they would not meet again, she could not help smiling back.

‘I wish you the same, tenfold,’ she said. Then, quickly before she could change her mind, she gathered up Thundigle and pressed her palm flat against the cool stone of the gate. In a trice, the meadow and the gate faded as her vision blurred. She blinked rapidly to restore her sight, and found herself looking instead at the familiar fields of Tilby.

She stood near Balligumph’s bridge, but she did not wish to summon him, for her thoughts were too busy and her heart too heavy for conversation. But as she crossed the bridge, she trailed her fingers over the cold stone and whispered, ‘Thank you, you sly old troll.’

She thought she heard an answering chuckle from somewhere under the bridge, but Balligumph did not appear. Sophy turned her steps towards home and her father, leaving the wonders of Aylfenhame behind.

Now, dunnot look at me that way! I did naught amiss. Ye’re as bad as that meddlin’ brownie. Made her unhappy with her own world, that’s what he said. I made her long fer summat out o’ her reach. But did I? What if Miss Sophy is made fer different things?

Well, it weren’t so simple as either of us expected, that’s the truth. An’ if ye’ll allow me, I’ll go right ahead an’ explain why.