Miss Ellerby and the Ferryman

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Isabel woke upon the following morning to find herself somewhat less than alone. She opened her eyes to a blur of brown, gold-flecked fur filling her vision entirely, and the sound of a deep, rumbling purr resonating throughout the room. Isabel lay still for some moments, suffering under considerable confusion until her sleepy mind recollected the identity of the bundle of fur upon her pillow. ‘Good morning, Tafferty.’

As soon as she spoke, the purring abruptly stopped. Tafferty sat bolt upright, blinking, and proceeded to address — apparently — the drawn curtains. ‘That it is! Mornin’ entirely, and sunny in the world, and she lies slugabed!’ Tafferty hooked a claw into the fabric of Isabel’s blanket and, with a swish of her paw, drew it back. ‘Whishawist, and up with thee! Time’s a fair grouch, and she’s waitin’ for none of ye.’ Tafferty stuck her nose into Isabel’s ear, then whirled about and hurled herself off the bed. She was gone in the blink of an eye, darting out through the bedroom door — which Isabel did not remember leaving open.

‘Whishawist,’ she repeated to herself, blinking, and hastened to dress.

Upon her descent of the stairs, she found her aunt already at the breakfast table. Vershibat sat upon the table-cloth to her right; he had taken up a station adjacent to Mrs. Grey’s freshly-poured cup of tea, with a small feast of toast-crumbs laid out upon the cloth before him. Of Tafferty there was no sign.

‘Good morning, my dear,’ said Mrs. Grey cheerfully as Isabel took her seat. ‘I hope you slept well, for there is much to do today! You must form an acquaintance with Tafferty, as a matter of urgency, for a good relationship with one’s companion is simply vital. The art of glamour, or illusion, is to be your initial study, for it is useful, and the centre of a witch’s arts! I have not kept up the practice as I ought to have, to my regret, but I have found it convenient on more than one occasion. There is a great deal one may accomplish with the subtle use of glamour, from altering the colour of one’s gown to something considerably more significant. Now, is that not an alluring prospect!’ Mrs. Grey paused to drink a little tea. ‘Then there is the matter of boons, and curses. I have never had cause to employ a curse, myself. I do not advise it, all told, for it is a dangerous and unpleasant art. But something of it must be learned, at the very least so that you may protect yourself in case of any ill-natured attack. And tomorrow—’

Isabel felt a flash of panic, and took a deep breath. ‘Aunt,’ she said. ‘I dare say you are perfectly right, and I shall be guided by you. But what of my mother’s plans? I had understood there is to be an assembly this evening, which the Thompsons are expected to attend. Some portion of the day must, I think, be given over to preparations for that?’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Mrs. Grey. ‘The assembly! I had not forgotten, I assure you. Your mother’s excellent arrangements are every bit as important as your career in witchery.’

This was said in a cool tone which caused Isabel some doubt as to its sincerity, but she nodded. ‘It is important to Mama,’ she said quietly.

Mrs. Grey’s mouth twisted, but she said nothing, preferring instead to devote herself to the fullest appreciation of her tea.

Conscious of an air of disapproval in Mrs. Grey’s manner and posture, Isabel felt a sinking in her stomach. ‘It is not that I do not appreciate the importance of — of —’ She could not quite bring herself to repeat the word witchery, the whole notion still striking her as strange and ludicrous beyond words.

Mrs. Grey set down her tea cup once more and gazed at Isabel. ‘Indeed, I am sure it is not that,’ she said, and then added in a brisk tone, ‘There is an acquaintance I wish you to meet, prior to the assembly. Perhaps you will drive out with me later this morning?’

Isabel assented to this graciously, and in the spirit of compromise she permitted Tafferty to commandeer her company as soon as breakfast was finished. Four long hours followed, during which Tafferty endeavoured to explain to her the nature of the art of Glamour.

‘Glamour,’ said her companion with a pompous air, ‘is the art of makin’ somethin’ seem in the fashion of some other thing, which it is not.’

Isabel blinked. ‘I see.’

‘Glamour,’ continued Tafferty, ‘is also called the art of Seemin’. With it, I may adopt the Seemin’ of some other thing, which I am not. Make it so.’

Tafferty tucked herself up into a ball, her paws folded beneath herself, and waited expectantly.

‘I may make you appear to be another type of creature?’ Isabel queried, rather hesitantly, for the explanation shed little light.

Tafferty gave an affirmative nod, and offered no further comment at all.

‘How do I accomplish this?’ Isabel said.

Tafferty opened her eyes and fixed them upon Isabel with a disbelieving air. ‘Why, it is the very clearest thing!’ she said disgustedly. ‘If thou wert born to it, thou must understand it.’

‘I am very sorry,’ said Isabel apologetically, ‘but I do not at all understand it. How is it done?’

Tafferty sighed, uncurled herself and stretched. ‘I will explain,’ she pronounced. But this did not proceed very successfully, for Tafferty’s explanations were as outlandish as the art she was attempting to convey, and the peculiar patterns of her speech sometimes confused Isabel still further.

She was to understand that it was as simple as breathing, and yet the art was as unfathomable as the stars; a baby could grasp its intricacies, and yet its complexities knew no bounds. Isabel passed her hands back and forth over a plump raspberry from the garden, without succeeding in making it resemble a strawberry in the smallest degree. Her head began, at last, to ache, and she felt with a hint of bitterness that the whole exercise had been devised for her humiliation.

It was a relief, later in the day, to don her bonnet and spencer and step into her aunt’s carriage. She felt that she was leaving witchery and all its attendant absurdities behind her, and returning to the familiar world of York and its comfortingly mundane activities. To pay a social call at such an advanced hour of the day was unusual, to be sure, but she was ready to believe that some of Mrs. Grey’s acquaintances kept unusual hours.

She was more perplexed when the carriage bowled out of York and into the fields, leaving the town far behind, yet without delivering her to any of the villages she had expected they were to visit. Half an hour’s journey passed away and still they did not stop. Isabel began to glance at her aunt, uncertain of whether she should raise a question. Mrs. Grey did not look at her; her attention was directed out of the window.

Isabel contented herself with silence. Fully an hour had passed by the time the carriage at last began to slow, and finally stopped.

‘Quickly, now,’ said Mrs. Grey as they stepped down. She consulted a pocket-watch, a slight frown creasing her brow.

Isabel looked around in utter confusion. They had stopped in the midst of an expanse of fields. Tall rows of flourishing wheat met her gaze in every direction, with nothing else to be observed save for the strip of narrow, uneven road running through the middle. Besides herself, her aunt, and her aunt’s coachman and footmen, not another soul did she see.

Tafferty jumped down from the carriage behind Isabel and took up a station near her feet. This surprised Isabel, as she had been unaware of her companion’s presence upon the journey. Where had Tafferty hidden herself? She, too, appeared to feel no disorientation at the peculiarity of their excursion, for she sat down and began, in the calmest fashion, to wash her paws.

‘Five minutes, perhaps?’ murmured Mrs. Grey.

Tafferty made an assenting noise, and continued to groom her toes.

Isabel began to feel a sensation of mild pique at this treatment. Was she not to be informed as to the nature of their errand out here in this remote place? She pushed such feelings away, for they were unworthy, and stood her ground. Her aunt and Tafferty were both facing the same way, out into the fields, and watched the horizon with an expectant air. Isabel could understand nothing of this behaviour, but she followed the line of their gaze and waited alongside them, fiddling with the ribbon of her reticule.

It seemed to her, after some minutes, that the sky was growing fractionally lighter. She blinked, and looked a little closer. Was she, in her impatience, imagining the almost imperceptible fading of the azure sky into a paler hue? No; for there followed an unmistakeable brightening of the light, until it grew so dazzling Isabel was obliged, briefly, to close her eyes.

When she opened them, a dark shape had appeared in the sky, starkly outlined against the blazing light. It began as a small object barely larger than her fist, but grew rapidly. Isabel realised that it was something airborne, and coming closer.

It was a boat. It was shaped like one, at least, with a mast and a sail and all the usual features; the fact that it was sailing through the sky instead of the sea appeared not to matter one whit. The boat soared out of nothing and descended until it landed atop a low rise some distance away.

‘Quickly, now!’ said Mrs. Grey, and to Isabel’s amazement, her aunt began to run.

‘Whishawist!’ bawled Tafferty, and sprang after Mrs. Grey.

Isabel stood stock still, dumbfounded.

Tafferty turned and galloped back. ‘Hurry, foolish little witch! The Ferryman will not wait for such as thee, mark my words!’ She barrelled into Isabel’s legs and propelled her forward. Isabel dutifully set off at a fast walk, but at Tafferty’s renewed cries of “Wist, whishawist!’ and the sight of her aunt running at speed towards the boat, a sense of urgency took hold of her and she, too, began to run.

If she had expected the boat to be made out of something familiar — wood, for example — she was destined to be further surprised. As she neared the strange craft, she discerned that it shone in odd colours. The body of the boat was constructed from a substance resembling wood mingled, in some odd fashion, with clouds; the sail was bright with colour and looked painted upon the sky. The boat rose up high in the front and at the back, forming graceful, curled-over points at each end, and the mast was silvery-pale and deeply graven with complex images Isabel could not make out.

In the prow stood a man Isabel had never before seen. He was tall and lean, and dressed in the fashions of the previous century: tall boots, a frock coat and waistcoat, and a c****d hat with three corners. The style of the clothing was familiar, but its materials and colours were not. His frock coat was rich blue and sewn from velvet as soft and plush as moss; his waistcoat was as light as insect’s wings and glimmered with silvery iridescence.

He was golden-skinned, bronze-eyed and dark-haired, his features human but with that faint, odd cast which proclaimed him Other. He was, in short, Aylir.

Mrs. Grey reached the boat some way ahead of her niece. Isabel drew level with her aunt, somewhat out of breath and, she feared, unbecomingly flushed in the face. She took a moment to regain her breath, averting her gaze from the dazzling vision of the boatman.

‘You wish to embark?’ said the Ferryman. His voice was deep and melodic. He would sing well, Isabel thought irrelevantly.

‘This lady wishes to embark,’ said Mrs. Grey, gently pushing Isabel forward.

Alarmed, Isabel cried, ‘No! I do not wish to embark! My dear aunt, what can be the meaning of this?’

Mrs. Grey clutched Isabel’s hand. All trace of the playful attitude she sometimes adopted had vanished; her face, her manner, her tone were all serious as she said: ‘You have some notion, I think, that you may live as I have done; choose the life of an Englishwoman and manage your abilities alongside it. I wish you will not! For I have long regretted the choice that I made.’

Isabel’s mouth opened in surprise. ‘But — my uncle — were you not happy?’

Mrs. Grey’s mouth twisted with some emotion Isabel could not name. ‘I chose safety,’ she said. ‘If that is the choice you, too, wish to make, then you shall. But I beg you: please, explore the alternative! I have arranged everything. The Ferryman will take you to your Miss Landon, and she will help you.’

‘But—’ said Isabel, shocked. ‘But the assembly — Mr. Thompson —’

‘Think nothing of them,’ said Mrs. Grey. ‘Assemblies, and such men as Mr. Thompson, are easily come by!’

‘My mother—’

‘Your mother shall know nothing of this,’ said Mrs. Grey earnestly. ‘Trust me to manage my sister, and do as I ask. Please.’

Isabel glanced at the boat and the Aylir man who stood, silent and impassive, in its prow. A knot of fear had taken root in her stomach and she felt its effects in every part of her being. To step into this boat and allow it to bear her away to Aylfenhame seemed an irreversible step. ‘I cannot,’ she said softly.

‘You can,’ said Mrs. Grey with quiet confidence. ‘Tafferty will be with you. You are not alone.’ She squeezed Isabel’s hand and added, ‘It is not forever.’

Not forever. Isabel looked again at the boat, and, to her infinite surprise, a tiny spark of excitement unfurled somewhere inside. It was feeble, and almost drowned by the weight of her doubt, her uncertainty and her fear; but it lived, and she felt it. To see Aylfenhame as Sophy did! Not as a brief, and wholly other, visitor, but as one who enjoyed some right to be there; who might, in some small way, belong.

She squeezed her aunt’s hand in return. ‘Thank you,’ she said. A vision of Mr. Thompson at the coming assembly flashed through her mind. Would he notice her absence? Would it be any source of regret to him? Perhaps he would withdraw his interest in her. Her mother’s dismay — her father’s disappointment — the loss to her family. All this passed through her mind in an instant, and her steps faltered.

But she looked again at the Ferryman, and her resolve hardened.

‘I cannot wait,’ said he. He spoke gravely, but Isabel thought she detected a twinkle in his dark eyes.

‘I am coming,’ Isabel replied. He held out his hand to her; she took it, and with his help climbed aboard the boat. Tafferty leapt in after her with a flick of her tasselled tail.

She had no time to bid her aunt farewell, for the boat began immediately to rise. All she could do was wave to her aunt’s rapidly shrinking figure as she was borne upwards, conscious of a forlorn feeling.