Miss Ellerby and the Ferryman

Chapter Six-1

Chapter Six

Isabel had expected the ascent to be alarming, perhaps even dangerous, but it was not. The boat’s progress was steady and smooth, and though the rising winds buffeted her with growing ferocity as they climbed into the skies, she never felt in danger of being blown out of the boat.

The vision of England she was thus afforded staggered and thrilled her. Vast expanses of fields lay spread before her, painted in various colours and fitted edge-to-edge like scraps of fabric in a blanket. Here and there she saw a village or a town, mere clusters of blocky protrusions in grey or red or white; they were tiny and toy-like from her vantage point aloft. At length her view was obscured as white mist billowed into being around her, thickening rapidly until she could see nothing beyond the edges of the boat. With a small sigh of regret, she turned her back upon the vanished panorama and sought some place where she could seat herself.

The Ferryman sat three feet away, his eyes upon her. She jumped at seeing him, for in her wonder at the view she had all but forgotten him. She swallowed her surprise, smitten abruptly with remorse.

‘I am very sorry,’ she said with a smile. ‘I was so enchanted with our ascent, I have sent courtesy to the winds. How do you do? My aunt ought, perhaps, to have introduced us, but there was not time. I am Miss Ellerby.’ She made him a curtsey. He ought to have stood to receive this honour, and it felt strange to her to curtsey to a seated gentleman. But things were different in Aylfenhame, no doubt.

The Ferryman’s answering smile was crooked; twisted, she suspected, with some form of hidden amusement, though the expression of his eyes was congenial enough. ‘Missellerby,’ he mused. ‘No name I ever heard before. ‘Tis a privilege to be unique, and I hope ye make fine use of it.’ He got to his feet and bowed fluidly to her in return, sweeping his three-cornered hat from his head. She saw that his hair was black and long, and tied back with a plain red ribbon. He soon regained his seat, and indicated that she should avail herself of one opposite. They were chairs in truth, soft and comfortable, and upholstered in a shimmering silk Isabel eyed with covetous envy, so beautiful a gown would it make.

She reposed herself gracefully upon the indicated chair, and smiled. ‘No indeed, I am not at all unique. It is two words: Miss — Ellerby — the first being a title, you see.’

His smile widened, and the twinkle in his eyes grew more pronounced. ‘I thank ye for yer explanation,’ he said gravely.

Isabel laughed, her cheeks warming. ‘Oh, I see. You are teasing me.’

‘An’ I should not, I know,’ he said with a note of apology. ‘It’s the matter o’ having company that’s done the mischief. Goes to my ‘ead more’n a little.’

His manner of speaking reminded Isabel of Balligumph, the bridge-keeper, though his accent was neither so thick nor so pronounced as his; more of a lilt. ‘Are you so short of company?’ said she. ‘I would think a Ferryman would meet a great many people.’

‘The Ferry,’ he said, ‘is not often used, for few seek passage between my world an’ yours.’

Isabel felt a creeping sensation of discomfort, for it did not do to be alone with a gentleman like this. Did Tafferty qualify as chaperone? Her companion had taken up a station on one of the other chairs, and sat there straight-backed and wholly inattentive. Isabel looked down at her hands. ‘I did not precisely seek passage,’ she admitted.

‘I saw that.’ The Ferryman lounged against the side of the boat, idly flipping his hat in his hands.

Isabel flushed with embarrassment. ‘My aunt had given me no warning,’ she said. ‘It was not discussed between us.’

‘An’ ye were reluctant t’ trade the delights of England fer the stiflin’ mundanity of Aylfenhame,’ said he wisely, with an affirmative nod. ‘Tis natural enough.’

‘No, indeed!’ Isabel protested. ‘It is only that—’ She stopped, uncertain. It was absurd to imagine that this Aylir would feel in the smallest degree interested in her turmoil. ‘You have not told me your name,’ she said instead. ‘May I know whom I am addressing?’

‘Ye are addressin’ the Ferryman,’ he said with a lazy smile. ‘Tis the only name ye need know.’

Isabel nodded, a little stung by the rebuff. After a moment, she asked: ‘Are we among the clouds?’

The Ferryman laughed at that. ‘Not nearly so high. What ye’re seein’ is but mist, not clouds. We are somewhere In Between.’

He spoke the latter two words with a peculiar emphasis, which aroused Isabel’s curiosity. ‘In Between?’ she repeated.

‘Betwixt my world an’ yours. We will be sailin’ that road a while yet, so I hope ye are comfortable.’

Isabel was very comfortable, somewhat to her own surprise. The air was cool, but not cold; a pleasure after the summer heat she had left behind below. The wind was mild, the light moderate. Her only discomfort came from within, for the gnawing sensation of doubt had not left her. What madness had seized her, to send her sailing away from everything she knew in pursuit of an unfathomable adventure? She would be outright petrified, were it not for the promise of Sophy’s guidance once she reached Aylfenhame.

A sudden stab of trepidation led her to ask, ‘Where are we to alight?’ If she was to be deposited at some unknown ferry-point in the Aylir world, how was she to find her way to Grenlowe, and Sophy? Would Tafferty’s guidance be sufficient? Would they be obliged to travel a long way?

The Ferryman grinned. ‘Fear not, for ye are to be set down in the town o’ Grenlowe, an’ with all the care I might bestow upon some tender, newborn thing.’

‘Oh.’ Isabel considered that.

‘Someone ‘as paid a great deal fer it,’ he added, tossing up his hat once more before settling it back on his head. ‘Ye are a woman o’ privilege.’

Paid? To her shame, it had not occurred to Isabel that passage between England and Grenlowe most likely incurred a fee. But it had been paid already. By whom? Her aunt? What manner of currency might the Ferryman require for his services? She had no notion, and felt too much embarrassment to ask.

‘Whither in Grenlowe are ye bound?’ he said.

‘I am to visit a friend, Miss Landon,’ said Isabel. Then she stopped, frowning. ‘At least, Miss Landon is what she was called, in England. She has married since, after the fashion of your kind, and I do not know how she is now addressed.’

‘Married an Aylir, did she?’ said the Ferryman, one of his dark brows lifting. ‘Uncommon.’

‘Is it?’ faltered Isabel, conscious of her own ignorance. ‘Perhaps it is. It came about in a strange way.’

That grin flashed again, and Isabel once more received the impression that he was laughing at her. ‘Such an oddity could hardly come about in any normal kind o’ way,’ he said. ‘In point o’ fact, I cannot remember it ever happenin’ before. To my knowledge, that is.’

Isabel’s thoughts flew to the Aylir ancestor her aunt had spoken of. ‘Sometimes it happens the other way around, I think?’ she ventured.

His brows snapped down. ‘Ye mean an Aylir marryin’ one o’ your kind, an’ settlin’ in your world. I’ve heard o’ such a time or two, but it’s no common thing either.’ For a moment his thoughts seemed turned inwards, as though he had forgotten her presence entirely. Then his attention shifted to focus upon her, and his gaze grew intent. ‘I see,’ he said.

‘You see… what?’ Isabel said, self-conscious under his scrutiny.

‘What it is about ye that had me wonderin’.’ The twinkle was back in his eyes. ‘Human — an’ yet not, entirely. There’s a flicker o’ somethin’ else there.’

Isabel nodded. ‘That is why I am bound for Grenlowe,’ she said. ‘Sophy — Miss Landon, I mean — will assist me.’

‘Ye just take some care,’ he said warningly. ‘A little flower like yerself? Ye’ll attract a deal of attention in Grenlowe. Tis good fortune that ye’ve a friend t’ go to.’

These words disturbed Isabel. She had expected to feel disoriented, out of place, and confused, but it had not occurred to her that she might attract any particular attention — nor that such attention might prove dangerous.

Her trepidation perhaps showed upon her face, for he added, ‘Ye will be safe enough.’ He nodded to Tafferty, who still sat upright and alert with her back to Isabel. ‘Ye’ve the right sort o’ guide in yon catterdandy there.’

‘Catterdandy?’ repeated Isabel. Tafferty twitched, and her tail lashed once.

The Ferryman grinned widely. ‘Tis what some call the likes o’ yer friend there.’

‘I do not think Tafferty appreciates the name,’ Isabel said with a smile. ‘But I find it charming.’

Tafferty growled something inaudible, and the Ferryman laughed. ‘I beg yer pardon, Tafferty-tail,’ he said.

Tafferty sniffed.

‘We ‘ave a ways t’ go, yet,’ said the Ferryman. ‘An’ I like a tale. Tell me what manner o’ circumstance could bring yer friend t’ Grenlowe.’

Isabel told him of Sophy’s predicament as the only daughter of a poor clergyman, and the lack of prospects which had overshadowed her life. With Balligumph’s help, she had wandered into Aylfenhame — to Grenlowe — and there met Aubranael, an Aylir as lonely and beset with troubles as Sophy had been herself. Their story had been unusual, for the involvement of a witch, a brownie and the Goblin King had complicated matters considerably. At length, Sophy had settled in Grenlowe and opened the shop, Silverling, wherein she stitched and sold wondrous creations of her own designing. Such an enterprise would have lowered her standing to an intolerable degree, had it been undertaken in England. In Grenlowe, her creativity exalted her.

Isabel was proud of her friend’s success, and awed by her bravery. But she remained silent on the topic of one of Sophy’s exploits: Lihyaen, princess of Aylfenhame, had been extricated from a grievous curse and now resided in Grenlowe under Sophy and Aubranael’s protection. The princess had been presumed dead for many years, and her survival was a secret. Isabel had no intention of sharing it with this stranger.

His eyes, though, bored into hers with an intentness which she found disturbing. ‘I ‘ave rarely come across such strange tales,’ he said slowly. ‘An’ I think ye ‘ave told only some of it.’

‘There is more,’ admitted Isabel. ‘But it is not all mine to tell.’

The Ferryman inclined his head at that and looked away, over the prow of the boat into the dense mist which still obscured everything that lay beyond its confines. Colours had begun to drift into the white expanse: the pale blue of summer skies, the golden-yellow of sunlight, and soft pink like the wild roses which grew near Ferndeane. Isabel watched the ebb and flow of these gentle hues for some minutes, expecting the Ferryman to make some further remark as to her tale. But he did not. At length she said: ‘Is it really so strange, for an Aylir to marry an Englishwoman? You speak of it as very far out of the common way, but to me it does not seem so very unlikely.’

The Ferryman blinked, as though he had been so lost in reverie as to forget her presence — again. His head turned and he regarded her impassively. ‘Ye are curious,’ he said.

Isabel bowed her head. ‘Forgive me, if I was rude.’

‘Rude, no,’ he said in a livelier tone. ‘Not that. Ye ‘ave told me a fine tale, ‘tis fair that I should tell ye somethin’ in return. Listen, then.’ He took off his hat again, and threw it upwards. It did not sail away into the mists to be lost forever, as Isabel had expected. Instead it began to float, drifting dreamily upon the soft currents of air. The Ferryman rested his head against the side of the boat, face tipped up to watch the strange progress of his hat.

‘Once,’ he began, ‘far back in the mists o’ time — ye know how this part goes in a tale — there was freer passage betwixt an’ between yer own world an’ mine. Such marriages as ye describe were not so uncommon, in those days. Many folk travelled back an’ forth, an’ there were many ways t’ make the crossin’. This ferry was but one o’ many, sailin’ travellers from England an’ Scotland an’ the rest into Aylfenhame.

‘Some folk, though, are never ‘appy with what they ‘ave. Ye’ll ‘ave noticed that fer yer own self, I’ll wager. An’ one such was a lanky type, name o’… well in fact, no one alive remembers what ‘is true name was. We remember ‘im as Kostigern, which means somethin’ like traitor in an old tongue. Betrayer. Ye get the idea.

‘Naught would do fer this paragon o’ virtue but t’ reign over every last bit of Aylfenhame. Ye’ll recognise that well enough; yer own world’s ‘ad its share o’ such fine folk, ‘as it not?’

Thinking of Bonaparte, Isabel nodded her assent to this point.

‘I won’t bore ye with all the long, long tale. ‘Tis sufficient to tell ye that Kostigern was overthrown an’ destroyed. Some say he came out o’ your world, an’ perhaps that’s why the borders between our two lands were closed. Whatever the reason fer that, they were closed, an’ most o’ the routes between were closed likewise. Now, gates only open on the solstices, an’ ‘tis said there is but one ferry left. Ye’re on it.’