Read Online Miss Ellerby and the Ferryman by Charlotte E. English - Free Book Online Page A

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,