Miss Landon and Aubranael (Tales of Aylfenhame Book 1) (27 page)

He had got into the carriage to go to the bridge; not because it was very far to walk, but because he could not expect to wander through the village of Tilby with impunity while wearing his real face. But now he was obliged to reveal his true visage to a group of friends—people who had, previously, accepted him with alacrity and treated him with respect. Now they would learn how very unworthy of their regard he was.

It was a sore trial to him to open the carriage door and step down into the road, but he found that he had the courage if he just kept Miss Landon’s beloved face in mind. If
she
had forgiven him, perhaps others would as well. And if they did not, he had Sophy’s regard, and that was far more important.

‘Ah! Mr. Stanton! How good of ye t’ come.’ Balligumph beckoned him over with one enormous hand. There was no trace of a smile on his face, but he did not look angry. If anything, he looked concerned. Even anxious.

Aubranael approached, trying to look confident. He felt the stares of his friends, their palpable puzzlement, and quailed inside.

But when he reached the group, Miss Ellerby put out her hand, smiled at him very kindly and said: ‘Good morning, Mr. Stanton. We were very sorry to hear that you were gone from the neighbourhood, and very glad indeed to find that the truth is a little more complex.’ She looked fully into his face without any trace of disgust. Probably she had been forewarned, so there was no shocked surprise; only compassion.

To his embarrassment, Aubranael’s eyes filled with tears as he shook her hand. He had expected anger, disbelief, rejection and accusations; he had not expected kindness. He had certainly not expected to feel welcome. But each member of the little party shook his hand in turn and repeated Isabel’s kind words, and by the end of it he felt more truly welcome than he ever had before.

‘Well, well, very good,’ said Balligumph. ‘Capital. Now, to pressing matters. Mr. Aubranael, have you any notion at all where our Sophy is?’

Aubranael looked at him in confusion. ‘At the parsonage, is she not?’

Balligumph shook his head grimly, and Aubranael felt a sudden surge of fear. Something had happened to Sophy?

‘Thundigle,’ said Balligumph. ‘Tell all, if you please.’

The brownie drew himself up, straightened his waistcoat and stared up at Aubranael, his expression grave. ‘Before I begin, Mr. Aubranael, allow me to apologise for my next words. It is not my intention to cause you any degree of disquiet.’

Aubranael stared, his alarm growing. What could Thundigle possibly have to tell him that required a formal apology first?

‘Perhaps a seat,’ Balligumph said kindly, and pulled Aubranael down to sit on the bridge behind him. The great troll nodded his head at Thundigle, and the brownie began his story.

He was not the speediest of narrators, and Aubranael soon began to long for him to adopt a more economical narrative style. But he got everything out in the end—a confusing tale involving a fair amount of hiding-in-drawers and accidentally-overhearing, and quite a lot of noticing-various-things and gradually-realising-the-truth.

And the truth, he eventually heard, was that the Sophy to whom he had just successfully proposed marriage was not Sophy at all. A flood of realisations came upon him all at once as he put together the various oddities about Sophy’s behaviour in the last few days; the sudden revelation of the curse she lived under; her brief flashes of irritable temper. She had poured tea for him without spilling a drop.

And then there was the way she had kissed him.

It took him a while to realise that he was on his feet, making a great deal of noise. Balli’s companions were gathered around him, trying with a variety of soothing gestures and well-meant words to calm him down. But Aubranael did not wish to calm down! He was engaged to an imposter, whose identity remained as mysterious as her (or his) intentions, and his Sophy was abroad somewhere in the world, possibly in danger, and quite alone! Nobody even knew for certain that she was in England. She could be in Aylfenhame.
Anywhere
in Aylfenhame.

At length he wore himself out and began to calm out of pure exhaustion. He had slept poorly ever since the loss of Hidenory’s enchantment, and he could not remember the last time he had eaten. It must have been today… must it not?

‘Now, now, have a seat again,’ said Balli. He pressed Aubranael’s shoulder surprisingly lightly for a creature of his size, but it was more than enough to send Aubranael spinning dizzily downwards to the ground. He sat for a few long moments, trying to breathe, his mind working furiously.

Whoever was wearing Sophy’s face had been fairly well informed about her life—and had known all about Aubranael. Now that he thought about it, she had not seemed particularly surprised to learn that Mr. Stanton’s face was not his own.

Who could possibly have known these things? He remembered Pharagora, and sighed. She had learned a fair few of his secrets, and Grunewald’s, before she had been caught; and if she could do it, then others could too.

But then the supposed spy must have infiltrated Miss Landon’s home as well, a thing very easily done, he was sure, but why? Someone must have felt an overpowering interest in his business and Miss Landon’s in order to begin such a project, and why then interfere? And how? The art of glamour was not commonly known—certainly not in England, and not even in Aylfenhame. Not very many were sufficiently adept in the practice to mimic a real person with enough accuracy to fool even their closest friends.

His thoughts turned to Hidenory. She knew all about his masquerade, of course, and the reason behind it. And she certainly possessed the necessary talents. But he could imagine no reason at all why she might wish to take Sophy’s place, and deceive him into marriage.

But that did not matter. He thought of the long, deep kiss Hidenory had given him before he had left her house; and he thought of the long, deep kiss he had shared with Miss Landon at the assembly. He was not a man of experience, so he could not say for sure; but he was
almost
certain that a kiss of that kind was somewhat out of character for a similarly inexperienced young woman like Miss Landon.

He had been kissing Hidenory both times, he was sure of it.

Aubranael stood up. ‘Why are you all here?’ he said, aware that the question sounded abrupt but unwilling to waste any more time.

Miss Daverill spoke up first. ‘I went into the parsonage this morning, and if it
is
rude to walk in without a direct invitation, well, I make no apology for it! Sophy has never given two straws about it. But it was
not
Sophy I saw in the parlour! Quite another woman entirely! I suppose she must be something to do with the new parson—his mother, or something—but as I had heard nothing at all about a new arrival, I went to see Isabel.’

Miss Ellerby nodded and took up the tale. ‘I was concerned as well, for I have three times attempted to visit Sophy these last two days, and every time she has denied me! And I received no reply at all to my notes, either.’

Mr. Ellerby said: ‘My sister and Miss Daverill were determined on consulting Mr. Balligumph. If a new parson had arrived in Tilby, he would certainly know about it; and being a close friend of Miss Landon’s, he might be supposed to know what had become of her as well.’

‘And Mary and I accompanied them, of course,’ said Thundigle. ‘Once we had compared our separate information, we were highly concerned.’

Aubranael looked at Pharagora, but she merely gave him a small smile and said nothing.

‘So we are all here to help Sophy?’

A chorus of assent and emphatic nods answered him, and he felt relieved. It was good to have help.

‘Very well, then,’ he said. ‘I believe I may know who has taken her place.’

‘I do, too,’ said Pharagora, and everyone stared at her.

Half an hour later, Aubranael knocked at the door of the parsonage, feeling tense and curiously exposed. He was alone, at least ostensibly: the Ellerbys, Thundigle, Mary and Miss Daverill were sitting in his carriage just around a turn in the road, out of sight of the parsonage but close enough to come to his aid. Mr. Balligumph had stayed at the bridge; he was calling in his many “associates”, he said, gathering every scrap of information he could about Miss Landon’s actions over the past few days (either one of the Miss Landons, that is). Pharagora was assisting him in some unspecified way.

Aubranael’s task was to confront the version of Miss Landon who was currently staying at the parsonage. He was not surprised when no immediate answer came in response to his knock; she must first establish that it was
him
, and not one of Sophy’s friends coming to complicate her masquerade. Once she had established that to her satisfaction, she would come to the door.

And the door opened, revealing the old woman he had met the last time. It occurred to him—rather belatedly—to feel some relief at the morning’s revelations, for it meant that that the curse afflicting the person before him had nothing to do with
his
Sophy.

‘Miss Landon,’ he said with what he hoped was his usual smile.

‘Ah! Mr. Stanton!’ she said winningly, beckoning him inside. ‘I was hoping
very
much to see you this morning.’

He followed her through to the parlour, trying his best to appear at ease. ‘You are looking well,’ he said. ‘I trust you are in good health?’

She sat down with curious grace, given her appearance, and chuckled. ‘I look in the very best of health, do I not? I believe these rags are very becoming.’

‘Why do you wear the rags?’ he asked, with real curiosity. ‘I presume it is merely the appearance of age that is beyond your control; not the attire as well.’

She shrugged one shoulder, her expression suddenly bleak. ‘But why would I bother? I will be ugly however I choose to garb myself.’

Aubranael could think of no sensible response to such a statement, especially in the face of the violent bitterness she evidently felt at her condition. Instead he said, ‘And how is Felebre? I have not seen her since my visit to your abode. Why, that must be a full month at least.’

‘She is, as usual, an enigma,’ came the reply. ‘I do not see her for weeks, and then all at once she will arrive with some—’ Abruptly she broke off, and stared at Aubranael with such obvious consternation that he could not help smiling.

‘Hello, Hidenory,’ he said.

The silence stretched as Hidenory visibly attempted to find a way to prolong the masquerade. But then she sighed gustily, and slumped in her chair. ‘And it was all going so
well
,’ she said peevishly. ‘A curse upon all clever gentlemen! The stupid ones are, after all, so much more worth knowing.’

‘A curse?’ Aubranael repeated. ‘Truly?’

‘No, of course not,’ she snapped. ‘I am not a
complete
monster.’

‘That remains to be seen,’ said Aubranael coldly. ‘Your behaviour does require some explanation.’

‘It is true about the curse.’

‘So you
did
just curse me!’

Hidenory smiled maliciously at him. ‘Perhaps he
is
just a little bit stupid, after all,’ she said, apparently to herself. ‘No, foolish boy, the curse upon
me
. Only it is not so very obliging as to afflict me for only a few days every month. I must spend each and every day in this abominable guise! Every daylight minute! Only at night may I return to a more… pleasing shape.’

‘And you were attempting to use
me
to break the curse,’ Aubranael said. He spoke as angrily as he could, in order to smother the stirrings of sympathy he was beginning to feel. He of all people understood her pain.

‘I thought you would understand me,’ she said, unconsciously echoing his thoughts. ‘I was going to tell you the truth in time!’

‘After we had been bound together for eternity?’ he said acidly.

‘I would have made you happy,’ she said, with a salacious smile he found thoroughly unnerving.

‘I doubt that. And what of Miss Landon? What have you done with her?’

‘Nothing too terrible, if that is what is worrying you.’

‘Of
course
it is worrying me! Do you feel nothing at all?’

‘Not often, no,’ said Hidenory with perfect unconcern. ‘Not anymore.’

‘Where is Sophy?’

‘She went through the door.’

‘Which door?’

‘The same door you went through.’

‘So she is at Grunewald’s house?’

Hidenory rolled her eyes. ‘No, of course not. What use is a door that always opens in the same place?’

‘Quite useful, as a rule,’ said Aubranael. He stood up and crossed to her chair, allowing every shred of anger he could muster to show upon his face. He was able to loom over her quite satisfactorily from this position. ‘
Where is Sophy?
’ he repeated.

Hidenory smiled up at him. ‘Truthfully, I have very little idea.’

For a moment Aubranael was sorely tempted to hit her. That smirking smile of hers…! The brazen way she admitted to him that she had
lost
his love! But she was a lady, even if she was evil, and besides, he did not hit people who were at a disadvantage.

He did not hit people at all, come to think of it.

He took a deep breath and said, with as much calm as he could manage: ‘Tell me what happened.’

Hidenory’s recitation was brief, and within a very few minutes he had the whole story. Sophy had gone through the door, expecting to find help on the other side. But she had been knowingly sent into a trap. Tut-Gut had a reputation in Aylfenhame: he was not among the most evil of the fae, but he had a vicious side, and he was very willing to put to use any lost souls who wandered into his cottage.

Aubranael began to lose the little concern he had felt for Hidenory’s safety. Unceremoniously he grabbed a handful of her robes in one hand and her arm in the other, and hauled her to her feet.

‘We are going to find Miss Landon,’ he hissed at her. ‘You are going to help us, or I will personally ensure that your personal curse becomes the
least
of your worries.’