Miss Landon and Aubranael (Tales of Aylfenhame Book 1) (8 page)

He was woken sometime later by an offensively loud clanging noise. Opening his bleary eyes, he dimly perceived a goblin standing near his head, banging a gong.

‘Wake! Wake! Master says to get up!’

‘I’m awake,’ Aubranael grumbled. He had not slept enough, and the goblin’s appalling racket threatened to give him a headache. But these things mattered not a whit when he remembered where he was. Today was departure day! How long would it take to reach Tilby? Perhaps he would see Miss Landon again this very day!

He leapt out of bed, and submitted with impatience to his goblin attendants as they encouraged him to bathe, and then reassembled his strange but handsome attire. The coat required almost as much effort to restore as the rest of the dressing process combined.

At last—bathed, shaved, groomed and dressed, his hair wet and his heart light—Aubranael followed a goblin guide down to the dining chamber, to find a noble breakfast already laid out. Grunewald was there, sipping a cup of chocolate as he perused a stack of newspapers. ‘Eat plentifully, but quickly!’ he advised. ‘The coach is all ready to go, and so must we be, soon.’

Aubranael followed these instructions with gusto. A flutter of nervous wings in his belly rather damaged his appetite, but he forced the food down—he had never enjoyed being hungry. This task completed, he went with Grunewald back to the main hallway.

A pile of clothes was stacked near the front door. An
enormous
pile of clothes. It spread across so much of the floor as to partially block the doorway, and towered almost to the ceiling.

‘They may perhaps have been a little too enthusiastic,’ Grunewald said thoughtfully. ‘No matter! We will take it all.’

As if these words had been a signal, a line of goblins streamed into the room and began to take parts of the pile away through the huge front door and into the large coach that stood waiting outside. The tower quickly collapsed, dumping quantities of shirts, boots and waistcoats onto the heads of the goblin porters. Undeterred, they clambered free and resumed their task, not stopping until all of the garments had been taken away.

Surveying the coach, Aubranael frowned. Large it may be, but he had no notion at all as to how the porters had managed to fit all the clothes inside. By his reckoning, they would need at least four coaches of similar size, but no others stood waiting.

‘Don’t overthink it,’ Grunewald said gravely, a twinkle in his eye. ‘Come now. Hat—’ he plonked Aubranael’s tall hat unceremoniously onto his head—‘Greatcoat’—he threw a voluminous, shockingly heavy mess of fabric into Aubranael’s hands and quickly shrugged into his own ankle-length coat—‘and we are away! Come along!’

He strode out of the door and stepped into the coach, Aubranael following close behind. ‘I hope you are feeling rested,’ Grunewald said as they settled themselves inside, ‘for we have much to do!’

‘Do?’ Aubranael said blankly as the coach—manned, to all appearances, by humans rather than goblins—began to move. ‘What can we possibly do in here?’

‘I will teach,’ Grunewald beamed, ‘and you will learn.’

‘What am I learning?’

‘Etiquette, my dear fellow! The rules of gentlemanly behaviour, and all that. If you think the Faerie of Aylfenhame are irrational, wait until you see how the folk of England behave.’

Chapter Five

The first I saw o’ these fine fellows was a day or so after, when they passed over my bridge. I took ‘em at face value—what else was I likely to do? Told me all about their good selves, they did—sold me a fine pack o’ lies! I let ‘em pass. Should’ve pushed them into the river instead.

Their arrival set the whole town to talkin’, as ye may imagine—flashin’ money about an’ makin’ a fine show o’ wealth as they were. We shall see how my Sophy handled the news by an’ by.

Sophy felt in low spirits after her return from Aylfenhame. The colours of Tilby in Spring, however vivid, could not compare to the scintillating hues of Grenlowe’s meadows which had delighted her eye and her heart in equal measure; the food served by poor faithful Mary and Thundigle, though excellent in its way, smelled and tasted of nothing in comparison to the mere fragrance of the fare of Aylfenhame, which she had not been permitted to eat. To return to her small life in Tilby—to her father’s selective anxieties and habitual neglect, Anne’s raptures over trifles and her own bleak future—sunk her spirits so low she found it almost impossible to maintain her usual semblance of cheer.

‘Are you quite sure you are well, my dear?’ her father enquired on the third day after her return. She had been detained in Aylfenhame rather longer than she had intended; she had returned to find him in a little fever of alarm, and he had never been satisfied with her vague explanations as to where she had gone.

‘Of course, father,’ she said, mustering a smile for him.

He peered at her face, his own drawn with concern. His gaze lingered on her cheek; but if he was fancying her thinner, he must be mistaken. A mere three days of picking at her meals could not possibly effect any material alteration so soon.

Anne noticed her listlessness, too, though Sophy was careful to tell no one where she had been. Tales abounded of maidens lured into Aylfenhame by mischievous fae-folk, only to waste away upon their return. Sophy could understand their feelings quite well, supposing such stories to have any truth to them at all; but she was made of sterner stuff than these wilting young ladies, and had no intention of starving herself into an early grave in such absurd fashion. She would have no one suspect her of it, either.

Besides, though Balligumph had not explained the reasoning behind his actions—only chuckling, and looking mysterious, when she asked him—she could not believe he’d had any such nefarious object in mind. Thundigle was not so sure; or perhaps his concern for her overrode his reason, for he glared darkly whenever Balligumph’s name was mentioned, and stared frequently up at Sophy’s face with almost as much concern as her father.

All this care was gratifying, or so she told herself, and she really tried to feel it. But it was wearisome to be treated as an invalid when her health had suffered no ill effects whatsoever.

And so, when news came—news of a sort to divert all attention and speculation away from Miss Landon—Sophy was considerably relieved. The news regarded an
arrival.
Tilby was a small town, its society usually unvarying; as such, any visitor at all could command a great deal of attention. How much the better when it proved to be a double arrival! Two visitors at once, actually taking a house, and meaning to stay for some weeks at least! When it was discovered that the two visitors were gentlemen, and wealthy, and to all appearances unmarried, Tilby went into raptures—and no one more enthusiastically than Anne.

‘Sophy! I have never seen such handsome gentlemen!’ she announced, sailing into the parsonage one morning with her bonnet askew and her reticule in a tangle about her wrist. ‘I saw them both at church yesterday—how strange, by-the-by, that you did not attend! Were you not well? Are you recovered now? Your father could hardly remember the words of his sermon for worry over you, I am sure of it. Well, but their names are Mr. Stanton and Mr. Green, and they are marvellously fashionable, and
quite
rich besides! They have taken Hyde Place, which no one thought anybody would ever do. They came out of Nottinghamshire, so Miss Gladwin says; though I cannot find out quite where, or why they should want to come
here
of all places.’

She paused for breath. Sophy, suffering pangs of guilt over Anne’s description of Mr. Landon’s sufferings, had hardly attended to the rest of this speech. Searching for a passable response, she managed: ‘I daresay they are very agreeable.’

‘Oh, to be sure! At least, Mr. Green must be, for I never saw anyone smile so much. I am wild to find out more, so please, do come with me into town!’

‘I am not sure how a walk into town will further this praiseworthy ambition,’ Sophy said, amused in spite of herself. ‘I hardly think young men are to be found peering into shop windows on such a fine day as this. They will be out riding.’

‘Perhaps they may, or perhaps not! We will never find out, unless we go, so do please say you will come.’

Sophy agreed to it—not because she entertained any expectation (or any particular desire) of encountering the newcomers, but because she had an errand to perform in the town, and to be seen walking may settle some of her friends’ disquiet about her.

‘I will come with you, if we may go to Miss Sargent’s,’ Sophy offered. ‘I am in sorry need of new ribbons.’

‘Oh! Yes, for your summer bonnet I suppose. Very well, we shall go there directly.’ In half a minute she was out the door and hurrying away; Sophy had to hurry to catch up.

After the glorious ribbons Sophy had seen in the Grenlowe market, she could muster little real enthusiasm for the wares of Tilby’s milliner, but the process must be gone through; and Anne, at least, would take some pleasure in the business. She walked along beside Anne, listening with only half her attention to her friend’s chatter, the rest of her thoughts wandering in Aylfenhame. They reached Tilby’s principle street before she was aware; and then, to her surprise, she saw two unfamiliar young men walking towards them.

‘Ah!’ cried Anne in delight. ‘There! I told you we should see them.’

Sophy had felt so completely secure in her belief that they would not meet the two newcomers that she felt a degree of chagrin, as well as surprise, on beholding them. Her errand must now wait while Anne performed whatever ritual of rapture she deemed necessary. Sophy, of course, would stand by, safely unregarded.

‘Indeed,’ answered Sophy. ‘You have shown yourself very clever. But what shall we do with them, now that we have found them? Are you acquainted with them? For I am not, and otherwise we shall not be able to speak with them at all.’

She studied the approaching gentlemen as she spoke, concluding that—as unlikely as it may seem—Anne had not exaggerated. They
were
uncommonly handsome. Mr. Green was slightly the shorter of the two, with fine red hair and a coat as green as his name. Mr. Stanton was even more handsome than his friend, with dark hair worn in a fashionable style and a fine figure. Both were clothed in the first stare of fashion, with every possible accoutrement that could suggest wealth. Both bore themselves like men of consequence, and smiled upon the world with the complacency of gentlemen who knew themselves to be entitled to anything they could wish for.

Sophy observed their approach with misgiving.

‘I am not acquainted with them,’ Anne said in tones of despair. ‘Still, it is a great deal only to see them. How fine they are!’

Sophy shushed her, for they were rapidly drawing within earshot of the two young men. She expected them to pass by, and so they did; but they slowed as they did so, and Mr. Stanton’s gaze turned upon her in a manner she did not at all like. He not only looked at her; he
stared.

Young men did not stare at Sophy out of admiration. Indeed, they never had; not even in her first youth and bloom. At the age of eight-and-twenty she was fully resigned to this, and was not especially cast down to see no obvious signs of admiration in Mr. Stanton’s fine dark eyes. What she did not expect to see was a kind of intensity, as though her presence mattered to him in some strange way.

She supposed that some aspect of her appearance offended him. Well, with her uninteresting face and shabby attire it was hardly surprising; but as she could do nothing about either disadvantage, it was remarkably rude of him to stare at her so.

To her horror he actually slowed down further—hesitated—seemed about to address her! What could he possibly find to say? She took a deep breath, bracing herself for the insult, when his friend intervened.

‘Stanton! Do hurry up, or we shall be awfully late.’ Mr. Green cast one swift, intent glance at Sophy—giving her time to observe his very startlingly green eyes—and touched his hat. In a trice both young men were gone, vanishing around a turn in the street.

‘Well!’ breathed Anne. ‘Gracious, Sophy, how Mr. Stanton did stare! He must be pleased with you.’

Sophy thought her tone was slightly piqued; Anne was certainly more used to attracting attention than Sophy.

‘I hardly think so,’ she replied, concealing her mortification behind a smile. ‘Nothing in his looks or his manner suggested that he was the slightest bit
pleased
.’

Anne appeared to regret her momentary lack of graciousness, for she linked her arm through Sophy’s and squeezed it. ‘I shouldn’t wonder if he was pleased! But for my part, I think Mr. Green the handsomest and most agreeable gentleman anyone could wish to meet.’

This statement announced her intention of falling in love with Mr. Green, with all due haste. Sophy did not object, choosing to satisfy her feelings with a private resolution of avoiding them both—especially Mr. Stanton.

***

In most respects, Aubranael and Grunewald’s descent upon Tilby could only be described as a complete success. Being so well-supplied in all the most important blessings (principally wealth and beauty, and with more than a little charm besides), the two gentlemen found themselves in high demand almost from the very first moment of their arrival. Their various merits were instantly perceived by the local community, and instantly categorised as deserving of the highest position within Tilby society—alongside such luminaries as the Adairs and the Winbolts, even! It did not matter that the house in which they took up their abode was only hired, and not even a particularly good house at that. Tilby was even so good as to overlook the peculiarity of two gentlemen taking a house with no ladies present to do the honours. They were welcome everywhere that they went, and frequently received invitations to bestow the blessing of their company upon every one of the worthier households in the town.

It did not take Aubranael very long to understand that the combination of wealth and beauty was a very potent one indeed.