Miss Landon and Aubranael (Tales of Aylfenhame Book 1) Page 12

  Sophy began to feel rather uncomfortable. In recounting her experiences, she had only been seeking a way to draw him out on the subject of his own arrangements; but she now saw that her candour may have appeared to him as a plea for sympathy. His offer was an odd one, given their very new acquaintance, but as a response to her apparent complaints his good wishes did him credit.

  Unfortunately for him, they also violated Sophy’s sometimes delicate pride. She stiffened, and said in a cool voice: ‘I am very ably assisted, I assure you. Please do not suppose that I intended to solicit your aid in any way.’

  He held up his hands in a pacifying gesture, his expression of warm solicitude turning to mild alarm. ‘Please forgive me: I meant no offence. I am fully convinced of the merits of your Mary, and Thundigle also. I am equally convinced of your own merits in the case, though you did not, perhaps, intend to convey them to me. I only meant to express a general wish that your circumstances might be… a great deal easier than they are at present.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Sophy said, relaxing slightly. ‘I too wish for that, sometimes.’

  ‘And if there should ever be any way in which I might assist you—’

  ‘Pray, don’t,’ Sophy interrupted. ‘There can be no way in which a gentleman such as yourself, so wholly unrelated to my father or to me, can be of assistance to us.’

  She had meant to put a stop to his embarrassing solicitude, but the moment these words left her mouth she regretted them. To him, her statement may appear as a coy way of saying that he must first render himself a close relation before he could seek to assist them, and she would not have him think her encouraging any such notions for the world.

  ‘I feel a head-ache approaching,’ she said abruptly, jumping to her feet so fast that she almost toppled herself. ‘And my father will be expecting me soon; I must return home at once.’

  Mr. Stanton rose likewise, though with considerably more grace, and offered his arm. ‘Allow me to escort you home, Miss Landon,’ he said softly, and judging from the concern in his eyes, he was quite convinced that her head-ache was not real.

  Sophy was not convinced of it, either. She felt tense, and pressure beat behind her eyes. If she did not altogether have a head-ache yet, she would soon.

  But why? Having begun so promisingly, the comfort of his company had gone, giving way to a disagreeable awkwardness. That tended to define their relationship, Sophy reflected with an inward sigh, at least on her part: she went from quiet pleasure to awkward self-consciousness in an instant, and it took very little to effect the change.

  Perhaps it was merely her awareness that a handsome, agreeable and highly eligible gentleman appeared to be interested in her. She still found it impossible to reconcile this fact with her knowledge of herself, her life, and her circumstances, and so she expected at any moment for the flattering signs of interest to disappear. And then she would lose not only the brighter prospects which his particularity began to suggest, but also a friendship: for she had begun to think of him as a friend, though she knew not precisely when.

  ‘I did not mean to appear ungrateful,’ she said as they walked. ‘I am fully sensible of your kindness, and I do thank you for your friendly concern.’

  ‘It is not the concern of a friend,’ he began, and then stopped. ‘Not the concern of a friend only, I should say.’

  This statement seemed to augur something serious, and Sophy was at a loss for a reply. She waited in silence for more; but he seemed paralysed by some inner turmoil, made a few further attempts to speak, cut himself off repeatedly without managing a full sentence, and finally lapsed into silence. They walked back to the parsonage without any further conversation, and Mr. Stanton left her on her doorstep with only a mumbled platitude by way of parting.

  He did, however, kiss her hand before he departed.

  Sophy watched him go in a tumult of conflicting feelings. What could he mean by such strange behaviour? Did he intend to offer for her, or had he meant something else entirely? In some ways, she fervently hoped he might: for he was, without doubt, the most agreeable man she knew. In other ways, she was equally fervent in hoping that he would not, for their acquaintance was so new—and she herself had so little to offer—that she struggled to understand on what his regard might be based.

  A moment later, she progressed from wondering to berating herself for her absurdity. He might never make the offer; if he had been thinking of it half an hour ago, he had apparently changed his mind; and until he did, there was no sense in wondering about whether or not she might accept him. It would be far more reasonable, more practical, and more logical to bend her thoughts in the direction of those prospects which did not rely upon the interest of a man, however slim they might appear.

  She made a mental note to visit Mr. Balligumph again very soon. She wanted to relay Mr. Stanton’s comments on the subject of his household, and she made a resolution of asking him some more questions about Grenlowe at the same time. Try as she might, she could see little future for herself in England, after the passing of her father; but Grenlowe might offer her an entirely different set of prospects. It was, at the very least, worth the enquiring.

  ***

  Aubranael arrived home to find that Grunewald had company.

  He was sitting at his ease in the study, smoking something that smelled strangely sweet. In an oversized chair to his left sat Mr. Frederick Winbolt, eldest son of the Winbolt family. His slight frame was half buried in the enormous chair, and Aubranael could only see the top of his blond-curled head. In a rather less comfortable-looking chair to his right sat Mr. Edward Adair, his dark hair immaculately arranged—putting Winbolt’s tousled locks rather to shame—and his handsome face fixed in an expression of discontent. All conversation ceased as Aubranael walked in, and three heads turned to regard him.

  ‘Stanton,’ Grunewald said lazily. ‘Thought you were never coming back.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Aubranael, advancing into the room. ‘It is not so very late, I thought.’

  ‘But as you went to see Miss Landon, I fully expected to see nothing of you until dinner-time at least.’

  To his annoyance, Aubranael felt heat rush into his cheeks. Hastily he walked to the window, putting his back to the room so that they wouldn’t see his confusion. He couldn’t help wishing that Grunewald had held his tongue about Miss Landon, when they weren’t alone.

  Predictably, it was Adair who took up the subject. ‘Miss Landon,’ he repeated in a mocking tone. ‘Oh, surely not, Stanton! To be sure, the ball gave every appearance of a special preference in that direction, but I could hardly believe it of you!’

  Aubranael turned around, just far enough to catch Adair’s eye. The young man was flushed with something—it looked like drink, but at this time of the day it was probably just swaggering overconfidence—and he met Aubranael’s stony gaze without flinching.

  The boy was still piqued on his sister’s account, Aubranael decided. But understanding the motive did not make him feel much more inclined to forgive the ill-will that was offered as a result, and he turned back to the window without saying anything at all.

  The silence stretched, until Winbolt spoke. ‘She is a fine woman,’ he offered, with a little too much cheer.

  Aubranael appreciated this show of support, but as it resulted in a derisive snort from Adair, he felt that it had somewhat misfired. Not contented with this small show of contempt, Adair went on. ‘I have never seen a woman so absolutely without countenance!’ he declared. ‘And not a penny to her name, either! I must say, you do have the most extraordinary taste.’

  ‘Steady on, Adair!’ said Mr. Winbolt.

  ‘I suppose you mean to offer for her,’ continued Adair, and laughed. ‘Prefer an easy target, do you? Don’t like to have to compete for a lady’s favour? You’ve chosen well.’

  Aubranael clenched his teeth together so tightly that his jaw hurt. Only by such uncomfortable means could he keep back the retort Adair so richly deserved, but which would debase h
im to deliver. Another awkward silence followed—Grunewald apparently preferring to stay out of the ruckus he had started—before Winbolt once again broke it.

  ‘Do you mean to offer for her?’ he asked.

  ‘I have no thoughts of such at present,’ Aubranael replied.

  ‘Shame,’ Winbolt said mildly. ‘It would be a very good thing if you did.’

  That, Aubranael thought, deserved his full attention. He turned around, ignoring Adair, to regard the open, friendly countenance of Frederick Winbolt.

  He was a few years older than Adair, Aubranael judged, though his smooth-skinned face looked youthful. His blue eyes held a pleasant expression and his manner was artless and cheerful. Of all the connections he and Grunewald had made since their arrival in Tilby, Frederick’s company was the most congenial.

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Aubranael asked.

  ‘Oh! Well, she is a charming woman, you know, and a very good sort. But her circumstances… ah… well, she deserves more than she’s got, that’s all.’

  ‘Would she thank me, do you think,’ said Aubranael with a slight smile, ‘if I offered for her purely to improve her prospects?’

  ‘Heavens, no! Not what I meant,’ said Frederick easily. ‘But if you did happen to like her—and for my part, I can’t see that it is so very unlikely—why, she would make you a fine wife.’

  Here Adair thought it appropriate to interject with another vulgar snort, which Aubranael and Frederick both ignored.

  ‘Why didn’t you offer for her then, Winbolt?’ said Mr. Adair.

  Aubranael was confused by this sally, until he remembered that Mr. Winbolt had recently engaged himself to an acquaintance from Derbyshire. A fairly wealthy acquaintance, if the rumours were to be believed.

  ‘Oh, well—as to that—’ Frederick began, but Adair cut him off with a wave of his hand.

  ‘You had more sense than to offer for a plain, penniless woman, no matter how “charming” her character,’ he said. ‘I understand you completely. I only thought Stanton would follow your example, but I suppose he is without sense after all.’

  Aubranael tilted his head, regarding Mr. Edward Adair without expression. All the anger he had felt moments earlier had dissipated, for the boy made himself so ridiculous, it was not worth the effort of despising him. ‘I ought to thank you,’ he said with a faint smile, ‘for making up my mind. You too, Winbolt. I had not thought of making Miss Landon an offer, but now I quite see the merits of the idea.’

  Frederick looked pleased and gratified at the same time, as though Aubranael’s beginning to think of Miss Landon on such terms was entirely in compliment to his opinion. Adair merely looked incredulous.

  ‘An excellent plan,’ said Grunewald, choosing to involve himself in the conversation at last. ‘There may be a few difficulties in the way, but I am sure they will not signify.’

  There were, indeed, difficulties in the way of this otherwise wonderful plan. The fact that he had no home to take her to, for example, and no means to purchase one; the fact that his identity was fabricated, and everything Sophy knew of him in this world was a lie; the fact that his real face would soon be restored to him, and though she had not seemed to object to it when he stood in the character of a friend, he could hardly imagine that she would ever accept him in the character of a lover.

  A few small difficulties, indeed.

  In spite of this, Aubranael felt energised and strangely elated. He had spoken at first out of a desire to put Adair in his proper place; but as the words left his mouth, he realised that meant them. The prospect of securing Miss Landon’s company to himself forever—of winning her love, not just her friendship—transformed all his ideas about his own future. His existence of lonely isolation would be over forever, and so would hers; he would ensure that she was never lonely, never slighted, never overlooked again.

  Winbolt was right: she deserved better, and one way or another, he would find a way to provide it.

  He thought back to the precious hour or two he had spent in Miss Landon’s company that morning; how easily they had talked together, how comfortable even the silences had been. As a pattern for his future life, he could hardly conceive of anything more perfect.

  But how to bring it about? The obstacles Grunewald had hinted at were considerable; insurmountable, at first glance. But there had to be a way out of his difficulties, and he swore to himself to employ every means he could think of to overcome them.

  All of this passed through his mind over the course of two or three minutes; minutes that he spent staring sightlessly at a spot on the study wall and looking, he was sure, like a half-wit. He returned from his reverie to find three faces staring at him in silence: one wearing a pleased expression, another looking perfectly disgusted, and the third looking lazily cynical.

  He smiled upon them all and said: ‘Would you excuse me?’ Offering a careless half-bow by way of parting, he strode quickly from the room without a backward glance. He needed some considerable time by himself, he judged, in order to get all of his thinking done.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘Tell me about Grenlowe.’

  Sophy sat beside Mr. Balligumph on the edge of the old stone bridge, her legs folded beneath the fabric of her gown, her bonnet lying discarded upon the stone slabs beside her. The mid-day sun shone warm upon her smiling face, and the fresh breeze seemed to take all her cares sailing away with it.

  The troll had taken off his hat, too, though he chose to cradle it in his lap. He sat near to Sophy, idly stroking the crown as he spoke. ‘Grenlowe, is it?’ he said, with a toothily smug smile. ‘I take it ye’re pleased wi’ the place, to be askin’ me that.’

  ‘One should not form judgements too quickly, I know,’ replied Sophy, ‘but I could not help myself. Grenlowe was charming.’

  Balli’s smug smile vanished and he turned serious. ‘Aye, well, I won’t deny I had hopes ye’d like it. But ye must not get too carried away wi’ such notions, Miss Sophy. T’ain’t all charming, to be sure.’

  ‘That is certainly the truth! For I was awfully pulled about in the market-square; I have never seen anything so busy. And almost knocked off my feet entirely, by such a careless gentleman! But I hardly minded it at all.’

  Balligumph chuckled heartily, nodding his great head. ‘Oh, it’s a busy place. The Grenlowe market is famous, did ye know? Folks journey from all over Aylfenhame to spend an hour or two browsin’ the wares.’

  ‘Truly? But Grenlowe seems such a small place. Barely larger than a village, I thought.’

  Balli winked at her. ‘It’s a mite bigger’n ye’d think, Miss.’

  The consciousness of having walked from one side of Grenlowe to the other with Aubranael, and in less than an hour, puzzled Sophy immensely. ‘But how? What I mean is, where do they keep the rest of it?’

  ‘Down below, above ground, an’ in hidden ways and corners.’

  ‘Enchantments! Very well. I will take your word for it, for I hardly know when I shall ever be able to return.’

  ‘Do ye wish to return?’

  Sophy thought of the market, the ribbons, the food, the trees, the meadows, the strange purple cat and Aubranael. ‘Yes!’ she said. ‘I should like it above all things.’

  ‘Yes? An’ what will ye do there?’

  ‘I should like to explore a great deal more, as I have evidently missed a great deal. I should like to buy one of those very beautiful ribbons from the market. And…’ here she hesitated a moment, ‘There is someone I would very much like to see again.’

  Balli tilted his great dead downwards in a listening gesture, but some strange reticence discouraged Sophy from elaborating. Instead she said: ‘Do you suppose—that is, I was thinking—if I wanted to be part of the market, how would I go about it?’

  Balli blinked down at her in palpable confusion. ‘Part o’ the market? I can’t understand you.’

  Sophy hesitated. ‘Well… I know it is hardly proper to think of selling things—awfully vulgar, some would say
—but in my position—and it is Aylfenhame, you know, where the rules are quite different—’

  ‘Ye wish to sell at the market?’ Balli interrupted. ‘Is that what ye’re saying?’

  Sophy felt a faint blush crawl into her cheeks. ‘I… why, yes, I suppose I am. Is it so very awful?’

  A huge grin wreathed Balli’s round face and he chuckled. ‘Very awful indeed, if ye were to consult those whose opinions ain’t worth havin’. For my part, I think it a grand idea. Only, what are ye minded to sell?’

  ‘There was something I noticed in particular about the people I saw in Grenlowe,’ Sophy said, smiling in relief. ‘They do love their finery! Much as Thundigle does.’

  Balli nodded vigorously. ‘Finery an’ garments and sundry! Very well. Tis a fine plan.’

  ‘Only, I have no notion at all how to go about it. It would require materials, of course, and no doubt there would be other difficulties.’

  ‘Oh, plenty. But that don’t mean it’s hopeless, by any stretch. Ye’d be leavin’ England altogether, though; is that the plan?’

  Sophy sighed, feeling a momentary pang of regret as she looked out over the green fields of Lincolnshire that stretched away before her. ‘It is not that I am unhappy here,’ she said, ‘only I can see so little place for myself, in the future.’

  ‘Ye’re not minded to take that fancy fellow ye danced with at the ball, then? Even wi’ all his money and fancy suits?’

  Sophy laughed at this picture of Mr. Stanton, though a note of disquiet sounded within her mind. ‘Is that the talk? No, I am not at all minded to throw myself at a fortune! Besides, he would have to ask me first, and I am very sure he never will.’

  ‘That ain’t what I heard.’

  The disquiet grew. ‘Oh, dear. Is there a great deal of gossip? That is very embarrassing.’

  ‘Embarrassin’, ye call it, t’ have yer name linked with so fine a gentleman?’