Bessie Bell and the Goblin King (Paperback)

Good evenin' to ye, an' well met! Welcome to the Tilby toll-bridge. Steady, now. Yer horses are havin' a hard time seein' through the fog, an' when it's dark t' boot, well! Ye'll want to go good an' slowly through the town. Not that ye’ll meet any other folk on the road. Yer carriage is likely to be the only one sailin' the streets o' Tilby at this hour.

I'm Mister Balligumph, yer friendly toll collector. But don't let that worry ye! Mayhap we've met before — I can't altogether tell in the dark o' night, yer face is a mite too hidden-like. But either way, the toll's not steep. I'll not be needin' any coin from ye — what would a troll do wi' English money? It's a little bit of information I'm after. A bit about ye will suffice. What brings ye to our fine Tilby-town in the depths o' November, an' on such a damp an' foggy night? Thas all I need, an' ye can pass. An' if ye're minded to tell me somethin' else — somethin' by way of a secret, like — then I might tell ye a tale by way o' thanks.

There's been some mighty strange goin's on in these parts this autumn. Oh, I know thas not entirely out o' character fer Tilby. Ye might've heard one or two oddly stories about us before — mayhap from me. I talk to a lot o' folk. But this one's the strangest yet, an' a touch on the dark side.

Ye'd like to hear more? Tis a recent tale, all happenin' only a few short weeks back. I had best warm up yer carriage a trifle before I begin — ‘tis cold t’ be sittin’ long wi’ no heat. There, thas better.

And so, to my tale. It began, in point o' fact, on a night much like this — dark an' chilly an' deep in fog. Rumours had been flyin’ about fer a week or two aforehand, ‘bout a menace on the roads. Travellers bore tales o’ shadows an’ strange noises an’ flamin’ eyes in the night. ‘Twas wishy-washy mutterin’s to be sure, but most folk agreed: wanderin’ about at the dead o’ night may be a poor idea. But fer Bessie Bell, it weren’t rightly a matter o’ choice…

* * *

In the humble opinion of Bessie Bell, housemaid, the residents of Hapworth Manor bore a remarkable talent for making a vast quantity of mess in a short space of time. Crouched as she was over the drawing-room carpet, she had plentiful leisure to reflect upon their slovenly habits as she sweated over the sweeping-up. Just how was it possible for four people to leave a pristine room in such an abominable state every single evening? She took pride in her work, and she knew that the drawing-room had been spotless only that morning. Now it was a deplorable mess, and it was her unhappy task to render it respectable once more. And there was a fresh, new stain for her to endeavour to remove, for some obliging guest had spilled Mrs. Adair's expensive tea all over her floor, and Bessie had been instructed to ensure that naught remained of the mishap by morning.

The Adair family were reckoned as good employers, and not wholly unjustly. They were generous enough with the wages they paid to their servants; they did not stint on such necessities as nourishing food and warm clothes for the winter, as some families did; and the room Bessie slept in each night was shared with only one other servant. These were not inconsiderable benefits.

But in other respects, they left a great deal to be desired. Mrs Adair was exacting in her requirements, almost ferociously so. Bessie rose at four every morning, in order to ensure that the fires were lit for the family before they were pleased to rise. From that hour until ten or eleven o' clock in the evening, her day was filled with back-breaking labour, and it was not unusual for her to be bidden to clean a room twice over, if Mrs Adair was dissatisfied with her work.

'I will help you with that, Bess-Bess,' said a small, mild voice from near Bessie's elbow.

Bess smiled gratefully at the speaker. Derritharn was a brownie, and though she was only as tall as Bess's knee, she was a hard worker, an efficient cleaner, and the only being in the world Bess could call friend.

'Thank you, Derri,' said Bess. 'We are gettin' tired, no doubt, but with a little more effort, I am thinkin' we'll be done. And then we can go to bed.' She sighed, and added, ‘If milady will permit it.’

Derritharn's little becurled head drooped with weariness, and she wiped her tiny hands upon the ragged grey dress she wore, nodding her agreement. 'And about time as well! 'Twas a long day and no mistake.'

Like many towns and villages in England, the Lincolnshire town of Tilby possessed, alongside its human residents, a population of the fae. These varied creatures had chosen, for whatever reason, to leave their natural home of Aylfenhame and settle in human households. Hapworth Manor was home to several brownies who assisted Bessie and the other housemaids with keeping the house clean. Mrs Adair, rather unwisely, treated them more as slaves than servants; too satisfied was she with the unpaid labour she received from these gentle beings, and she worked them every bit as hard as she did Bessie. As such, brownies rarely remained long in the Adairs' service. Neither did housemaids.

Heartened by the thought of her bed, Bess attacked her work with renewed energy. Her bed was narrow and hard and not nearly so well-smothered with warm blankets as she would like, but at least it was hers. And in it she could lie down, stretch herself out, and welcome the sweet oblivion from her daily toil that she so badly required — even if her slumber tended to be all too brief.

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