Miss Ellerby and the Ferryman (Paperback)

Now, halt just a moment if ye’d be so kind! There’s a toll to pay, if ye wish to pass over the Tilby bridge, an’ I’m the toll-keeper. Balligumph’s my name! I may be a troll but I'll not be hurtin' ye. No, I’ll not ask ye to step out o’ yer fine carriage, but yer coachman won’t do. I need a toll from ye. Nowt o’ any particular importance, mind. Just a bit of information. Yer name, an’ yer business in Tilby; that’ll do. An’ one little tidbit o’ somethin’ else — somethin’ secret-like. That’ll do nicely. An’ on ye go!

Or, no! Stay a while. I fancy I’ve heard yer name before. Maybe I’m mistaken — I’m no young troll, ye may notice, an’ I sometimes forget things. Remind me. Was it yer good self to whom I told the tale o’ Miss Sophy Landon an’ her husband, Aubranael? It’s tales I like. I like to hear ‘em, an’ I like to tell ‘em. Ye’ll remember, perhaps, about Miss Sophy, an’ what a fix she was in. No home, no money, an’ no one to look after her! But she’s well an’ settled in Grenlowe now — that bein’ a town in Aylfenhame, ye’ll recall — an’ mighty happy she is.

But she’s not the only young lady o’ Tilby to get ‘erself entangled wi’ the faerie realm. She ‘as a friend, Miss Isabel — oh, she’s one o’ the kindest young ladies in these parts, no doubt o’ that! Perhaps ye’d like t’ hear her story? It’s a jolly tale, for all tha’ she came to — well, no, I’ll no give away the ending! Come, sit wi’ me a while an’ I’ll start from the beginnin’!

* * *

‘Isabel, my love, do come and look! The shoe-roses have arrived. Now, these will do very well with your lavender gown, do you not think?’

Mrs. Ellerby’s voice, penetrating in its enthusiasm, carried easily over the sounds made by the Ellerby household brownie as she vigorously swept the parlour hearth. Isabel’s mother chattered on, holding up handfuls of ribbons, shoe roses and other trifles for her daughter’s perusal and approval. With an inward sigh, Isabel set aside her needlework, and went to the parlour table.

‘They are beautiful, Mama,’ she said in a mild tone, ‘but I had thought we had decided upon my gown for tomorrow? Is it not to be the blue?’

Mrs Ellerby nodded absently, her attention fixed, apparently irrevocably, on the ribbons in her hands. ‘It is what we agreed upon, but think, my love, how much the lavender becomes you! It is the very thing to go with your hair. If you had been light-haired I should not venture to recommend it, for it can be a trifle insipid! But with your colouring I should think it the very thing!’ Mrs Ellerby continued on in this style for some time while her daughter listened dutifully, playing about with a piece of gold ribbon which had fallen from the box.

In due course came the inevitable. ‘And I am persuaded, you know, that it is the very thing which Mr. Thompson would like.’

‘Mama,’ said Isabel gently, ‘we must not allow Mr. Thompson’s supposed preferences to rule us entirely. I should prefer the blue.’

‘Yes, yes, I am sure you are right.’ Mrs. Ellerby paused, and bent her attention to a fresh pair of shoe-roses she had at that moment pulled from the box.

Isabel waited.

‘But I am persuaded you might reconsider, if only you were to think —’

‘Mama! Please! It is decided: I shall wear the blue.’ Isabel dropped her ribbon and stood up. ‘It is time for my walk, now that the rain has cleared. Please, put the shoe-roses away.’

Mrs. Ellerby subsided with only one more faint protest, and Isabel made her escape.

It was early in July, and the morning was warm. Isabel regretted the bonnet and spencer jacket that propriety insisted she should wear, though the former was of straw and the latter of the lightest sarsenet. A breeze ruffled her dark brown locks as she turned in the direction of Tilton Wood, and for a wistful moment she considered removing her bonnet entirely, and tucking it under her arm. After all, there was no one to see her.

But no, it would not do. A passerby may happen upon her at any moment, and even were it but a farmer, Miss Ellerby of Ferndeane must not be seen to commit so great an impropriety as to wander the fields of Tilby without a hat. Her Mama would be appalled.

Resigned, Isabel heaved a great sigh and walked on, turning into Tilton Wood with relief. The great oak trees offered cooling shade, and the sunlight filtered through the green, green leaves cast pleasing dapples over the earthen floor. Isabel slowed her pace to a stroll, and her tumbling thoughts slowed to match it.

Mr. Thompson was the son of an old friend of her Mama’s — at least, Mrs. Ellerby chose to claim Mrs. Thompson as a friend. In truth, they had merely been at school together, and Isabel could not find out that they had ever been close. But her schoolfellow had married well. The Thompsons were a family of consequence, settled some fifteen or twenty miles south of York, and Mr. Thompson was, as yet, unmarried.

By some means beyond Isabel’s comprehension, her mother had re-established contact with Mrs. Thompson, coaxed her into renewing their acquaintance and had at last persuaded her to attend an assembly in Lincolnshire — with her son. That assembly was due to take place tomorrow night, hence all Mrs. Ellerby’s anxious preparations today.

Nothing had been said to Isabel in so many words, but she understood that she was to be offered to the young man as an eligible bride. Her family was not wealthy, but they were respectably endowed with a genteel fortune, and Isabel could expect to inherit some twelve thousand pounds someday. Mama hoped that this, together with Isabel’s person, manners and accomplishments, might be sufficient to tempt the young man.

Print books are crafted to order and dispatched directly from the printer. Estimated delivery time is 1-2 weeks for standard editions, 3-5 weeks for deluxe editions.