Well, now, an' how was that fer a wild tale? Ye wouldn't think so much could happen in a place like Tilby, but every word is true—that I swear.
Matters quietened a great deal afterwards, an' a good thing too. The fine people o' Tilby are much like the rest o' their kind: they like their peace an' quiet. An' who can blame them? I like a little quiet meself.
Miss Sophy left Tilby, as you might ha' guessed. Took herself an' Mary an' Thundigle off t' Grenlowe. Oh, they are fine an' thrivin' an' happy indeed—thanks fer askin'! Ye may be able to find them there, if ye would like to visit: just ask fer Silverling—thas the name o' Miss Sophy's shop.
Tilby got theirselves a new parson. His name is Mr. Reed, an' I can't say as I've taken to him all that much. Oh, he's popular in these parts: a young gentleman, and unmarried. Richer than poor Mr. Landon, too; they say he has other income o' some kind. Ye may imagine the delight felt by some o' the young ladies. He courted Miss Adair fer a time, an' when she proved too high-an'-mighty fer him he transferred his affections, as he is pleased to term them, t' Miss Ellerby. I hope she'll have better taste. He is a fine, pompous chap, everso pleased wi' himself and none too pleased wi' the rest o' mankind—or fae-kind neither. He won't have a brownie anywhere near his house! He needn't ha' worried, for they dislikes him every bit as much.
Grunewald is still about. He likes tha' Hyde Place, I suppose, or perhaps there's somethin' else as keeps him by. He has yet to delight the Tilby folk by marryin' any one o' their daughters. Nothin' has ever been seen o' Mr. Stanton, of course, nor Aubranael; not in Tilby, anyhow. Miss Adair is said to be inconsolable; but her Mama is takin' her to London soon enough, an' there she will find many a rich gentleman to mend her wounded heart.
Oh, ye'll no doubt be pleased t' hear that Miss Daverill is married. Yes! She is an odd little thing, an' can be a tiny bit tirin', I'll not deny; but still I was pleased as punch when she became Mrs. Ash. They's said to be quite the happy couple.
Well, but I'm ramblin' on, an' all ye really want to hear about is Miss Sophy and Aubranael! So hearken t' me just a few minutes more, an' I'll tell all...
Sophy sat in her favourite rocking-chair in the front parlour of her shop, a pile of sewing in her lap and a cup of steaming tea at her elbow. The late summer sun shone through the open window, bathing her in golden light; she could not help smiling. Not since before the death of her father had she felt such blissful contentment.
There was a kitchen in the back of the building, and Mary was hard at work within it; Sophy could hear her singing. Thundigle was helping her, whistling along with her song as he did so. They were making delicate pastry tarts, filling them with a jam made from the strange and delicious fruits that grew among the orchards of Grenlowe. Later they would pack them into a basket and wander the streets of the town, selling the contents. The basket would be empty within half-an-hour, in all likelihood, for Mary and Thundigle's confections were becoming legendary.
Almost as legendary as Sophy's wares. She had taken possession of this shop six weeks ago, with Grunewald's help, and the assistance of her friends from the Outwoods had been invaluable. Graen had brought her fabrics so delicate and light they could have been wrought from flower petals; they smelt deliciously of nectar and honey and roses and many other fragrances Sophy could not put a name to. Pinch had brought her ornaments: tinkling bells and twinkling gems; coloured stones and beads of blown glass; delicate pearlescent shells and spun cobwebs; even some of the ribbons she had seen and coveted so many weeks ago at the Grenlowe market. Pinket had infused some of the gems with his wisp-light, until they shone like stars. Tara-Tat had brought her tools: the sharpest, strongest needles Sophy had ever seen; scissors that cut any material with ease, and never grew dull; bobbins of fine thread that never ran out. And Tut-Gut had worked long hours to help her sew her first wares: fine, beautiful gowns of all shapes and sizes, with gloves and boots and reticules to match.
Her fame had spread very quickly, for the creations she produced had never been seen before in Grenlowe. She was never idle, and her increased prosperity allowed her to pay Mary and Thundigle very handsomely for their work in keeping house and shop—much higher wages than her poor father had ever been able to muster. And with their burgeoning bakery business in progress, she felt that her two dear friends had never been happier either.
She saw Balligumph frequently, for she made the crossing to Tilby as often as she could. She visited Isabel and Anne, too, and sometimes received them at Silverling in return. Even Grunewald periodically paid her a call: so often, in fact, that she began to suspect him of some ulterior motive, though he would never confirm her suspicions. She was interested to note that Grunewald's visits often coincided with Isabel's, though he always seemed sincerely surprised to see her there.
But there were clouds in her sky. The first related to Hidenory, and the events of a few weeks previously. The Witch of the Outwoods had provided a perfectly plausible story about her past, at least on the surface; but something about it rang false to Sophy. Perhaps it was because she struggled to see Hidenory—strong, powerful, proud, predatory—as Lihyaen's 'Nurse Hidey', an ordinary woman committed to the care of a little girl. It did not fit. Besides, was it possible for the powers of Glamour to be bestowed in the fashion Hidenory had claimed? Sophy did not know, but she doubted.
And nothing that she knew about Hidenory, or that Hidenory had claimed about herself, seemed to allow the possibility of her freely making so considerable a sacrifice as to take Lihyaen's place at the never-ending tea party. Sophy felt sure that some other motive had been at work, one that Hidenory kept to herself; and she was, at times, troubled.
But the greater sadness that she felt related to Aubranael. Surrounded with friends and well-wishers as she was, she had yet to hear from him. She had no notion at all what had become of her dear Ayliri friend and the princess Lihyaen, nor of Felebre (who, she presumed, had gone with them). She was often tempted to make her enquiries of Grunewald, but her pride revolted at the idea; and he never mentioned them.
Time and reflection and happiness had dulled the hurt and resentment she had felt towards him. His masquerade had not truly injured her, nor anybody else worth caring for; she suspected that the only real damage he had caused had been inflicted upon himself.
And she could imagine his feelings, to some degree. How often had she been dismissed from consideration—rejected and neglected—merely because she was not beautiful! How much worse must it have been for him; not only lacking in beauty but actually disfigured, cursed with a truly repellent aspect? She had sensed his loneliness from their first meeting: it had echoed her own, only his was so much deeper.
She regretted his absence, for all these reasons and more. She began to feel that, given sufficient time, she could indeed have loved him: his behaviour to her in both guises had always been so considerate, so gentle, so truly caring, and his tastes, his interests, his ideas had matched her own so well.
Her heart ached to think of him, adrift somewhere in Aylfenhame without, perhaps, the comfort of friendship to assist his labours. But that was absurd of her: he had Lihyaen, and though the princess had suffered much and would require a great deal of tender care during her recovery, he was no doubt delighted with her company. She had seen his love for her so clearly at the tea-party. It had simultaneously warmed her and broken her heart; for Lihyaen was beautiful, or she would be once the glow of health and happiness returned to her face and form. Insecurity often gnawed at Sophy's heart, though she tried her best to chase it away: did she feel that Lihyaen did not deserve Aubranael's regard? Did she truly wish to deprive her of it, and secure it to herself instead? No; the princess was in far greater need of love than Sophy herself, and it was selfish to wish for a change in Aubranael's heart.
But such reflections did her no service. They dimmed the sunshine of her days, and sapped the warmth in her heart. She sat up in the chair, picked up the folds of fabric in her lap and recommenced her sewing. The best cure for sadness was labour, she had often found, and she had plenty of that to sustain her.
Barely had she begun anew when the bell over her front-door sang out and a great, sleek purple cat stalked into the shop and circled, nose lifted and tail twitching as she tested the air.
'Felebre!' Sophy cried in surprise.
The door remained open and in another moment somebody else came into the room: a tall, slender Ayliri woman, her dark hair neatly braided, her clothes simple. When she turned her face towards the rocking-chair, Sophy saw large golden eyes containing an expression of high discomfort—even fear.
Close behind her came Aubranael.
He was dressed as Sophy had first seen him, in a simple tunic and trousers, tall boots and his enormous wide-brimmed hat; his hair flowed unchecked down his back. He hovered solicitously behind Lihyaen, but his eyes sought out Sophy's. He held her gaze, his face grave; no hint of a smile had he to offer, and the delight that had always graced his face when he saw Sophy was absent as well.
Sophy's heart began to pound and—to her acute embarrassment—her face flushed up with colour. She tried very hard to appear composed as she folded up her sewing and laid it upon the table beside her.
'Princess Lihyaen,' she said in a voice of practiced calm. 'And Aubranael. How kind of you to visit us here.'
The words emerged too cool, too grave; Sophy's heart sank as she realised they must sound sarcastic to Aubranael. Would he take her words as a veiled reproach?
She could not tell, for he still said nothing: only swallowed visibly, and dropped his gaze to the floor. It was Lihyaen who stepped forward and shook Sophy's hand, a hesitant smile lighting her face.
'Oh—but should I have curtsied?' said the princess in momentary confusion. 'Aubranael did tell me all about the manners of England, but I fear I have forgotten. I am so pleased to meet you, Miss Landon.'
Sophy gazed at her, mute and nonplussed. She did not know how to interpret this show of friendliness, offered by somebody who remained a complete stranger to her. Not only that but, by slow degrees, her treacherous heart had been painting poor Lihyaen in the colours of an enemy: the one who had taken Aubranael away, perhaps forever. In light of the young woman's sincere friendliness, Sophy could only feel deeply ashamed of her own thoughts.
'I will shake your hand, and very gladly,' Sophy said, mustering a smile. 'Never mind the manners of England: we are in Grenlowe and will do as the Ayliri do. It is I who should be curtseying to you.' And Sophy did so, curtseying as deeply as she would have to English royalty.
Lihyaen merely looked confused, and glanced uncertainly at Aubranael. Sophy looked at him, too, and waited: it was time he explained himself.
Poor Aubranael flushed under the weight of their combined gaze, and began to stutter. Then he sighed, pulled off the concealing hat and dropped it carelessly onto the floor.
'Miss Landon,' he said. 'I cannot even begin to apologise to you for—'
'Indeed you cannot,' Sophy interrupted hastily, 'and I beg you will not try, for it is not at all necessary.' She could not bear to see him looking so downtrodden, so dejected and so unsure of himself: better to sweep his apologies away than hear him stutter and stumble his way through them on her account.
Aubranael blinked at her, nodded, and said nothing for a moment. 'I... it is intolerable cheek on my part, but I have come here seeking your aid.'
Sophy's brows went up in surprise. She had struggled to guess at his reasons for coming to her shop, but that he might be in need of something from her had not crossed her mind. 'By all means, you need only ask,' she said.
Aubranael's expression softened, and he looked at her with a glow of approval which brought the colour back into her face. 'Ah, I should have known that you would be everything that is generous!' he said. 'Even in spite of my—' he stopped. 'But you have forbidden that topic, and so away with it! The favour I seek is on behalf of Lihyaen.' He smiled affectionately at the princess, who stood stroking Felebre's soft-furred head and looking around the shop with great curiosity.
'It is... not possible to return her to the palace. You may imagine the difficulties—the dangers. At present we have agreed that it is not advisable, and not what she needs.' He looked back at Sophy, his smile fading. 'She has suffered much, and I believe that she is most in need of... security. A quiet, ordinary life, full of simple pleasures and the company of friends. To my infinite regret, I cannot provide her with any of this.
'But Grunewald has kept me apprised of your accomplishments, and the success of Silverling. I had wondered—hoped—that you might—'
'I shall be very happy to take care of Lihyaen,' Sophy said. And she meant it. Something about Lihyaen's honest curiosity about the shop, her unalloyed warmth, and her affectionate treatment of both Felebre and Aubranael had won over Sophy's heart almost instantly. She could see Aubranael's protectiveness towards Lihyaen, and found it echoed in her own heart.
Aubranael's face slackened with relief, and he let out a long sigh. 'Thank you,' he said simply. 'I had nowhere else to turn.'