The Tales of Aylfenhame Compendium

Chapter One-2

‘Are you sure that is wise, Sophy, Anne? For there is a strong wind today, you know; perhaps you have not noticed, but I can see the branches waving from my study window. And I am not at all sure it will not rain…?’

Sophy gave him a peck on the cheek. ‘It is a beautiful, glorious day and we shall be quite safe. Come along, Anne!’

She stepped briskly out of the house, satisfied to hear Anne’s quick step following along behind.

‘Rain! Why, there is not a cloud in the sky,’ Anne said as she caught up with Sophy.

‘Try not to blame poor Papa,’ Sophy replied. ‘Ever since Mama, you know, he has had a horror of chills.’

‘Oh, yes; I quite forgot. Still, on such a wonderful day as this! It is strange, Sophy, you will not mind my saying so.’

Sophy could only own that this was a perfectly fair observation. Her father’s ideas were a little strange at times, and his overzealous care for her health could be maddening. But she never truly minded, for it was all born out of love and care, and how could she mind that?

Anne talked on as they walked, chattering comfortably about the doings of her own family, and those of their mutual neighbours. At nineteen, she was almost ten years younger than Sophy, and her conversation tended to reflect that; for she talked a great deal more about the doings of unmarried young gentlemen than Sophy cared to hear. It was of no interest to her how much money Mr. Snelling had, or whether Mr. Adair was likely to choose a wife soon; neither was likely to affect her prospects, nor those of her friends. But she let Anne talk uninterrupted until they arrived at Mr. Peck’s shop.

‘I shall not come in with you,’ Anne said promptly, ‘for Miss Sargent has just got a new bonnet in and I am wild to try it.’

The milliner’s shop being just opposite, this suggestion could only please Sophy, and she readily agreed. It was the work of a mere few minutes to complete her business with Mr. Peck, the more speedily accomplished for not having an audience, and she soon stepped out into the street once more with two hatboxes in hand: one unusually large, and one remarkably small.

She noticed at once that Anne had not gone into Miss Sargent’s shop at all, for she had noticed Mr. Ash in the street and had, with well-meaning enthusiasm, pressed him into conversation. Mr. Ash was a tall, rather serious young man, well known for the dedication he applied to learning his father’s business. It was widely agreed across Tilby that Mr. Ash spent far too much of his time attending to his work, and Miss Gladwin and Miss Lacey were particularly forthright in their belief that he would wear himself away to nothing. With many a charming smile and much good-humoured laughter, Anne was doing her best to avert this terrible prospect.

Mr. Ash bore her conversation with patience, but Sophy could see that he was anxious to resume his errand, whatever it had been. Stepping quickly across the street, she walked straight up to the couple and immediately said:

‘Forgive my interruption, Mr. Ash, but you have accosted my companion and I am much desirous of having her back. Shall it inconvenience you very much if I reclaim her at once?’

Mr. Ash shot her a look of mild relief, mumbled something vaguely affirmative and rapidly made his escape. Sophy noticed that he cast a quick, shy look at Anne on his way past.

‘I am not sure whether to be vexed with you or not, Sophy,’ said Anne once Mr. Ash was out of hearing. ‘He almost smiled! Would have, I am sure, had I had another moment’s conversation with him.’

‘And is it your mission to induce smiles in every young man?’

‘No; only the stubborn ones, like Mr. Ash. Most of them need no encouragement.’

Sophy smiled herself, but made no reply to this sally. Instead she said: ‘Now, Anne, I am going to the bridge. I do not ask you to come with me if you would rather not.’

Anne eyed the enormous hat box in her friend’s hands and made a face. ‘You are not visiting with the bridge-keeper again, are you? I know he is a great friend of yours, but… a troll? I do not know quite where trolls fit into society, but a bridge-keeper cannot rank very high.’

‘All of that is quite immaterial! Balli is a dear creature, gentleman or not, and I am going to give him this gift right away.’ She turned and set off, leaving Anne to catch up if she would.

‘But—but—Sophy,’ Anne panted as she struggled to keep up with the taller woman’s pace, ‘it is not his profession so much as his unusual approach to it! Always wanting news and information and secrets. I do believe that many would infinitely prefer to give him money, like all the other tolls.’

‘Why should that be? Everyone is always wild for news, and gossip is traded with considerably more enthusiasm than mere money. Mr. Balligumph is merely more honest about it than the rest of us!’

Anne’s only response to this was an inarticulate noise of incredulity; but she kept up with Sophy all the way through the village and out to the bridge. The weather was indeed fine, and as the sun beat down upon them both, Sophy began to regret her choice of a long pelisse, instead of a short spencer jacket like Anne’s. It was only that her gown, an old favourite in yellow muslin, was looking so shabby now, and she had just enough pride to want to cover it up. Her spencer was fraying at the cuffs, and until she had found a way to mend it neatly, her pelisse would have to do.

As the old stone bridge came into view, Sophy was glad to see that it was empty; no carriages waited to cross the worn stone structure, and there were no other walkers in sight. Stepping lightly into the middle of the bridge, she paused and called, ‘Mr. Balligumph?’

Almost before she had finished speaking, she heard a familiar low chuckle. ‘Well, Miss Sophy,’ said a rumbling voice from somewhere beneath the bridge. ‘I was beginnin’ to think you was avoidin’ me.’

An enormous, vividly blue face emerged to peer at her from beneath the bridge. She smiled as the rest of the self-appointed bridge guardian stepped out into the sun. He was much taller than she was; much bigger in every respect, for his eyes were as big as the palms of her hands, and the two tusks that showed around his congenial smile were as long as her forearms. She had no idea how he contrived to fit himself under the Tilby Bridge, which was by no means large enough to accommodate him.

‘Good morning!’ Sophy called. ‘I have not been avoiding you; the very notion is absurd, as you well know. Here I am in the flesh, and with another visitor for you!’

Balligumph turned his enormous golden eyes on Anne, and smiled toothily. ‘Always a pleasure, Miss Daverill.’

Anne mumbled something that sounded like ‘pleasure’, and inched a little closer to Sophy.

‘Aww, now, I’ll not be after hurtin’ ye! I only smitherise them as have ticked me off, an’ no friend o’ Miss Sophy’s has ever been known to do that.’

‘Smitherise?’ Anne said faintly.

‘Pulverise,’ Balli elaborated, his smile widening. ‘Bash to smithereens, that is. An’ I may as well add, anybody who’s clunch enough to tick off my Sophy is likely to get smitherised likewise, an’ I’ll be happy as can be t’extend tha’ offer to her friends as well.’

Anne stared at him.

‘That is most kind of you, Mr. Balligumph,’ Sophy said. ‘Fortunately there will be no need to smitherise anybody today.’ The look of strangled horror on Anne’s face and the beaming congeniality on Balli’s made her desperately want to laugh, and she had to cough a time or two to cover it up.

Balli eyed her. ‘Well now, I can’t help noticin’ that ye ain’t exactly empty-handed, Miss Sophy. Is tha’ fer me?’

Sophy held out the enormous hat box with a sunny smile. ‘It isn’t very likely to do for anyone else, is it?’

‘Tha’s what I was thinkin’,’ the troll said smugly, his eyes lighting up at the gift. He took the box from her, taking great care not to crush her small hands with his gigantic ones. He ripped off the lid, threw it casually over his shoulder, and shook out a hat.

It was a tall hat, a little like Thundigle’s but quite distinct. Where the brownie’s aped the tall, polished, slightly conical hats that the gentry wore, Balligumph’s was shorter, wider and blockier. Moreover, it was earth-brown instead of black. It also had a wider brim, the better to shade his eyes from the sun.

Sophy had chosen the style with care. I’m no gent, me, Balli had often said. Just a workin’ troll. A hat like Thundigle’s would never have suited or pleased him, but this one matched perfectly with the slightly shabby, city-attorney-crossed-with-a-farmer attire that he chose to affect.

Balli began to chuckle, his huge chest heaving with laughter as he plonked the hat onto his head. ‘Ain’t you a rare one! I can think o’ nothin’ more perfect.’ He posed for admiration, his messy pale hair sticking out crazily from beneath the brim, his smile larger than ever.

Sophy applauded, relieved to see that the hat fitted him. ‘You’re a vision,’ she told him, grinning.

Balli bowed low. ‘Only watch them ladies try t’ resist me now! Won’t be possible, mark my words.’

Stealing a glance at Anne, Sophy noticed that she looked utterly appalled. ‘He is quite safe,’ she whispered while Balli busied himself with inspecting his new hat. ‘Have you ever heard of Balli harming anyone?’

‘No…’ Anne admitted. ‘But he is so big.’

‘Well, he can hardly help that,’ said Sophy reasonably. ‘You are a great deal larger than a sparrow; does that mean that you intend to inflict harm upon any that you see? Of course not.’

Anne did not seem convinced; but just then Balli looked up again. ‘Top notch, this,’ he informed Sophy. ‘Mr. Peck’s work?’

Sophy nodded.

‘Ain’t cheap, then,’ he said bluntly. ‘Ye’ll forgive me fer askin’, for there never was a sunnier nature this side o’ Aylfenhame. How’s a threadbare miss such as yerself come up wi’ a shiny piece such as this?’

Sophy shook her head. ‘That is an impertinent question which I shall not answer!’

Balli twinkled at her. ‘Impertinent I may be, but that’s me: the manners of a goat, an’ at least twice the hair. But it would be impolite not t’answer me, now, would it not? An’ you bein’ a proper gentry-miss wouldn’t care to be rude.’ He winked roguishly and Sophy couldn’t help smiling back.

‘I bartered for it,’ she said with dignity. ‘The use of my sewing fingers in exchange for some of Mr. Peck’s time.’ And it had taken her many hours of work to earn Balli’s hat, for Mr. Peck—while not unkind—was canny, with an eye to the profit. But she would not tell Balli that.

Balligumph nodded thoughtfully. ‘It’s that nice o’ ye, I’m minded to make a gift in return,’ he said.

‘That is not necessary at all, I assure you,’ Sophy demurred.

‘No argument out o’ ye,’ Balli said, waving a fat-fingered hand. ‘I’ll do as I please, and no shrimpin’ scrappit such as the likes o’ ye is goin’ t’ stop me, understand?’

Sophy suppressed a grin, and curtseyed. ‘Quite understood.’

‘Good.’ He eyed her seriously, from the top of her blonde-curled head to the tips of her booted feet, and said abruptly: ‘How’s that old man o’ yours?’

Sophy blinked. ‘Papa is well enough, thank you.’

‘Yes? His health is good?’

‘I—well enough,’ Sophy said again, with less certainty. In fact, a lack of exercise in his daily routine combined with an overabundance of rich food had caused a steady deterioration in the Reverend Landon’s health, but she had no wish to own as much.

She feared that Balli knew that already, however, for he nodded knowingly and tapped one sausage-like finger against his cheek in thought. ‘An’ what o’ ye? Any nice young men comin’ callin’?’

Sophy flushed, and managed a laugh. ‘No, of course not. Why should there be?’ She had no need to elaborate: at her age, without either money, or connections, or even particularly striking looks to recommend her, her prospects were not bright. When one took into account her lack of musical ability or other accomplishments along with her hopelessness as a housekeeper, well… she had never really expected to wed.

To her mingled relief and pain, Balli chose not to challenge her on this point. Instead he looked at Anne. ‘Well? Is she tellin’ the truth?’

Anne looked uncertainly at Sophy and hesitated. ‘I… know of no gentlemen, sir,’ she said.

Balli nodded. All of his hearty good cheer had vanished; he began to look ready to… well, to smitherise someone. ‘Come back in two days,’ he said abruptly. ‘Just Miss Sophy, if ye don’t mind, Miss Daverill. First o’ May. Don’t be too late, now.’

Bemused and rather mortified, Sophy quickly agreed. Unsure of how to recover from the awkwardness of Balli’s enquiries, she bid him goodbye and hurried away, Anne following close behind.

Now, will ye look at that? As fine a woman as any could wish fer, Miss Sophy—a prize fer any chap as has sense. But there ain’t a scrap o’ sense to be found in these parts, for all the young men to pass her over just ‘cause she ain’t rich, an’ her features is perhaps not so well arranged as the imagination might fancy! Crowd o’ great loobies, the lot of ‘em. I had to do somethin’. All the town knew tha’ the silly old Reverend was eatin’ himself to an early grave, an eatin’ her inheritance with it; and what would become o’ my Sophy then? I ‘atched a plan, that’s what I did. Listen some more, an’ I’ll tell ye all about it…