Miss Ellerby and the Ferryman Read Free Page B

the world, Miss Sophy
Landon, had — by a series of strange events — come to marry one of
the Ayliri, and had settled in Aylfenhame. Had she somehow
contrived to send these musicians?
    But
Isabel could not conceive of how Sophy could have known of the
assembly at all, nor why she might have chosen to interfere in such
a way. Besides, Isabel felt sure that until a few minutes ago, both
the music and its players had been human indeed.
    The
dancers were in shambles and the steps forgotten as the music grew
stranger, and the ball guests more uneasy. Mr. Thompson was at
Isabel’s elbow, a picture of gentlemanly concern as he tried to
steer her away from the confusion. ‘I do not know what can be amiss
with the musicians,’ he was saying in a placid way, ‘but I trust it
will soon be put right. In the meantime, please come and sit out of
the way, and I will procure you some refreshment.’
    Isabel stared at
him in confusion. His smile was tranquil enough, and he betrayed no
sign that he was other than mildly puzzled. Had he not observed how
badly amiss the musicians were?
    Rising over the strains of the music came a dull, hollow
boom, and then another: the main doors had been thrown open.
Whirling to observe this new disturbance, Isabel saw streaming into
the assembly room the strangest procession of people she had ever
beheld.
    At
their head strode a tall, thin man, taller than anyone else in the
room. He wore knee-breeches, waistcoat and cutaway coat in the
fashion of the English gentry, but his were cut from strange,
shimmering fabrics dyed in the colours of spring flowers. His hair
was indigo in hue and fell in a tangled mess around his face, and
at his lips he held a strangely curling pipe. The music he played
upon this enchanting instrument rippled like water, and melded
perfectly with the lively melody the orchestra played.
    Behind him danced a lady only slightly shorter than he, her
figure as wispy and fragile as a blade of grass. Her golden hair
was swept up upon her head and bound with long pins, at the ends of
which rested living butterflies — Isabel’s startled gaze discerned
the slow movement of wings. Her dress mimicked the style of
Isabel’s own, but hers was as light and silky as flower petals. Its
colour was some hue between purple, blue and pink that Isabel had
never seen before, and shockingly vibrant. She wore clusters of
glass bells upon her wrists; these she shook in time with the
piper’s song, setting them ringing with an eerie music.
     

     
    Behind these two came six more couples, all dressed in the
same manner of familiar, yet strange fashions. Their hair was long
and flowing, straight and heavy or curling like wisps of smoke.
Some wore their sumptuous locks loose, while others had bound their
hair up with jewels and combs. Their eyes flashed with merriment
and anticipation and something else — mischief, perhaps.
    Isabel’s mind flew back to the visits she had paid to Sophy
in the fae town of Grenlowe. Being a skilled seamstress, Sophy had
set up a shop there. She now sold fashions for both men and women,
wondrous garments which mixed English styles with the strange and
beautiful materials available in Aylfenhame and a glimmer of fae
magic. These Ayliri were wearing Sophy’s clothes!
    Did
that mean that Sophy had sent them? But why would she do such a
thing? Isabel watched in a daze as the Ayliri dancers streamed
through to the centre of the room, the assembly’s displaced guests
falling back as one to make way for them. Even the Thompsons’
finery paled to nothing against the riot of colour and light and
magic the fae brought with them, and the Alford assembly guests
were silent in awe.
    The
Ayliri formed themselves into a set and began a whirling, laughing
dance that was as alien as their music. They dominated the space
with their flamboyant movements, and the people of Alford and Tilby
were forced back against the walls.
    Isabel couldn’t see who first began, but in the blink of