Autumn (2 page)

             
Arabel and her partner, Sylvious North, an eager, if somewhat oblivious companion, did not have a horse and instead traveled by foot the following dawn, laden with emergency supplies, should they traverse too deeply into the woods and night-time fall upon them. They could easily set up camp but Arabel hoped it would not come to that. She’d no desire to sleep in the woods with Sylvious North. 

             
Sylvious, however, quite longed to touch Arabel’s long, thick black hair to see if it could possibly be as soft as it looked. Sylvious hoped circumstance would conspire to nestle him in the woods with the pixie maiden Arabel and her lithe body and sharp blue eyes.

             
Arabel, the witchy girl.

             
“I think I’ve found something!” Sylvious shouted.

             
Arabel glanced up from the broken tree branches she’d been studying for clues.

             
“Come quick!” Sylvious shouted out again and Arabel made her way over to him.

             
Sylvious had found a black dress. A dress that could easily have been the dead girls, since she wasn’t wearing more than a scrap of clothing when discovered and clearly she’d been clothed at some point before her murder.

             
“It’s torn, badly, but no blood,” Sylvious announced, passing it to Arabel for further inspection. Arabel took it from him gingerly, as if the material would fall apart upon contact.

             
Like a fist to the gut, Arabel fell back against a series of protruding tree roots that jutted out proprietarily across the forest carpet. Sylvious reached out a hand to steady her.

             
“You got something off it?” he asked her excitedly.

             
Arabel’s pale face was more waxy and translucent than Sylvious had ever seen before. Arabel’s hands clutched at the dress, her knuckles fisted around the cloth in a grief-fuelled rage.

             
“He gave her this dress,” Arabel said softly, “so she would look pretty when she died. When he killed her,” she amended immediately.

             
Sylvious let out a low whistle. He laid a tentative hand on Arabel’s taut shoulder.

             
“Let’s go back,” Sylvious suggested, the unsettling discovery forcing him to forgo completely his plan to attempt some sort of seduction.

             
The canopied forest seemed to murmur in assent; the leaves rustled secretively and whispered intangible sorrows, but the birds, the talkative crows, were absent, and no birdsong pierced the gloom.

             
When Arabel was six she’d been orphaned after both her parents succumbed to a deadly fever which decimated almost a quarter of the population of The Corvids. People referred to it as “the dark times” as most lost loved ones, and even if they hadn’t, all were affected in one way or another.

             
After her parents’ deaths, Arabel stopped speaking. For two years she was silent. How was she to tell those she interacted with that her parents had left their bodies but were still around her? Arabel couldn’t explain that her parents had never left her, not really. They were just harder to see and harder to hear and not always available when she would like. They had stopped aging and their forms were milky-white and see-through, but they existed, and advised her and comforted her through her silent years.

             
In later times, their appearances were scarce and intermittent and Arabel could never be sure she would ever see them again. This gnawed at her, quietly, silently, and in the background of her mind, continuously.

             
Arabel went to live with her grandmother, Amelia Bodean Johnston, in a rambling, somewhat rickety old house in Crow’s Nest Pass. Arabel missed Blue Jay Hollow and the quaint three story home of eccentric beauty she’d shared with her parents but it had been sold and the money put away for Arabel’s future.

             
Amelia Bodean Johnston was a strong character who believed firmly in both the rules of society and the reward of a nice glass of rum in the front parlour every evening. Arabel was routinely and alternately scrutinized and ignored but the pattern ran consistently enough for her to know which weeks she would have the freedom to run about unheeded and which weeks she would need to be accounted for within a breath of her body.

             
It was during a freedom week that the corpse was found draped across the base of the Great Torch and thus when Arabel and Sylvious returned to the Priory with the dead girls dress, after duly explaining where they’d found the dress, Arabel snuck away and set out alone the next morning to find the killer.

             
A shadowy face was etched within Arabel’s brain – nondescript brown hair, a small nose with a discernable bump and eerie blank grey eyes. It was no one she’d ever met, she was certain of that. The face had revealed itself when she’d touched the dress, the dress Lady X, as Arabel was now calling the unknown corpse, had been murdered in.

             
If Arabel could’ve drawn, she might have rendered a sketch for Chief Constable Bartlin to pursue but she was not handy with a pencil and her information would be greeted with a sceptical and possibly hostile resistance. Arabel was known as a witchy girl and it made others either overly fascinated or distinctly uncomfortable.

             
Grandmother Amelia Bodean would stand for no such nonsense in her home.

             
“You’re too much like your mother, young lady,” Amelia Bodean would scold. She was a formerly wise-eyed woman, now simply one full of rum liquor. A sad, distant look would perch upon Amelia Bodean’s face, aging her, and setting the wrinkles and creases more deeply into her once handsome and still proud face.

             
“Just like your mother,” she would mutter.

             
Arabel, of course, was pleased to be just like her mother because her earthly memories and her ghostly self were so loving and joyful. But Arabel did not admit this to anyone, for really, to whom can you admit this sort of thing?

             
Having a distinction amongst your friends is one thing; seeing through things, into things and otherworldly things, is quite another. Of more immediate concern to Arabel, however, was that she needed a horse. Luckily, she knew exactly where to procure one.

             
The path to Shelaine’s family estate was well marked with signs and directions as their business was lucrative and Shelaine’s grandfather believed firmly in the value of advertising. Their established and respected family name went a long way toward attracting well-moneyed horse breeders and enthusiasts. Murphy Estates was truly a renowned showplace for impeccably bred horses and they possessed the cups, trophies, and winning ribbons to prove it.

             
Blue Jay Hollow spread out grandly in front of Arabel with its wide fields, brightly coloured spectrum of flowers bordering lush shrubbery, and vast sense of space unspoken for. Arabel’s former home looked good, she noted as she passed; repairs had been recently completed on the front porch. Where before it had been cracked and unsafe, it now stood whole and able, with two new rocking chairs painted in bright sky blue and sunny yellow standing at the ready. Arabel longed, for just a moment, to sit on that stoop with her parents, but the image and intense yearning were just a flash. The house belonged to the past and Arabel knew the past was gone.

             
Arabel intended to ride to Magpie Moor, reasoning that her scouting ought to begin there. As she did not know the man whose image she’d gotten from Lady X’s dress, Arabel ruled out the places she was most familiar with – Blue Jay Hollow, Crow’s Nest Pass, and, to a lesser degree, Ravenswood Glen, as she was reasonably certain she knew most everyone within those townships. 

             
Magpie Moor was half a day by horseback and Arabel was keen to be on her way. Shelaine and her stable master were quite agreeable and Arabel was lent a honey coloured roan named Whipsie who was both gentle and tenacious, lovely to look at, and sturdy enough for the trip.

             
“She’ll keep you good company,” Shelaine said, “but I do wish you weren’t going alone.”

             
Arabel shook her head. “There’s no one to come with, and besides, I’ll be back before anyone knows I’m gone. I’ll stay at the Rosewood Inn tonight and be returned here by the following nightfall.”

             
Shelaine looked at her friend thoughtfully. “Actually,” she mused, “I’m not so certain you need go alone!”

             
Shelaine disappeared quickly and when she returned, a tall, dark haired young man accompanied her. His kind brown eyes met Arabel’s with a mild curiosity. He smiled, revealing a wide, engaging grin.

             
“Arabel, this is Eli Frankel, my grandfather’s newest stable boy. He has agreed to go with you!” Shelaine spoke triumphantly, relief visible in her tone.

             
“If you just give me a minute, miss, I’ll saddle up and meet you at the paddock,” Eli said.

             
“
I don’t want to put you out-”,
Arabel began, but Shelaine silenced her with a look.

             
“I’ve already cleared it with the stable master,” Shelaine declared, settling the matter firmly.

             
Eli smiled again. “Be right there,” he said, and disappeared into the stable, his lanky frame moving quickly. Arabel knew she was outvoted but strangely, she didn’t mind. There was just something about Eli that made her feel relaxed, though she didn’t know why, and at the moment, it wasn’t worth questioning.

             
“Thank you,” Arabel said to Shelaine, kissing her on the cheek, “and I will see you tomorrow, nightfall!”

             
Whipsie graciously allowed Arabel onto her back and Arabel joined the dark haired young man at the paddock. Arabel guided the horses east to Magpie Moor and luckily, the rain eased off, making the journey much more enjoyable. Whipsie seemed delighted for the adventure and Arabel felt suddenly lighter than she had in days. Even before the discovery of Lady X, Arabel realized she’d already been under the spell of melancholy and sadness. The grey swirling energy.

             
As Arabel and Eli moved farther away from Blue Jay Hollow, Arabel’s mood escalated until she felt almost euphoric, and this she did not trust either. Whipsie seemed indifferent and maintained a graceful canter along the clean, well ordered paths. Other traffic was slight and they encountered only one elegant carriage racing by and one couple on foot.

             
The wind was a soft, humid balm and Arabel noticed magpies collecting overhead. They were beautiful. Their white, black, and blue plumage looked especially bright and their chatter blended in nicely with the sound of the horse’s hooves.

             
Eli was slightly behind Arabel as they rode and neither of them spoke for a long time.

             
“They say she was running from her husband to her lover,” Eli finally said, breaking the silence.

             
“Who? Lady X?” Arabel returned.

             
Eli smiled again; he had a disconcerting habit of doing so, and Arabel found herself smiling back, despite the darkness of the subject matter.

             
“Yes, your Lady X, whose dress you found.”

             
“I had to give her a name,” Arabel defended, quite unnecessarily.

             
Eli crooked an eyebrow. “Of course you did,” was all he said.

             
They rode in silence once more and Arabel stole glances at Eli sideways when he didn’t seem to be looking. There was something familiar about him, something soothing, but beyond the feeling of safety, Arabel realized he was a stranger she’d just met and protocol -for what it was worth- demanded that she be no friendlier with the Murphy’s newest stable boy than she would any other young man.

             
“It’s quite alright you know,” he said suddenly.

             
Arabel questioned Eli with a look; she tried for ambiguous, but failed most miserably.

             
“I won’t tell anyone what we’re doing,” Eli continued.

             
“You don’t
know
what we’re doing!” Arabel countered, but Eli smiled again, a knowing, slow-as- molasses kind of smile that seemed to be doing something to her insides.

             
“I know more than you think,” Eli said cryptically, “and probably more than I ought!”

             
Arabel decided to stay silent. There were hours ahead on the journey still, and much time for disclosure if she so desired.