Autumn (22 page)

             
“At least it didn’t try to choke you to death, eh? Small miracle, that. If it wants to latch onto Jonty instead of you, I say let it!”

             
Eli patted Arabel’s hand in silent reassurance. He knew there was nothing more they could do this evening except to make it home safely.

             
Which they did, although it was much later than they’d expected when they finally reached the back gate of Arabel’s home. The house was dark except for a solitary, flickering candle in a glass holder on the back porch and Arabel knew Morna must have gone to bed and Amelia Bodean was either staying in town at her club, coming home quite late, as Baltis had predicted she might do, or was soundly sleeping within already.

             
Eli dismounted easily and reached up a hand to assist Arabel to the ground. She landed within the circle of his arms and he brought his lips down to hers hungrily. The air around them swirled with cold and snow but neither noticed. Lost in the warmth of each other, they submerged themselves in a heated embrace, desperate to kiss, to hold, to reacquaint themselves with the other.

             
It was Ira that broke the spell with a loud chortle. Arabel and Eli both laughed at the bird’s antics and Arabel took Eli’s hand within hers, unlocking the door and leading him into the dark hallway. Arabel spoke a telepathic goodnight to Ira and knew the crow would return now to the Copse to see what was going on. Her little spy would send her mental images and so Arabel relaxed and brought Eli into the front parlour after depositing their outerwear into the small back cloakroom. The grey energy had departed and Arabel felt calm again.

             
A rosy fire still burned in the grate of the parlour so Arabel surmised it had not been that long since Morna had taken to her bed. Arabel sank onto the small sofa, pulling Eli willingly down with her. He ran his hands down the long length of her soft black hair and then kissed the tips of her cold fingers. Arabel let out a contented sigh and traced her fingers across his amazing cut-glass cheekbones.

             
“You know you really are quite beautiful,” Arabel remarked with a self-satisfied smirk, her fingers lingering over his wide, generous lips.

             
Eli kissed Arabel’s wandering hand. “You, however, are most incandescently beautiful,” he replied earnestly and leaned in to kiss her heartily for a good, long, succulent moment of bliss.

             
They cuddled together on the sofa and Arabel presently felt an unwanted drowsiness falling upon her. She fought it vehemently; she desired only to be with Eli all night, and to kiss him endlessly until morning’s light broke through the snowstorm.

             
Eli was struggling to stay awake as well. Despite his thirst for Arabel’s lips, it had been a very long day for him, one that had started well before dawn, and tomorrow would be the same.

             
“I must take my leave,” Eli spoke with real regret. “Although truly I desire nothing more than to remain in your presence, always.”

             
Arabel pulled Eli’s body tighter to hers. “Then stay with me,” she cajoled him.

             
“You are a mighty temptress,” Eli replied, as lightly as he could muster, ignoring the needs of his burgeoning desire which greedily enticed him to accept her offer, “but I must report for work in less than three hours and it will take me a quarter of that to even reach Murphy’s land in this blizzard.”

             
Arabel kissed Eli with a womanly confidence she hadn’t been aware she possessed. “Don’t go,” she entreated, running her hands across his back and nibbling on his ear.

             
Eli moaned in dismay and regret. “Beautiful Arabel,” he whispered softly, kissing her again, “I must leave, but I promise to see you tomorrow, as soon as I am done.”

             
Arabel sighed. She knew she was being selfish, if not completely and utterly emotionally immature.

             
“But I haven’t had my fill of you,” she said to him winsomely and he smiled broadly.

             
“For that I am glad,” he retorted, reluctantly getting to his feet. “I hope you never do.”

             
Eli stared at the bright fire, crackling merrily in the grate. He didn’t want to leave but knew he must. He pulled Arabel up from her reclining position on the sofa and they clung to one another in a long, intimate embrace. Arabel walked Eli to the cloakroom where he collected his coat, which was now dry, and then to the back porch where Jovah waited patiently.

             
“I love you,” Eli said, kissing Arabel goodbye. He touched a finger to her pert nose. “Sleep well.”

             
“And I love you,” she replied. “Safe journey.”

             
Arabel stood for a moment, watching as Eli rode away in the snow, feeling as if her heart would burst with joy. She leaned against the door frame, as he disappeared from view, suddenly extremely sleepy, and so she turned and made her way upstairs to her room.

             
Arabel undressed quickly and pulled her warm nightclothes on. She efficiently stoked the fire in her grate before climbing thankfully into bed and pulling the covers tightly up to her chin. Arabel’s thoughts flashed back over the long day she’d just had, and she relived all of the events which had occurred.

             
A small thrill shot through Arabel as she realized she had managed to produce the thief for the Gypsies and she was certain that no one could possibly be angry any longer at Eli. What a relief that had been! And to have had Francesca for a champion! That had been odd as well, but Arabel realized she had actually begun to quite like the tiny medium, despite her earlier jealousy and anxiety over the younger girl’s beauty, familiarity with, and cultural connection to, Eli.

             
Arabel wondered again who it was pursuing the terrified thief, if it was indeed the ominous grey force,  but she fell asleep almost instantly, long before her mind could ask any further questions, or suss out strategies to make Jonty talk. The nightmare took hold of her immediately and she watched as the dream played out in its familiar slow-motion, graphic horror.

             
She could see the man in front of her, he was walking briskly. She struggled to keep up. She was carrying a large bag and it was heavy, so heavy that she wanted to put it down and forget about it. Leave it behind and continue on, faster, faster, and catch up with the man. She was losing him! He was running, his legs so much longer than hers. And then someone else, coming up from behind to drag her down. On the ground, the russet leaves a faint cushion, the earth cold and unyielding. The second person, choking her. Hands on her neck, tighter and tighter.

             
She was screaming with no sound. Her throat was constricted. The contents of the heavy bag lie all over the forest floor. Apples and peaches and carrots and potatoes. She struggled in horror, staring wildly at the shiny red apples as they rolled away. Her legs kicked out uselessly and her hands and nails clawed at the person behind her. She tried to turn, she tried to breathe. Grey and black overcoming her. Laughter. There were two of them and they were laughing, jeering at her.

             
“Thought you were so clever, didn’t you?” one of them said, his voice guttural, deep, and fully without conscience. “Teach you for meddling!”

             
More laughter, more tight fingers on her throat, someone grasping her dress, the sound of ripping material. Horror and unspeakable pain. Under her nails, skin and blood. And then the screaming. Was it her? Was that really her voice raised in unholy fear? Were those her nails raking the face of her unknown attacker as she fought to save herself?
             

             
“You should have left it alone! You’ll regret it now!” the man with the guttural voice laughed ominously and it chilled Arabel’s blood. She knew she was now helpless in the matter of her own death.

             
There was no one to save her. She had failed.

             
Arabel thrust her hands back again, blindly scratching out behind her, in a desperate, last attempt to immobilize her captors. She connected with an arm that wrestled with her and grappled with her in order to incapacitate her.

             
Arabel pushed harder against the arm and was shocked to feel a violent slap across her face. Her eyes flew open in shock.

             
Arabel was disoriented momentarily as her heart slammed forcefully against her ribcage, and then she calmed as she realized the nightmare was actually over. Arabel was in her own bedroom and Amelia Bodean was standing over her, her hand raised high, ready to slap Arabel again if need be.

             
“Wake up, Arabel!” her grandmother shouted at her, her eyes flashing with the effort of rousing Arabel from her turbulent dreams.

             
“I’m awake!” Arabel responded breathlessly, rubbing her cheek where she was certain a rather pronounced angry red mark would be.

             
“Another nightmare?” Amelia Bodean questioned, somewhat needlessly, and Arabel nodded.

             
“I’m fine now, thank you. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”

             
Amelia Bodean let out a long, gusty sigh. She stared at her granddaughter’s closed expression.

             
“You didn’t wake me. I was stranded in town until old Joe Thompkins came along with his plough horses. I just arrived home; I almost had to stay at the club!” Amelia Bodean grimaced slightly; she never felt secure unless she was sleeping in her own bed and she was mighty glad to have made it home this evening.

             
“Good-night then, Grandmother,” Arabel said, stifling a yawn as sleepy tendrils wound their way over her again and the nightmare receded fully.

             
“Good-night, Arabel,” Amelia Bodean replied, making her way toward the door. She paused at the frame. “Your mother, she suffered nightmares too,” she remarked softly, almost to herself, before turning away and Arabel felt the sadness in her gait as she strode from the room, stiff-backed and locked implacably into her own personal sorrow.

             
Surprisingly, Arabel fell back asleep almost instantly, and when she next awoke, she was pleased to see a bright, comforting sunshine filling her bedroom. Arabel stretched out lazily, waking up slowly, clearing her head of the foggy nothing-ness of slumber. She sat up in bed and saw that the fire had gone out and the room was chill, despite the morning rays of sunshine peeking through her window. The sunrays were bright but held no heat.

             
Arabel got out of bed and put on her warm, cosy wrapper. She laid kindling and logs in the grate and lit the fire expertly. Soon the crackling sounds of fire eating its way through the dry wood filled the room and a lovely warmth bit back the cold.

             
Arabel opened her curtains. She was delighted to see the world through a serene looking glass of snow. Everywhere Arabel looked, at the trees, the nearby houses, the buggy making its way down the street, all she could survey was covered in a shiny white gloss, making it seem fresh, new, untouched.

             
Arabel breathed deeply of the bitterly cold, clean smelling air as she opened her window for a brief second to further wake herself up and then she re-shuttered it firmly against the snowy landscape. Snow in autumn; it had been a long time since that had happened. Usually the fall weather in The Corvids consisted of repetitive, endlessly grey, rainy days without any hint of a respite, not snow and sunshine, Arabel mused.

             
She washed her face and hands and dressed in a soft frock of lilac muslin, wrapping a cream coloured shawl around her shoulders for extra warmth. From downstairs, Arabel could hear Morna yelling something to Cook, and she smiled. Morna was always yelling at Cook because Cook could barely hear anything these days; soon it would be time for her to retire.

             
A knock at the door startled Arabel and she called out for the person to enter.

             
To Arabel’s dismay, Mrs. Peyton-Peggison stood there, smiling, a sneaky light gleaming within her deceptively mild mannered eyes. She ran a well manicured hand over her smoothly coiffed, mousy brown hair.

             
“Good morning, Arabel. Your esteemed grandmother has asked me to begin your instruction this morning in household management.”

             
“Today?” Arabel stammered, desperately searching her mind for a way out of this predicament. “But isn’t it charitable donations day?”

             
Mrs. Peyton-Peggison shook her head to and fro, and smiled again in that sickly-sweet manner that Arabel so despised. Mrs. Peyton-Peggison cleared her throat, as if apologetically, but Arabel could see her eyes were gleaming with a morally self-righteous, utterly satisfied delight.