Autumn (11 page)

             
“Not so fast, Jonty Governs,” Arabel retorted as she urged Whipsie over the cackling bridge. “I’m not done with you quite yet.”

             
“I been honest with you, miss, even told you me real name! Now if I’d a been trying to pull one over on you, don’t you think I would’ve lied?”

             
There was some logic to the thief’s assertion and Arabel was slightly amused, despite the fact she was absolutely certain that Jonty was not to be trusted, not even one measly iota.

             
“Perhaps,” Arabel remarked, “but as long as you’re in hiding, the Chief is going to organize a manhunt to find you, and when you’re found, well, let’s just say, I wouldn’t want to be you.”

             
They had reached the stables now and a stable boy came out immediately to relieve Arabel of Whipsie. Jonty dismounted after Arabel and stood there, clutching his big black hobo bag to his chest. The small thief turned his most pleading expression upon Arabel, all sorrowful eyes and practiced remorse.

             
“I can’t stay around and get caught, neither, miss; the Gypsies’ll have me hide if they find me.”

             
Arabel sighed. She really did not know what to do with the man – turn him in? Set him loose? The thing was, she believed in his innocence. He wasn’t a killer. But as long as everyone believed that he was, the real killer was literally getting away with murder.

             
“Let’s talk it out over a meal,” Arabel decided and firmly took Jonty’s arm to lead him inside of the inn. The crow, Ira, called out a hoarse goodbye and flew upward toward the roof of the inn.

             
Once inside the cosy lobby Arabel found that the Rosewood Inn was the same as it had been a few days ago with one large exception – it now dealt firmly in the currency of fear. The proprietor looked somewhat haggard, as if he’d been up all night, or for a few nights running, and he greeted them with a slightly less enthusiastic welcome than she remembered from the last time.

             
Arabel booked a room for herself and then she and Jonty went straight through to the dining room. It was not very busy and they were led to a nice table close to the fire, for which Arabel was incessantly grateful.

             
“Now,” she said, as she removed her voluminous black cape and settled in, “let’s finish this tale.”

             
Jonty sighed, as if he were some long-suffering friend inconvenienced momentarily out of misplaced duty, and Arabel sensed a growing sneakiness about him. She knew he would disappear from her sight at the first available opportunity. She didn’t intend on giving him that option, at least not yet.

             
A polite male server brought them water and a pot of fresh steaming tea as they perused the menu and then placed their orders. Jonty glanced around the room, as if expecting someone. Or planning a getaway. He glanced at Arabel almost apologetically.

             
“Isn’t this where the girl went missin’ from?” Jonty asked, a quiver of either fear or excitement colouring his voice.

             
“Yes, Klara disappeared from here,” Arabel replied.

             
“Hmm,” Jonty said, shrugging, “now who’d wanna place the blame on these poor shoulders? Maybe someone knew I was hiding out hereabouts. Maybe someone like Nicky. Someone wantin’ to frame me.”

             
“It’s possible,” Arabel agreed, “but why would anyone want to involve you unless you were already a known party to the crimes being committed?”

             
Jonty snorted. “I told you, miss, about the misdeeds of mine, and those are all I can be held accountable for!”

             
Arabel didn’t believe him. She hoped clarity would visit her and that her thoughts would become focused, but questions abounded, and she wasn’t certain she was asking him the right ones.

             
“Who do you know in Magpie Moor?”

             
“No one, miss. I just been hidin’ out, like I said, keeping to meself.”

             
“Where were you getting food from then?”

             
“I stocked up last spring, when I knew I was gonna pull this job, and if I need somethin’ I don’t have, well, I just go out and find it.”

             
“You steal it, you mean.”

             
Jonty smirked. “I take what I need,” he replied, and Arabel could’ve sworn he was actually proud of himself.

             
Their meals were placed in front of them and Arabel eagerly consumed her carrot and ginger stew and helped herself to a piece of the fragrant rosemary and thyme bread that the server placed on the table in front of them in a steaming basket. Jonty had ordered a pasty and Arabel was dismayed to find that he was not a gracious eater. Arabel had to look away so she didn’t get repulsed as the thief piled the food into his mouth and gulped down his tea noisily and appreciatively.

             
They didn’t speak while they ate and Arabel was glad. To see Jonty with food practically falling out of his mouth while speaking would have turned her stomach and she needed the warm fuel of the vegetable stew. She looked around the room as they ate and noticed again that the air seemed charged with tension and fear. It was a palpable sensation. Arabel recalled how dark the mood had become when they were searching for Klara, and she knew that the hostile energy would latch onto any available current of fear.

             
“You realize that while everyone is looking for you, the real killer could be sussing out another victim?” Arabel tried to engender a sense of responsibility in Jonty.

             
“That may be so, miss, but they’d likely lynch me as soon as talk t’ me,” Jonty replied, and Arabel had to concede he could be correct.

             
“Where will you go?” she asked,  resigned now to the fact that she had no authority to keep him, and unless she wanted to turn him in immediately – which she was still undecided over – there was not much left to discuss.

             
A sly look perched upon the thief’s face. “Don’t know, miss, but I’ll need to move the caravan straight-a-ways, further back into the wilds, I reckon.”

             
Arabel had a strong, sudden inkling that she needed to let Jonty go – he would be bait for the killer. Arabel wasn’t certain how she knew this, but it was one of her intuitive flashes of insight. It felt urgent.

             
“Alright,” she said to the slight man sitting at the table with her, “you can go, and I won’t turn you in, but I want something in return.”

             
The thief eyed her suspiciously.

             
“What d’you want?” he asked.

             
“I need to know how to find you; both for your safety and my piece of mind,” Arabel replied, watching the man closely.

             
Jonty looked as if he were about to laugh in sheer, dumb relief, obviously thinking he was rid of her forever once the meal was finished.

             
He thinks I’m such a fool, Arabel mused to herself.

             
“Well now, that’s mighty fine o’ you missy,” Jonty said and Arabel realized she hadn’t yet told him her name, nor had he asked her for it. She decided he didn’t need to know.

             
Their meal finished, Arabel and Jonty got to their feet. Jonty put his bright yellow slicker back on, fastening the ties around his throat to keep the hood in place. He fished within his pockets, coming up empty handed.

             
“Would y’ look at that,” he remarked, feigning both sheepish surprise and dismay, “looks like I left all the sovereigns at me mum’s!” Jonty flashed a quick, sly smile at Arabel. “Would you be so kind as to take care of my chit?”

             
Arabel shook her head in disbelief. Jonty Governs was beyond anything she’d ever dealt with before.

             
“My crow will follow you,” Arabel announced, “so I
will
know where you go. And when I need you, you
will
make yourself re-appear.”

             
The thief nodded enthusiastically; Arabel could see him calculating in his head just how much longer she’d keep him captive in the warm confines of the dining room.

             
“Thank you miss, you’re most obligin’,” Jonty said, fake sincerity dripping from his tone. He gave Arabel a small bow before backing away hastily toward the door. Arabel watched him go and hoped Ira would follow. She sent the bird a brief telepathic message she hoped it would interpret correctly and made her way to the server to settle their bill.

             
Arabel was shown to her room and was pleased to find that it was a non-haunted room painted in soft blue and green with a rosewood desk, dresser and matching bed frame. A deep-set window seat delighted her and Arabel went to it immediately to peer out the double windows. In the distance, just crossing over the small bridge, she spied Jonty hot-footing it to the bushes, with Ira squawking loudly over his head. Arabel laughed; she could not have been happier with Ira, her pet crow, her black and blue feathered familiar.

             
Arabel wasn’t sure what to do next so she decided to go down to the lobby and question the proprietor to see what developments had taken place in the last couple of days. Likely there would be other guests milling about the lobby and she could get an impression of them as well. There was something here that she was missing. She could feel that whatever it was she was seeking was just out of sight, just past her peripheral vision; it was slightly slipping away from her, close enough to sense, but not close enough to understand.
             

             
Arabel shook off her pensive thoughts and quickly washed and changed from her brown riding habit into one of the two gowns she’d brought along with her for the trip. The frock was a fitted, emerald green satin with a scooped neck, a narrow cinched and belted waist, and a long elegant train. It was quite possibly Arabel’s prettiest dress, and it suited her like no other she possessed. 

             
Arabel fastened simple jade earrings in her ears, one of her only physical reminders of her mother, and added a matching jade necklace with gold knots. Every time Arabel wore her mother’s jewellery, she felt her spirit close, as if the stones held a reflection of their previous owner’s energy, one that could be transferred through the wearing to another person.

             
Arabel glanced at her reflection in the looking glass on the dresser and was satisfied with her appearance. She brushed her long black hair and then left it to fall loose in a shimmering cascade down her back. She wrapped the red stones around her wrist and tied them there for protection.

             
Arabel made her way down to the lobby, fixing a bright, friendly smile upon her face. Folks responded better when you smiled at them, she thought to herself, and she needed them to open up. There was no time to waste politely engaging in small talk, she needed to get to the deeper conversations as soon as possible.

             
In the lobby, the proprietor haggled with a large, very loud group of traveling salesmen. From what Arabel could discern, the group wanted a discount on their rooms, due to the sheer volume of their party, and the proprietor was not inclined to grant them this concession. Arabel glanced around the lobby at the other occupants. Her eyes were drawn momentarily to a multi-tasking couple with three small, energetic children, a boorish looking man in a top hat and an elderly woman seemingly half-asleep in a wingback chair, drowsy from the heat, no doubt.

             
Sitting over by the west side of the double sided fireplace, a lone girl perched on a bench seat with her eyes tightly closed. Arabel drew in a breath sharply as she surveyed the girl. She was an ethereal slip of a figure, paler than pale, with curly, white blonde hair and a diminutive frame. Her crimson dress served to heighten the effect of her bloodless skin and her eyes, when she opened them, and stared directly back at Arabel, were pink.

             
Arabel realized with a start that the young woman was an albino, and that her bold stare was rude. Arabel glanced away immediately, despite the beauty of the girl’s otherworldly appeal.

             
The lobby doors burst open and a brightly dressed, large woman in a yellow patterned caftan and an elaborately bejewelled and feathered headdress, entered the room. Behind the woman, an entourage of six strapping young men followed, each laden down with boxes and bags, presumably her belongings. The young men were Gypsies, and Arabel peered at the large woman, wondering if she, as well, were one of them.

             
The large woman spotted the albino girl. She clapped her hands together, as if signalling a stray dog.