Autumn (34 page)

             
“Patrick Spade had ties to the Gypsies! That was it! He weren’t no Gypsy himself but there was something that strung him to them, and your granny hated the lot of them. She despised all of the Gypsies after the affair your granddad had!”

             
“My father had ties to the Gypsies? But you’re positive he wasn’t a Gypsy himself?”

             
“No miss, he weren’t no Gypsy. His folk were from outside of The Corvids, too, and your granny’s not much for outsiders.”

             
Arabel shifted tactics. “Why did you leave my grandmother’s employ?”

             
“She let us all go, miss. After your mama ran away, Mrs. Johnston said she rightly couldn’t trust any of us t’ not have helped her elope and she dismissed every one of her staff.”

             
“Was she drinking?”

             
Dorcas’ eyes were sad as she answered Arabel and her tone subdued. “Yes, miss. Mrs. Johnston had been into the rum for some time by then I reckon, years, in fact.”

             
Arabel felt she could stand to hear no more of the past. She struggled to keep her tone polite and impersonal, even as her heart raced and her mind rebelled against all she’d just been told with a fierceness which surprised her.

             
“Thank you, Dorcas, you’ve been most helpful. Please send word if you recall anything else that seems likely to be important. “

             
The maid curtsied again after rising from the chair but she paused before making her way to the door and looked Arabel directly in the eyes. “Pleased to help, miss. I must confess, you gave me a right start when I saw you sittin’ here – you do favour your mama so!”

             
After Dorcas left the room, Arabel rose as well and went to stand again at the window. She gazed out across the expanse of Murphy Estates, past the graceful barns and stables, past the green fields and the muddy paddock, her eyes seeing nothing, registering nothing, but the blank shock of disclosure.

             
Arabel’s eye drifted to the trees lining the drive. Their strong, straight, and graceful trunks stood poised to rigidly observe their domain. From the dizzying heights of the twisting limbs as they reached to the sky, and underneath, to the hidden roots, ancient and unyielding, unseen and undetected as they grew in the dark secrecy of the underground.

             
Just like everything to do with my family, Arabel thought dully. Look below, into the dark, and you too will find the lies and secrets and murders that bind us.

             
Shelaine entered the room and found Arabel moodily staring outside.

             
“What? You didn’t like what she had to say?” Shelaine asked merrily, prompting Arabel to turn around and meet Shelaine’s laughing eyes with her own sober, sad and discontented ones. Shelaine immediately crossed to Arabel and put her arm around her friends shoulder.

             
“I’m sorry, I meant no disrespect. Are you alright?”

             
Arabel nodded. “Yes, I’ll be fine. There’s just so much I didn’t know.”

             
“Shall I ring for more tea?”

             
Arabel shook her head. “No, I must take my leave, as a matter of fact, but I will see you soon! You did say the Autumn Ball is next week?”

             
“Yes! And you must invite Eli! And have a marvellous new frock made especially for the occasion! I am having a glorious new gown made out of this caramel satin that is simply superb!”

             
Arabel listened as Shelaine rattled off the details of her fantastic new dress and of the upcoming ball. Arabel found she was listening with only half of her attention but her friend didn’t notice, in her enthusiastic state, and once Shelaine had wound down in her excitement, Arabel took her leave.

             
The moodiness persisted, clinging to Arabel like a dark, grimy stain, while she made her way down the drive. Arabel looked for Ira, but didn’t see the crow and when she scanned the area for Eli, she was discouraged to find that she was unable to spot him either. Arabel walked along the muddy path to the road and decided to go into town rather than cross in the direction to her grandmother’s house. Arabel preferred to occupy herself with anything at all rather than face the unrepentant murderess, Amelia Bodean.

             
Arabel’s somewhat dejected wanderings took her to the Muilse Tearoom and as she pushed open the door to enter, the little coloured bells jingled a gracious welcome to her. Arabel scanned the room for a seat and spied an empty table close to the kitchen. She seated herself and removed her heavy cape as she settled in to relax and gather her turbulent thoughts. A pleasant server came by and dropped off a menu and Arabel stared at the words as they swam in front of her eyes. Nothing made sense to her anymore.

             
Arabel closed her eyes, willing the sick feeling in her stomach to settle.

             
“Are you alright, miss? Can I get you a cup of tea?” the server was back and peered with an absent concern at Arabel’s pale face.

             
“Yes, please. Lemon chamomile, if you have it. And a raspberry tart.”

             
“Right away, miss.”

             
The server backed away and Arabel wearily closed her eyes again. She hoped the tea would revive her and that the shock would dissipate before she would have to leave for home. How Arabel was going to face her grandmother, she had not the faintest idea. What was the best way to deal with this onslaught of information? Should she confront her grandmother? Ask her why she’d forsaken her mother? Accuse her of murdering her husband?

             
Arabel was suddenly acutely aware of someone watching her.

             
Arabel turned her head to see an old Gypsy woman, two tables over, plainly staring at her. The old woman made no effort to disguise her interest in Arabel. Her black eyes peered intently into Arabel’s blue ones and Arabel was disconcerted by the woman’s direct gaze and unapologetic manner.

             
The Gypsy woman’s head was wrapped in an old blue turban and she wore a drab brown dress that matched the cape she’d haphazardly slung across her thin shoulders. Her eyes were sharp and appeared incongruous within her worn face. The old woman might have been attractive once but now age and time had claimed her and only her eyes remained undaunted by their passage.

             
“Do I know you?” Arabel called to the woman, feeling unsettled by her interest and vaguely irritated as well.

             
The woman shook her head slightly, no.

             
Arabel was determined to ignore the woman. If she hadn’t the courtesy to state her business, then Arabel would just leave her alone. She could stare all she liked, Arabel decided firmly, she refused to be baited. She’d had enough strangeness for one day. The server brought her tea and tart and Arabel forced herself to apply herself to consuming the beverage and the snack even though her throat felt constricted from unshed tears and her stomach roiled in queasy waves of unease.

             
The old Gypsy woman suddenly sat herself in the chair opposite of Arabel and reached her gnarled hand for Arabel’s smooth one. She grasped hold of Arabel’s hand firmly, and turned it over, palm straight up. The old woman traced the lines on Arabel’s hand as if reading her fortune. Arabel fought the intense urge to snatch her hand away. She relaxed her breath, forcing herself to calm her taut nerves. The old woman’s hand was cold, like the crooked claw of death.

             
“The lifeline…is broken,” the Gypsy woman muttered, as if to herself. “Two directions. Two choices.” She looked up at Arabel, acknowledging her finally. “Two choices,” she repeated. “A second chance to smite the dark.”

             
The woman’s finger ran lightly up the inside of Arabel’s left palm. Arabel repressed an unbidden shudder.

             
“Beware the old curses,” the old Gypsy said, and then shuffled to her feet.

             
Instead of returning to her table, the old woman moved toward the door. Once there,
she turned back to lock her
unsettling
gaze onto Arabel once more, her eyes oddly hypnotic and magnetic, and then the bells jingled a jaunty farewell as the Gypsy woman opened the door and disappeared into the busy street traffic.

             
Arabel sat staring after her, wondering at the woman’s unprompted exchange. Old curses? Arabel sighed deeply as she bit into her delicious raspberry tart.

             
Just what I needed, Arabel thought darkly,
yet another mystery to solve,
to round out this perfectly unsettling morning of intri
gue, gossip, speculation and
ghosts of unrepentant murderers.

             
Arabel sat with Eli in the formal dining room. Candles flickered on the table, creating a romantic atmosphere and the remnants of the feast they had consumed were laid out on the table before them and had been undoubtedly some of Cook’s finest work. Now Arabel toyed with the glass stem of her wineglass as she perused Eli’s handsome face across the table.

             
Eli was pouring out some more peach wine for himself as he had refilled Arabel’s glass once already. His brown eyes met hers. He smiled, his gaze as warm as a caress upon her cheek.

             
“Not ready for more already?” he asked, holding up the glass bottle. Arabel shook her head and continued to stare at him. He laughed.

             
“You’ll make me nervous yet, Arabel,” Eli said lightly, wondering at the intensity of her gaze.

             
Arabel had been inscrutably quiet since Eli had arrived, indulging only in trifling small talk and she’d yet to inform him of what she’d discovered from the maid at Murphy Estates. They’d eaten in companionable silence and Eli still patiently waited for Arabel to share her pensive thoughts.

             
Suddenly Arabel stood up, pushed her chair away, and crossed the room to Eli. He pushed his chair back to stand beside her. Arabel wrapped her arms around Eli tightly, and he pressed his lips to the top of her head, gently kissing her shiny black hair, running his hands along her back, to rest at her waist. Arabel clung to Eli with a need to reassure herself that he was real, and that their love was real.

             
“What troubles you?” Eli finally asked as Arabel made no effort to release her tight grip upon him.

             
“Don’t let me go,” Arabel whispered and so Eli pulled her closer, requiring no further invitation.

             
Eli tilted Arabel’s sorrowfully beautiful face up toward him. He leaned down and kissed her lips softly and then deepened the kiss so that she swayed against him, her sadness forgotten at the scorching heat of his touch. Their bodies melded together, heart to racing heart, and the room seemed to disappear until it was as if they were completely alone in a world of their own making. A world where only their next breaths mattered and all of their longings were answered in the stillness of the autumn evening, with the expectant air the only witness to their undying passion.

             
Arabel led Eli from the room, the rest of the meal forgotten. She pulled his hand willingly up the stairs, heedless of Morna’s shocked face, and the threat of her grandmother’s return. Arabel no longer cared what her grandmother thought; she felt freed from the restrictions of a conventionality not of her own creation and she vowed that she would live authentically within herself from this moment on.

             
Arabel’s bedroom was dimly lit from the fire that burned in the grate. Eli caught a glimpse of cheery yellow and white furnishings as Arabel pulled him down beside her on the soft bed. They lay together in the darkening shadows, simply holding each other tightly. Eli kissed Arabel’s hand and traced her lips with his finger.

             
“I’ll not let you be caught with me upstairs, Arabel,” Eli cautioned, determined not to further adversely affect Arabel’s reputation or her relationship with her grandmother. Eli had spoken with his mother about the situation and she’d assured her son to continue his relationship with Arabel, but to always maintain the correct lines of decency, so that her grandmother would not be able to fault him for anything less than the most gentlemanly of behaviours.

             
But Eli wasn’t feeling very gentlemanly at the moment.

             
He was as consumed by Arabel as she was of him; however, he was aware that there was something within the overtures of her lovemaking tonight that was not quite right. Eli wished it didn’t feel as though Arabel wanted to use her passion for him to distract herself from her feelings in regard to some other matter, but he could not quite shake the sensation. Eli took hold of Arabel’s wandering hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss.