Authors: Lisa Ann Brown
“I came as soon as I heard,” Shelaine explained.
“I’m so glad you’re here!” Arabel said warmly.
Morna placed two hot, steaming cups of fragrant raspberry tea on a tray. She gestured toward the door as she went about adding hot oatmeal and honey-drop biscuits to the tray.
“Go on into the parlour, miss, I’ll bring this along for you two,” Morna offered and Arabel and Shelaine exited the kitchen and made their way to the parlour.
The two girls seated themselves on the settee in front of the bright, roaring fire.
“Do they know who did it?” Shelaine inquired hesitantly, unsure if Arabel would want to speak of the murder or not. To her relief, Arabel seemed glad to talk, as if the very speaking of it helped to ease the ache of it.
“No, they haven’t a clue,” Arabel admitted, looking away, not wanting to divulge the enmity of the Dorojenja’s to her friend and thereby endanger her with potentially damning knowledge of the dark forces.
Glancing outside of the window, Arabel quietly noticed it had begun to snow, with a plethora of big, fluffy, fat white flakes cascading down from the sky. The snowflakes soon coated the ground and it appeared they aimed to settle in and stay awhile, as the sky was grey and the air frigidly cold. Arabel hoped Eli had made it back to Murphy Estates before the snow had begun to fall. She pulled the window down firmly. It had been open a slight crack for ventilation.
“I’m so sorry, Arabel,” Shelaine said again. “I’ve asked my grandfather to delay the Autumn Ball - it was to have been tomorrow evening, as you may or may not recall – until next week, if that is enough time for you to grieve? I so desire your presence at the ball! But your feelings are my first consideration, and a mere dance, the smallest of consequence.”
Arabel reached for Shelaine’s hand and gave it a warm squeeze.
“Thank you, Shelaine, that is so thoughtful of your family,” Arabel responded, nibbling absently on a honey-drop biscuit. “I am sure that next week would be fine. I know my grandmother would have wanted me to continue on with the business of living. She was never one to waste emotion on matters which couldn’t be amended.”
Shelaine nodded in agreement as she tried her oatmeal, finding it to be delicious. “I will stay here tonight; I’d like to be with you throughout the funeral,” Shelaine offered, pointing to a small canvas bag she had stowed on one of the wingback chairs. “I brought stay-over items.”
Arabel drank her tea down and got to her feet. “I must get ready,” she remarked, “but I am eternally grateful for your presence, Shelaine.” Arabel embraced her friend and kissed her cheek. “Come, I’ll have Morna ready a room for you,” Arabel continued and the two friends disappeared up the stairs.
It wasn’t long before Arabel was ready to visit the morgue. She wore a stark, long-trained dress of unrelieved black and her hair had been wound in braids to form a tight bun which sat high on the back of her head. Morna had woven a gorgeous black lace headdress into Arabel’s braid and it fell softly down Arabel’s back.
Moments before Arabel, Shelaine, Morna, Cook and Mr. Larsen were due to leave for the morgue, both Eli and Mrs. Peyton-Peggison arrived separately at the front door.
Arabel took one look at her grandmother’s former secretary’s smugly practiced persona and the last vestiges of her detachment dissolved. Arabel felt a grim, grey satisfaction arising from the woman and she immediately addressed her.
“You are not welcome to attend the funeral of my grandmother and your position in this household has been terminated by her passing. Neither will you enter this house ever again, at any time, for any reason. Leave now and do not show your face on my doorstep forthwith.” Arabel spoke coldly and decisively.
Mrs. Peyton-Peggison’s small eyes grew smaller and meaner. The expression on her face melted into a snide grimace.
“You have always been too sweet on yourself, little miss arrogance, Arabel Spade! The time will soon come when you will know the sourness of death!” Mrs. Peyton-Peggison prophesised scornfully, laughing shrilly in unveiled contempt as Eli took hold of her arm and forcibly dragged her off of the front porch.
“Enough!” Eli snarled at her.
“You’ll soon see who holds the true power!” the unpleasant woman threatened, as Eli released her arm, after giving her a small shove, and she stalked away, her mousy-haired head held high.
Arabel could feel the darkness surrounding her. She could sense the cold pit of bloodlust searching, searching for her, trying to ascertain her weaknesses and capitalize upon them, to her detriment.
Eli returned to the porch to embrace Arabel and Arabel melted against him. She had missed him during the long, sad day but he was here with her now and she drew strength from his presence. Arabel was thankful Eli had stayed with her last night. He’d held her tenderly as she had cried and had maintained a tireless vigil over her as she had fitfully slept. There had been no return to their interrupted love-making.
Eli had caught a few hours of sleep himself but the strain of the last few days was wearing on even his resolutely even tempered nature. Eli kissed Arabel’s brow softly and then the mourners stepped into the sombre blue carriage Mr. Larsen had procured for them.
The day passed in a haze for Arabel. She’d been right about the morgue; the smell did gag her. Arabel therefore did not linger at the morgue but made her way to the funeral site with Eli and Shelaine. Morna, Cook and Mr. Larsen had agreed to travel with the body.
The gravestone Arabel had picked was a lovely onyx marble. Engraved simply upon the tombstone was the name of her grandmother, her birth and death dates, and one word: Beloved. Amelia Bodean Johnston would now lie for all eternity beside her murdered daughter and the adulterous husband whose life she had ended under the despairing hand of the Dorojenja darkness.
Arabel sat quietly on a bench as the townsfolk arrived and gathered in the growing afternoon darkness for the lowering of the mahogany casket into the frozen and snowy ground. The flakes had ceased to fall but they had covered the cemetery in a sparkling white dusting and the air was as pristine as the burial ground was beautifully innocent.
Arabel watched the cloud of her breath as it moved in and out of her lungs. She did not feel the cold; she was impervious to all but the link she felt with her loved ones and the sight of Amelia Bodean’s energy columns shimmering peacefully in front of her.
Normally, Arabel viewed the spectres in a somewhat human sort of form, and her grandmother was the only spectre she had ever glimpsed before as pure energy. Arabel was again filled with the same ecstatic joy that the columns had previously imparted and she sent waves of the energy to all within her peripheral vision. The energy urged her to dismantle her grief, to let the soul of Amelia Bodean Johnston leave the physical realm with no concerns as to her granddaughter’s well-being.
And with no regrets, on either of their consciences.
Arabel noted with surprise that a number of Gypsies had come to pay their respects as well. Baltis and Mireille stood nearby, as well as Xavier, Francesca and Zander. Arabel felt their compassion reach out to her and she was fortified by their unspoken support.
The funeral was brief and the amassed crowd met at the Johnston house in Crow’s Nest Pass directly afterward. Arabel was now head of the household and she presided gracefully over the reception as memories and funny anecdotes were shared. The Gypsies, with the exception of Eli, had not returned to the house, but they had all embraced Arabel and offered their sincere condolences b
efore leaving the burial site.
Mireille had lovingly promised to check up on Arabel within the next few days.
Elderberry and dandelion wines were served along with the ginger cakes, the herbed cheese loaves, plates of grapes, cheese and olives, and the unearthly delights of the vanilla cream and biscotti concoction that Cook had prepared so lovingly this morning. Shelaine’s lemon filled cake was quickly devoured and the bouquet of flowers she had brought was joined by numerous other autumn bouquets and their light floral scents filled the air.
Arabel was relieved, however, when it was all finally finished, and she was sitting on the chaise in the parlour with Eli and Shelaine, relaxing with a glass of dandelion wine and the last of the ginger cakes. The three shared a companionable silence, broken only by the crackling of the logs and the spitting of the odd set of sparks upon the grate.
Eli put his glass down and took hold of Arabel’s hand.
“I regretfully must take my leave of you, sweet Arabel,” he said quietly.
Arabel put her hand on his shoulder, surprised. “Will you not stay?” she asked.
Shelaine drew in a faintly shocked breath and Eli glanced at her briefly.
“Soon,” he replied, with a small smile, “but not this evening.”
Arabel was disappointed but bone weary. “I will see you out, then,” she relented and rose as Eli did the same. After saying goodbye to Shelaine, Eli and Arabel departed for the cloakroom.
Eli bent his head to kiss Arabel when she suddenly felt the hostile grey energy rear up menacingly within the cloakroom, and against her pale throat, the pressing and insistent fingers of death.
Arabel sputtered as she tried to breathe and Eli immediately withdrew his athame and began to coat Arabel in a defensive spell. Arabel reached for her athame with one hand - the other was busy trying to pry the invisible fingers off of her windpipe - and was able to whisper in her mind another layer of protection.
The grey energy reeled and flew at both of them, disarming Eli’s athame and knocking it from his hand. Arabel quickly began the second spell she knew and drew the figures and lines in the air as Xavier had taught her. Eli reached down and reclaimed his athame and with a renewed and concerted effort, the two were able to release themselves from the dark grip of the Dorojenja magic.
The attack had been short-lived but powerful. A warning, perhaps, of stronger attacks to come?
“Perhaps I ought to stay, after all,” Eli murmured against Arabel’s ear as they clung to one another after they were convinced that the episode was thoroughly finished.
“It’s been so long,” Arabel exclaimed, “since it has come after me quite like that!”
Eli moulded Arabel’s body to his and tipped her face up so he could find her soft red lips with ease. He kissed Arabel deeply, longingly, protectively, and she lost herself in the fierce passion which rose quickly to the surface.
“Stay,” she implored him.
Eli stepped back momentarily to survey his beloved. Arabel’s face was flushed with desire, her eyes flashed brightly and her energy pulsed with the heat and scorching flame of love.
“Your friend…” Eli began, feeling odd that Shelaine, and other members of the household, were present.
Arabel gazed at Eli thoughtfully. She could feel his discomfort at the thought of her friend’s presence in the house if they were to engage in further lovemaking.
“Perhaps you are right,” Arabel conceded reluctantly. “But soon - you must promise me, Eli Frankel – that soon we will resume where we left off…”
Eli laughed easily, humour replacing passion momentarily. “Oh, dear, sweet, Arabel, that is a promise I most heartily will make you!”
They embraced once more, joining their lips together for another slow and thorough kiss, and then Eli took his leave, stepping resolutely into the still and snowy landscape. Arabel watched as he rode away on Jovah, and she suddenly felt incredibly lonely.
Arabel turned away from the door slowly. The effort of sustaining her energy throughout the long and sorrowful day had completely caught up with her, leaving her utterly depleted and desperately in need of the magical renewal a decent slumber would provide. Arabel moved from the cloakroom into the hall and then through to the parlour, intending to see to the comfort of her guest, Shelaine.