Authors: Lisa Ann Brown
Morna hid a large smirk behind her hand and her cheerful face bobbed up and down with unreleased laughter. “You can say that all you likes, missy, but I saw the way you be looking at him. And he at you! Not that most of the young men don’t cast their eyes your way – lot of good it does them, mind you – but you were actually looking back for once!”
Arabel felt a creeping blush stain her cheeks.
“I do like him, Morna,” Arabel admitted. “He’s unlike anyone else I’ve ever met.”
Morna put a hand upon Arabel’s shoulder. “You just tell me when you sneak out, then, and I can do my best to cover for you with your granny.” A delighted conspirator, Morna put her fingers to her lips. “I know how to spin a good yarn,” she said with a grin and Arabel instinctively knew her flight to Magpie Moor just became incrementally easier.
After she finished the cocoa, Arabel readied herself for slumber. She remembered the herbs Mireille had given her and she carefully took the flask out of her bag to examine it. The flask was an opaque glass container with a small cork stopper. Arabel removed the stopper and the rich smell of the herbs escaped the container. Arabel sniffed deeply, recognizing the comforting scent of lavender infused with the rich notes of fresh honey.
Arabel re-used the spoon from her hot cocoa to try a sample of the herbal concoction. It tasted slightly bitter, but not overly, and Arabel swallowed the spoonful easily. She carefully replaced the cork stopper and put the flask in a drawer for safekeeping.
Almost immediately, Arabel felt the tonic beginning to work within her veins. Her eyelids instantly drooped and her limbs felt heavy and weighted down, and seemed to becoming heavier by the second. Arabel yawned widely and quickly changed into her warm, fleecy nightclothes. She climbed into bed and blew out her candle, tucking the red stones from Baltis safely underneath her pillow.
Arabel’s bedroom was pitch dark, with the exception of the random slivers of pale moonlight escaping from underneath her curtained windows and the red flames of the fire, which still burned merrily, casting both shadows and warmth. The dark room was calming and Arabel felt a languid ease penetrate her body.
Her mind flickered back to her goodbye with Eli. He’d leaned in so close to her, she’d almost felt his breath upon her cheek, and she’d been certain he’d finally kiss her goodnight. But he hadn’t. Eli had pulled Arabel close, her body melded to his for a fraction of a scorching moment, and then he’d released her abruptly, and ridden away once she’d safely entered the front door of her home.
Arabel thought next of Klara. The image of her white limbs draped across the base of the Great Torch would haunt her for some time. Arabel shivered under the thick blankets; Klara would never be warm again. Arabel fell asleep reflecting upon the tragic fate of the poor dead girl, but thankfully, no haunted dreams chased Arabel in the dark. Mireille’s tonic worked wonders and Arabel’s slumber was both nourishing and easily come by.
At dawn Arabel awoke. She stretched and quickly washed for breakfast. She packed a few items into her haversack and tucked it hastily underneath her bed, ready to take with her. She tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen where Cook was already up and busy baking bread. Cook nodded good morning and continued to knead the dough over by the window where the heavy, slashing rain beat down against the pane.
Arabel filled a small bag with fruit, cheese and fresh buns then filled a large flask with lemon water. She helped herself to some oatmeal and quickly drank a fresh cup of strong tea. Her head felt clear today, no hangover of nightmare tendrils disturbed her. Indeed, she felt more refreshed than she had in some time.
Arabel took her foodstuffs upstairs to her room and tucked them into the haversack and then went to seek out Morna, to tell her she needed cover for this evening. Luckily Morna was all too eager to play the role of lying helpmate and they hatched a plan to cover Arabel’s absence, should Amelia Bodean seek her out. They would tell her she was visiting at Shelaine’s and Arabel consoled herself that this was partly truth. She would be seeing Shelaine today as she wanted to see if she could borrow Whipsie again, so Murphy Estates was the best and most honest ruse to go by.
Arabel set off for Murphy Estates on foot. A large, black, hooded cape shielded her from the monotonous precipitation, the sheets of rain which poured down as effusively and relentlessly as mournful tears from baleful gods. Altogether it was a miserable day, and the inhospitable chill in the air seemed to beckon snow and sleet to add to its imposing unfriendliness.
Arabel wore her stout black boots again and was glad her riding habit was wool and underneath she had three layers of cotton undergarments to keep the cold at bay. Around her wrist she’d wrapped the red stones from Baltis; the stones seemed to be humming and they brought no small comfort to Arabel’s unsettled mind.
In all of the chaos of the previous night, Arabel realized she’d not asked Eli about the locale of his father’s painting. The red sun and the sunflower. Just thinking of the painting now brought a sense of calm to Arabel. She vowed to seek out Eli at the stables to see if he could tell her where the odd landscape lay, and what the story was behind its mystery, and of course, to let him know she had set her plan to return to Magpie Moor this morning in motion.
Just admit it, Arabel admonished herself mentally in a faintly mocking and self-deprecating tone, you really just want to see him!
Sadly, Arabel realized she would no longer be able to make fun of Shelaine and her crushes in quite the same way anymore, seeing as she was now rendered and reduced to the same giddy state as her friend. For the first time ever, Arabel was now just as open to ridicule and the amusement of good natured teasing over a boy, so she would make sure she was more tolerant of Shelaine’s infatuations in future.
Arabel hummed to herself and strode briskly ahead in the cool morning air. Across the fields, she could see the last of the autumn leaves as they blew off of the trees, leaving the branches naked and unadorned, whilst the leaves gaily swirled and frolicked in the chill wind. Free at last, the red, orange and yellow leaves scattered and waltzed gleefully, their frantic merriment the only bright spot in the unrelenting grey of Arabel’s walk in the rain.
Above Arabel’s head, a crow circled. It let out a raucous cry of greeting and Arabel whipped her head up to see it. Her black hood fell back with the movement and the rain slicked her face. The crow swooped Arabel’s head playfully, tousling her hair with its claws. Arabel laughed, glad of the bird’s attentions. She wondered if it was the same bird from the night before. There was really no way to tell, as most crows had that same naughty gleam in their eyes and their voices all resonated with the same sandpapered and gravelly tone.
Caw! Caw! Caw! the bird cried out again, and Arabel swore it was saying “Yes, it’s me!”
“Alright, it’s you, I get it,” Arabel laughed, and the bird dropped down to land noisily upon her shoulder. The crow leaned in toward Arabel’s face and made the small cooing noises again as it rubbed its beak on her ear. Arabel brushed her fingers over the bird’s slick black feathers and counted herself a very lucky girl indeed to have such a friend accompanying her on this adventure.
When she reached Murphy Estates, Arabel quickly moved up the drive to the front door to ring for Shelaine. When the door was opened, however, Arabel was informed by a parlour maid that Miss Shelaine had taken ill in the night and was not able to receive visitors. Arabel asked for her well-wishes to be sent to Shelaine and then retraced her steps back down the long drive to the stables. The crow remained fixed upon her shoulder, its weight a happy burden Arabel was only too glad to bear.
A great deal of movement was going on at the stables. The stable master was supervising the exercise schedule for the horses and the beasts were being moved out into the paddock in groups of two apiece. Four stable boys helped with the manoeuvres but Eli was not one of them. Arabel slipped inside the stable to seek him out. The crow flew off her shoulder and perched on a gable overtop the stable doors. Arabel hoped it would wait for her; she had the feeling it would.
It was warm inside the stable and the flurry of activity continued here as well. Horses neighed and whinnied at Arabel as she passed, each looking for carrots or lumps of sugar. Or just a friendly pat from someone.
Arabel spied Whipsie ensconced in a nearby stall and moved to greet her immediately. Whipsie turned her great soulful eyes upon Arabel and let out a cheerful little whinny of friendly recognition.
“Someone wants to escape the stables today,” a voice whispered in Arabel’s ear.
Arabel turned to see Eli grinning at her, in his hands a pitchfork, bits of straw hanging off of it.
“Hello, Eli,” Arabel said, her face suddenly suffused with heat.
“Hello, Miss Spade,” Eli replied with a slight, mocking bow. “You’re here awfully early; anything going on?”
“I came to see if I could borrow Whipsie again. As I told you last night, it’s imperative I return to the Rosewood Inn.”
Eli frowned. “You can’t go alone,” he stated stubbornly.
“I have to,” Arabel answered as he shook his head. “I’m not looking for permission,” she retorted.
“Let me see if I can be spared, and I’ll gladly accompany you,” Eli insisted, and this time, Arabel shook her head.
“You’ve got work here to do. You can’t very well lose your job because I need company!”
“It’s more than that and you know it,” Eli muttered, glancing around for the stable master. “I’ll just check and see,” he said and moved off with the pitchfork in his hand to seek permission to leave.
Arabel waited patiently with Whipsie. The honey coloured roan did seem as though she wanted to escape the stable environs, Arabel thought, and she really hoped she’d be allowed to take her. Without a horse, a journey to Magpie Moor was not going to be accomplished in one day, or at all most likely.
Eli returned in just a few moments, his face cast in unhappy lines. “Well it’s a good news, bad news sort of scenario,” he said glumly. “You can take Whipsie but I’m needed here today and can’t be spared.” Eli toyed with the pitchfork, raking it idly across the stable floor.
“I will be safe, don’t worry,” Arabel said lightly, trying to mask her disappointment. “I’ll take all of the necessary precautions. My plan is to stay for at least one night, perhaps two, and see what the crow is leading me into, or away from.” Arabel glanced up at the stable gable, looking for the bird.
Eli followed her gaze. The black bird swooped down, as if on cue, to land again upon Arabel’s shoulder, apparently its newest favourite perch.
“Stick close to her, then,” Eli directed the bird, who appeared to regard him solemnly, its head cocked to the side, peering first with one beady eye and then sizing him up with the other. Arabel laughed, the bird was comical somehow, cheeky, even. It brightened her mood.
Eli prepared Whipsie for the journey and handed Arabel up onto the mare’s back once she was saddled and ready to go.
“Be careful,” Eli said, taking hold of Arabel’s hand and squeezing it lightly. No colours, Arabel noted, with a slight disappointment.
Arabel made her way from the paddock out into the open field. A few of the stable boys had regarded her curiously as she had walked Whipsie out of the yard. Arabel wasn’t certain if they had seen her with Eli and if that was the cause of their interest, or perhaps it was the crow, attached to her shoulder like a burr, its speculative eyes darting everywhere, taking in all of the details.
The crow made small clicking sounds, as if chortling to itself and Arabel couldn’t help but grin. Even Whipsie seemed intrigued; she laid her great ears flat back, as if listening to the crow. Perhaps they could understand each other, Arabel thought. It wasn’t so far fetched really, seeing as she could understand both bird and beast, and that was probably more of a rarity than the two creatures being able to understand one another. Now if only all of the humans could make the same effort, Arabel thought wryly, then perhaps peaceful unity could one day be attained.
The movement of the horse and the rain lulled Arabel as she sat in the saddle. She relaxed into the rhythm, shutting her eyes briefly as the horse ate up the ground. The grey vista stretched ahead as far as she could see. There were no homes here, no businesses, no other traffic out today at all it seemed. Arabel appeared to be quite alone. But there was something out there, something she just couldn’t put her finger on. There was some energy she could feel but not see, as there was no visible accompanying movement or colour.