Autumn by Lisa Ann Brown Read Free Book Online

physical appearance. Mostly Arabel never cared what she looked like as there was no one she cared to impress. But this morning, Arabel wondered. She stared at herself for a long moment then she turned away from the looking glass, feeling both foolish and vain.
                  Arabel had chores to do and right now, she was only shirking them because she disliked them. Sadly, this was not going to make them go away; Arabel had tried that route before and had been largely unsuccessful. Today was ‘charitable donations day’ and it was Arabel’s duty to take the cleaned household donations and foodstuffs and fold and pack them into boxes to be delivered to the less fortunate.
                  Once the boxes were filled and the cart loaded up with them, Mr. Larsen, their all-round handyman, would hitch up the old ponies and drive Arabel to all of the homes where the deliveries were expected.
                  Quite often Arabel would end up inside the cottages, having a tea with the family or elderly person who was receiving the goods. It was an all day event and Arabel disliked it as a rule. Too often the folks just wanted to poke at her. See if she could resurrect their recently departed old uncle and where exactly had he left all that money? Or when would so and so meet a new lover? Everyone wanted free advice and Arabel was uncomfortable with their pressing questions. She was glad to deliver goods to those who needed them but the psychic requests she could do without.
                  Today, however, Arabel was aware that she had an opportunity, one she was definitely going to make the most of. She was going to prod everyone else for a change. She was going to be the one asking the questions. Someone out there knew something that could help them end the evil; they just didn’t know it yet. Arabel was going to do her best to make them remember.
                  The first stop of the day was old Mrs. Eleanor Cranston’s cottage. The cottage itself had seen better days and so had Mrs Cranston but the tiny, stooped woman with the ice-white, impossibly maintained chignon remained cheerful of spirit and generous of nature. She was Arabel’s favourite to visit and the only one who had never asked Arabel to read her tea leaves by candlelight or play necromancer before supper.
                  “Sit down, dearie, and let me pour out some of my chamomile tea for you. And have a wee biscuit; you’re much too thin! I suppose that is the fashion nowadays,” Mrs. Cranston smiled apologetically, as if she herself were responsible for the straight-lined dresses of the day and their accompanying constricting laces. “One biscuit won’t hurt you!” She offered a wide china plate gaily painted with blue sailboats to Arabel who could not resist taking one of the lemon concoctions. It was, of course, completely delicious.
                  The kitchen where they were sitting was small and cramped and indicative of the entire cottage which was old and worn but maintained decently and furnished sparsely with two wooden chairs and a sidebar table of pale maple. Arabel praised the biscuit and Mrs. Cranston waved it off airily.
                  “Heard that the search has spread everywhere now for that missing girl, Klara, from Magpie Moor. You wouldn’t know anything about that, now, would you dearie?” Mrs. Cranston asked, peering intently at Arabel. Arabel stiffened.
                  “No, I only know she’s missing,” Arabel replied.
                  The old woman was staring at her, almost through her and Arabel noticed a gleam in her rheumy eyes she’d not seen before, as if she was enjoying the tragedy, milking it for all its dark energy.
                  “Such a pity, isn’t it?” Mrs. Cranston remarked, dunking her biscuit in her tea somewhat absently. “I guess we never know when our time will come, do