Haunted by Love

"And got into trouble as a result; at least he tried, I suppose." I keep turning over pages as we scan each in turn. At last, towards the end of the bundle, I see the name, Arabella.

The body of a young woman was discovered in her home at Trehalow Farm yesterday by a neighbour, Mrs Frances Goss. The discovery was reported to me at the local station at Penmill by her son, Arthur.

I attended the scene and can witness to the following:

That the room in which the body lay, the kitchen, was in some considerable disarray, with two chairs overturned and broken crockery upon the floor.

That I did find that the dead woman had suffered a blow to the head, just above her right eye that had bled much, pooling upon the floor. There was, in addition, a cut to her mouth. It is my belief that neither injury was necessarily inflicted maliciously but might have resulted from a fall.

That Mrs Goss did identify the woman as Miss Arabella Penrose, a spinster and sole occupant of the house, lately employed as a Governess at Purdew Hall.

"Penrose?" I say, shocked. "The newspaper said her name was Penross! Penrose is your name," I observe, excitedly, "she could be a distant relative of yours."

"Indeed," says Ruth, intrigued. "Either this report or the newspaper must be wrong; I wonder which?" She looks at me, "And back in your family tree the Redmayne family... Perhaps we're both relatives." I give a little shiver and turn back to resume reading.

That upon further examination I found the stove to be no longer lit and cold. The ash in the grate leads me to believe that the fire had been set but that it had burned out and to conclude that Miss Penrose had died many hours previously. I have notified Dr Fitzwilliam as Coroner, and who did tell me that he shall make his own report betimes.

I attest that the foregoing is true and accurate.

Signed this Third day of November, 1864,

Constable Peter Thorne

"It's all a bit horrible, isn't it?" I say to Ruth and she nods. "Are you okay, knowing Arabella died in your house?" I ask, reaching out to touch her arm softly. She leans into me slightly and nods.

"It was a hundred and fifty years ago -- exactly a hundred and fifty in a few days, actually. Any house that old will have had people die in it, I'm certain. I wonder whether it was an accident."

"We'd probably need to see the Coroner's report to see what he thought. Even then, I don't think there was much by way of forensics back then, no 'CSI Cornwall'. Would even a doctor be able to say whether it was a fall or a blow that killed her?"

"True. Do you want to start on your next bundle?" Ruth asks, reaching out to it.

"I'm not sure there's much point. We know that Sir and Lady Blyth were never found and, to be honest, I'm tired of papers and I'd much rather..." I feel suddenly bashful.

"What?" she asks softly and I lean in close her.

"I want to go back and spend the evening with you at the farm, Ruth, more than anything. And you did promise me dinner, I recall."

"I certainly did. Come on then!"

"Let me just make copies of these documents and tidy up." I take two photocopies of each and slip them back into place in the folder, leaving the places marked for future reference before re-tying the bundle. Ruth helps me carry them to the Enquiry Desk where we leave them with Denise, telling her I might well be back later in the week and thanking her for her help.

It's a little after four-thirty by the time we return to the car. "You know you don't have to come over just for the evening, Beth; you're very welcome to stay all night."

"In... your bed, together?" I ask, and she nods. There are some seriously turbulent feelings going on inside me. "I'd love to, but I've no clothes with me."

"I won't complain if you've no clothes, I promise," she says and though there's a teasing note to her voice, I hear something more sexual too. Perhaps I want to hear that. "But we could always go back via the hotel if you want to grab a change of clothes."

"You do seem very interested in my being naked," I observe, recalling her comment about us showering together and the way she watched me dress later. "However, I think having clean knickers in the morning and avoiding a return to 'refugee chic' are worth the detour." I feel quite proud of myself at how cool and unfazed my reply was, despite the emotions churning within.

Back at the hotel, Ruth sits on the end of the bed as I lift my suitcase up beside her and start to rummage through it. "Don't you unpack when you arrive?" she asks as I stuff a few bits into the new, and hitherto unused, little backpack Ruth helped me choose in Bodmin.

"No, I can never be bothered," I admit. "It used to drive my Mum mad when we went on holiday," I add, remembering her ordering me to do it and not be lazy. I look down into Ruth's face smiling up at me. "Ruth... the other night when we were in bed, you kissed me, didn't you?." She nods slowly. "I think I'd like to kiss you back." It would have been nice if I said this in a calm, suave voice but it all comes out in a bit of a rush. Ruth doesn't seem to notice but closes her eyes and tips her head back slightly, inviting me to do as I wish. I bend forward and it's hard to believe not only that I am about to deliberately kiss another woman on the mouth but also just how much I want to. Our lips meet and hers feel just as wonderful this time. The kiss lingers and I feel her mouth open slightly. Is she going to..? Her tongue touches my top lip, a single light caress that makes me tremble. There is no insistence: her tongue poses a question, no, an invitation that we can go further if I choose.

And I choose yes as my lips part almost immediately and my hands move to hold her head. Our tongues come together in an intensely intimate meeting. I lose myself in the moment, the feeling of our interlocked mouths and the upwelling of affection for Ruth within me. I keep saying affection but perhaps I mean love...

We part and, though I've barely moved, I feel breathless. It was just a kiss yet it moved me so much more than sex with Rick did, more than anyone ever has. "There's something going on here and I'm not sure what it is... but I like it," I tell her quietly.

"Me too," she says and I see her eyes suddenly go wide, staring past me. I turn and see the room has grown dim in the fading daylight but there is Lady Rosalind Blyth, standing close to the window.

"Arabella, my darling friend," she says and I turn to see the figure in a grey dress standing across the room, a smile perceptible on the vague features of her face.

"Rosalind, my love," she replies I look back and watch as Lady Blyth -- no, here and now she has to be Rosalind -- as Rosalind raises her hands to the neck of the long shift she wears. Her hand draws away, drawing a pale, indistinct line as she pulls the ribbon that ties the neck of the dress. I cannot help a gasp of surprise as she draws the neck wide and it slides past her shoulders to fall to the floor. The ghost stands there, naked. Her breasts are full and her hips flare from her waist, her curled locks tumble over her very pale shoulders: she is truly lovely. She reaches out her hands and walks forward, passing through the chair as if it were not there until she and Arabella come together into each other's arms, mouths meeting in a kiss so like the one Ruth and I just shared.

I feel tears on my cheeks: tears of joy to see them so happy, so in love and of sadness, knowing what was to happen to them both. My sight blurs and as I wipe them with the back of my hand I find the ghostly, passionate women have vanished.

"Wow!" Ruth murmurs and I can empathise completely with that sentiment.

"That was so moving and sad, knowing what happens but... beautiful too, I suppose." I push my things back into the rucksack and swing it onto my shoulder as I look into Ruth's face, "Take me home, my darling friend."

Chapter 9: What Ruth Didn't Say

The journey to the farm is easy, even in the fading light, and the contrast with that first journey is startling. As I drive I try to analyse my feelings, specifically why do I feel like a youngster on a first date? There is an obvious answer of course: Ruth. I'd like to pretend that my feelings for her are entirely platonic and it's true that I love her company and the way she makes me feel when we're together. But I also like it when we cuddle and her kiss felt really good; okay, it felt amazing. Come on, Beth, admit it, at least to yourself: you're wondering what it would be like to do more than kiss and cuddle her. There's a tingling warmth inside me, down below, that suggests my body's up for it, even if my brain's still uncertain.

"A penny for your thoughts," she says and my glance savours the silhouette of her happy face softly lit by the glow from the dashboard and the reflected headlights. Not for the first time, I wonder if she can sense my thoughts and feelings.

"I'm just very happy, Ruth, happier than I've been in a long time."

I turn into the yard in front of the farmhouse and park Gumdrop alongside Mister Bump. As I fetch my rucksack from the boot of the car Ruth heads inside. The bags of shopping -- the walking boots, waterproofs and jacket -- are in the boot too but after a brief debate, I decide to leave them. I lock the car and walk around the house through the chill autumn air to the open back door from which the inviting warm glow of candlelight spills.

Through the door, I see Ruth over at the range. "Oh wow, that smells so good!" I tell her as I walk into the warm, cooking-scented air of the kitchen, pushing the door closed behind me and dropping the rucksack. Ruth is now lifting a casserole dish from the oven. She places it on the hob and lifts the lid to stir it as steam curls around her. She slips the lid back on and returns it to the oven, placing two potatoes beside it. Finally, she turns to reveal a huge smile on her pretty face and almost skips over to throw her arms around me. I respond in kind and enjoy her in my arms and being in hers.

"I'm so glad you're here," she whispers as I feel her lips on my neck. I feel such happiness and content welling within me.

"You've been decorating," I observe, seeing some of the lines of fresh plaster have gone.

"Yes, though it's just those two walls and they still need a second coat; maybe I'd have got more done if I hadn't come looking for you this afternoon, though I'll also need help to move the dresser to paint that wall," she gestures behind me to the large dresser from which she'd taken the maps that first morning. "Anyway, I want to try and get it done before they finish the electrical stuff, which should be on Thursday, or so they've promised." She concludes with a slightly suspicious tone as if she expects to be let down.

"Have they sorted the plumbing yet?"

"Actually, yes!" she says excitedly, "But until the electricity is on there's still no hot water. Right, I've just put the potatoes in the oven so dinner will be about an hour. How 'bout you come and help me with the milking?" She releases me but only to take my hand and lead me to the shed.

Dinner is delicious: braised pork in cider with apples, baked potatoes and carrots and parsnips with glasses of cider to accompany it all. "Ruth, this is so good," I tell her, pouring myself another glass of cider from the jug on the table. "It's real cold autumn evening food!"

"Thank you. The food's all local stuff and this recipe is proper easy."

"It would have to be for me to attempt it," I chuckle. "I don't cook very much I'm afraid."

"We'll definitely have to change that when you... um." Even in candlelight, I can see Ruth's blush; she has said something she didn't intend.

"When I what?" I ask, intrigued. I see pleading in her eyes, begging me not to press her. I take a long sip of cider.

"You might want to go easy on the scrumpy," she warns, changing the subject, "It's stronger than it tastes."

"More local produce?" I ask, taking another sip but just a small one. I might not be driving anywhere but I don't want to get pissed; I feel that this evening is too important.

"Yeah, old Joe Daniels in the village brews it." We eat in a peaceful, companionable silence for a while, much to the delight of my stomach. As we finish, she places her knife and fork on her empty plate reaches across the table and takes my hand. "I'm so glad you're here and shouldn't have to put up with any ghosts tonight."

"True. Though what about Rosalind and Arabella being lesbian lovers. That was... unexpected."

"You said it was beautiful," she reminds me. "You really think two women in love can be beautiful?"

"Yes, I do. Ruth... and I think you're beautiful and I love being in your company; I feel so happy and safe and... cared about when we're together." I squeeze her hand. The scrumpy has certainly loosened my tongue.

"Thank you Beth; I love being with you too." She pauses. "Beth, do you believe that some things are meant to happen?"

"What, like fate or predestination?"

"No... it's more that sometimes we come to places or meet people or things happen because... because it's right for us."

"Like me getting lost, breaking down and finding this house?"

"Yes!" she exclaims.

"And nearly drowning and dying of cold," I suggest in a sceptical tone. To my surprise, she agrees.

"Yes, even that because... Listen, Mum was a pagan, right, a Wiccan, and part of what they believe in is that magic -- spells and rituals -- really work. Wiccans do consider themselves witches. Well, as a typical stroppy teenager, I knew that was ridiculous, a bit embarrassing too when other kids at school took the piss about Mum being a witch, asking if I was supposed to be at Hogwarts."

"Kids can be cruel," I commiserate and she nods.

"Anyway, I told Mum that there were no such things as magic or spells, not properly. She just looked at me and said that there were. She said that there is real magical power, in the earth and sky and in all living things, for those with the will and learning to use it. However, all of us have some magic in us. We all have the power to change something or someone, that a spell can be a thank you or a kind word, a cuddle or a helping hand, that a cup of tea or glass of water could be a potion, if given with love and the desire to do good." I look at her, captivated. "When you fell through that door I had the strongest feeling that I was to be the magic -- okay, the witch -- that helped you and healed you."

"And change my life?" I wonder aloud to myself.

"Maybe; I think you're changing mine, more than you realize."

"Ruth... we do both know there's something going on here between us, don't we?" I ask nervously.

"You mean more than just finding an unexpected friend in each other? Maybe even... love?"

"Yes. Ruth, I'm longing to lie in bed with you, to hold and kiss you but... I don't know what happens beyond kissing. I've never, um..."

"Never slept with a woman? Neither have I Beth; well, apart from the two nights we spent together, obviously." She makes me smile. "Why don't we clear up and turn in? We can just be together and have a bit of a cuddle..."

"Maybe a kiss... or two."

"Too right! Come on then, let's get sorted."

It doesn't take long, Ruth filling the sink with water from the kettle while I clear the table. We wash and dry the plates, glasses and cutlery while the casserole dish gets left to soak. Soon, with teeth cleaned and ablutions performed, we're stood by the bed as Ruth turns down the cover. She starts unbuttoning her shirt and I cannot help watching. She says nothing but, though she is fully aware of my gaze, continues to undress. She places her shirt on the chair and her bra follows. Her breasts, smaller than mine and much firmer, hold my eye; the large, dark areolae surrounding the paler nipples are pointed, perhaps from the cool air.

Her hands move to the waistband of her trousers, unbuttoning them and with surprising elegance, removes them. All that remains are her knickers, a surprisingly sexy red pair, and these now slip soundlessly to the floor. She stands, naked and beautiful before me. "You are so beautiful, Ruth."

"So are you, Bethany," she replies simply and her words are both a compliment and an invitation. I pull my shirt off over my head, tossing it onto the floor and my bra quickly follows; the hardness of my own nipples has absolutely nothing to do with the temperature of the room. She may have seen me naked in the hotel room, and even undressed me when I stumbled here across the Moor, but deliberately stripping in front of her is a challenge nonetheless. I quickly undo my jeans and push them down, taking my knickers with them, before kicking them off. I look sheepishly at Ruth.

"Sorry, I guess I don't do elegant like you do."

"Don't worry, Beth love, you make up for it in cuteness," she tells me and steps closer, holding her hands out. I take her hands and she leans in to kiss. It is brief but not so brief that there isn't time for our tongues to become reacquainted after their first meeting earlier. Our naked bodies meet too, the wonderful soft warmth of her skin against mine. "Get into bed, Beth, I'll just be a moment."

I feel colder as she pulls away. I get into the bed but keep watching her, intrigued by what she's going to do but it is just to extinguish most of the candles, leaving only the nightlight in its amber glass holder on the table. The room is very dim now, just the wavering candle flame and the warm fire-glow through the grill of the range. These delicately trace Ruth's form as she walks back towards me and she is, without a doubt, the most beautiful sight I've ever witnessed.

She slips under the covers to join me and we snuggle tight into each other's arms. I feel the soft fur of her sex brush my leg, even as her thigh presses against my own womanhood and our breasts meld. It is a feeling of intimacy, togetherness and, as on that first morning, of safety.

I reach up to cup her cheek and draw her in to kiss her, soft pecks on the mouth and cheeks deepen to become long, languorous French kisses as we open and explore and, yes, penetrate each other. Who knew kissing could feel this good, this intimate? There is a feeling of disappointment with myself, of disgust almost, as I realize I hadn't felt this emotionally close to Rick even as he came inside me. Why had I let him if I felt so little for him?

The thought of Rick makes me hesitate. It's not only that Rick might think of me as his girlfriend and feel betrayed by what I'm doing, but also that Ruth is a woman that I met just four days ago; four very intense, event-filled days perhaps but still just barely half a week.

It takes an effort of will but I gently end the kiss. "Ruth, that felt... well, simply wonderful..."

"But? I know there's a 'but' coming, what is it?" she asks; her voice is flat with suppressed anxiety.

"Oh, Ruth, love, it's just that I'm nervous and... and I don't want to go further than kissing and cuddling. Not just yet; I don't want to rush and... spoil things between us. Is that alright?"

"Oh Beth, of course it is," she says with a definite note of relief, though I can sense that she is disappointed too. "You're right, there is something going on between us but exactly what that is and what we do together as a result, well, we don't have to rush to answer all that. Let's take our time and find out together."

I pull her tight and she hugs me back. I know that I feel more for her than I've felt for anyone before, feelings so deep and intense that love is probably the only word for them. That I should feel like this about a woman is a surprise but not one that upsets me: it is wonderful that I have found someone who I care so much for, that I love like this, and who evidently feels the same about me. Does feeling like this make me a lesbian or would that be only if I do something sexual with her? Does kissing count? I'm not sure it matters because it doesn't change how I feel. I'm pretty sure she wants us to make love and I think... yes, I think I'll be okay with that but not just right now, not quite. There's always tomorrow, or the day after or the weekend; just as long as I can be with her...