Reunited

"What are you doing wandering the halls like a ghost?"

Arabella froze. The oil lamp trembled in her firm grasp. Instantly, she recognised that no-nonsense tone.

Layton stood before her, his frown deep and his arms crossed over his chest at her silence.- The very picture of controlled irritation. With an exasperated sigh, he raised a tanned hand to comb through his already unkempt navy blue hair, "Your curfew has long...passed..."

Layton's voice trailed off, and his eyebrows furrowed at her. Only then did Arabella notice the wet droplets that had begun to roll down her cheeks and onto the wood below. Feeling her throat grow tighter, Arabella quickly averted her gaze to the floor and raised the sleeve of her nightgown, furiously swiping away the traitorous tears.

"I..."

Mortification lodged itself in the back of her throat. Every word after that came out choked and pitiful until she bit her lip, blinking furiously down at the wooden floor with her vision blurred with hot tears.

"Sorry..." She forced out under her breath.

A minute passed, and they remained stuck as they were, like an unfinished painting. Layton cleared his throat briefly, uncomfortably, "...There is nothing to be sorry for."

Arabella furrowed her brows harder at the ground, her lip quivering.

He had no idea. She had so much to be sorry for. His exile, the loss of their Earldom, their family's pride and honour in the hands of the Crown. Because of her. Because of Cecil.

She could not bring herself to look at her brother. An overwhelming wash of shame weighed her down at the mere thought of doing so.

However, she almost jumped out of her skin when she felt a large hand gingerly rest on her shoulder. Arabella remained frozen as her shoulders squared.

Layton spoke quietly, "...I'll take you to your room."

All Arabella could manage was a soft nod as she followed a few paces behind him, blurred vision still glued to the carpet.

The walk back to her room was in complete silence, filled with nothing but the soft padding of footsteps and the occasional sniffle as Arabella kept her tears at bay. Silently, she remained grateful that her brother was a man of few words; for all her life, he was an enigma to speak to. Frustrated, Arabella roughly wiped the slowly dwindling tears from her cheeks.

When was the last time she'd cried in front of Layton? Anyone, for that matter? She could hardly remember.

"If you need anything, ring for a servant," he hesitated for a moment before adding awkwardly. "...or just call for me."

Arabella hardly noticed that they'd arrived at her door. She almost laughed at his stilted tone, like he was making a pathetic attempt at the warm tone of their father. The laugh came out as more of a grimace as she shook her head.

Again, the silence permeated like an unwelcome but dreadfully familiar friend.

Layton cleared his throat awkwardly, "Then...Sleep Well."

Arabella listened in silence as his footsteps padded away softly, back to the library- of course.

She let out a shaky breath, "Layton."

Arabella took a moment to steel herself, gripping her journal under her arm and squeezing the handle of the oil lamp so tightly it hurt. Finally, she raised her head to look at her brother.

Layton had stopped in his tracks, right by the window that painted his bronze skin in hues of moonlight. In clear view like this, Arabella saw her brother in a state she'd never seen before. Layton looked exhausted. His navy blue hair, short and always immaculately brushed to the side, was a tousled mess, as though he'd been perpetually letting his fingers glide through it. His white shirt, plain as always, was rumpled with a loosened blue cravat hanging askew. The bags under his icy blue eyes were unmissable, even hidden behind his black-framed glasses, and judging from the ink stains on the cuffs of his shirt and palms, there was an evident cause for them.

Layton had always looked far too much like their father. Arabella remembered a period in time after their father's death when she could not so much as glance at him without a painful reminder. But now, she feared that if she looked away, it might just be the last time they saw each other... again.

Layton gave her a look over his glasses that urged her to continue speaking, and Arabella realised that she'd been staring with an intense furrow in her brows.

There was so much she wanted to say- so much she wanted to cry out in an explosion of emotion.

'I'm sorry.'

'I'm still furious with you.'

'I missed you so much.''

She'd had six years to mourn her father; This mourning was entirely different. Was it possible to mourn someone who hadn't died? Mourning instead, the life of someone you unwittingly destroyed? Mourning that same person who had unwittingly pushed you to destroy it?

Instead, she swallowed tightly and lowered her gaze to the ground, her grimace deepening with a soft murmur of, "...Sleep well."

Layton's frown softened before he nodded gently, turning his back to continue on his path.

Arabella watched until he disappeared around the corner.

____________________________________________________________________

Two years in a cell gave Arabella nothing but time; with that time, she had nothing to do but think. At this point, she was rather good at it.

Arabella did not sleep that night. Instead, she pondered and paced until the sun rose, and her perpetual plotting had practically worn a path into the plush carpet. She wrote out her memories twice, ten, twenty more times before tearing them all out and turning them to ash again.

The journal entries and letters used to frame her were perfect forgeries, right down to the vocabulary, idiosyncrasies, and how she crossed her 't' and dotted her 'i'. Too perfect a copy to be done by a stranger. Only two possibilities came to mind. The two people who she had proximity to day in and day out, who knew her to such a degree: Her maids.

Arabella did not believe for one second that Aubrey had truly robbed her and tried to flee. Aubrey had known something and tried to warn her. Arabella could not say for certain what Aubrey had known, but she did know that whatever it was, it was reason enough for Cecil to get rid of her.

That alone was enough to clear Aubrey from Arabella's suspicions.

Which left only one other person.

Icy blue eyes followed said red-haired figure with hawk-like precision over the rim of a teacup. Focused in on each finger diligently tidying away pillows, stacking stray books and dusting corners. This had become part of Arabella's routine in the past three days.

Carol was a fresh face at the manor by this point. Only seventeen, she had begun working at the estate per Arabella's request for a second maid a few months before. And if Arabella's memory served her right, she had been harsh to the recruit from the very beginning. Each clumsy mistake, spilt cup, and chipped porcelain only served to make Carol nothing more than an outlet for Arabella's verbal frustrations. It was because of this that Arabella had assigned only the most menial of tasks to Carol- cleaning up her messes.

At first, it was an old perfume far emptier than she remembered leaving it, then a ring she hardly wore anymore being misplaced. All things that Arabella had briefly noted in the past and quickly dismissed to move on to her more pressing matters. Harmless little details that she failed to realise could snowball into dangerous territory.

Her journal had shifted positions when she'd returned to it the night after she ran into Layton. It was subtle, so subtle that if she hadn't been so hyper-aware of her surroundings as of late that she would have never noticed. And so, she tested her sneaking suspicion. Lo and behold, the scrap of paper placed on the cover, hardly the size of even a quarter of a penny, had fallen off the next day and the day after that. Right to this very morning.

Once the realisation dawned on her, Arabella silently commended herself for thinking to tear and burn the pages of her journal so quickly. Lord knows what Carol would have thought had she read them. From what Arabella could gather, Carol merely seemed to be the nosy sort of person:

Seemingly harmless, but dangerous if gone unchecked.

With a resolute exhale, Arabella lowered her teacup from her lips and let it clink loudly against the saucer. Both Aubrey and Carol stopped in their tracks to turn to her, having paused their busy work around the room.

"I want to change for a walk."

Aubrey gave a gentle nod and, with a glance sent Carol's way, had already begun making her way to the closet as Carol approached the table, hands reaching to clear it. Arabella swiftly intercepted the path of Carol's pale hands and slid the teacup out of her grasp. "I'd much rather get this over with quickly." Arabella stood and sighed. "Two working hands are more efficient. Clear it away later."

Carol's brown eyes widened in confusion at the command, but she stiffly stood upright and nodded anyway with a nervous air. "...Yes, Miss..."

Aubrey had been watching out of the corner of her eye; nonetheless, she busied herself, picking out a simple black mourning dress, "How is this-"

"No." Arabella interrupted plainly. She walked past Aubrey, who blinked at her in surprise, disregarding the black dress that had been picked out already. Instead, Arabella reached into the closet herself, brushing aside a few articles, laser-focused on what she was looking for. She already knew what she wanted after all. "The set my father gifted me on my birthday. I want to wear that. The jewels, ribbons and all."

After a brief pause, Aubrey simply nodded and began to dig through the wardrobe, past all the dreary black fabric. Arabella did not fail to notice the startled jolt that came from her right. She shifted her gaze to Carol, a subtle glance that just barely caught the widening of brown eyes and the pursing of thin lips.

Aubrey pulled out the flower ensemble, and Arabella's eyes softened briefly as they travelled along each seam of the dress: The last gift she received from her father. At the time, she remembered thinking it was the most gaudy thing she'd ever seen, but it had made him so happy to see her in it that she'd sucked up her pride and worn it once and never again. Now, it brought a gentle warmth to her chest. She shook away her reminiscing and turned to Aubrey, "You help me put on the dress."

With a percentile raise of her brows, she turned to Carol, "...And you, find the rest of. It should be in the drawers with the others."

Carol's frozen state didn't go unnoticed. Aubrey, as per usual, diligently got to work buttoning up the back of the dress as Arabella watched Carol intently from the reflection in the mirror. The maid dug mechanically through the drawers across the room with a quiet 'yes, Miss' and a slight tremble running down her arms.

A minute passed, then two and before long it had been five. Arabella counted down each second methodically. Turning her head towards Carol, she raised a brow, "What is taking so long?"

Carol jumped and slowly turned, her lips tightening into a ghost of a grimace, "...I-I can't seem to find the set you want, My lady."

Aubrey's dark brows furrowed, and she promptly walked over, "Let me look." After another minute of digging through the drawer, Aubrey frowned deeply, "...The box is empty."

With feigned concern, Arabella turned her body fully to face the two. Of course, it would be empty, she'd checked the box just this morning. Carol was holding up fairly well for being held over the coals so suddenly; Arabella silently commended her for that, but the devious part of her was eager to see just how much longer that would last.

"What do you mean 'emptied'?" Arabella huffed out sharply and took long strides over, raising her voice. "How can it be gone? That was my father's gift. Who would dare?" She stared sharply at both of them before moving over to her jewellery box, clicking her tongue once she'd opened it. Again, Carol tensed subtly as Arabella's deft fingers sifted through the plethora of rings, brooches and necklaces and as expected... "Nothing. I suppose the emerald brooch I received last year has also vanished into thin air?"

Arabella's razor-sharp gaze snapped towards the red-haired maid whose brown eyes shifted quickly to the carpet. It didn't seem like there was any use in dragging this out much longer. Arabella sighed and walked towards her perfumes before pointing to her newest one, bought a mere month ago, as she'd learnt through sifting through the journal entries of her actual fourteen-year-old self. She pressed down on the nozzle, "Would you look at that..." Again and again and again, she repeated the motion and met eyes with the trembling young maid. "Strange, is it not?"

This sort of boldness was unprecedented. Older items, sure, but something bought only a few weeks ago? How could she have emptied the entire bottle already?

Arabella let the silence linger for a good while, so much so that Aubrey seemed to be catching on. Aubrey's slightly narrowed gaze darted from the empty bottle to Carol.

Arabella tilted her head and raised a brow at both of them, "I said..." She started slowly. "Strange. Is it not?"

Aubrey's lips quirked downwards,

"V-Very,..." Came Carol's quiet stammer.

Arabella let the silence sit for a while longer. Then, she gave a soft sigh, "...I'm sure it's all just an honest mistake. " With a precursor glance outside of her window, she stepped towards the door. "I'll think more about this on my walk. Aubrey, we've made a mess in here, so please handle it." She faced Carol and tilted her head. "I'll take you with me."

Sweating in her boots, Carol scurried after her. As they walked through the halls, the girl seemed to be buried heavily in her thoughts, yet somehow that poker face remained.

"It's strange..." Carol's face dropped as Arabella maintained her serious composure. "Aubrey hardly said a word back there..." She shifted her gaze to land on the maid. "Suspicious. Don't you agree?"

In an instant, the subtle panic on Carol's face seemed to melt into conviction. She nodded, red bangs bouncing with the movement as she gripped the apron of her uniform, "You are absolutely correct, Lady Arabella! Now that I think about it... I've seen her behaving stranger as of late."

Arabella continued walking without a word. 'Bold' was the word that came to mind. She couldn't quite bring herself to be personally angry about the situation before... but now? She turned to face her, a deceivingly serene smile stretching on her lips.

"I'm relieved we are on the same page." She said, eyes sharpening. "I do not take kindly to thieves."