The Girl Underground

Chapter 19: The Stage and the Puppets

        

Chapter 19: The Stage and the Puppets

New Orleans, Louisiana, 1850

"Stumbling across Cromwell's body that night was no accident," Dorsey said, staring at the remains of their lunch. "It wasn't planned by Denning, of course, but by the design of whatever god, I found myself in the market that night, as did Malia. It was like a divine stage, and we were the puppets. Malia lost a part of herself last night, and I did too."

"What did you lose?" Ronald asked. Time had passed slowly since the start of Dorsey's tale. He cast his eyes to the grandfather clock near the window and saw that only two hours had passed since his arrival, yet he felt as though it should have been more. The story was turning into its own demon, spinning threads and webs and digging deep into the darkest pits of the human existence. What family was perfect? What love story didn't have some measure of tragedy?

"I knew everything that Malia did," Dorsey said. "I knew about the Arthur Denning and Abigail Quincy's affair, something she told me in pure confidence. I swore to her that I wouldn't say anything, and I did not. We both led him towards the right path in our own ways, but that night, I nearly ruined it."

"I thought the Magistrate believed you when you said that you had nothing to do with it."

"I never said he did," Dorsey chuckled. "They took me in for more questions, but little did I know what they would consist of."

"Which was?"

"Envy."

"What do you mean?"

"Malia didn't have to tell me of the affair for me to find out, but something told me that she wanted me to know."

"I don't follow."

"She wanted me to know because she didn't know who to turn to because it was becoming evident that this was more than an affair to the Magistrate. She was afraid that she didn't know how to handle it on her own, and she desperately wanted to tell someone. That was Malia's weakness: she couldn't hold in heavy secrets. And that was something I realized that I shared with her too."

Ronald was slowly seeing the pieces of the crooked puzzle fall in place. "What did you say the night they questioned you?"

XXX

Lanfore, Hertfordshire, 1823

Brandon paced the holding cell and kept his breathing steady. He had to keep his thoughts together and make sure he didn't let slip anything that didn't need to be said. But he also had to protect Malia in this. She was here, along with the Magistrate, and soon the Boatwrights would know of this too. If he deflected his answers towards another end, one that did not put Malia in the middle of this, then she would be safe. Then he would try and find time to convince her that what she was doing was wrong.

But first, he had to focus on what he was going to say.

He had to start with what he knew: Abigail and Arthur were having an affair-or, at least, that was what Malia had assumed-and Malia and the Magistrate were having one as well. He was not sure if the Magistrate knew that he knew about his affair with Malia, and he was not sure what would happen if he did. Cromwell's body was found in the market, and it was clear that Arthur had killed him. Perhaps Cromwell was closing in on him... But what else? Brandon knew only that Arthur had robbed a woman's jewels and had been on the run. What sort of reason did he have to kill Cromwell over a mere robbery?

And what did Abigail have to do with it? Perhaps someone was closing in on their affair? Perhaps it was Cromwell?

Before Brandon could brainstorm some more, the door opened and the Magistrate stepped in. He looked tall and imposing, with his jaw set and his broad shoulders squared under his coat. He was certainly an intimidating man, fit for his title.