The Girl Underground

Chapter 22: Once Again, an Impasse

Chapter 22: Once Again, an Impasse

New Orleans, Louisiana, 1850

The day had waned on slowly as Dorsey told his story, but Ronald hardly noticed. He was in a trance with the words being spoken, weaving together a tale that bordered on the lines of a Shakespearean tragedy. The tale of Malia and John was one that came and went in a lifetime, something many would live on and on and never hear of. He felt almost as though he was being honored to hear it from a man who saw it all happen.

"It was almost an interesting outcome," Dorsey was saying. "Both Abigail and Malia had something over each other. They knew the worst of their secrets, but really the only one who could lose everything from it was Abigail. Malia was like a ghost, she could always go somewhere else and start over, that was what she told me."

"Do you know where she is now?"

Dorsey shook his head. "For the longest time I thought she was where I set her up in London, with my sister."

"You have a sister?" When Dorsey nodded, Ronald frowned. "You didn't mention her."

"Because her part to play in this tale has not come about just yet."

"You have not even mentioned her in passing," Ronald reminded him.

"I have not mentioned her to anyone ever, that was what she wanted."

"Whom was she hiding from?"

"No one, but she was always a secretive woman."

Ronald still didn't understand, so he hoped that Dorsey answered his unspoken questioned when it came to it. "You said that Malia was staying with her."

"Yes," Dorsey nodded. "She helped her through the pregnancy, and that is where we begin the next part of Malia's story, which circles about her life in the Quincy home, and after."

Ronald leaned forward and listened as intently as ever.

XXX

Lanfore, Hertfordshire, 1823

Malia was fully healed now, and helping about the Quincy home as much as she could. Addison eagerly showed her around the house, and even introduced her to the servants. Most of the footmen were about Brandon's age, but all of them seemed impossibly snooty, so Malia made a note to avoid them. One footman in particular, Roger, though, was rather odd. He kept staring at her and making her feel uncomfortable. Malia was used to people doing that, men and women alike, but the way he did it made chills crawl up her spine.

"He hardly gets on with any of us," Addison told her when Malia asked about him. "He came here from Brighton a few years ago, penniless and everything. The Magistrate let him work here for a time and kept a keen eye on him. He still does sometimes, but Roger keeps to himself, hardly ever says anything to anyone. Mrs. Quincy favors him, though, for whatever reason."

Malia didn't know if that was meant to comfort her or not, but she still made sure to keep her distance from him.

"The servants dine down here," Addison said, leading her downstairs. "The head butler is a very accommodating man, but he can sometimes be slightly senile, forgetting where he is at times. The head housemaid only ever speaks to order us around, and the rest of the other maids are all too busy trying to see which high society man they can land under their skirts to worry about their jobs."

Malia laughed at those words, but they still struck a bitter chord, because she felt deep down as though she was no better than them.

"Malia?" Betsey caught up with them. "Malia, dear, there's someone asking for you in the foyer. A Mr. Brandon Dorsey?"