Chapter 20: A Home by Any Other Name
Mrs. Boatwright paced their foyer, waiting impatiently for news on Malia. Brandon Dorsey had returned home, shaken but well, and was offered a reprieve numerous times, but he refused. He then dove himself into his daily chores and spoke of the horrendous events of the other night only when asked.
Malia, on the other hand, they had not heard from at all since. One of the deputies had arrived the other day stating that she was the sole witness to a murder, and had to be taken into protection until the case was closed. Mrs. Boatwright wanted to argue that Malia was safe enough at home, but the deputy said that the Magistrate had ordered it, and it was out of the question.
"What makes that man think that she is any safer at his home than she would be here?" Mrs. Boatwright had pressed her husband that very day. "Really, George, we must argue this!"
But Mr. Boatwright seemed almost blasé on the subject. "If the Magistrate ordered it, than it must be done, Mary."
"God, listen to you!" She shook her head in disgust. "It's as if you want her to be gone! She is the daughter of the man that saved your life, or have you forgotten?"
"I have not, and that is precisely the reason why I am for her protection. You heard the man, she witnessed a murder. She is not safe here if the killer knows where she works."
"What was she doing out at such hours at all?" Mrs. Boatwright thought out loud. "And for how long has she been sneaking out? Why?"
"We kept her in closed quarters for so long, it is only natural that she would want to see the world she was denied, especially after you told her to deliver the Magistrate's invitation all those months ago."
Mrs. Boatwright turned on him. "I thought I was doing the girl a well deserved favor, letting her out!"
"Have you not noticed that she has not been the same since?" Mr. Boatwright asked her. "Malia's entire demeanor changed the moment she returned home from that house. And I've seen myself that lately, she's been almost... Troubled.... But happy too."
Mrs. Boatwright snorted. "Perhaps she saw a handsome footman in the Quincy home."
"Perhaps," Mr. Boatwright mumbled. "But then there was the curios way she acted around the Magistrate when he came a few days past, do you recall?"
"The man has me weak at the knees, George, and every other woman in Lanfore," Mrs. Boatwright waved a nonchalant hand. "Forgive Malia for being a woman."
"So you are denying any oddities that you may have seen between them that day?"
Mrs. Boatwright paused, then sighed. "Well, if you must know, I did see Malia standing outside the study door with the tea right before I walked in. That was why we walked into together. But I am sure it was nothing."
"But did you not see how John looked at her when she walked in?"
"Again, forgive the man for admiring her!" Mrs. Boatwright said. "Malia is a beautiful young woman, George. I am sure you have noticed. Young men here and all of Lanfore practically drool over her, despite who she is. You pit two such handsome people in one room and they are bound to stare at one another."
"Mary, there is more to is, this all cannot be coincidence."
"What do you mean?"
"How is it that after that exchange, Malia runs into this murder, and the Magistrate orders her to remain with him until the close of the case?"
"George Boatwright if you are for one moment insinuating that Malia had something to do with this-"
"Of course not!" He assured his wife hastily. "I love Malia very dearly, as do you, and I would never assume such things of her, but she must be connected to this case somehow."
"Of course she is, foolish man, she witnessed the murder!"
"And was beaten ruthlessly for it."
"Brandon was there to help her!"
"There, that as well! What was he doing in the market at such hours?"
"He does fancy Malia, does he not? Perhaps he was following her, like he told us."
George wasn't too sure of that. Brandon and Malia were good friends from what he knew, but even with what little attention he paid; he could tell that Brandon held no such deep feelings for Malia. That he was following her that night was something he could entertain, though.
"He has said all that he wants on the subject," Mrs. Boatwright reminded him. "If we question him more, his answers won't change. Malia was being attacked and he saved her."
"But he said nothing about her witnessing the murder."
"Perhaps because he wasn't there himself," Mrs. Boatwright held up a hand. "We will wait for the Magistrate to bring more answers. I myself have more than a thousand questions for the man, but we will accomplish nothing trying to solve this mystery ourselves, George. It is like you said; she is protected now, even if I don't like that she is no longer here. But how she will fair under that roof with Abigail Quincy is another mystery..."
Now, Mrs. Boatwright could not stop pacing, wondering. She wanted answers as soon as she could get them. She did not care for what the community thought of this, most of them had nothing else to do but gossip, she only cared for what would happen to Malia, someone she considered as close as family. But life had to go on as normal and they could not be set back from this. After all, what did it matter so long as Malia came out of it safely?
But she still had so many questions! Would news ever come?
Mrs. Boatwright halted in her pacing and stared thoughtfully at the door. Perhaps the fault was on her for sending Malia to the Quincy home alone. Naturally, Malia would have wanted nothing more than to have the privilege of going outside more often after that. They were both at fault for keeping her so close at hand before, they had to expect that she would react in such a way when given those liberties.
Why had they done that, kept Malia inside for so long? Had they been ashamed of her, of having her in their home? Mrs. Boatwright liked to think that she wasn't. But had she been before?
Oh, what did it matter now? Malia was now under the same roof with a woman who was likely to tear her apart. Abigail Quincy would relish ordering Malia around, Mrs. Boatwright wished there was something she could do about it. But what? She couldn't threaten the woman!
If only there were something to use against her to keep her silent...
Mrs. Boatwright doubted there ever would be. Abigail was, after all, despite being a hellcat, a woman with a slate cleaner than most. There was no taking that from her.
But not for the first time, Mrs. Boatwright wished that Abigail's slate was as clean as her character. Then she would worry about Malia less.
XXX
Malia woke up in her brightly lit room and stared around for a moment, unsure of her surroundings. She knew where she was, but she felt almost immediately that she didn't belong. At Dawn-Bridge, she was at home. Here, she was among strangers. One young maid, Addison, was very kind to her, and came into her room almost every other hour to chat her up, but other than that, Malia felt incredibly lost an alone.
"I don't have a lot of friends here," Addison had said to her. "So I know you and I will get on just fine."
Malia sat up in her bed and placed a hand on her abdomen, waiting for the stinging pain to come. When it didn't, she sighed with relief. She tired of feeling weak and helpless. She wished there was something she could do, but she didn't even know what her duties were! Was she a housemaid like Addison? Was she merely the caretaker of John's daughters? What was she here?
Standing gingerly to her feet, Malia swayed about a little before settling herself and meandering to the window. It overlooked the rose garden and the large forestry beyond. In the distance, Malia could see the market and the main center of the town. If she squinted, she could see Dawn-Bridge, and her heart ached. Her friends were there; the Boatwrights were there... Home was there. Here... God she wanted to love it here simply because she was close to John, but she very clearly stuck out like a sore thumb. She wanted to hide away.
Speaking of John, he had not come to see her once since she had been brought here. It was understandable, he had his duties, but she would have thought that he would have taken some time to see her... But then perhaps he was playing it safe. Abigail didn't know of their affair, a thing easily discovered now that Malia was under the same roof.
Still, she wished she could see him.
Looking around her room once more, Malia took a seat next to the window and drew her knees to her chest, trying to make herself as small as possible. What was she doing here? She wanted to be home! She foolishly thought that coming here was the best thing that could happen, but right now, she wanted nothing more than to leave. She could if she wanted...
This would be one of the times she would have consulted Brandon. But he wasn't here; he was back home, probably trying to forget the whole ordeal. She wanted to write to him and tell him how sorry she was that he was interrogated or that he was even involved. Would he ever forgive her?
A knock sounded from her door and Malia looked up, instinctively shifting her position. "Come in."
The door opened and Addison stepped in, a smile on her face. "How are you feeling?"
Malia smiled back. "Much better, thanks."
"I bet you're getting restless sitting in here."
"Immensely," Malia said honestly. "Is there nothing I can do around here?"
"The Magistrate said that he would let you know of your duties soon enough," Addison stepped in and shut the door behind her. "He told me that it's my sole duty to keep an eye on you."
"You're doing a fantastic job," Malia said. "It's nice to think that I have a friend here, at least. I've never felt so lonely in my life."
"Lonely?" Addison smiled and sat across from her. "No need for that, you're here for your own protection. I heard about what Arthur Denning did to you."
That shocked Malia. "Who from?"
"The Magistrate told me," she said. "Don't fear, I am sure word hasn't got out quite yet. Why, it all happened in the night after all!"
"You'd be surprised how much people hear about what they haven't seen."
"No one outside these walls knows you're here," Addison assured her. "The Magistrate made us all swear to secrecy. And most of the servants haven't a clue as to who you are anyways. I only know because of what I was told by the Magistrate."
So perhaps being kept locked up for all those years did work in her favor in the end. "Well then I suppose I'll have to make my introductions here."
"If I may ask," Addison sat forward, "who are you to the Magistrate? He never brings anyone here as a personal guest, least of all anyone who is involved with a case."
Malia shrugged. "A murder witness, I suppose."
"There must be more."
"If there is, I don't know of it."
Addison clearly didn't believe her, but didn't press her further on it. "Does it still hurt?"
Malia pressed a hand on her ribs and shook her head. "Not anymore, but it aches sometimes when I move around too much."
"He beat you within an inch of your life," Addison muttered, almost to herself. "It seems... Rather personal, no?"
"He just didn't want me to survive to tell the tale is all."
Before Addison could question her further, the door opened and another servant popped her head in. "Malia's being asked for in the study."
That caused Malia to sit up. It was John, he was finally asking for her!
Addison nodded. "I'll take her."
"No, you're needed in the foyer, I'll take her," the woman stepped in and smiled warmly at Malia. "My name is Betsy, my dear."
Malia smiled back. "It's good to meet you."
"And you, now come," she stepped forward and held out a hand to help Malia up. "Addi, the foyer. Now."
Addison huffed and stood. "See you later, Malia."
After she swept out of the room, Betsy helped Malia up and gently assisted her out of the room and into the wide hall. Malia didn't pay much attention to the surroundings-there was nothing about the hall that she had not seen in Dawn-Bridge-but the thought that this was John's home added to the splendor she would have otherwise ignored. She saw the paintings of the Quincy brothers lining the walls, along with their father and grandfather and on and on as far as the line went. Malia admired the intricate work as she meandered on with Betsy's help, wondering how far back the family line really did go.
"They trace it as far back as Sir Doric," Betsy said when she saw Malia's face. "Crusader, so I've heard, under King Richard the Lionheart, though I can't recall the year of his birth. His wife, Dorea, died in childbirth, and he remarried to a younger woman who was rumored to be his mistress."
Malia seized at that, but tried to keep a straight face. "What happened after that?"
"No one knows," Betsy said. "I've heard the Magistrate tells his friends at dining parties that Doric and the young girl lived happily. She bore him three healthy sons, all of whom went on to become healthy and successful. Whether that's true or not, I cannot say, but I like to imagine happy endings for anyone."
Malia said nothing to that. She tried no to think on it. After all, it was just a story, and she needn't waste her mind on such matters. Her story perhaps would or would not end the same way, but she dared not think on the future to the point of running the risk of not having one at all.
Betsy brought her to the study and let her go so she could open the door and knock on it.
"She's here," she said to the person inside. Malia heard a shuffling and Betsy stepped back, holding the door open for her. "Go on."
Malia smiled and her heart soared at the thought of being in John's arms again. She picked up her skirts and slowly stepped in, with a little help from Betsy. When she was inside, the maid shut the door and Malia turned to face the person waiting for her.
Only, it wasn't John.
"We meet again, then."
Malia felt the lump grow in her throat and she had to use every ounce of will power in her to not run out of there. "Yes, we do."
Abigail Quincy smiled sinisterly. "Hello, Malia."
___________
Author's note: Thank you for reading, we hope you enjoyed it! Be sure to leave a vote and comment, let us know how you liked it, and we hope you enjoy the rest!
Thank you to Elizabeth for the beautiful photoset! :)