Chapter 23: Another Man's Child
Lucy and Lydia were both beautiful girls, each with their own specific traits that set them apart. Lydia was the spitting image of her mother, with the blonde hair and bright blue eyes, but she was showing signs of her father's height, despite being the younger of the two. Lucy, on the other hand, Malia found a bit odd. Not because she herself wasn't a pretty girl, because she was—Malia noted that they both reminded her of fragile porcelain dolls—but she had dark brown hair, something Malia had not seen in either John or Abigail. John's hair was jet black. But she had the same blue eyes as her sister, and her mother's sharp features. It was just her hair that stood out.
Lydia was the child Malia had already met in the market when she and John had had the first of their intimate encounters. She immediately recognized Malia too, offering her a bright smile and a happy wave, as though incredibly excited to see her. Lucy, on the other hand, displayed her mother's immediate cool and wary nature, eyeing Malia up and down apprehensively, which was odd for a girl of her age. Still, Malia smiled anyways and tried her best to be as amiable as possible. Probably Lucy was another Abigail, just with darker hair.
But as the day wore on, Malia started to notice some rather odd things about Lucy that perhaps stood out more than it should have. She brooded more than most girls her age, and didn't interact much with her sister. In fact, she hardly even looked at Lydia; it was as if they were strangers. Malia tried to get Lucy to join in on their activities, but she would just smile tightly and kindly refuse. For a girl her age, this was all odd; it made Malia wonder what had been done to her.
While Betsey took Lydia aside for a moment, Malia took that chance to sit with Lucy and speak with her. She didn't know what fruits that would bear, but she figured it was worth a try.
"Lucy?" Malia called the girl over and patted the seat next to her on the garden bench. "Can you come here for a minute?"
Lucy tossed Malia a slightly irritated look, and nodded. When she took a seat, Malia smiled at her, but felt her heart racing.
"Is everything alright, Lucy?" Malia asked.
"Yes," she said. Though her voice clearly spoke in the tones of a little girl, she sounded as crass and cold as her mother.
"You've been distant with me all day," Malia said. "I am sorry that your governess is not here, I hope that I can do my best to—"
"You are."
"I am what?"
"Doing your best."
Her tone and the things she was saying caused chills to run up Malia's arms. "How is your mother, Lucy?"
"I don't know," Lucy looked up at Malia with a frown. "Mama doesn't talk to me or Lydia. Papa is the only one that talks to me. Everyone ignores me. Even Mrs. Evers."
"Mrs. Evers, your governess?"
Lucy nodded.
"You can talk to me, Lucy," Malia whispered, reaching forward and taking the girl's hand. "I won't ignore you."
"Yes, you will," Lucy squirmed out of Malia's grip and stood. "You will. They always do."
With that, she stood and walked towards where Betsey was playing with Lydia. Malia watched with a heavy heart as she sat a few feet away and watched with a blank expression as her sister laughed on with the head house maid. Every once in a while, she turned to look up at Malia, only to avert her eyes and stare off into the distance, as though lost in her own pool of morose thoughts.
No little girl should ever have to feel ignored. Never!
Malia knew better than most that everyone deserved a childhood that they didn't have to recover from, she wished there was something she could do for Lucy... But what? What could she do? She was having an affair with the girl's father, and yet she had the gall to want to help her. Everyone needed someone.
Everyone needed love.
XXX
Abigail Quincy found a way to sneak out of the market later that day. She had gone to see if she could find the deputy that was now in charge of pursing Arthur. She didn't know what she was going to do after she found him, perhaps blithely ask him what his intentions were regarding the pursuit, but that would be problematic if her little stint regarding the shed was the current talk of the prescient.
As she made her way there, she thought about the conversation she had with her husband. Now that he knew of the affair, what was to become of her? She knew of horrible things that happened to women who had affairs, but her husband was acting as if he did not care a whit about it. Perhaps she was lucky, then, but perhaps not. He was having an affair as well, wasn't he? With that slut, Malia. Abigail knew she had told Malia that it would end eventually, but she wasn't sure about it herself. From what she had seen, her husband was besotted with the girl, as all older men were with pretty little airheaded whores.
Abigail pondered on how she had found out; it had not been that hard. Her husband had thought he was being so secretive at night, didn't he? The old cellar was the place every Quincy man took their whores; it was where Robert, John's younger brother, took his, to be sure. She had wondered why he was sneaking out every night and had Roger, the footman, follow him a few times. When he came back with information of a girl leaving the cellar, Abigail started to brainstorm who it could be, and thought of no one. John had not shown the slightest interest in anyone before; he had always been so guarded. But whenever someone so much as whispered about Malia or Dawn-Bridge, he would sit up with a bright look on his face, something Abigail knew to watch out for, something he did not think of as a threat to his secret.
She had the feeling that she cared more about his affair than he cared about hers. But she had her own reasons to keep silent, because Malia was a lowly servant, and had no reputation to upkeep like Abigail did. She had nothing to loose if Abigail spoke out.
Malia held all the cards. If she said anything about her affair, she was finished. That was the curse of being a woman of means, it was a long way to fall down from grace. Not for the first time in her life, Abigail felt backed into a corner.
When she arrived at the prescient, she skidded to a halt when she saw John standing there in a heated discussion with one of the deputies, Richardson. She stood there for a moment before acting on pure impulse and turning to walk away before they saw her. Deputy Richardson was a tough customer; she would have to rethink her whole process before confronting him. Cromwell was a godsend compared to him. If John sent him after Arthur, he was in massive trouble.
"Abi, over here!"
Abigail froze once more in her rush and quickly turned to see Arthur duck behind one of the carts.
Abigail cursed and looked around before hurrying to join him. When she arrived, she glared at him and wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, turning up her nose.
"Are you a fool? Why would you come here in the light of day?"
Arthur frowned. "What do you mean? I had to see you!"
"No, Arthur, you need to get out of here!" Abigail weakly shoved him. "John has Richardson looking for you. You're finished if he finds you!"
"Abigail, there is much that I must tell you."
"John wants your bloody head, Arthur, you cannot be seen here! You murdered Cromwell!"
"You wanted him dead!"
"Yes, cleanly!" She snapped. "With no fingers pointing at you or us. You made a mess of everything!"
"I did it for you! I had to, Abigail. He was getting close to finding out about us!"
"You killed him for nothing, Arthur, John already knows."
His eye grew dark. "What?"
"He knows," she whispered. "You attacked Malia—"
"You confessed to me that she was giving you grief, I thought I would take care of her as well."
"What makes you think that that is your issue to take care of at all?"
"I love you, Abigail, I don't want to see you suffer at anyone's expense."
"Flattering as that is, once again, you made a mess," Abigail shook her head, frustrated. "She is my husband's mistress, Arthur! And now she knows, John knows, and if we do not play our cards right, everyone will know. And rest assured, my fall will be greater than hers, she can destroy me. You shouldn't have done what you did."
"If I didn't kill him, he would have discovered me soon enough!"
"Perhaps that would have been for the best, then you would not be charged for theft, murder, and assault!"
"You'd have me so easily rid of, would you?" He looked hurt.
Abigail scoffed. "You're still the love sick little boy you've always been, Arthur. When will you realize that what we had is long since over?"
"When you stop showing me that you still care, I will stop pursuing you," Arthur crossed his arms over his chest. "So tell me, then."
"I'm not going to deal with this childish shenanigans," Abigail gathered her skirts. "Get out of here, Arthur. Now. And no more heroics! John will kill you if he finds you!"
With that, she made to turn and leave, but Arthur reached forward and grabbed her arm before she could.
"It's not over until you tell me that you don't feel the way I do, Abigail," he whispered. "I need to hear it."
"Take your hand off of me, Arthur, before I scream."
"You wouldn't."
"Now would be a good time to put all of your trust into those words, if you so wish it."
He paused.
"Well?"
He let her go.
"Get out of here," she said, almost softly. "Leave Lanfore, Hertfordshire... England if you have to! Do it if you value your life."
Abigail walked away and back towards the market, leaving Arthur standing there, shaken and at a loss with what to do.
That made two of them.
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Author's Note: Thanks for reading and so sorry for the delay! We hope you enjoyed, and be sure to leave a vote and comment, let us know how you liked it! We hope that you enjoy the rest, there's more drama to come! :)