Chapter 32: Of Morals, Betrayals, and Judgment
New Orleans, Louisiana, 1850
"The weeks and months after Malia left were the worst of my life," Dorsey said, crossing his legs at the knee. "Not only because I'd lost my dear friend, but because I was left with a choice, to remain silent and deny a father access to his child, or a choice to say something, and betray my friend."
Ronald couldn't fathom that. As it was, he could hardly fathom the whole story! It felt as though time had passed at an incredibly slow pace since Dorsey had started telling it, but it unfolded so quickly, it was like watching a boulder roll downhill in almost slow motion.
"Arthur Denning's suicide coupled with the continued silence from the Quincy home didn't make it easier," Dorsey went on. "I wanted to come forth with the truth because I knew that it would lead to the better outcome, but every sense of morality in me told me to stay true to my friend. She had made me promise to keep it a secret. I didn't know then how heavy such a burden would be. Even the best man breaks under pressure."
"I daresay, I would never wish such a turmoil on my worst enemy," Ronald muttered. "I like to think that I would know what to do in such a situation..."
"I thought I did," Dorsey chuckled. "I thought it would be the easiest thing. I had protected her for a long time, what was one more secret? But to see such a powerful man disintegrate and a town fall to pieces one day at a time? Lanfore was my home, and the Magistrate was the balm keeping it together, more or less. People started to speculate why he was acting the way he was. They began to wonder if he had something personally to do with Arthur Denning's crime, Addison's death, Roger's death, Cromwell's death... And he did. They just didn't have all the pieces to the story."
"They didn't have Abigail's side."
"Exactly."
"Did the town ever find out?"
"I cannot say, but the story is still far from over..." Dorsey sighed. "As I said, even the best man breaks... Eventually."
XXX
London, 1823
Five months later...
Time seemed to fly by for Malia from the moment she stepped foot in London. She didn't know what to expect, didn't know what would happen to her and, most importantly, she didn't know if her baby was safe. She didn't miscarry, she knew enough to know that women bled heavily during miscarriage, but she still wasn't entirely certain that her child wasn't in stress.
In the days following her arrival, Amys Dorsey, Brandon's older sister, forced Malia to stay in bed and fill her belly with food so the baby could be healthy. She applied many different herbs to Malia's stomach and massaged it often. Every once in a while, she would say that there was a good chance the baby was going to be a boy, but Malia had no idea how the woman could determine that merely by feelings her stomach!
A month came and went and Malia was finally able to be a little mobile, but not to the point where she had been before falling pregnant. She wished she could be back to her old self; she hated having to be so useless. Amys constantly assured her that there was nothing wrong with it, that she was carrying life inside of her and had to accept the precautions all to-be-mothers had to take.
Five months came and went, and Malia was getting used to feeling her baby move inside of her. Most of her days were spent with her in bed, and she didn't know how to pass the time, so she thought often of Lanfore. She thought of John, the love of her life. She wanted to run back to him, baby and all, she missed him so much. She missed their underground sanctuary. God, that felt like a lifetime ago. She missed his violin music, their stolen kisses... She wanted all of that back.
She wanted to go home!
But she couldn't, could she? She had no choice but to embrace her life here, in London. When she gave birth to her baby, she would have to learn to be strong. Hell, she had to learn to be strong now! No time like the present to grow a backbone.
She did think of Roger sometimes. It was odd, but she didn't resent killing him, not for a minute. In fact, she didn't shy away from the thought. She did what she had to protect her baby, and she would do it again, she knew. She only hated that it had to end that way, that there couldn't have been a compromise.
A lifetime ago... Yes. That was what it all felt like. A million years and a day. But she had to let all of that go now. She had to be strong. But why was it so hard to do?
"How are you feeling?" Amys asked, sweeping into the room with a warm look on her face. She was a kind woman. Malia wished she could do more to help her.
"I'm fine," Malia said, smiling through her lie. "The baby's been a bit active today, though. I tried to sing to it to calm it down, but it seems to want to claw its way out of me!"
"That's a good sign, it means it's healthy," Amys rubbed Malia's tummy affectionately and stood. "I'll throw something together for you. A stew, perhaps, something soft."
"Let me help you!" Malia struggled to her feet. "Please, I've been sitting around all day, I need to do something or I'll lose my mind!"
Amys looked for a moment like she would protest, but instead laughed and nodded. "Alright, then, you can come give me some company while I make us some dinner. Brandon mentioned you liked to be on your feet and to be as strict with you as possible."
Malia wanted to be angry about that, but at the mention of his name, she found herself missing her old friend a great deal. Brandon, how much he had done so much for her! She wished she could repay his kindness. One day, she would. She didn't know if she would ever see him again, but she would try to figure out some sort of way to repay him.
"You never did tell me who the father of your baby is," Amys said while they both stood in the kitchen as she worked on supper.
"I..." Malia gulped. "Well, I'm not exactly proud of it."
"You don't have to feel embarrassed about it, Malia. I don't know if Brandon told you, but our mum was a midwife. She helped birth a great deal of illegitimate children, and gosh the stories we both heard about them! Trust me, you can't surprise me."
"I just don't want to say," Malia replied. "Not for my sake, but for his. He's an important man, you see. If the wrong person hears, it could ruin him."
"He may be an important man in Lanfore, but not here, surely!"
"He knows a lot of people, Amys. And knowing my luck, one of them may hear."
"Malia, I'm a midwife and a maid. Who am I going to tell?"
"I was a maid too. We like to talk!"
"I don't," she assured her. "And I should know just in case he decides to show up here."
Malia frowned. "He wouldn't, he doesn't know. I didn't tell him where I was and I didn't tell him that I am carrying his child."
"So there is no one else in Lanfore that knows?"
"Brandon does, you know that."
"And you don't think he won't talk?"
"He wouldn't!"
"Malia," Amys took her hand and squeezed it. "Brandon has always done the right thing. It's his gift and his curse. He doesn't know how to live with himself when he knows that he has the power to make things right but can't do anything about it. He could break and, when he does, he could sent the father of your child riding over here on a white stallion with a fanfare playing in the background."
Malia tried not to picture that rather amusing imagine of John riding to her on a white stallion and shook her head. "Do you really think Brandon could be swayed to tell the father where I am?"
Amys shrugged. "I can hardly say."
"He can't!" Malia shook her head, feeling her eyes burn. "I left so he could start over without me. So this child wouldn't ruin him! So I wouldn't! Brandon can't tell John about this, he just can't!"
"John?" Amys frowned. "Is that his name?"
Malia felt her legs give way, and she collapsed on a chair with her head in her hands. "If Brandon tells him, then it's all over. Everything I've done up until now will have been for nothing!"
She heard Amys slowly approach her and then kneel in front of her, taking her hands in hers and forcing her to look into her eyes.
"This John is the father of your baby," Amys whispered. "Nothing is going to change that, Malia... Unless you had another lover?"
"No!" Malia shook her head. "No, it was only him. Always him."
"Then there is no doubt that he is this baby's father. And though you carry it, do you not feel in your heart that he has the right to know?"
Malia knew the answer to that, but she said nothing, because she didn't want to admit it.
"Does he love you?"
Malia nodded without hesitation. "I am not sure if he does now, but he did. And I love him with all my heart."
"Then do you think he cares a whit about his reputation?" Amys asked. "Do you not think that he should know? Despite the consequence, despite his reputation... If he loves you, then he won't care about these things. You're carrying his child," she placed a hand on Malia's stomach. "Perhaps your life is not over quite yet."
Malia frowned thoughtfully down at the woman, tears in her eyes.
"Brandon can't tell," she whispered. "Or I will hate myself more."
XXX
Lanfore, Hertfordshire
Brandon accompanied Jane to the market that day, mainly because he had heard that Mr. Crane had returned a few weeks ago, and wanted to ask him about Malia. He meant to escape the girl as soon as she was distracted, which didn't take very long. While she was gushing over the florist's picks, Brandon managed to slip away into the bustling crowd. He dashed towards Mr. Crane's place; ready with the questions he meant to ask.
But when he arrived there, he skidded to a halt. For some reason, he felt a prominent sense of unease, and it wouldn't go away. But he had to know how Malia was. It had been five months since he had seen her leave. Five months of watching Lanfore waste away along with its Magistrate, who was seen from time to time, but as a shadow of his former self. It didn't make it easier for Brandon to keep the secret, especially when he knew that telling it would solve everything. Malia had been selfish to keep such a thing from the man... But could Brandon betray her?
Could he watch this go on any longer?
Shaking his head, Brandon decided that his main priority right now was to see if Malia had arrived to London safely. Amys had not sent word of it, and he hated not knowing.
Brandon reached forward and knocked on the door, ignoring the foreboding feeling of everything about to go wrong. When no one answered, he knocked once more.
"Come in, it's open!" Mr. Crane's voice sounded from the other side.
Brandon pushed the door open and stepped in. He expected the man to be alone, but that assumption was shot dead the moment his eyes fell on the other man in the room.
"Magistrate..."
"Mr. Dorsey," John Quincy stood. Brandon forgot how tall and imposing the man really was. "It would seem that we keep running into each other."
"What..." Brandon cleared his throat. "What...?"
"Apologies, my boy, but the Magistrate merely came to question me," Mr. Crane stood as well. "Regarding the carriage."
Oh no...
"I don't suppose you know anything about it, Mr. Dorsey?" The Magistrate asked. He had dark circles under his eyes, as if he had not gotten enough sleep, and they looked dead and defeated, as if the life had been sucked out of them. "About that strange carriage that dashed off into the night conveniently right after my footman was found dead on Dawn-Bridge grounds?"
Brandon cleared his throat. "Magistrate... Sir..."
"Or, perhaps, you know more than you're letting on," the man's glare deepened. "About everything."
Brandon sighed and looked to Mr. Crane. The man was like family, he couldn't watch as he was questioned like a criminal. But what could he do?
"I have questions, Brandon," the Magistrate said. "And I want answers. Let's take a walk."
Bloody Hell, what am I going to do now?
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Author's note: Thanks for reading, we hope you enjoyed! Wow, we're getting so close to the end. After debating about it, Mila and I decided to post the Prologue for book 2 early! It may be posted sometime this weekend.
Vote and comment, let us know how you liked it! Do you think Brandon will break and tell? Let us know! We hope you enjoy the rest! :)