The Girl Underground

Chapter 8: A Most Curious Thing

Chapter 8: A Most Curious Thing

Mrs. Boatwright finally spoke to Malia after a day of silence. Her demeanor didn't display anything out of the ordinary. In fact, she spoke to her as if nothing had ever happened, and the scene the night at the ball was ancient history.

"We're entertaining a few of George's associates, can you make sure his study is dusted and cleaned?" Mrs. Boatwright fanned herself. "I swear, you girls clean his study so nicely, yet he doesn't have the courtesy to keep it clean!"

"That's all right, Mrs. Boatwright," Malia assured her. "Cleaning is our job, after all. We'd be out of one if he didn't dirty it up."

She smiled and laughed. "Right you are. They're to arrive an hour after George takes his afternoon walk, so you have enough time to straighten out his mess. After that, deliver this letter for me," she handed Malia a folded piece of paper. "It's for Anne Quincy, she was asking after a few cloths I have in storage for a dress she wants to have sewn for her daughter in the new style from London."

"Where is Mrs. Quincy staying?" Malia asked, feeling her heart rate spike. The idea of being breathing distance from the Quincy home made her want to vomit.

"She said she would be speaking with a few old friends at the florist's later today, around say... Mid afternoon? She's expecting you, fear not. Abigail will not be with her."

Malia wanted to ask if Mrs. Boatwright was sure, but didn't want to step over any lines.

Mrs. Boatwright, however, sensed Malia's unspoken inquiry. "I am certain she won't be there, Malia. Today is her daughters' music lesson. I remember, I used to send James over a year ago to learn the violin. She stays home for most of the day, rarely leaves. And Anne is not so fond of Abigail so as to bring her along to her excursions to the florist's. You're safe."

"I am sorry for being a hassle," Malia mumbled, embarrassed.

"Hassle? You? Heavens no! That woman is a hassle, not you!" Mrs. Boatwright shook her head. "Always has been, Abigail. If I have to spend the rest of my natural life making sure you and her never cross paths, rest assured I will! She fails to remember who your father was to this community. Now," Mrs. Boatwright gently shoo-ed Malia away, "hurry with George's study! His friends are awful prudes, analyzing ever nook and cranny like stuffy old women. Best not give them a reason to guffaw at a speck!"

"Yes, ma'am," Malia nodded and turned to hurry to Mr. Boatwright's study.

When would it end, her getting mixed up with the Quincy family? The conversation she had with the Magistrate in the market the other day was not lost on her, she remembered every word, even shuddered when she thought of his touch. It had sent shock waves through her the likes of which she had never felt before, even when his hand was doing nothing but hovering over her cheek! She knew in her heart and spirit that she wanted to feel his touch again... She could...

No... No! She dare not even think it! If she went there, there was no returning. Yes, of course, she would physically return from the gardens, but mentally she would never recover. For shame, meeting a man such as John Quincy in the middle of his gardens at night! It was out in the open, first off... And it screamed risk! She wanted nothing to do with it, not at all!

Well, she wanted to want nothing to do with it. As it was, she could hardly think of anything else.

"Malia! Hold, girl!"

Malia skidded to a halt and frowned, turning. Melinda was marching up to her, a folded piece of paper in her hand and a stony expression on her face.