The Girl Underground

Chapter 27: Finale of a Wretched Soul

        

Chapter 27: The Finale of a Wretched Soul 

Brandon wrote a letter to his sister in London and, days after, he was formulating a plan to get Malia out of Lanfore and far, far, away from the Magistrate as possible.

"How long do you think it will be before I start showing?" She asked, tapping her fingers nervously on the table. "I feel so sick and dizzy all of the time, Brandon. I don't know how long I can hide it!"

"Don't worry, Amys will reply as soon as she can and we will have you on your way to London in no time."

Malia didn't stop tapping her fingers on the table. "Do you think she will care for me?"

"Malia, she lives on her own with no one else to care for but herself and the pregnant women who come to her for help. Our mother was a midwife and she helped her when we were growing up, and then refused to marry so she could pursue the same path. Next thing, she ended up in London and now she cleans homes here and there to pay her rent along with the midwifery. She will care for you, don't worry about that."

"It's just..." Malia licked her lips. "I'm already so worried that I've put a strain on my baby. I don't want anything to happen. Not to me, but to the baby. If I should die giving birth to it, that's well and all, so long as it's alright."

Brandon's eyes darkened. "Don't say those things, Malia."

"It's true, Brandon," she insisted. "I mean, what sort of life have I lived? I was the product of two unmarried people, and now look at my own child! It will be in the same way that I was, constantly trying to prove itself to those who don't understand and constantly asking for approval from the wrong people. I criticized my mother for the longest time for being with that man and having me, but I am no better. At least Colonel Raver wasn't married!"

"Malia..."

"And to think that I can't even look at myself anymore without wanting to throw up. Not just because I hate the person I've become, but because I can't seem to stop throwing up," she ran a hand over her hair and chuckled bitterly. "I'm denying my own child the possibility of meeting his or her father. Just like me, they will only ever know who he was from others... I did that. I'm a horrid, horrid person!"

Brandon reached forward and grasped Malia's wrist. "You're not a horrid person, you're human. And now you have to stop squandering in your self-pity. You're carrying life inside of you, Malia. Mental health is just as important as physical," when she gave him an odd look, he sighed. "Midwife for a mother, once again. You need to take care of yourself, and Amys will take good care of you. And as for your child," he smiled. "If it has nothing else in this world, it has me. I will be the father figure in its life if I have to. That is if you want to continue to keep the Magistrate out of it."

"I do," she whispered. "A bastard child would ruin him... Oh, Brandon!" She tightened her grip on his hands. "You are, by far, the kindest soul I have ever known, and I love you so much for it, truly!"

"You've been like a sister to me since you came here," he said. "You're family, Malia. And your baby is family too. I will do everything I can. This baby will have a happy life, I am sure of it."

As the day went on, though, Malia had a hard time doing her chores. She had to move slowly, and whenever she wanted to throw up, she had to run outside and do it behind a bush or in a patch of tall grass. A few times, Jane almost caught her, and once Melinda did. She was convinced that Malia had a cold now, and insisted that she had a stroke of bad luck following her.

If only she knew.

Still, her chores were finished. Everything went smoothly, for the most part and, when the day was over and all the servants sat down to sup, she picked gingerly at her food, not sure of what to eat and not to eat. What was good for the baby? What wasn't?