She was a free woman, so she thought in that moment as she lifted her face to the salty breeze as she stood close enough to the edge of a cliff to catch the view of the beach below, her arms crossed in such a way that she could hold on to her upper arms. She closed her eyes and lifted her face to the breeze as it skimmed over her. She fought the urge to unbind her hair and let it loose.

It wasn't that she cared about being proper, not really, it was just that it took forever for her to pin her hair up so it stayed out of her face and off the back of her neck. The summer heat was too much for her. If she knew how to swim, she would be in the sea right about then.

Sonia then picked her way down to the beach and moved to shuck her boots and hose, she set them on a rock and then padded over wet sand to let the cold surf curl over her toes. That was one thing she would not deny herself while she had the chance to bend over still. Her belly was already starting to get in the way.

She hummed as she lifted her skirts above what was proper, though not above her knees, just enough to keep her hem from being wet, and she waded in deeper.

The water was helping her to think. How was she to get out of the problems she had caused by one stupid moment?

The cliffs looked so much taller from below. Harsher, with their ragged edges and stones that gave way at some point to the sand.

Malachi sat beneath, tucked away in the shadows they cast where the temperature was only slightly cooler. Couldn’t say how long he’d been out there – only that he’d wandered down from the cliff’s edge some time before the sun came up, and he’d spent the hours in between watching the rising light glitter off the sea.

It was the sound of shuffling fabrics that alerted him to someone else’s presence. He turned his head, caught sight of what appeared to be a woman wading into the water, a little farther down the beach.

Was that… safe? The waters were tame enough, but swimming alone?

Finally he rose, dusting the sand from his clothes. For the first time in far too long, he’d forgone a cassock and Roman collar for more simple attire instead. A shirt, plain white, a loose thing he’d found in the church, tucked haphazardly into the trousers he usually wore beneath his robes.

He’d intended on reminding himself that he was just as uncomfortable in normal clothes as he was in those of a priest. It wasn’t working.

Malachi made his way down the beach, keeping a casual eye on the woman in the water.

“Careful,” he called, and then joked, “those harsh waves might pull you under.”

(CW, ideation and mental health)

"I will not wade in too deep," she said loud enough for him to hear, her alto voice, a natural purr. She had a heavy Italian accent though spoke the English language as smoothly as if it were her first language. The amnesiac looked to the man then, and she turned around and moved closer to the dry sand for his peace of mind... that and she knew if she got pulled under, she would be dead unless he knew how to swim. But then, she thought, it wouldn't be a great loss to the world if she were to drown. She then stepped back out of the water after a shudder passed through her.

It wasn't from the cold, but rather, the dark thoughts that swam through her mind in that moment. She thought about just falling backwards into the foamy waves and letting them swallow her. He might even see the gears grinding just by looking into her eyes.

Sonia moved to sit on a boulder, her expression almost childlike in the next instant. She was no child though, she was obviously pregnant, though not very big yet.

“Ah. Sure,” he acknowledged lightly. The woman – girl, more like, judging by what little he could make out of her youthful face from where he was – did turn around though, and Malachi observed as she drew herself out of the water.

It must have been cold. Even in the dead of summer, the water looked too cold to entice Malachi into its embrace. He knew how to swim, but he had not seen many opportunities.

He continued his leisurely stroll down the beach, moving closer to where the woman emerged from the sea. Pulled his long, loose sleeves down over his forearms to cover them. Once he was near to her, Malachi leaned casually against one of the other large rocks, and cast a curious glance her way.

“What are you doing out here on your own?” he inquired, noting her appearance. She was pretty. Not in a way that particularly appealed to the priest, but he could recognize it all the same. Very pretty, even in her current pregnant state.

Years of preaching had him hoping that she was at least married.

"I am finally free to be able to do so," she said softly. The fact that she wasn't under the thumb of some guard so she wouldn't get away... No, she couldn't let herself think about the things her dead husband had done whilst he lived. The courtesan gave a measured look. "And nobody would miss me anyway," she went on quietly, looking off in the distance. Sonia took in a deep and shuddering breath. She then chuckled a humorless chuckle and turned her gaze to him.

He was handsome in an exotic way, but not the kind of attractive that drew her. No, she liked her men dark and broody, though it would do her no good. And then there was the fact that she was... stuck... in some kind of bind with Zecheriah Meijer. She was in no place to find anyone attractive.

"I am sorry to have disturbed you from your musings," she said and scooped up the stockings she had previously discarded in the rocky sand.

“Really?”

Malachi did not miss the sentiment, but he thought it was unlikely that her presence would not be missed. When her eyes found him again, his head tilted to the side, and he said, “I find that hard to believe.”

‘Finally free’ was an odd choice of words as well. He blinked as the woman reached for her stockings, and regretted not fetching them for her – was she supposed to be bending down like that?

The priest shook his head, “you disturbed nothing. I was merely out for a walk.”

It was not the farthest thing from the truth he’d ever said.

“Finally free,” Malachi repeated then, setting his crossed arms on the rock to lean heavier on it.

“Might I ask what you’ve found freedom from?”

"Magnus," she whispered. "Magnus Carrington was my husband... the son, not the father... I am... was... a courtesan who worked in his brothel." She pinched the silk between two fingers and lifted it before another word was said. She was quiet for a moment as she let him either register this bit of information or look at her blankly. She hoped for the latter, for it seemed like everyone knew. "And people don't tend to miss soiled doves like me, signor. They spit on people like me." Her brow lifted. "Added to that, I have no family claiming me as their kin that I know of."

She pulled the one stocking onto a foot, not deliberate in her movements for there was no seduction intended toward the fellow. Sonia then pulled the other stocking on, deciding to hook it to the garters when he was not in sight of her anymore.

Where had he heard that name before? Magnus Carrington. Carrington, Carrington…

Was he the one doing that suspicious charity project? Or the murderer, perhaps? Malachi had only spared a general glance over the papers that had printed before his arrival, but as of late he had inspected each one with a closer eye for any word of a certain detective.

Whoever this Carrington was, he had obviously not made enough of an impression on Malachi for his name to earn a reaction. The rest of the woman’s confession, however, caused him to frown as he listened on.

A former courtesan. What a delicate word that was; did it ever delude anyone into thinking they were better than those that called themselves whores?

His eyes tracked the movement of her hands as she pulled on her stockings.

“Is that a bad thing?” he asked after a moment. “Not having any family, not being missed.”

Oh, how often he had wished that he did not have a family.

“It just means that you are truly free to do anything you want, doesn’t it?”

He didn't know. Relief was not an emotion she felt though, for he mentioned freedom. Was she really free now? She certainly was from Magnus, but not from Zecheriah Meijer. She lowered her lashes, "Freedom is fleeting," was all she said. She stuffed her feet into the shoes that were rather impractical for being on any beach. She closed her eyes. She pushed herself off the boulder, peering out over the waves after a deep breath was taken.

"Anyway, I am sorry to have bothered you, Signore," her words were soft and almost mechanical. There was something off about her, something in the way she was could be seen as childlike qualities. Added to that, her features were schooled into a mask of serenity, but her eyes spoke volumes that her voice would not.

No, he would probably realize that she wasn't trying to sound like she was better than anyone. It didn't matter how one labeled a whore, a whore was a whore. But she was blissfully unaware of his thoughts.

Freedom… is… fleeting.

Rather pessimistic, this one was, for that to be her only response. Or, Malachi reasoned, perhaps she simply did not wish to speak with him. During the few outings he had allowed himself over the years without the burden of his priestly vestments, he had noticed far more reluctance in other people when it came to… sharing the same space as him. Breathing the same air. Sharing secrets with someone that looked different from them.

A Roman collar demanded respect and gave him credibility to them. Without it?

He almost understood why his father had kept him locked inside.

The woman – former courtesan – continued tidying her appearance, slipping into her shoes and pushing off from the boulder. Malachi remained in place for a few moments longer, watching the way the wind swayed her pinned-up hair. At first, it seemed as if her second apology went ignored, or perhaps that he had not picked up the soft sound of her voice, before he pushed away from the rock he’d leaned against.

“I am sorry to have interrupted your swim, signora,” Malachi returned, sounding only slightly apologetic. He came to stand beside her, hands clasped comfortably behind his back, and followed her gaze out to the sea. “What’s your name? I imagine you are more than simply Mr. Carrington’s widow.”

That was, if Magnus Carrington was the murderer he was thinking of.