Chapter Text
What are you going to do Ross, shoot me? Those words filled with stone cold hatred followed Ross all day, the implications too deep to ignore. George’s moods had never spelt good news for Ross, but this latest phase seemed to hold more trouble that the others. It came without warning or reason, and rather than work behind the scenes like George loved to do, he showed no hesitation about showing his anger off in public, whether it was through violence or verbal insults. He had no shame about losing his cool in front of important people and ladies in the street, and that meant so much more could happen than dirty deals and surprise debts.
To make matters worse, Ross was alone. Unlike with his quarrel against Adderley, Dwight was not there to give him the advice of a level headed friend and professional. Ross was a bit eased at Demelza not being alone on her journey home to Cornwall, but he wished at the same time that it had been Caroline that had gone with her. At this point in time, he had no one to consult immediately about George’s inexplicable rage, and while he would never admit it out loud, Ross was hesitant to trust his own instincts. They had a knack for getting him into trouble, and being at the spotlight of attention after Adderley’s death, now was not the time to cause more of it.
For now though, he had to focus on his own appearances. The suspicion of his latest duel was dying down the tiniest bit, as politicians and party goers game him the occasional nod and smile, and let him on his way just as normal. London was just as lively as ever, and the gardens where more refined company could be found were still bright and alive. At every turn, gentleman played cards and laughed over whiskey, ladies walked in circles around the fountain gossiping about the guests around them, and exotic performers showed off their talents in hopes of a charitable coin. Ross weaved through them all, looking for Caroline or Geoffrey-Charles, any familiar face he could join so as not to appear alone. He didn’t want to be cornered by an opponent in an awkward conversation, or worse, by a furious George.
His hopes were dashed though as he violently brushed shoulders with another man, who also appeared in a hurry. He turned his head, ready to apologize, but upon seeing a head of light curls and a trademark red suit, his sweat ran cold and the polite words escaped him.
“Well Ross, you seem pent up. Care to take it out on me? We could finish what we started before Elizabeth’s fainting interrupted us.”
“George,” Ross nodded rather stiffly, “There will be no need for that. I was only looking for someone, and I was not paying attention. You have my apologies,” he fought not to choke on the words, wanting so much more to snap at the shorter man and demand answers for his behavior. It seemed like that’s what George wanted him to do as well, for a disappointed look passed his features before he shifted a bit closer to him,
“Very well, perhaps not with our fists. I’ve heard you prefer to settle arguments with pistols, anyway.”
Ross took a sharp breath through his nose, every fiber of his being already wanting to pummel this sorry excuse of a man, but some miracle held him back.
“That’s the second time you imply that today George, and I don’t find it funny. Do you wish to talk? We could go somewhere more private if so, but this cannot continue. Someone will be suspicious-”
“They should be! And it is natural for the guilty to feel weary of others’ suspicions, so I’m not afraid of drawing attention to ourselves.” Ross’ fingers twitched, and he raised his arm with intent to grab George by the throat but halted half way when a band of women brushed past them. He gave them a strained smile as they apologized, then turned back to George, who still had his head held high to look at Ross square in the eyes.
“Come now George,” he breathed out wearily, “I cannot amend a fault of which I am not aware of. Tell me what this is about, and we’ll see what can be done.” The moment those words escaped his lips, he knew he had dug himself into a hole. George’s eyes flashed in the darkness, the reflection of a nearby performer’s fire shining off of them and giving him an uncharacteristic aura of true danger.
“You know full well what you have done, you only choose not to say it out loud. I don’t care about your apologies and lies anymore, Ross. This can only be settled the same way you settled things with Adderley; meet me tomorrow at dawn in the nearby park with your best pistols. You’ll find me by the river, surely there’ll be no boats at that hour.”
“George-” His weak protests were cut off as he continued,
“If you wish to be rid of me and my hate for you, you’d best be prepared to kill me Ross.” His jaw was set in stubbornness, his feet tightly drawn together and Ross couldn’t help but notice how even his fingers clenched into fists as he relayed his instructions. He was obviously nervous, and yet one couldn’t tell it just by looking at his face alone. It truly was the only way it seemed.
“Very well then. Who will count?”
“We will, together. I won’t trust anyone from you, and I don’t have any men I trust enough with me in London. It will only be you and me, just as it always should have been.”
Ross’ eyes widened at the preposterous words. George may not trust Ross, but how was he supposed to trust George to step away and count as well? “You’ve gone mad, surely there is someone who could do it.”
“Who then Ross, Geoffrey-Charles? The boy would blabber the truth to the very next gentleman he met in the street. Dwight would only try to stop you.”
“Dwight is in Cornwall with Demelza,” Ross interrupted, though he wasn’t sure why he gave away the fact that his most reliable friend had left him prone in London. “Are you suggesting we host a duel stepping backwards and watching the other man the whole time?”
“If that is what it takes, then yes, that is exactly what I am suggesting. No doctor present either. Whatever happens happens, and whoever wins walks away free of witnesses and potential tattletales.” With that, George held out a pale hand, “Are we in agreement?”
Ross flicked his eyes to the outstretched hand and back into George’s fiery eyes, then grasped it in a firm shake, “Agreed.”
It was as if Ross had gone back in time. The park looked the same this dawn as it did the last, with morning dew clinging to blades of grass and a light mist reflecting the sun surrounding the trees. He wore the same boots, the same tattered brown overcoat over his clothes, and held the same pistols as he had that day. The only thing that was different were his images of Demelza. Before dueling Adderley, he had imagined her in the flowers back in Cornwall, with a bright smile and endearing giggles. Now he saw her as cold and distant, doing mundane things as feeding the children and shoveling hay into Darkie’s feeder, not sparing a single look towards him and her frown never easing off her face.
He knew it was his fault, and he wondered why he could never make Demelza truly happy. Every time she reached out to him, he hurt her one way or another. Every time he came to her with intentions of comfort or consulting, he left her having made everything worse. He knew this would be one of those moments. He had been lucky enough to survive the first fight, but another? Against George no less, and without Dwight to heal and without a counter to check their manners. The odds were stacked against him, only adding as Ross began to ask himself questions like whether George had been practising or if he intended on cheating and shooting him square in the chest before they reached five counts…
When he reached the river he found George overlooking it with his hands behind his back, pistols on the ground at his feet. His hair was a mess and even from here Ross could tell that his necktie was crooked. He wondered if he had slept at all last night, and could only tell he hadn’t waited here all night due to his change of clothes. The red suit shirt had been replaced with a grey one of obvious quality, complemented with matching pants and a silk white undershirt.
Ross stood still for a moment, wondering if he would notice his presence. Later he would think back to this moment and realize that he could have shot him dead behind his back, but at the time it never crossed his mind. Eventually George tore himself away from the river to face Ross, giving him a solid glare before bending to pick up his pistols. “Ready to begin?”
“Straight to the point. You’re sure there is no compromise to be had?”
“Quite. We’ll face each other and take ten paces backwards.”
“Only ten?”
“I want this to be over with.” George came to stand toe to toe with Ross, and he could plainly see how clumsily he walked. This close together, and now in the daylight, Ross wondered how long George had sported such heavy bags under his eyes and when he had become so pale, more than usual. He almost seemed ill, and Ross’ worries about surviving were slimming, his concern leaning more towards his opponent.
Ross looked to his two pistols, and was about to place the left one down when George stopped him. “We’ll use both, one shot from each.”
“Really George, what kind of duel is this?!”
“One where someone will die for certain and the other may walk away unscathed!” He all but screamed in his face. As much as Ross wanted to protest or back away altogether, he knew George would never back down now and that fighting with one gun wouldn’t change the fact that George had two. It would be stupid not to level the playing field as much as possible. With this in mind, he readjusted his grip on both guns and nodded to start counting.
One
Two
Three
Ross had to steady himself as his heel hit a rock, not wanting to remove his gaze from George and certainly not wanting to fall in front of him.
Four
Five
Six
George’s green eyes were boring into his own, as if he could shoot him with looks alone. Ross’ fingers gripped the guns until his knuckles turned white.
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
“Aim,” George’s voice was kept quiet, but to Ross, it sounded like a scream echoing in his head. His ears strained to hear the next command, sweat rolling off of him in waves. He was sure George would pull the trigger on his pistols without even calling to begin. Despite his chance to do just that, the banker took aim just as he did and said, “fire.”
With as much speed as the weapon allowed, Ross shot his first bullet, then his second without waiting to see where the first shot hit. George’s first pistol let out a plume of smoke, indicating he had fired, however Ross never felt the bullet. The smoke from his weapons blinded him a bit, but it was soon carried away by the wind. His whole body was tense, waiting for George’s second shot, but it never came.
When his blurry mind focused enough to take a good look at his opponent, he could plainly see the crimson red blooming to the left of his abdomen. George’s face was completely blank, mouth hanging slightly open and eyes staring blankly in front of him. One of his hands had dropped a gun to reach for the wound, and when even more blood seeped through the side of his necktie, he fell to the ground.