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Ross studied the parchment between his hands and gazed at the cursive script, the ink of which had long since dried. The quill trembled in his unsteady hand as words were lost, swallowed by his fevered mind plagued with terrible thoughts.
The ring of keys was a welcomed reprieve as the gaoler unlocked his holding cell. “I’m in no mood for visitor’s.” He stated impatiently whilst his eyes scanned the letter once more.
“Sounds ominous.” A new voice quipped, the sound of which felt like nails running down Ross’s spine. He turned then, to eye his tormentor, disappointed to learn the gaoler had been bought and had not only opened his cell but scarpered as well. “I do hope I am not interrupting you,” George Warleggan stated as he stepped foot within the cell dressed in his finery, powdered and pampered with his hands firmly clasped behind his back.
“I was just writing a letter to my wife,” Ross answered and wanting that to be the end of it he turned from the devilish cad.
“I have not come here to fight,” George spoke quickly having realised he had been dismissed. “There has been too much aggravation between us, I wish to make amends and extend a proverbial olive branch.”
Ross did not lift his head instead he gazed at hollow words to his luckless wife. Ignoring his rebuff George took a seat opposite him with a flourish of his red coat. Ross could feel George’s gaze upon him as though it were a branding iron but he quelled his temper and eyed the words once more.
My most beloved wife Demelza
“How do you inspire such loyalty?” George asked with an air of suspicion about him. “It impresses me,” he states firmly and Ross turns his dark eyes on the banker’s face. “I see its value,” he states with a short sharp nod. “I could use it,” he says now with a voice of conspirator. “I could do as Elizabeth asks, I could remove the hostile witnesses. Drop a word in the ear of the prosecution. I could even take the stand and give you a character reference. How would that sway the jury, the very man whose cousin perished…what do you say, Ross? Will you meet me halfway? Will you take the hand of friendship?”
“I am curious, George.” Ross responded slowly and lifted his head. “You offer me so much,” his voice dripped with poison. “I wonder what you ask for in return.” George merely regarded him with the same wide-eyed indifference unfaltering in his affected stance as landed gentry though behind his blue eyes was a flame to his bonfire heart.
“I ask only that you show me a little kindness.” George replied, voice even and Ross snorted in response. “I ask for so little!” George snapped, flustering beneath Ross’ scrutiny. “Is it truly worth your life to defy me?” Ross sobered at the thought of his potential visit to the gallows and his lips drew back in a parody of a smile.
“A little kindness?” He asked without sarcasm though there was a breathlessness to his words that George responded to quite abruptly with a quick nod of his head. “I can be kind,” Ross agreed with his face cast in shadow making him seem every bit the devil that George was. “Let me show you,” he stood from the wooden bench and George followed at a more sedate pace thrown off kilter by Ross’s response.
Ross beckoned George over to the far wall where a blade of moonlight shone through his cell bars. There the banker chose to stand shrouded in moonlight, his pale skin luminescent and features ethereal in the silver glow. Ross reached out to him and clasped his bony shoulder as though in greeting to an old friend.
George’s breath caught in his throat and he eyed the hand, rough from mining pressed to his shoulder. “Do you require more kindness, George?” Ross asked with a smirk ghosting across his lips. George nodded mutely and considered loosening his neckerchief as Ross stepped forward and grasped his other shoulder. “A little more?” Ross asked with a laugh in his voice but George swallowed his reservations, wetted his lips and nodded once more.
Ross’ melodious laughter was both chilling and beautiful as the moonlight made him seem otherworldly but to George he had always classed Ross as something entirely other. Ross stepped forward again so their bodies were a mere hairs breadth from one another and he inclined his head as a prelude to a kiss.
George’s lips parted to emit a shaky breath before Ross’s chapped lips hesitantly brushed against his as they shared the same breath. “Am I kind, George? Have I earned your favour?” Ross spoke against his lips without bestowing that which George most desired.
“It is yours,” George readily agreed desperate to taste his lips. His heart plummeted when Ross laughed once more, dark and low and his dark eyes regarded him with nothing but contempt.
“I would rather die a thousand deaths than to spend a single moment as your stooge.” Ross hissed and stepped away, leaving George misty eyed and desolate against the far wall.
George recovered quickly, coughing first and then clearing his throat to try and dislodge his heart that had lurched up it. “I see,” he nodded ignoring the tears welling in his eyes. “Well then, may you only suffer the one.” He replied coldly and made his way towards the cell door. “I’ll send Elizabeth your regards.” He added vindictively and sauntered out of the jail cell belying his broken heart.
Ross stared after him and shook his head as for a moment he almost pitied the man-child. Taking his seat once more, Ross lifted the quill and now quite certain of his demise, he wrote freely to his beloved wife Demelza.