Colonel Tavington massaged his temples in frustration. It was becoming more and more evident by the minute that Annabelle was going to be of little help to him. He'd played all the angles, it seemed. He'd asked every question that he planned on asking- and more. When asked about the "Ghost's" identity, Annabelle drew a blank. After nearly a half an hour, the only information Tavington had compiled was that she joined the Militia under a false identity to avenge her sisters, kept to herself and made little to no connections. She was on cordial terms at best with her commanders and there were very few exchanges due to the ruse to keep her voice masked.
"People will die during my hunt for answers, Annabelle." Tavington said, nearly begging. "Do you truly want their blood on your hands?"
Annabelle fiddled with the lengthy sleeves of that disaster of a gown she'd been condemned to wear. "This dress isn't going to work." As she threw her hands down, the edges of the sleeves puffed out, comically.
"Are you not hearing me properly? There are larger issues to be dealt with here than… ruffles." He pressed his hand to his forehead once more. "Perhaps you truly are just a silly girl…"
"What I mean to say is, disguising a girl who is disguised as a boy as a girl," she paused, drawing the words she'd just spoken in mid-air with her fingertip, "yes. Is simply not going to work. That is why I want you to lock me up with the rest of my men so that my sentence might be carried out."
"I don't understand. I am offering to save your life. Now you want to martyr yourself for that sorry lot of convicts?"
She shrugged, turning around backwards on the armchair and glancing out the window. Tavington watched the light from outside reflecting against the various shades of gold in her billowing hair. "Last time I checked," Annabelle said with her back to him, "I was a convict, too. Conduct the rest of your interrogations. If you don't find the information that you seek," she turned to look him in the eyes, "well… there wasn't much hope for us in the first place. Your men have made that perfectly clear with those mock trials they've been holding all morning with bags of flour." He looked confused. "Oh, I know a scare tactic when I see one, Colonel. Now, allow me to change, put my irons back on and lock me up."
The usual coldness in his expression was changing more and more by the minute. There was a new warmness in those pale eyes that Annabelle hadn't seen before.
"If that is what you wish." He reached for the notebook that had been perched on the arm of his chair for the duration of their conversation. "I'll speak to the guards and let them know that I let you keep this. In exchange for my kindness or rather, attempt at kindness-"
"Your kindness?" Annabelle interrupted, "You ordered to have the only family I've ever known killed! If there is even a hint of kindness in you, Colonel-"
"In exchange for my kindness which you have so stupidly rejected," he continued, gesturing for Annabelle to lower her voice, "I have but one request."
She swept her tattered clothes off of the floor and headed for the doorway, where she waited for him to rise, leave and allow her to change. "Is that so?! And what does the noble Colonel Tavington request of me?"
He followed, like a cat in pursuit of a bird. When he reached her, he slipped the notebook into her hands.
"A poem." He said. "One final poem for me to have in my little book of strange and beautiful things."
She accepted the notebook, holding his gaze. "The subject?"
"No fireflies, no hummingbird or foxes." Tavington reached out and touched a single unruly strand of her hair. "But a poem about a man and a beautiful heroine with a fate akin to that of Dionysus and his Ariadne*. Include in your poem that she has eyes that even the purest emeralds covet and hair that holds within it all the colors of Saturn's rings."
Annabelle managed to force a laugh, "Dionysus, the god? And his mortal wife, Ariadne? Isn't that a bit cocky?"
"You are the one responsible for your own fate, Miss Casey. Now, I'm going to shut this door so you can put on your trousers and die like a man… or however the saying goes."
Annabelle stood in thought after the door to the parlor was closed. His offer was appealing. She imagined the carriage ride to Charleston, boarding a ship and beginning her new life in the Caribbean. But even though Will Arden was nothing more than a character of her own design, their fates were conjoined and she'd been running away from her problems for far too long. She dressed herself quickly, tucked his notebook away and gave the door yet, another tiny knock.
"I'm sorry that your plan didn't come to its fruition. But I will have you know that I am no coward." She said with her hands on her hips.
Then, Tavington did something that Annabelle had not anticipated, he shut the door and approached her, appearing to be unaffected by her little "speech".
"You're forgetting something." He moved behind Annabelle and much to her surprise, collected her hair in his hands and began to braid it for her.
She closed her eyes, feeling every gentle tug that his large hands made against her scalp. The warmth of his breath hit the back of her neck, sending a visible shiver across her shoulders and down her spine. They were barely touching and still, it was the most intimate moment that Annabelle ever shared with anyone.
"Have you ever been to a hanging, Annabelle?" Tavington asked as he tied off his work with the same tattered, off-white ribbon Annabelle always wore. Her eyes remained shut, but she shook her head in response. "Usually it's a clean sweep. But occasionally, the neck doesn't break and the convicted is left to strangle to death mid-air."
"There is some poetry in even that fate, don't you think?" She tried to turn, but Tavington stopped her.
He reached his hand into her coat pocket and began to write, using her back as a surface.
"What are you doing?" She could hear the scratch of the pencil against the pages as he wrote a brief passage before returning the items to her pocket.
"Some words for you to reflect upon as you walk to the gallows. It is my hope that you will find some comfort in them." He tucked her braid beneath her hat and allowed her to turn. "Now, would you do me the pleasure of letting me hear the last of yours?"
The coldness was returning to his eyes, but Annabelle was lucky enough to catch a witness what she believed to be a slowly-dying ember of kindness behind them. "I might have chosen mine today, but it is not too late for you to change your own fate, Colonel Tavington."
He stepped towards the door, pausing slightly before he touched the handle. "William. You may call me William."
Annabelle pushed him aside and made to open the door herself. She twisted the handle, but did not open it just yet. The intense connection between their eyes seemed to hold them both captive for a moment as they shared her "final" word: "William."
*Confused? Give the song "Ariadne" from Sondheim's "The Frogs" a quick listen. Or even if you're not confused, it's still just a great effing musical. Okay, I'm done. Lisa out.