Chapter 181
Conscience
“You don’t think I’m terrible awful.” Gamilla asked Charles cautiously after she explained what she’d been doing to Finlay.
“I think you’re brilliant, Gamilla.” Charles smiled, patting Gamilla’s arm reassuringly.
“I ain’t proud of it, mind you.” Gamilla replied softly.
“I think you should be.” Charles responded. “You’ve shown a remarkable cleverness.”
“Don’t know how clever I am.” Gamilla shrugged. “I jus’ couldn’t let the man go on thinkin’ he was…ummmm…”
“Invincible?”
“That’s it.” Gamilla nodded. “The way he swaggered ‘round, thinkin’ he was so smart and doin’ all them horrible things.” She shook her head. “He oughta pay. He oughta pay for the rest of his life. Ain’t no justice in killin’ a bad man. Death ain’t no punishment. Makin’ him live out his days, rememberin’ the pain he done caused—that, to me, is justice.”
“I agree wholeheartedly.” Charles said. “Now, how can I help?”
“Well, seems to me what the man is lackin’ is that voice inside him that tells him what’s right and wrong.”
“His conscience.” Charles nodded.
“Right.” Gamilla said. “I done already made him feel in his bones what he done and I got him to thinkin’ ‘bout the hurt he done caused, but, I was thinkin’ that maybe if he heard a voice—a masculine voice what could tell him what he done was wrong…”
“I can be that voice.”
“I was hopin’ you’d say that.”
“And, he can’t see?”
“Not too well.” Gamilla shook her head. “He’s got flour caked in his eyes and the room is awful dark. He thinks he’s goin’ blind through my magic.”
“So, I could slip in behind you and he’d not be aware of it?”
“That’s what I’m thinkin’.” Gamilla replied.
“Shall we, then?” Charles smiled.
“But, do ya know what to say?”
“Oh, most certainly. I’ve been thinking about all I’d tell Finlay if I had a chance. Now, I can. I just have to do it as if I’m speaking his own thoughts.”
“Your voice is different—I mean, the way you talk.”
“I can affect a Scotch dialect for the occasion. I’m a good mimic.”
“Good.” Gamilla nodded. She took the key from her apron.
Charles slipped into the room behind Gamilla and hid himself in the shadows behind the many shelves which held the silver, plate and other monumental serving pieces in the vault.
“Who’s there?” Finlay whimpered.
“It’s I…Gamilla.”
“Please, help me. I feel sick.”
“Do ya, then?” Gamilla asked.
“What have you done to me? My ear is on fire. My eyes…” He moaned.
“You done had your chance, Finlay Donnan. You coulda avoided all this.” Gamilla clucked her tongue.
“My heart is pounding in my chest. I feel sick.”
“I can’t help ya now.” Gamilla shook her head. “That’s the answers to them questions beatin’ on your insides. Tryin’ to get out.”
“I’ll let them out.” Finlay barked. “I will.”
“Can you hear the answers?” Gamilla asked.
Suddenly, Charles spoke in a low, rattling voice—seasoned with a Scottish brogue. “I’m an evil man. I’m a wicked man.”
“I can hear them!” Finlay wailed. “Oh, my heart! Please help me!”
“I am a murderer…” Charles continued.
“Please make the voice stop!” Finlay howled.
“I can’t. Only you can soothe yourself, Finlay.” Gamilla snapped.
“My heart! Please!” Suddenly, Finlay began to cough and sputter. His bound body thrashed on the floor of the vault. He gurgled and spit. “Please!”
Gamilla felt the sweat rise under her arms.
As quickly as it started, Finlay’s thrashing stopped. He lay on the floor—still.
Gamilla and Charles stood silently in their respective places, wondering what to do next. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Gamilla stepped forward. She knelt down and put her hand on Finlay’s chest.
With wide eyes, Gamilla gasped. “He’s dead.”
Did you miss Chapters 1-180? If so, you can read them here. Come back on Monday for Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square, Chapter 182.
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