Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square, Chapter 181

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.

Punch's Cousin, Chapter 181

“Sorry, Sir?” Charles blushed.


“Your name?” Mr. Punch smiled.

“Your Grace, I’ve already…”

“Your name isn’t Charles Van Eyck.” Mr. Punch repeated.

Charles didn’t respond.

“Your cuff buttons.” Mr. Punch pointed. “They’re engraved. They got initials on ‘em. Them initials don’t match the name what you gave.”

Charles glanced at his sleeves.

“You didn’t steal ‘em.” Mr. Punch smiled. “I know you didn’t. They’re worn and tarnished and not of any great value. I may not know much. Most things are new to me. But, I know jewelry. I learned that first-hand. If you were gonna steal cuff buttons, you’d steal some what were worth somethin’. Not those cheap things. But, the initials on ‘em are ‘C.I.’ So, what’s your name?”

“Carlo.” Charles sighed. “Carlo Iantosca.”

“That’s a right nice name.” Mr. Punch nodded. “Italian?”

“Yes,” Charles nodded.

“So, why use a different name?”

“Distance, Sir.” Charles said softly.

“From whom?” Mr. Punch asked.

“You’re not the only one with a difficult sibling, Sir.” Charles smiled.

“I see.” Mr. Punch answered. “So, you’re runnin’ away from somethin’?”

“I suppose you could say that.” Charles shrugged. “Though I’ve been running for so long now that I don’t think you could even call it ‘running’ anymore. Now, I’m just living—trying to live anyway.”

“So, in the short time we’ve known you, we can see you’ve already lied about your name and about your references.” Mr. Punch said, pulling the bedcovers up higher.

“Does this mean that you don’t wish to employ me, Sir?” Charles asked.

“No.” Mr. Punch answered. “I’m just tryin’ to understand you. Here, don’t look so frightened. You still got your job. It’s just that ‘round here, we try to be as honest as we can. We got ‘nough goin’ on without having to create extra dramas for ourselves.”

“You’re very wise, Your Grace.”

“That’s what folk keep tellin’ me. Coo! I don’t see it me-self. Now, go on, go collect your things. We’ll talk more later.”

“Of course, Sir.” Charles bowed his head. “And, thank you.”

Mr. Punch nodded.

“May I get anything for you before I go?”

“No.” Mr. Punch shook his head. “Just close the door on your way out.”

Charles bid his new employer “good evening” and walked downstairs. He thanked Cecil, Adrienne and Robert and headed out of the back door of the house. There, in the alley, he was not surprised to see Barbara Allen waiting for him.

“Well?” Barbara asked.

“Your brother is a curious fellow.” Charles sighed.

“I told you.” Barbara smiled slightly.

“And his companions are fiercely loyal.” Charles continued.

“But, did they hire you?” Barbara asked.

“Yes.” Charles nodded.

“Oh, I’m so glad.” Barbara sighed with relief.

“Why are you so glad?” Charles asked.

“Well, now I know that someone will be looking after my brother.” Barbara answered quickly. “And, of course, you’ll have an opportunity for a much more fulfilling life.”

“What’s it to you?”

“We already discussed this.” Barbara frowned.

“I defended you in there, Miss Allen—a woman I don’t even know. They don’t care for you much. Seems you’ve done some pretty wicked things.”

“I confessed to you all that I’ve done.” Barbara blushed.

“I don’t think you have—not all of it.” Charles narrowed his eyes.

“The important points.” Barbara muttered.

“I think maybe you’d best tell me the things that you consider unimportant, then.” Charles tilted his head to one side. “I’ll not be tricked. If I’m to do this, I need to know everything.”

“Very well,” Barbara whispered. “Come with me, and I’ll tell you the rest.”

Meanwhile, Ulrika Rittenhouse brushed the filth from the sleeve of her gown as she stood, shivering in a seedy little shop on one of the French Quarter’s side streets. To distract herself from her unsavory location, she browsed the contents of the shop. Costume jewelry, feathers, masks, tattered finery, threadbare coats and worn hats lined the walls.

“Can I interest you in anything else?” A toothless hag croaked from a corner of the shop.

“No.” Ulrika said firmly. “Just see to it that your husband is quick about his work.”

“Can’t rush these things.” The woman growled.

“Try.” Ulrika hissed.

“Might help if he could see the real thing again.” The hag winked.

“No.” Ulrika answered flatly. “It stays with me.”

“Wherever did a little thing like you get such a big diamond?” The hag chuckled.

“That’s none of your concern.” Ulrika spat.

“I figured you’d say that. I should know better than to ask questions. We’re not in the business of askin’ questions. For the right price, we’ll say nothin’ at all.”

“We’ve already negotiated our price,” Ulrika barked. “I’ve been more than generous. And, I can assure you, if you don’t keep your silence, I’ll burn this shack down around your ears.”

“Settle down there.” The old woman laughed. “You’re as fiery as your hair, ain’t ya?”

“You have no idea.” Ulrika smirked. “Now, go check on that man. Surely he’s finished by now.”

“You can’t rush genius!” The old woman howled. “You want it to look real, don’t ya?”

“As long as it passes for a few minutes, I’m happy.” Ulrika said, beginning to pace again.

“What’s your hurry, Red?” The woman asked.

“The longer this takes, the farther away someone gets.”

“You ain’t dealin’ in nothin’ shady, are ya?” The old woman narrowed her eyes.

“As I told you, I just want a copy made of that diamond so that I can wear it without worry.” Ulrika said forcefully.

“And you paid out the nose to keep us quiet?”

“Well, it’s embarrassing.” Ulrika grinned.

“As you say.” The hag cackled.

“You do ask too many questions.” Ulrika spat.

“Just tryin’ to be friendly.”

“I don’t need any more friends.” Ulrika shook her head.

“Whatever you say, Red.” The crone winked. “Whatever you say.”



Did you miss Chapters 1-180? If so, you can read them here. Come back on Monday, February 28, 2011 for Chapter 182 of Punch’s Cousin.