Castle In The Clouds, Chapters 5 & 6 (standard:drama, 3366 words) [3/21] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Added: May 05 2009	Views/Reads: 2442/1706	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
It is early twentieth century, a wealthy banker has purchased a castle and thinks he has met the woman of his dreams. Serialisation of a completed drama.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

with the ascent that Veronica Day's abilities weren't restricted to the 
violin, but he hadn't wanted her out of his sight any longer than 
necessary. 

'The lovely Miss Day has a very peculiar attitude Thomas.' Dorothea's
acidic voice cut into his thoughts like a freshly sharpened blade. 
'Gibbings is, after all, a servant, servants come to us.' 

'To us, Dorothea perhaps,' Llewellyn looked into his sister's unblinking
eyes, 'but it seems that the young lady does not conform to your 
philosophy. She has courage, I give her that.' 

Dorothea shook her head, a mass of dark curls mushrooming about her
face. 'Do not set your stall at her door, Thomas...' 

'Dorothea,' Llewellyn said through clenched teeth, 'please do not talk
in riddles. I have suffered enough of your antics these past few days 
to last a whole year.' 

'Then perhaps you have deserved it,' Dorothea hissed, her face close,
taunting him. 'You're besotted with that woman; I saw it from the first 
time you watched her come ashore. You think it purely by chance, a 
blissful accident that you encountered her outside the castle? That she 
was merely out for a stroll when fate took a hand and led her straight 
to you?' 

'Dorothea!' Llewellyn slapped his hand on the table and felt pain shoot
through his fingers. 'She was taking a walk following the effects of a 
trauma.' 

'Poppycock, think again Thomas,' Dorothea shouted over him. She swung to
the window, pointing to where Veronica approached an unsuspecting 
gardener. 'She was looking for Gibbings.' *                             
      * 

Veronica reached the gate of the walled garden, lifted the catch and
slipped through. John |Gibbings had his back to her, watering plants 
with a large spouted can. 

She shut the gate and saw him jump in alarm, clasping her hands to her
cheeks. 'Oh my, I'm so sorry – I thought lifeboat people were supposed 
to have nerves of steel.' 

'Oh Madam,' he straightened, 'you surprised me, I was just tending to
Mr. Llewellyn's plants.' 

'I can see that, and don't call me Madam, I'm Veronica.' She dropped her
head and then gazed directly into his eyes, 'The woman you saved from 
the sea?' 

'Aye,' he put down the can and shuffled uneasily. 'You feeling better?' 

'Feeling better?' she shrugged, 'a little. But I came to say thanks. If
it hadn't been for you I wouldn't be standing here right now.' 

She felt his pale blue eyes study her. 'Any of the others could have
done what I did.' 

'That's not the point, thank you John Gibbings.' She held out her hand,
'Well, go on, take it.' 

'My hands Ma – Veronica.' He looked tentative, 'They're dirty like...' 

'Well of course they're dirty, you've been working in the garden – I'm
not afraid of a little dirt.' 

'Strikes me you're not afraid of anything Madam – I mean Veronica – you
were the coolest casualty I've ever seen and I been doing this for some 
years.' He finally took her hand loosely, 'Now you'll have to wash it – 
the Llewellyns are -' 

'It's okay John, I'm sure there is a washroom...' she looked around the
garden, 'this place is a credit to you, such an array of flowers and 
blooms, and all so tidy.' 

Veronica breathed in the freshness of the evening, the scent of the
flowers; saw the tumble of waves beyond as they broke for shore. 'Show 
me around your garden.' 

Gibbings' lips became tight and thin, 'I don't think I should be doing
that.' 

Veronica touched him on the shoulder, glanced up at the castle, then
back at John. 'I want to take a little interest in the work of a man 
who saved my life, I'm sure nobody will mind.' 

Gibbings shook his head; there was an earnest expression on his face as
his eyes flicked briefly up towards the castle dining room. 'Madam – 
Veronica, I don't know much about violins, but I know you're famous – 
and I want to keep this job. Right now your place is up there – please 
go back – now.' 

It felt like a slap in the face to Veronica, but she saw the concern in
his eyes. Again she touched his shoulder, thought she saw the trace of 
a smile. 'You take care, John Gibbings.' 

Veronica returned to the castle, sought out Hambleton who directed her
to the washroom. When she returned to the dining room Llewellyn and 
Dorothea were in subdued mood, but it was Dorothea who eyed her coldly. 
She lofted her head, 'We saw you shake his hand, I for one am surprised 
you did that. His hands are always filthy – a disgusting lack of 
hygiene.' 

'He is a gardener, Dorothea, is he not?' Veronica said curtly. 'What
would you expect? He labours into the evening...' 

'On my account and I am grateful,' Llewellyn cut in, irritated both by
Dorothea's causticity and his prized guest's support of a servant. 

'I will hear no more of this.' He raised his glass to Veronica, 'We will
drink wine, and I will toast your health.' 

'And I shall retire,' Dorothea said with a touch of bitterness, sweeping
out before another word could be uttered. 

'You must not mind my sister,' Llewellyn said, his voice hushed as
Hambleton cleared the table. ' She is strongly opinionated.' He clasped 
his hands together, leaned forward. 'Miss Day – Veronica if I may call 
you that – I would be greatly honoured by your continued presence at 
the castle tonight. In anticipation, I have had Hambleton prepare a 
room for you.' 

Veronica frowned, Llewellyn noticed just the faintest of lines on her
skin. 'I feel I am not altogether welcome -' 

'Oh but Veronica you are – my sister means well but she is headstrong –
please do not let her unfortunate comments dissuade you.' 

Veronica nodded. 'I have enjoyed your company Mr. Llewellyn, and so to
save you the inconvenience of returning me to the village this evening, 
I shall accept.' 

Llewellyn tweaked his moustache. 'Shall we retire to the drawing room
then Veronica? I am eager to learn more about your career.' 

'Thank you Mr. Llewellyn, I am indebted to you. But I am growing weary.
I should like to retire myself if you are not inconvenienced.' 

'No Veronica, I am not inconvenienced, and please call me Thomas.' He
leaned forward, pressed her hand between his palms. 'I will drive you 
home tomorrow morning before I return to London. You too, I gather, 
will shortly be leaving. Veronica, in the short time I've known you, 
you have greatly enriched my life. You are welcome here at any time. 
Please say you will return as my guest.' 

Veronica gave a slow smile and Llewellyn felt its warmth spread through
his body. 'I have a busy schedule, but will do all I can to enable it.' 


Llewellyn released her hand, 'Hambleton will show you to your room.' 

But as he bid Veronica Day goodnight and watched his butler escort her
to an upstairs room, Llewellyn felt a deep yearning and rising 
disappointment that she could not see fit to spend the remainder of the 
evening with him. *                            *                        
   * 

Veronica lay in a comfortable four-poster bed listening to the sea
breaking on the rocks below, so deeply in thought she couldn't sleep; 
she was thinking of John Gibbings, a man too wary of the castle's 
occupants to even take a short walk in the garden with her. Thomas 

Llewellyn seemed attentive, appreciative. Kind – surely he would pose no
threat to John's employment. Only Dorothea seemed capable of doing 
that, her attitude towards him fell little short of open hostility, 
precisely why, she'd no idea. Her assertions that he was filthy were 
preposterous. But Dorothea wasn't the castle's mistress – Llewellyn 
called the tune – though he was returning to London in the morning. 

Left to her own devices, could Dorothea be vindictive enough to sack
John? 

She had one more day on the island before her brother arrived and they
were to leave for Edinburgh. John Gibbins had saved her life, she'd 
given him her thanks but that didn't seem enough. 

But what could she do to help? 

CHAPTER SIX 

'I fear the weather's on the change.' Llewellyn glanced across at the
gathering blanket of grey out to sea, 'Nonetheless, your visit has 
brightened our skies and will do so again when you return.' 

Veronica said nothing, sitting tight-lipped in the trap as it left the
castle grounds. 

'You are quiet this morning, Veronica,' Llewellyn remarked with concern.
'I take it nothing has transpired to mar your stay?' 

Veronica looked over her shoulder, they were beginning the descent onto
the road to the village, but to the west the castle grounds were still 
visible. 

'Thomas, would you mind stopping for a moment please.' 

Llewellyn pulled the pony to a halt. 'What is it Veronica, what is the
matter?' 

'My apologies for delaying you,' Veronica said casually. 'I simply
wanted one last look at your delightful grounds.' 

'You should have asked earlier, I would have walked them with you.' 

Veronica did not meet his eyes. 'You have a fine gardener do you not?' 

'Indeed, we are privileged in that respect.' 

'Then it would be a pity to lose him.' 

Llewellyn shook his head, 'Lose him Veronica? I do not understand.' 

'Your sister Dorothea has a very low opinion of him.' 

'No, no, you misunderstand, as I explained Dorothea can be headstrong
but she is a competent woman, she knows an asset when she sees one.  
Nonetheless, if it pleases you I will speak with her.' 

Veronica exhaled, nodded, 'I do not seek to cause friction – only -' 

'I know what drives you Veronica,' Llewellyn said quietly, leaning
towards her. 

'You do?' 

'Of course: it is understandable concern. Gibbings was the man who saved
your life, was he not?' 

'He was.' 

Llewellyn gathered up the reins and resumed the journey. 'My sister will
make no rash decisions, I will ensure it. And you will honour us by 
returning to the island?' 

Veronica smiled, 'I will.' *                            * 

Llewellyn sat in the castle's drawing room sipping tea; he cast a glance
at the grandfather clock and rang for his butler. 

'Ah Hambleton, I shall require you to transport me to Berwick station in
fifteen minutes, my luggage is packed and ready if you would oblige me 
by loading it.' 

'I'll attend to it sir.' 

Llewellyn watched Hambleton stride out in his dignified manner and then
turned his attention to Dorothea. 

'Yes, what is it?' She asked, without looking up from her paper. 

'I trust there will be no discord while I'm away.' 

'Meaning what?' 

'Meaning Gibbings. His gardening is exemplary, our grounds are a great
asset and we cannot afford to lose him.' 

Dorothea billowed smoke into the air. 'He is uncouth, undisciplined. He
has the wild look about him.' 

'He was disciplined enough to pluck a woman from the sea -' 

'Ah – I see brother.' Dorothea smiled triumphantly, 'Your violinist
friend has wielded her influence. Did I not warn you against this 
approach?' 

Llewellyn jumped to his feet, cocked a forefinger. 'I mean what I say
Dorothea, do not dare to dismiss Gibbings.' 

Dorothea narrowed her eyes, held his furious gaze. 'We shall see what we
shall see – life is interesting, is it not?' 

Llewellyn marched across to Dorothea and stood over her, placing his
hands on the arms of the Regency chair, 'I will be back within two 
weeks, I expect no major alterations, remember that.' 

Dorothea smirked and he stormed out red with rage. Would she defy him
and in so doing cause him to let down Veronica? Even Dorothea, he 
thought, would not venture that far. *                                 
* 

Veronica strolled down from the abbey ruins to where the lifeboat was
moored, arms crossed, hands on her shoulders for the morning was fresh. 


There was a hint of blue breaking through the grey skies, a halo from
the sun just beginning to appear. The shore was deserted, the red and 
black boat seemed neglected in its solitude but she knew the crew was 
just a klaxon call away. 

She wondered how John Gibbings would fare, whether her words to
Llewellyn would have any effect. An appraisal of John told her he was 
not without intuition or intelligence.  Work on the island must surely 
be hard to find but he clearly didn't want to leave it. With his black 
curly hair and slightly brooding face he had something of the gypsy in 
him. She wondered whether he was a native of the island or if not, what 
had brought him here. 

'Veronica dear, you look lost without your violin; life without music is
nothing, one suspects.' Dorothea's voice sliced through Veronica's 
thoughts, an unwelcome intrusion that triggered resentment. 

'Since you approached me from behind,' Veronica said slowly turning,
'how can you see what I portray?' 

'I do not need to see your face to read your mind – you will be glad to
leave this island, it is not for you.' 

Veronica stared into Dorothea's cold eyes and saw not a conversation but
a threat. 'On the contrary, I feel a connection with this island, I am 
quite certain I shall return.' 

Dorothea, at least two inches shorter was forced to raise her head to
meet Veronica's gaze. 'Then I am compelled to be abrupt; you might be 
an accomplished violinist Miss Day but I sense something of the flirt 
in you – you are not welcome here – certainly not at the castle.' 

'I believe that is for your brother to decide, the owner? Now please
excuse me, I have no inclination to listen to your insults.' 

Dorothea seemed unwilling to give ground so Veronica pushed past her
heading towards the village. Dorothea's voice, frosty and sharp, 
followed her, 'You will do well to heed my words.' 

The warning had been starkly delivered but Veronica was in no mood to
heed it. Just why was Dorothea so vindictive? She felt renewed concern 
for John Gibbings in the face of such inexplicable hostility. 

*                              * 

Dorothea Llewellyn watched Veronica Day all the way to the village, then
turned and headed back to the castle. 

But she wasn't heading for the castle itself, she was making for the
walled garden on its western flank. 

John Gibbings had been trimming verges surrounding the flower beds when
he saw her approach, wearing a tight fitting full length white dress 
and matching hat. He lowered his shears. 'Good morning, Miss 
Llewellyn,' he said respectfully. 

'Good morning Gibbings.' Dorothea waltzed slowly up to him, carried on
by a yard or two and then stopped, angling her head towards him. 

'You might be aware that Mr. Llewellyn has returned to his London
business, thus the day to day running of castle affairs lies in my 
hands.' 

'I have heard as much.' 

'I have been of mind to cancel your employment forthwith,' she said,
swinging up to him. 'I find you dishevelled, not to say filthy, 
particularly your hands; put down the shears, Gibbings.' 

Gibbings laid them down beside azalea flower beds, and Dorothea looked
up at him, taking the tips of his fingers in her hands. 'Ah look at 
them Gibbings, your fingernails are black, your fingers are encrusted 
in dirt.' 

She let go of them, looked searchingly into his eyes. 'However, Mr.
Llewellyn is of the foolish notion that you are of some value to the 
castle, therefore I am goodhearted enough to grant you a reprieve.' 

'Thank -' 

'On the understanding that you use the castle washroom regularly and
leave it in a fit state-' 

'I do so already Miss -' 

'And that you report to me each morning before commencing work, so that
I might assess your standard of hygiene. You understand?' 

Gibbings gave a slow nod of the head. 

'Good.' Dorothea began to walk away, stopped and without turning, said,
'One more thing, you are to make no contact with the musician Veronica 
Day, should she choose to return here.' 

'There has been no contact,' Gibbings protested mildly, 'other than Miss
Day thanking me.' 

'Oh yes, for your brave deed. Noble indeed.' Dorothea swung round, eyes
narrowing, 'It is my considered opinion that Miss Day would prove a 
disruptive influence if encouraged. I saw how close the two of you were 
standing – I have eyes Gibbings. Mr. Llewellyn might own the castle but 
in his absence I control affairs. You have been warned.' 

She raised a forefinger towards his eyes. 'You are indebted to me
Gibbings, do not be foolish enough to forget it.' 

The gardener met her stare, retrieving his shears, before continuing his
work in silence. 


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