Castle In The Clouds, Chapters 29 & 30 (standard:drama, 2407 words) [15/21] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Jun 12 2010	Views/Reads: 2218/1569	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Veronica and Gibbings' attempt to leave the island falters amidst a cruel twist of fate.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

'I can do anything you can, John Gibbings,' Veronica replied, aware of
the cockiness creeping into her voice. 

'I would suggest you make haste, not stand around here talking,'
Hambleton remonstrated, striding up. 

'I wanted to thank you for your intervention,' Veronica said, touching
his hand. 'What will you do now?' 

'Much the same as you, I feel, though I feel I am not of an age to
traverse the causeway. I will await the resumption of the telephone 
system before summoning a carriage. Now be off with you without further 
delay.' 

'Will he be safe here, John?' Veronica asked anxiously as he led her
away. 'There was some kind of distraction I know, and once Dawson finds 
out -' 

'He'll be more concerned with finding you than worrying about Mr.
Hambleton,' Gibbings assured her on reaching the village street. 'I 
need to collect my belongings from the inn, and then we'll leave.' 

Veronica realised he was still holding her hand, she gave him a long
searching look, feeling a strong sense of companionship - if 
companionship was the word, as she smiled into his blue eyes. 

It took Gibbings only a minute to collect his bag, from whence they set
off along the lane towards the causeway that would enable their 
departure from the island, and then as the road wound to meet it 
Gibbings froze, let go of her hand - 

Before his eyes, the tide had come rushing in. 

*                                  * 

Dawson finished washing the windows, threw the swab away and proceeded
upstairs to Veronica's room. Giving a single knock he pushed the door 
open, witnessing at once the disarray in her room. Cursing, he marched 
to her open wardrobe, only to find it bare. A few clothes strewn across 
her bed were all that remained, and her case had gone. 

'Dorothea,' he roared foraging through the castle, 'where to blazes has
she gone?' 

'Dear me, what is all the commotion?' Dorothea stepped calmly out of her
room, cigarette holder in hand. 

'I asked you where she's gone, tell me, woman, before I -' Dawson
lunged, grasping Dorothea's shoulders, forcing her back against the 
wall. 'I said tell me.' 

'Take your hands off me, you oaf.' Dorothea struggled violently, her
cigarette catching Dawson's chin, causing him to clutch it while his 
eyes burned cold fury. 

'Compose yourself,' she said angrily. 'If she's taken flight I know
nothing of it. I told you I followed her up the stairs. That is all I 
know.' 

'You know more.' But Dawson didn't persist; he marched along the upper
passageway, into the gallery then through to Llewellyn's room which 
provided an unobstructed view across to the village, but gazing out he 
saw only a deserted, windswept shoreline. He came back, striding 
furiously, demanding, 'Where would she have gone?' 

'I know not, and I care not.' She turned her back on him, knowing it to
be unwise but unnerved by the ferocity of the butler's twisted face. 

'It is better you find her before my brother returns rather than waste
your temper on me.' 

Dawson scowled; she smelled his sickly breath on her neck but nothing
more, as he pushed past. 

The village, he thought, where else than to the village - and then
perhaps the mainland. But if he were quick he might yet thwart her - 
haul her back physically and regain the trust he would surely have lost 
should Llewellyn return and find her gone. 

Chapter Thirty 

'Your hair is streaming, you're soaked to the skin, perhaps it would be
better to find shelter when all said and done - here, take my coat -' 

Veronica shook her head, sending a shower of rainwater to the ground.
'No, and as for shelter, with a thug of a man in all probability 
pursuing us, would you deem that wise?' 

'Unless you're thinking of swimming,' Gibbings replied flatly, 'we have
little choice.' 

'Don't tempt me,' but the look in Gibbings' eyes dissuaded her from
further comment. 

'We can shelter at the inn until the tide goes out -' 

'The first place the ogre will look. Can you not do better than that,
John Gibbings? Or do you wish to remain here after all, with no 
prospect for you and your daughter?' 

'There you go again.' Gibbings' eyes blazed with intensity, matching the
turbulence that surrounded them. '|You seek to belittle me whenever you 
can, to tease me at your will - is it any surprise I distrust you?' 

Veronica placed her hands on hips, narrowing her eyes as she stared into
his. 'I find it implausible, that you, with your experience of the tide 
should overlook its flow, that is all. But if you are genuine in your 
desire for a better future, there is another option until it is viable 
to travel.' 

'Which is?' Gibbings asked, voice and face full of resentment. 

'Exactly what our friend Dawson will not be expecting, it is but a short
distance though I suggest we make tracks.' 

Gibbings coughed out the rain that was trickling down his throat.
'Veronica, this is no time for your riddles,' he said softly. 'You are 
infuriating in your superiority.' 

'I seek not to infuriate, merely to confront a problem you are showing
no signs of solving.  Now come -' 

Gibbings showed signs of resisting, but Veronica's hand clasped his and
her strong arm forced him off balance. 'Do I have to drag you?' 

She feared Gibbings would offer more resistance, but beneath his
glowering look there seemed resigned acceptance. 

The rain-swept peninsula was deserted but Veronica sensed that Dawson
was not far off, as with Gibbings alongside and apparently content for 
her hand to remain in his she headed past the church to the gates of 
the vicarage. 

Gibbings finally perceived her intention with a look of abhorrence.
'Veronica,' he spurted, 'now I know you've lost your mind; the Reverend 
Robertson is no more than an acquaintance. I'm no churchgoer -' 

'Dawson will not think of looking for us here,' she said unlatching the
gate. 'Once I have explained all he will shield us until it is time to 
leave.' 

Gibbings glanced at her dubiously. 'I suppose I should admire your guts
if nothing else,' he grumbled, allowing himself to be ushered through. 

Veronica raised her brows and then looking over her shoulder caught
sight of the hulking figure of Dawson in his long black cloak. He'd 
taken a short cut across land and finding the causeway awash, was 
figuring out his next move. 

*                                     * 

Rothman sat in the oak-panelled private members' lounge, but for once he
was rigid in his black leather armchair, the palm of his right hand 
twisted around his face. 

'You seem unusually perturbed,' Reynolds yawned, abandoning his habit of
perusing his lunchtime paper and laying it down. 

'Is it any wonder?' Rothman said. 'I warned you this would happen.
Barely a single day has passed since Llewellyn's return from the island 
and already he has taken flight back there.' 

Reynolds raised his brows, drew in breath. 'Perhaps it is easily
explained.' 

'Oh it is easily explained,' Rothman snapped with unaccustomed venom.
'He has lost touch with reality, old chap. He envisages his dream, for 
that is what it is, in peril. Having failed to make contact with him, I 
visited his office earlier with concern - his senior clerk is at a loss 
to explain his behaviour and it seems he found records at one time 
exemplary to be in a complete shambles. The poor fellow was at his 
wits' end trying to sort them out. Llewellyn mark my words is bound for 
the island and I sense disaster ahead.' 

'Then there is precious little we can do,' Reynolds said retrieving his
paper, 'than to await its materialisation; if our investment goes awry, 
then I am certain other opportunities will arise which will prove less 
costly.' 

'For once it is not the investments I despair of. For such a remote,
desolate place the island spreads its tentacles afar.' Rothman leapt to 
his feet, rammed his hands into the pockets of his suit trousers and 
marched out. 

*                                  *                               * 

She could not have escaped; for an instant the unacceptable notion that
she just might have done so entered Dawson's head – the notion that the 
swirling tide might have engulfed her - that even in her death she 
might have outwitted him. 

He spun round; through the pouring rain he spotted the entrance to the
inn. The former butler, Hambleton, lodged there. Why the man had 
remained on the island he hadn't a clue, and then with a surge of fury 
he recalled the visit Hambleton had made and the part it had obviously 
played in her escape. Without another thought he headed for the inn. 

*                                   * 

Hambleton had packed, preparing for a return to the Capital, a usually
orderly mind still reeling from what had transpired, when he heard the 
gruff, raised voice from the bar below, and heard his name mentioned 
along with Veronica's. He heard a fist come down heavily on the bar, 'I 
know they're here -' 

And then footsteps on the stairs, the landlord's apologetic, worried
expression. 'There's a man downstairs, Mr. Hambleton, ranting and 
raving. I don't want any trouble -' 

But Hambleton had already heard the heavy tread of a second set of
footsteps on the stairs and steeled herself for an unwanted but 
expected confrontation. 

'It's alright, Thomas,' Hambleton said in as calm a voice as he could
manage. 'I will speak to Mr. Dawson.' 

The landlord shuffled, hesitated a second before making way for Dawson
as the new butler charged in, an index finger cocked and accusing. 
'Don't think I'm not aware of your part in this, where is she man - 
tell me or I'll -' 

'Mr. Dawson, accosting me will serve you no purpose,' Hambleton said,
retreating backwards. 'Your behaviour ill-suits a man in your position 
- and as you can see, the lady you seek is not here.' 

'Oh, but you are Hambleton, you and your bloody interfering - I see your
bags are packed. Your part in this is completed, is it?' 

Hambleton looked into the heavy, glaring eyes. 'What I choose to do is
my concern - as are Miss Veronica's affairs her own; you had no right 
to contain her within the castle and certainly no right charging after 
her like a madman.' 

'She is Mr. Llewellyn's intended,' Dawson sneered, displaying his yellow
teeth, 'and as such it is my duty to protect her, no matter what 
measures it may take. You should know about duty Hambleton.' 

Dawson's big hands reached down, Hambleton felt himself being raised
before the room spun and he was flying through the air. There was an 
agonising burning sensation as his head struck the underside of the 
mantelpiece and he blacked out. 

*                                    * 


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