Castle In The Clouds, Chapters 31 & 32 (standard:drama, 2618 words) [16/21] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Jul 12 2010	Views/Reads: 2276/1645	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Veronica and Gibbings are trapped on the island, and Llewellyn's henchman Dawson is in pursuit

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

man without an iota of intelligence. And is that resentment in your 
eyes - that I might regard you likewise?' 

'You are playing with me, Veronica. I fail to see how you can find
amusement in such situations,' Gibbings said moodily. 

Veronica had turned her head towards the sound of Robertson's returning
steps. 'Reverend you are most kind,' she said, taking the towels from 
the vicar's outstretched hand and thrusting one at Gibbings. 'Now I 
feel we must cast our problems upon you. You know my name, vicar; you 
may know something of me.' 

'It would be an ignorant man indeed who knew nothing of such an
illustrious individual, Miss Day.' 

'Then you will know that I have frequented the castle of late with the
permission of its owner.' 

'I am aware Miss Day,' the Reverend eased himself into a high-backed
chair facing the pair.  'In fact Mr. Llewellyn has visited the church 
on several occasions and has been most generous to our cause.' 

'Then you will know he is no longer sane.' 

'I beg your pardon Miss Day?' 

'I learn from your expression that he has managed to conceal his
insanity from you. 

There is a history of madness within his family and his sister is an
example, I am in no doubt of that. As far as Mr. Llewellyn is 
concerned, I believe I am becoming something of an obsession for him, 
and I regard such as an indication of an unsound mind. His possessive 
nature has resulted in him employing a new butler, the very same as is 
pursuing me now, but there is much you do not know. We both require 
your shelter, at least until the tide leaves the causeway clear.' 

Robertson was quiet for several seconds but his look had changed from
mild benevolence to one of condemnation, and the hardening of his eyes 
told her where it was directed. 

'Miss Day, I have resided in this locality for several years, many of
them in my current capacity. I have yet to witness civil disruption of 
any kind - what you are describing is implausible to say the least; I 
have no reason to believe there is any threat to you other than that 
derived from your own imagination.' 

Looking at Gibbings, he asked, 'John, would you state otherwise?' 

Gibbings shrugged. 'I don't know Mr. Llewellyn as well as Veronica, but
I've seen enough goings on to reckon she speaks the truth - Mr. 
Hambleton would surely agree -' 

Robertson spread his hand, let out a tired sigh. 'But Hambleton is not
here, and although you mean well John, I believe you are somewhat 
naive.' 

'And for a clergyman you are insufferably rude. By that you insult my
integrity and John's intelligence,' Veronica said angrily. 

'Miss Day, I strive only to maintain peace and unity on the island. I
find it difficult to believe that circumstances such as you speak of 
have developed here. I am rather busy with engagements to afford you 
any more time but the church is available to all. Once you have 
towelled yourself dry might I suggest you take refuge within its walls 
should you deem it necessary.' 

'Your pomposity could cost us dear, vicar,' Veronica said bitterly,
flinging the towel back at Robertson. 'Come John, I was wrong, we are 
obviously not welcome here.' 

'You were right John,' Veronica admitted, slamming the vicarage door
behind her. 'I had counted on the Reverend being more accommodating. I 
can be too headstrong at times.' 

Gibbings shook his head. 'Reverend Robertson called me naive, but he is
the naive one not even to consider what you -' 

'Shush -' Veronica slapped an arm across Gibbings' waist. 'There he is -
Dawson - and he's staring over here.' 

*                                  *                               * 

Dawson thought he saw shadows sweep across the rain-lashed porch of the
vicarage. He thumbed water from his eyes but saw nothing to confirm the 
image. But might the adjacent church provide the ideal retreat until 
the tide relented? Because if the woman wasn't at the inn, where could 
she go to seek cover but there? It was close to the causeway and the 
only notion he had. Dawson headed on, bull-like, towards it. 

*                           *                            * 

They sat on a small pew, tucked away to the side of the altar. 'I feel
like a coward,' Gibbings uttered, an eye on the vestibule door, 'hiding 
like this, he's only a man after all.' 

'A very dangerous one,' Veronica said quietly, 'and hired by a man of
unsound mind.' 

'You speak as though you have plenty of experience of men.' 

In the darkness of the church Veronica's eyes blazed. 'That is precisely
the kind of remark I expect of a chauvinist - a bigot,' she said, aware 
of the bitterness creeping into her voice. 

Gibbings sighed as the door creaked, alerting them both, but it seemed
caused by the high wind that was rattling the church. 

'I have confessions to make, Veronica - I feel I must do so now, in case
anything happens and I don't get a chance -' 

'Try not to be so morbid -' Veronica's curiosity was aroused. 'Well?'
she prodded, noting the thin crevasses appearing on his brow. 

Gibbings took her hand. 'I have too long been resentful,' he spurted -
'and yes jealous of other men's attraction to you - like Mr. Llewellyn 
and the man with the posh car - I've tried to seem distant toward you, 
when I hadn't intended to be. I have fallen in love with you Veronica, 
but are you out of my reach?' 

'Oh John -' but Veronica's speech was curtailed by footsteps along the
main isle, and she realised in despair that Dawson's dark presence had 
been unkindly concealed by the dim church interior. 

'She is beyond your reach,' Dawson barked. 'She is within reach only of
my employer and master, Thomas Llewellyn.' 

Veronica turned, clung to Gibbings as Dawson closed in on them. 

*                                  *                                   *


Chapter Thirty Two 

'I'll pay you anything you want.' Llewellyn delved into his inner coat
pocket and snatched a wad of notes. 'I need to get to the island - the 
castle, I am the owner -' 

'The conditions are too rough,' a heavily built fisherman, wearing a
yellow anorak, said dismissively. But then glancing at his two 
colleagues seemed to reconsider. 

'Anything you say.' He sniffed, snatched the notes and fingered through
them, slapping them against the heel of his hand before tucking them 
into a trouser pocket. 'I guess we can cope; climb aboard.' 

Llewellyn couldn't believe his luck. His mouth folded into a grin which
became fixed as the vessel rose and plunged as it rode the stormy 
waves. Soaked in rain and spray he soon saw the castle ahead, a 
welcoming sight to his eyes on its high mound of rock. 

Inside sat his sweetheart, soon to be surprised and delighted by his
early return; with the gardener, Gibbings, soon to be banished and his 
malicious, devious sister soon to depart, it would be the ideal, 
magical haven. 

He would shower Veronica with kisses as soon as he landed - implore her
never to leave the island. Despite her statement to the contrary, what 
need was there? 

The tide was too high for the vessel to land him ashore and he was
forced to wade the last few metres carrying his bag, up to his knees in 
water; he didn't care for he was home and his love awaited him. 

He climbed the slope to find the entrance open, the heavy oak door off
the latch and swinging in the wind. Just a touch of annoyance crept in 
to mar his euphoria at his homecoming and just a touch more at the 
apparent emptiness of the place, emphasised by his echoing footsteps in 
the cavernous hall through which a dark draught swept, stronger than 
any he'd previously encountered there. 

'Veronica, Veronica! he shouted, sweeping through the ground floor,
along the passageway and up the stone stairs leading to her room. 

On reaching it his eyes transmitted a message he was unwilling to
believe. Her wardrobe was open, empty apart from the odd garment lying 
at its base, as if her clothes had been ripped from the hangers in a 
hurry. 

He placed his hands to his temples, they shook in disbelief. Sweating
profusely, he stormed out. 

Llewellyn swept through the castle in a blind panic. He hadn't expected
this, he hadn't expected to find Veronica gone - and where was Dawson? 
In its empty state the castle resembled a mausoleum, except that it 
wasn't empty. 

'The bird has flown its nest, dear brother.' The one voice he hadn't
wanted to hear spoke from the rear. Llewellyn swung on his heels, a 
little too quickly - he needed the wall for support as he glared into 
the smirking face of his sister, standing in her long, dark frock, arms 
folded, her left hand caressing a glass of whisky. 

'Those lovely green eyes never shone with desire for you. Were you so
self-indulgent in your desire for her that you failed to see it?' 

'Damn you Dorothea. What the hell has been happening here - where is
Veronica, where is Dawson?' 

Dorothea tossed her head, laughed and took a gulp of her whisky. 'Gone -
has it not sunk into that thick skull? I should say that the man you 
employed as her "protection" might have contributed to her sudden 
departure.'  Dorothea's smile evaporated, her face becoming bitter, her 
tone caustic. 'Dawson is a dim-wit, she simply out-manoeuvred him.' She 
gave a wide sweep of her arm. 'He is out there now, no doubt, in 
hopeless pursuit -' 

'Damn you Dorothea, you instigated this.' The veins in Llewellyn's neck
stood out gnarled and twisted. 'I can see it in your eyes; Veronica had 
no intention of leaving -' 

'She had every intention,' Dorothea snarled. 'The desire in those lovely
green eyes was for Gibbings - had been all along.' 

Llewellyn's face contorted, his jaw clenched. His pupils seemed to
enlarge until they became vast, unmoving brown globes in his head. He 
threw himself forward, arms making for her neck, his hands becoming 
claws as they grasped her throat. 

She drew phlegm from the back of her throat, launched it at his eye and
it produced momentary effect as his grip slackened enough for her to 
scramble free. 

Dorothea fled along the hallway, aware of Llewellyn close behind, his
voice raucous with curses, blending eerily with the howling wind. 

If he caught her now he would kill her - 

She turned, aimed the glass at his face but it was a clumsy action on
the run, missing Llewellyn and smashing against the wall. Down the 
stairs two at a time she ran, then along the passageway to the hall, 
looming huge and her brother so close now she could smell his heated 
breath; a turn towards the main door and then out in the open; the wind 
whistling, the ground wet underfoot and slippery - and in her 
desperation she'd forgotten how slippery - 

And then his hand on her shoulder, clenched and tugging, hauling her
back, forcing her to turn, legs beginning to buckle as she lost her 
foothold - and then the damp smack of the ground and the sensation of 
tumbling, down, down, ever quicker - 

Llewellyn watched transfixed as she came to rest at the bottom of the
slope, motionless. 

Then with rigid, fixed steps he made his way down and approached her
lifeless body. He kicked out at it, turned it over as her mouth fell 
open, blood oozing onto the cobbles. 

He groped for her pulse, found nothing; her skin was paler than he'd
ever seen it and the sudden stench from her body told him what he 
needed to know. 

Llewellyn picked her up, shoulders drooping under the weight - waded
into the sea and dropped his sister's body in. The heavy tide he was 
sure, would carry her out. 


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