Castle In The Clouds, Chapters 23 & 24

Chapter Twenty Three

Veronica perched on a bench in the priory cloisters, the broad mediaeval arches shielding her from rain which drove down amidst squally gusts. She sat with forearms on thighs, face down reflectively, her long red hair swept around by a wind approaching gale force. It was a posture which troubled Hambleton the moment he laid eyes on her; the normally vibrant woman seemed a wearied, troubled soul, so deep in her own thoughts she'd seemed unaware of his approach. He found his own misgivings rising to the surface. 'Why, Miss Veronica, it is a pleasure to see you, though preferably not looking so perturbed.'
'Mr. Hambleton -' her eyes widened in surprise. 'I thought you would have left the island once -'
'Permit me to interrupt, but I find matters too troublesome to allow imminent departure.' He raised a hand, glancing at the skies. 'It has turned into an unfavourable day, would you mind if I joined you in shelter?'
'Why, not at all.' Veronica regarded him through her shrewd, narrowed green eyes. 'It is a pleasure to see you though it appears we both have our problems.' Clasping her hands together she added, 'Let us see if we can share them.'
‘Veronica, I fear our two problems are one,' Hambleton said sombrely, taking a seat on the bench beside her. 'I could not leave sensing you were in danger -'
Veronica gave a lop-sided smile. 'Danger, oh come on now, we've been through this before.'
'In all honesty Veronica, can you say you are completely comfortable in Llewellyn's presence?'
Veronica shrugged. 'There is a considerable difference between not feeling completely comfortable and feeling vulnerable.’
Hambleton followed the gulls looping lazily through the air before turning to Veronica. 'He is a volatile man, much like the weather but becoming increasingly so – I have seen it in his eyes – and he has a yearning that you do not share.'
Veronica twisted her palms together. 'Do you think I do not understand as much? Last evening he made a proposal of marriage that I cannot accept, but that does not make him dangerous.'
Hambleton grunted. 'Your words are of no surprise, but have you told him outright of your rejection?'
Veronica hesitated. 'I cannot as yet, I need time; I need to help -'
'Gibbings is a closed book,' Hambleton interrupted with a shake of the head. 'It is a dangerous game you play – every moment you spend within the castle walls deepens Llewellyn's obsessions and still you will never be able to help Gibbings. In your own interest you should leave the island forthwith.'
Veronica hung her head, then raised it slowly to meet Hambleton's gaze. 'I have given myself three days, - no longer.'
'Then you acknowledge the danger?'
'I acknowledge only the insecurity,' she replied calmly.
Hambleton got to his feet. 'Then I pray for your welfare. I shall be staying at the inn for the time being. Please do not hesitate to visit me there.'
* *

Dorothea had seen what Llewellyn had missed in his eagerness to confront Veronica in the hall. She had watched Gibbings ram his hoe into the ground with force and then leaning into the gale trudge back towards the cottage.
Envisaging the first thorn driven into her brother's flesh Dorothea downed a double measure of whisky and then draping her coat around her body headed out into an increasingly angry summer afternoon.
Through rain-blurred vision she saw Gibbings reach his cottage and then disappear behind its thick, dark door.
Gibbings was angry; she hadn't needed to be within earshot. His body posture spoke for him and she knew why – pretty Miss Musician had got so far under his skin she could almost feel the swell of his vital parts.
How she loathed the woman, but not half as much as she'd come to loathe her brother – so he thought he could dispense with her so easily – in so doing he had insulted her intelligence, even the physical blows he'd inflicted on her couldn't have ignited greater indignation.
She reached the door, knocked; even through the thick cottage walls she could hear his rapid footsteps on the panelled wooden floor.
'What do you want?' he asked brusquely.
'You should have listened to Veronica, not drove her away -' Dorothea lifted her face imperiously, lowered her eyes, 'are you going to deny me entry to my property?'
'You speak in Veronica's defence, it's not like you Dorothea. I'm in no mood for your antics.'
'Do not be flippant,' she said, brushing past him as he reluctantly stepped aside. 'I saw you push Veronica away; I asked why you did it.'
'No crime in it,' he said indignantly and then as Dorothea widened her eyes, 'you know full well, you've come to gloat.'
'All I know full well,' Dorothea retorted, taking several strides into the cottage and turning to face him, 'is that Veronica has no intention of marrying my brother. If she was trying to converse with you, for whatever reason, you would have done well to have listened.' Dorothea blew smoke into the small sitting room, analysed his expression. 'You are intrigued Gibbings, you give yourself away too easily.'
'You say this and yet you despise Veronica.' Gibbings swept hair from his brow, his free hand on the rim of the open door, fingers tapping restlessly on the woodwork. 'You're playing your games, Dorothea – Veronica is not -'
'You appear to be hesitating, Gibbings, Veronica is not what? Does she not have your working class roots, Gibbings? Do you think she worries about that?'
'She walks and talks with the man with the red hair, the posh new motor car -' Gibbings said bitterly. 'The reason she visits this castle is to see your brother – and she has been given a room at the castle. Veronica exists in loftier circles; she does not worry about the likes of me.'
'Huh! What nonsense you talk. Wash out the salt and the red mist that cloud your eyes, Gibbings, before it is too late – not only for your own sake but hers also.'
Dorothea waltzed slowly to the door, placing her face close to his. 'Use your imagination dear man, my brother grows ever more obsessed with a woman who has no feelings for him, though he imagines she has. When he finally realises the truth God only knows what might happen.'
Gibbings removed his hand from the door frame, screwed his eyes. 'Why are you taking time to tell me this? What's in it for you?'
'That's my concern,' Dorothea said, swinging past him, and then touching his cheek with a forefinger, 'consider your poor conscience if you stand idly by. Go to her, Gibbings.'
John Gibbings stood in silence, watching Dorothea stroll serenely back to the castle.
* *

'Ah Dawson,' Llewellyn tweaked his moustache, stared at the heavily built butler. 'Miss Day is currently out. Please advise me the moment she returns.'
'Of course, sir,' Dawson bowed.
'Good.' Llewellyn wrapped his fingers around the arm of his chair. 'And as for your duties this coming week, your instructions are to remain at the castle pending my return, during which time I have a task for you of the utmost importance.'
'Sir?' The butler's heavy black eyebrows rose as he watched his employer place a cup
carefully in its saucer and wipe his lips with a handkerchief he drew from his top pocket. 'You are to dispose of the services of the gardener, Gibbings; his activities of late have been leading him to neglect his duties. You are to allow a few days following my departure in the morning. This will enable you to observe his unsatisfactory conduct.'
'And if the gardener, Gibbings,’ behaviour is not unsatisfactory, what then?'
Llewellyn placed his elbows on the table, interlocked his fingers, regarded Dawson fixedly. 'Get my meaning Dawson, you will find it unsatisfactory. Do you understand?'
'Perfectly, sir.'
'Good,' then as Dawson bent low to recover the silver tea service, 'furthermore, you will then ensure that Miss Veronica is ‘protected’ from any nuisances he might cause her. Am I understood on that point?'
'Fully, sir.'
'And understand you are to take any steps you deem appropriate to prevent that happening.'
Llewellyn held Dawson's gaze for several seconds, receiving acknowledgement from the big butler.
He stood up, thrust hands in pockets and stared out to sea; he could eliminate Gibbings, appoint another gardener, but Dorothea's continued presence caused him considerable concern. Dorothea would do all she could to disturb his happiness with Veronica. It could not happen. His sister had to go one way or another. Llewellyn cupped a hand beneath his chin and mused.
* *

Would you say Llewellyn seems somewhat on edge? Not at all, his normal self?' Rothman eased back in his chair, crossed his legs and looked sideways at Reynolds.
'His usual self? Not at all old chap, not at all. In fact he's been quite evasive, makes you wonder why we were invited.'
Rothman smiled knowingly. 'So he could show off his intended bride to be, I think he has some romantic vision – first he buys a castle, now he envisages the beautiful Veronica as his queen -' Rothman spread his hand. 'I fear it is only a dream; castles in the sand Reynolds, nothing more.'
'You speak lightly of such a serious matter.' Reynolds drew on his pipe. 'If what you say is true, will you enjoy watching the saga unfold?'
'Pah,' Rothman responded dismissively. 'I have no time for such things. I undertook the journey out of mild interest, I am less than impressed with this isolated island, and, Reynolds, I must ask a question -' Rothman drew forward in his seat, fixing his eyes keenly on his friend, 'would you regard our investment safe considering Llewellyn's current pre-occupation with creating his own Utopia?'
Reynolds' mouth dropped open; he caught his pipe before it could hit the occasional table. 'God, Rothman, you are not suggesting that Llewellyn is in any way – shall I say – losing it?'
Rothman glanced down, though his eyes remained on Reynolds; there was unusual severity in his features marked by the thin network of lines on his forehead. 'Llewellyn cannot see further than this island at the moment and what it contains. If it comes to a point where he cannot fulfil his obligations then our investment will be in peril.'
'But Llewellyn returns to London tomorrow, so surely his interest and resolve must still exist.'
Rothman smiled, little more than a chink in his cheek. 'And if Veronica remains on this island, how long do you suppose he will stay there?'
'Is she remaining?'
Rothman nodded. 'My intuition tells me she will; she has unresolved business.'
'Unresolved business?'
'Look around this place Reynolds, use your eyes – see what rumbles beneath the solid foundations.'
'You talk in riddles Rothman.'
'Pay me no attention;' Rothman glanced at his watch, 'in a few hours we will be leaving this, as you call it, saga. I am grateful for that.'

Chapter Twenty Four

Llewellyn had sat in his room, restlessly scanning the shoreline and the coastal track leading from the village for a sign of Veronica. With the wind buffeting the castle walls and whistling around its turrets it was inconceivable that she could remain exposed to the elements and not nestled safely inside. But the fact that she should be so, he attributed to Gibbings, though he contented himself in part with the knowledge that any further attempts to impose upon her goodwill would be curtailed by his dismissal.
He started at the sound of heavy footsteps along the corridor and an equally heavy fist upon the door. 'Miss Day has returned sir,' the square jawed Dawson announced in his gravelly voice. ‘She proceeded straight to her room.'
Llewellyn leapt up; it seemed that his nerves had received a stab at their core. 'Thank you Dawson,' he said adjusting his tie, his fingers trembling. He felt a heat incongruous with the unseasonably cool draught that filtered through the window frames. He followed Dawson out with a speed that almost caught the butler's heels; such was his desire to speak with her.
Because Gibbings had been pestering her, she had been upset and taken a lengthy walk; that had been the true reason for her absence. He needed to see that she was calm now, to re-assure her if necessary.
He rattled three quick blows on her door with his knuckle and as she pulled it open he thought that despite her prolonged exposure to the elements, she looked wonderfully unruffled.
'Veronica, please excuse my intrusion. I was most concerned for your welfare.'
He saw her flick a finger through that delightfully fine red hair. 'Oh, Thomas, why is
that?'
Llewellyn drew back at the last moment from revealing the true source of his reasoning. 'I feel that this island is inhospitable in such inclement weather. I was concerned that you should fall foul to -'
'Thomas, forgive me for interrupting, but please understand that I am quite capable of
withstanding the elements – in fact, I thrive on them.'
'That does not prevent me from being concerned,' Llewellyn stated more severely than he'd intended, then forcing a wan smile, 'would you care to take tea with me in the drawing room? I intend seeking the company of Reynolds and Rothman; they are returning to London shortly.'
Veronica appeared to hesitate before nodding her assent. 'Why – yes of course, it would be rude of me not to pay my respects to them before they depart.'
'I would hope most earnestly that you derive some pleasure in sharing my company,' Llewellyn said anxiously.
'Why, yes, of course Thomas, – of course.' Veronica quickly took his right hand between hers, ‘Forgive me for not making that clear, I was merely responding to your comments concerning your visitors.'
‘Thank you my dear,' Llewellyn appeased, afforded her a generous smile. 'I shall be in the drawing room, looking forward to enjoying your company.'
'I will join you shortly, Thomas.'
Veronica closed the door behind Llewellyn, took a brush to her hair, examining it in the mirror – for a moment, it wasn't her own image she saw but Rothman's, and for a reason – Rothman was the elegant, modern young gentleman, but he was more than that, he was mischievous, egotistic and she knew she would be under his scrutiny during the time she was in his company. Thomas had said his departure was imminent; if so, that was a blessing. Rothman tested her composure to the limit and he knew it.
He was sitting by the window when she went down, head inclined towards the garden. She wondered whether it was a hint of things to come and soon found out.
'Ah Veronica, you grace us with your presence, such a foul afternoon has befallen us – I feel quite sorry for that poor gardener chap, don't you? Out in all weathers.'
'I dare say he is used to it.' Veronica avoided his eyes, but failed to prevent hers straying through the windows towards the gardens.
'Do not fret, Veronica, he is not in attendance. Though I'll vouch it will not be long -'
'Veronica does not fret,' Llewellyn snapped, the veins taut in his neck, lips curved in a snarl as he glared at Rothman, then breathing deeply, his tone dropping as his gaze switched to Veronica, 'She has no worries within these walls. Is that not true my dear?'
'Why should I have, Thomas?' She met Llewellyn's unsteady eyes as calmly as she could, 'You are an excellent host -'
'Surely more than a host, Veronica,’ Llewellyn's eyes widened -'for you are my intended-'
'I understand Thomas,' Veronica said, placing a hand on his shoulder and kissing his cheek, and with a glance at the gloating Rothman, 'but we are here to bid our guests bon voyage, a fine journey home.'
'Why thank you Veronica,' Rothman glanced at Reynolds, 'and I take it Llewellyn, that you intend to return to London tomorrow as planned.'
'Naturally.' Llewellyn poured Veronica tea and handed it to her, the cup rattling in its saucer. 'Why do you question me?'
'No particular reason,' Rothman said softly, gazing around, listening to the wind booming
against the castle walls, and returning his attention to Veronica. 'But tell me, dear lady, what keeps you here? In these conditions you would be worthy of a decoration should you continue your stay.'
'I need respite from my hectic schedules. Were you a musician Mr. Rothman, you would understand my meaning.' Veronica raised her cup, sipped from it and gave Rothman a challenging look. 'I intend remaining here a little longer.'
'I see.' There was a glint in Rothman's eye which cooled as he turned to Llewellyn. 'And does that meet with your approval?'
'Miss Day – Veronica – is a resident in this castle; she is entitled to remain here as long as she wants. Why, she need never return to the mainland again, if that is her wish.'
'That is most certainly not my wish, Thomas.' Veronica being unable to detach herself from the absurdity of the remark, said, 'I cannot encapsulate myself here, much as I have grown fond of the island.'
'Why, no my dear,' but the strange intensity of Llewellyn's features, the unusual penetration in his eyes, had Veronica pondering momentarily whether he had heeded her words, before Rothman's sigh broke the silence.
'Ah – the afternoon wears on, the weather worsens and we have a long journey ahead.' Rothman slapped the arm of his chair. 'Come Reynolds, we should prepare to depart.' He
rose to his feet. 'I can truly say I have found my short stay here most interesting.' Glancing from Llewellyn to Veronica he added, 'I would like to repay your hospitality – you and your intended are cordially invited to my humble abode in Richmond – we must agree on a date that is suitable for you both,' with his eyes remaining on her he continued, 'should you feel inclined to leave the island, of course – Veronica.'
Llewellyn's eyes became crevices; a vein pulsed in his cheek. Quick to assess his agitation Veronica placed a hand on his wrist and fixed Rothman with a serene smile. 'I feel Mr. Rothman is something of a cheeky one; I am certain he speaks in jest, though I for my part would be honoured to accept his invitation, were I more certain of my schedule.'
Rothman returned an empty smile. 'Then perhaps it may yet be possible. Llewellyn will no doubt advise me.'
'No doubt he will.' Veronica switched her attention to Llewellyn, aware of the drop in Rothman's voice. Rothman was a good deal more than cheeky and his jest narrowly concealed a malicious edge, once more she sensed Llewellyn was in danger of losing his temper. He had become rigid, his eyes hard like stone, following Rothman's every step as the two guests exited the drawing room.
'Rothman's comment was intended for me. He belittles me Veronica,' Llewellyn muttered acidly. 'I regret inviting him; he has not distressed you too much?'
'Not at all.' Veronica stiffened as Llewellyn clamped his free hand over hers and tightened his grip. 'I think he is not so much belittling you, but engaging in game play. He has a tendency I feel, to amuse himself at other people's expense.'
'Perhaps,' Llewellyn exhaled heavily and drew in fresh breath. 'At least I can console
myself in the knowledge that his departure is imminent, but I must express another concern -'
'Which is?' Veronica gazed at eyes widening into brown globes.
‘ Your safety. Please be assured that my butler, Dawson, will be at your disposal whenever you require him.'
'My safety?'
'No – no,' Llewellyn shook head. ‘I think only of your security, your welfare – it is my wish that you treat this place as your home, relax within its solid walls – free from -'
'Free from what?' Veronica frowned, wrenched her hand from Llewellyn's grasp. 'Thomas, what on earth are you talking about?'
Llewellyn thrust thumb and forefinger to his temple as if there were some kind of intense pain inside. 'I want only your happiness, Veronica, nothing else.'
“Then stop trying to cocoon me -” the words screamed inside her head, longing to boom into Llewellyn's ears but she held back, though only for a second, the urge had become too strong -
'Thomas you are trying to cocoon me, these castle walls you speak of should not protect me from myself -'
'It is a man's duty to protect the one he loves.' Llewellyn's eyes had turned misty, the severity had gone, his fingers caressed her hand. 'Please marry me, Veronica – say it will be soon -'
“But I cannot be protected, it is not what I desire – and I cannot marry you Thomas.” This time the words didn't force their way out, because now Veronica understood the gravity of her predicament. Llewellyn wasn't stable – but at least in the morning he would be leaving, and if she could get through to Gibbings -
'I will marry you Thomas,' Veronica lied, 'and soon.'
'You will? God bless.' Llewellyn's eyes welled as he cradled her head in his arms, she was conscious of his odour for he was sweating profusely. 'When will it be?'
'Upon my return,' she said spontaneously. 'Upon my return. Now please Thomas, I feel tired, in need of a rest – if I may go to my room and lie down -'
'When will you return?' The lines on Llewellyn's forehead arched, along with his brows.
'As soon as I know my schedule,' Veronica said, calmly levering herself away. 'I will advise you. Now may I retire?'
'I would not detain you a second longer against your wishes – will we dine this evening to mark your momentous decision?'
'Yes Thomas, once I am refreshed.'
'Then, my love, I wish you a pleasant rest.'
Veronica turned to leave, sighed, and out amidst the shadows of the hallway a large shape loomed, not close enough to block her access to the stairs but close enough for her to make out its features. - the square jaw, the broken nose of the granite-faced butler, Dawson, who watched her every move.