Castle In The Clouds, Chapters 31 & 32

Chapter Thirty One
The countryside flashed by, but not quickly enough for Llewellyn. As he gazed out of the rainy window at storm-laden skies he felt drawn back to the island by Veronica's sheer beauty and the threat posed to her by the gardener, John Gibbings. He could not bear the thought of them being in the same locality, even though his influence on her was about to be terminated. His new butler, Dawson, was a formidable chap who would protect his interests with an iron hand, unlike the doubting Hambleton who had been honoured with his position for far too long.
As long as was necessary - for once Dorothea had tired of her games and departed, (and depart she would,) wishing she'd accepted his offer once she'd witnessed the sublime happiness that would evolve from his marriage to the delightful Veronica, then Dawson would no longer have a task to fulfil. Llewellyn glowed at the prospect of the two of them alone in their romantic hideaway, a castle all of their own. How many couples could claim that?
But first he needed to be there alongside her. The heat that burned within wouldn't be quelled until then. In fact his desire had increased since leaving his London office, growing stronger every minute that brought him closer to the island.
At Berwick he leapt into a carriage, barking his instructions and flinging his case into the back before the driver had a chance to assist. The man was chuntering something but Llewellyn's thoughts were too tightly locked on Veronica to enable him to listen.
It wasn't until he arrived at the causeway and saw the driver's hapless gesture towards an angry sea that Llewellyn comprehended.
The causeway was inaccessible, it would be for hours. This time the man's words brought a nauseating cloy to his throat. He'd come this far, within three miles and a matter of minutes from his beloved Veronica. Several hours to him would amount to a torture beyond his ability to endure.
He fastened his coat and grabbed his bag, searched along the grim shoreline. There were vessels moored in the distance, fishermen with anoraks huddled in a group. Llewellyn set out towards them.
* *
The vicar seemed to gaze suspiciously upon them from his elevated position on the porch. Perhaps their bedraggled appearance caused a certain apprehension.
'Why Mr. Gibbings - John, this is a surprise, and the young lady, Miss Day isn't it? What on earth brings you here, and in these conditions, is something amiss?'
'We ask you to shelter us, Reverend Robertson. There is a man in pursuit who is not at all pleasant, may we come in?'
Robertson, a small man with a receding hairline, looked tentative, baffled, but waved them through. 'Here on the island? I know of no rogues here.'
He guided them along a dimly-lit hall. 'I will get you towels, you are drenched - and then perhaps you would reveal what distresses you so. Please take a seat. Try not to drip over the upholstery.'
Gibbings listened to Robertson's footsteps recede. 'He won't easily be influenced by your posh speech, or what you have to say -'
'We seek only shelter,' Veronica answered, aware of the harshness in her voice, 'until it is safe to cross to the mainland.'
Gibbings mopped rain from under his dark brows. 'Then we'll see if your bright idea works. The vicar seems more concerned with the appearance of his furniture, if you ask me.'
He glanced back out the window, Veronica saw his frown. 'I have told you, he will not think of coming here; Dawson is a foolish, ignorant 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.