Castle In The Clouds, Chapters Thirteen and Fourteen (standard:drama, 3624 words) [7/21] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Sep 16 2009	Views/Reads: 2749/1757	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
In the grounds of a ruined abbey there is a clandestine meeting between a renowned violinist and a gardener. But what does it signify? Continuation of my completed drama

Chapter Thirteen 

Veronica left her room shortly after sunrise, quietly making her way
down to the entrance hall where she found the main doorway bolted. She 
was about to draw the bolt back when she heard footsteps behind. 'Allow 
me Miss Veronica, it is a trifle stiff.' She watched the silver-haired 
figure of Hambleton emerge from the shadows, eyebrows raised as he drew 
back the bolt, 'You are an early riser this morning.' 

Preferring to have left the castle unnoticed Veronica masked any
embarrassment behind a smile. 'I habitually rise early Mr. Hambleton, 
normally I do not like to disturb the household but the gulls and the 
sea have enticed me into taking an early walk.' His fixed, quizzical 
smile as he opened the door seemed intended as encouragement to 
elaborate, but she said simply, 'Do you never sleep, Mr. Hambleton?' 

'About as much as you, it seems Miss Veronica; do enjoy your walk -' 

'Thank you, I shall -' she skipped down the castle slope with the
distinct feeling that he hadn't closed the door, but it wouldn't matter 
if he had, with the views the castle afforded he could chart her course 
for some way if he had a mind to. 

She knew now why Gibbings had chosen the priory, its vast ruins provided
privacy even from the castle's all-seeing eyes – and now as she 
approached from a rough pathway running between the coarse grass, she'd 
no idea whether Gibbings would be there – whether in the cold light of 
day he'd backtrack on his decision. She'd broken some ice last evening 
but achieving it had been hard work. 

Veronica climbed a low stone wall on the perimeter of the priory grounds
and saw the figure lurking between the cloisters close to the monastery 
walls. The gloom produced by the brooding arches in the early light 
obscured its identity until Gibbings stepped forward, hands deep in the 
pockets of his trousers, shoulders hunched with the chill of the 
morning. 

'Sunrise I said,' he called across. 'Sun's been up an hour or more.' 

'Has it really?' She crossed her arms, stared him in the eye before
scouring the heavens. 'I don't see much sun.' 

'You're not funny Veronica,' Gibbings scowled, then pointing to the
stone wall, 'and you climb like a boy – there's a gate the ladies use 
-' 

She cocked her head at him, narrowed her eyes. 'If you knew me better,
John Gibbings, you'd know how much of a lady I am – now then – you have 
something to tell me, such as what hold the dark witch of the castle 
has got over you.' 

He turned away, 'I don't know that I can say.' 

'Oh yes you can,' she said, her voice raised above the cry of the gulls,
then gently clasping his shoulder, 'I haven't made this journey to pay 
my respect to the departed monks.' 

He shook his head, 'I don't know you well at all – and you seem
different now to when you talk to the castle folk – I can't take no 
chances, if you tell Mr. Llewellyn -' 

'If I tell him what?' 

Gibbings gritted his teeth. 'One moment you're refined and posh like –
the next you're kind of saucy. I'd like to know the real you before I 
say things -' 

'John, this is the real me, the one you see before you now – the one the
dark witch thinks is something of a flirt.' 

'No – does she?' 

Veronica laughed at his intrigued smile. 'She does, she told me so the
last time I was here, warned me off practically.' 



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