Castle In The Clouds, Chapters 27 & 28 (standard:drama, 2805 words) [14/21] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Added: May 13 2010	Views/Reads: 2392/1739	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
If Veronica Day needed any proof that she is a prisoner in the castle awaiting Llewelyn's return, she has it now. But help is at hand from an unlikely source.Continuation of my drama,'Castle In The Clouds'.

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There was just a twitch in the butler's rugged countenance. 'You are to
be kept from harm; I am to protect you.' 

'And if I do not wish to be protected? What then Dawson?' 

'A woman should be grateful for such protection.  Will there be anything
further, Miss Day?' 

'You can return my coat; I might shortly take a walk.' 

Dawson chewed on his lip, his stare hardening. 'In these conditions,
madam, that would be inadvisable.' He slung her coat over his shoulder, 
pointed a finger, and uttered in a voice so low it was barely audible, 
'Don't annoy me madam, you'll regret it.' 

All endeavours at respectability abandoned, Veronica saw the exposed
beast within. 'Is that a threat?' she called. But Dawson had closed the 
door with a thud, his heavy tread retreating along the passageway. 

Veronica overcame an urge to march out. She had little doubt she'd be
denied exit and her inclination had been to try to force one. But 
although strong, Veronica had little doubt that Dawson was stronger, 
with a volatile temperament to match; the facial movements within his 
granite - like countenance spoke as loudly as his words. She was not 
however, prepared to be confined to her room; after a brief rest to 
regain her composure, she would make that plain. 

*                                 * 

Hambleton had been resting in his room, his thoughts never far removed
from events at the castle, when a light tap on the door roused him. 

He heard Gibbings call his name, urgency in the voice, followed by
another tap, louder this time. Hambleton drew back the latch, taking in 
the sight of the rain-swept Gibbings, eyes wide and earnest.  'I hope 
I'm not intruding on you but the landlord said to come straight up. I 
think something's happening at the castle and I didn't know what to 
do.' He exhaled heavily, 'I thought it best to come to you.' 

Hambleton nodded. 'I advised him in such an eventuality to show you up;
I have been expecting some development as it happens - have you spoken 
with Veronica?' 

'Aye, you see that's why I think she might be in trouble,' Gibbings
began at a gallop, 'we had a talk and -' 

'Sit down.' Hambleton extended a hand towards a worn but comfortable
looking easy chair and took a seat opposite. 'Tell me exactly what 
happened and not so rapidly, I cannot comprehend what you say.' 

'Veronica came looking for me,' Gibbings began more slowly though still
struggling for breath, 'though I'd already made up my mind to talk to 
her. I told her things about my life I'd never spoken about before - 
she told me that she could help and that we should both get off the 
island. I didn't like it at first but then she told me she was afraid 
of getting trapped in the castle. That Mr. Llewellyn wasn't right in 
the head - those weren't her words but it's what she meant - and that 
the new butler had been hired to keep watch on her - that he probably 
wouldn't let her out of his sight -' 

He paused, head close to his knees, swaying from side to side in the
chair. 'We agreed to leave the island, to meet at the garden gate. She 
went back to get her things and when she didn't show up I thought about 
charging right up there - but instead I came to you -' 

Hambleton shook his head slowly, again chiding himself inwardly for
falling foul of Dorothea's wiles, if he hadn't been rash this situation 
might have been averted.  'I fear I can do little to avert the 
situation -' 

'But you can try,' Gibbings urged, nodding forcefully, so that drops
from his rain flattened curly hair splattered the floor. 

Hambleton frowned, contemplated whether there was anything he could do. 

'Then perhaps the police?' 

Hambleton forced a grim smile at Gibbings' naivety. 'Summoning police
presence to the island is difficult at the best of times, the castle is 
a respectable establishment and we have no real proof that Veronica is 
held against her will -' 

'They could believe your word as Mr. Llewellyn's last butler -' 

'It will take more than my word, Gibbings, believe me.' Hambleton drew
breath, gazed at the gardener solemnly. 'Very well Gibbings, I shall go 
to the castle, attempt to engage in conversation with Dawson and in so 
doing, endeavour to assess the nature of any threat to Veronica should 
it exist in Llewellyn's absence. We need more than mere supposition, 
Gibbings, to encourage policemen to this island.' Taking his coat from 
a peg on the door, he added, 'Pray that I find it, and Gibbings, you 
would be better off waiting here.' 

'I'll accompany you if you wish.' 

But Hambleton departed with a dismissive wave of his hand and not for
the first time in his life, Gibbings whispered a silent prayer. *       
                            * 

Llewellyn tweaked his moustache furiously; he was beginning to sweat and
tremble; at precise, predetermined fifteen minute intervals throughout 
the day he had attempted to telephone the castle, each time to his 
increasing aggravation to be confounded. 

The operator had been reporting impassively that there was a connection
problem, as yet undiagnosed, though in all probability the line was 
down on account of the severe weather. But that information did nothing 
to allay his sense of trepidation. He had left matters at the castle, 
and most importantly Veronica's safety, in the hands of his new butler 
Dawson, a most pugnacious fellow. 

His enemies however were not to be underestimated, his treacherous
sister Dorothea for one - what if she had hatched some devious plot 
which had plunged the castle into chaos and ultimately threatened the 
safety of Veronica? Had Gibbings somehow wrought havoc within, angered 
beyond measure by his wise decision to have Dawson protect her against 
his incessant harassment of her? 

The intolerable burden was proving too much for him, his concentration
had evaporated; he could no longer concentrate on his business affairs, 
as pressing as he knew them to be they seemed of no significance when 
laid alongside Veronica's welfare. She was his world, nothing else was 
of comparison. The devilish elements that threatened her security 
needed to be eradicated - he should not be trusting all to Dawson. Such 
action was the tell-tale sign of a coward. 

His facial nerves twitched, his throat seemed so taut he could barely
swallow as he struggled to allocate his clients' business accounts to 
the correct folders, finally abandoning the task to a member of staff 
in his outer office. 

He should never have forsaken his sweetheart, left her at the mercy of
such despicable forces - if any foul play had befallen her, he 
personally would effect retribution. 

Llewellyn's lips quivered into a smile at the thought as he hurriedly
made from his office. 

Chapter Twenty Eight 

Veronica stood in the hall, watching the North Sea crash its waves
against the rocks of a distant island, sending fountains of spray high 
into the air. 

On such a turbulent day it was an uninviting scene, but one that
distressed her far less than the prospect of being confined within the 
walls of the castle. 

She sighed, crossed to the chaise-longue and took a seat, waiting for
the footsteps she knew would quickly come.  Barely had she sat, hands 
clasped around her knees, than the sound of his heavy tread resounded 
through the hallway. He held a large swab in his hands, with which he 
proceeded to wipe the windows. 

Veronica placed an arm across the rear of the couch, sat back, her eyes
on him. 'Your application to your task would be admirable, Mr. Dawson, 
were it not that your overriding priority is keeping observation on 
me.' 

'Don't flatter yourself,' Dawson said gruffly, the swab sloshing against
the windows more forcefully. 

'Are you aware that Mr. Llewellyn is not of sound mind? You are in
uncharted territory are you not?' Veronica asked the question casually, 
ignoring his remark. 'In a manner of speaking you could yourself become 
a prisoner of this island, much as you are instructed to keep me until 
his return - but what then? You are dispensable Dawson - you with your 
history of violence.' 

Dawson swung round, water from the swab splattering the flagstones.
'What do you know of that?' he demanded, teeth clenched. 

'My own intuition,' Veronica answered quietly. 'It is apparent in your
features, 'your nose for one thing has been broken and reset very 
badly. 

'You are a brawler Dawson, you are out of your depth in these
surroundings and you feel it, yes? Oh but I guess he pays you well. 
Then does he pay you well enough? Your time within his service is 
limited I feel, because once Thomas and I are wed he will have no use 
of you. He desires no company other than mine.' Veronica laughed, flung 
back her head, 'And you think Dawson, you have control over me? Think 
again before it is too late - I am an internationally renowned concert 
violinist, you are from the hovels of London's lower life, I surmise. 
Who do you think will win in the master's tormented eyes, upon his 
return?' 

Dawson seemed nonplussed, he'd dropped the swab, but his hands were
balling into fists when the bell at the castle entrance clanged and 
Dorothea hurried past. 'I will answer the bell, Dawson; you seem 
somewhat agitated.' 

'No -' Dawson bit his lip, spun round, was about to push Dorothea aside
when Veronica smiled. 'He's facing up to a few home truths, aren't you 
Dawson. Have I given you cause to ponder on your future?' 

'Tighten your mouth,' Dawson growled as Dorothea breezed through the
hall to the entrance, unlocking the main door to face Hambleton. 

'Listen to me, Hambleton and listen well,' Dorothea caught Hambleton's
arm, her voice racked with urgency but so quiet he could barely hear 
above the crashing of waves below. 'The telephone is down, I suspect 
the whole island is affected but Dawson has no intelligence, he will 
not know that. 

'You are to say that you carry a message from my brother, that being
unable to telephone the castle he contacted you. Do you understand? He 
requires to know that all is well. That given the conditions there are 
enough provisions in the castle larder. In order that you can telephone 
Mr. Llewellyn and confirm, you will need to see for yourself - he will 
no doubt accompany you and upon his return Veronica will be gone -' 

'And if he does not -' but Hambleton's question was curtailed by the
emergence of Dawson on the castle step, his cold eyes wide and 
questioning. 

'Mr.Hambleton carries a message from Mr.Llewellyn,' Dorothea said
brushing past him. 'It seems the telephone line is disabled.' 

'Mr. Dawson if I might come in,' Hambleton asked mildly. 'It is a trifle
wet out here.' 

Dawson exhaled heavily, stepped to the side, ushered Hambleton through
to a hall now void of both Veronica and Dorothea. 'What is the message 
you bring?' he asked gruffly, marching through the hall and snatching 
the stem of the telephone from the top of a walnut cabinet. He placed 
it to his ear and cranked, before apparently satisfied the apparatus 
was faulty he replaced it heavily, glancing irritably at Hambleton. 

Hambleton removed his hat, placed it on the cloak stand without
invitation, brushed down his wet coat. 'In view of the conditions, Mr. 
Dawson, Mr. Llewellyn having been unable to contact your good self, 
requires to be reassured that provisions are sufficient to meet the 
needs of Miss Veronica. I am required to check -' 

'They are sufficient; I have the cook's word.' 

Hambleton coughed, traced a finger along the top of his upper lip. 'Mr.
Dawson, in order to satisfy Mr. Llewellyn in the appropriate manner, I 
need to see for myself.' 

Dawson picked up the swab that had fallen to the floor, slapped it on
the cabinet beside the phone. 'Follow me.' 

Following along the passageway behind Dawson, Hambleton cast a glance up
the stone staircase at the top of which, he thought he heard Dorothea's 
hushed voice. 

*                        * 

'Hurry now, head for the inn, and remember that it is not for you that I
do this, rather to bask in my brother's demise.' Seeing the change in 
Veronica's expression and sensing she was preparing to challenge her 
Dorothea added quickly, 'Go now, before it is too late.' She followed 
Veronica down the steps, feeling the urge to push, though even carrying 
her bag she felt the vixen would be ready for her. But seeing Thomas 
reduced to the snivelling wreck he was soon to become was precious 
reward for her. 

Slamming the entrance door behind Veronica Dorothea marched back to the
hall, in less than a moment Hambleton had returned closely accompanied 
by Dawson. The swiftest of glances passed between them before Hambleton 
bid them good-day and went on his way. 

Dawson looked at Dorothea, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. 'Where is
Miss Day?' 

Dorothea raised her brows. 'I assume she is in her room. I followed her
up the stairs. Good God man, she has you in such a state of high 
tension, I fear for your health.' 

Dawson made as if to check for himself then did an about turn, picked up
the swab from the cabinet and resumed washing the windows with 
noticeable aggression. 

Behind his back, Dorothea allowed herself a cold smile. 


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