Castle In The Clouds, Chapters 35 and 36 (standard:drama, 3644 words)
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Sep 13 2010	Views/Reads: 3324/2030	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
John Gibbings and Veronica Day find themselves trapped on the island, while Llewellyn seeks revenge. Continuation of my drama.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story


Veronica reached the road, looked back and saw that the plan hadn't
worked. She saw the oaf of a butler begin chasing her, felt the sheer 
futility of her flight, but John, damn the man's dogmatic stand - had 
demanded she did so. Loathe as she had been to comply, the man's sense 
of integrity over-ruled her doubts - and she loved him - and - 

But her thoughts were interrupted by Dawson's heavy tread, thud - thud -
thud - for despite his bulk, the ogre was gaining ground. It was the 
wind and rain of course that hampered her lighter frame, but while she 
was running what was happening to John? 

Thud, thud, thud - like the blacksmith's blow on an anvil. 

This couldn't, shouldn't be happening. Veronica Day stopped running,
turned and stared directly into the approaching Dawson's eyes. 

*                           * 

'Stop running you wretched man, turn and face me!' Gibbings heard
Llewellyn's hoarse shout, turned and saw the man threading clumsily 
through the undergrowth after him, but he couldn't see Dawson and that 
much alone made him halt in his tracks. 

That he was the bigger danger to Veronica, Gibbings had little doubt, if
Dawson had spotted him and taken off after her - 

Without Dawson chasing him his plan had failed. Gibbings scanned the
landscape without so much as a glimpse, his apprehension rising like 
the high tide; and yet as Llewellyn approached eyes glazed in a wild 
stare, froth from his mouth merging with the driving rain, Gibbings was 
confident of his ability to contain him; but then too late he saw the 
blade rise in his right hand, felt the cold steel cut into his throat. 

Rothman was approaching the church when he heard the shout carry high on
the wind. His view was hampered by the rain splattering his offside 
window, but as he reached across to wind it down, some distance ahead, 
as his wipers cleared the rain in waves he saw Dawson closing in on 
Veronica. 

The big butler's bulk almost eclipsed the tall, elegant woman but what
alarmed him was that she seemed bent on confronting Dawson. Abandoning 
his interest in whatever transpired in the church field he slammed his 
foot hard on the accelerator, splashing along the road towards the 
couple. 

Dawson wasn't aware of Rothman's approach, the howling wind having
drowned out the motor's humming drone, but it would have changed little 
because the controlling element in all his senses was the 
all-encompassing purpose of inflicting upon the woman who'd so 
ridiculed and embarrassed him the beating she so deserved. Sometimes 
women needed to be put in their place - especially haughty women like 
this one. 

He no longer cared what his deranged master thought - it was as plain as
day now that the man who had brought him here was mad - completely mad. 
There was no future in Llewellyn's employ, but Dawson's anger wasn't 
about to be vented on him - 

Ahead he saw her stop, turn and face him, her hands on hips, her eyes
like green emeralds in the stormy day where light faded and the sky had 
turned brown. Had the woman lost her senses? No, this was typical of 
her, even now she taunted him - and it served only to drive his fury to 
new heights. 

Rothman must have been twenty yards away when he saw the big man grab
Veronica's shoulder, saw her raise an arm, saw the back of her hand 
flash across his face, saw his head drop, saw that right hand strike 
him again - somewhere around his chin, and then watched as he recovered 
and caught hold, raising her from the ground, flinging her in his anger 
across the  street, her body colliding with the column of a gas lamp. 

Rothman saw Dawson march towards her, his shoulders hunched, decided in
that instant what he would do - 

He slipped the Rolls Royce into top gear, hit the pedal - Dawson's hands
were reaching down when the vehicle hit him - towards her throat, but 
they got no further - a brief yell blended eerily with the howling wind 
as his body was propelled through the air, landing motionless in coarse 
grass after rebounding from a cottage wall. 

Rothman paid him no further heed as he jumped from the vehicle's running
board alongside Veronica's prostrate body. 

'Where did you come from?' She gazed up through half-open glassy eyes.
'Thank you. But I could have managed.' 

'From where I stand, dear lady, I very much doubt it.' 

Veronica shook her head dismissively. 'I am alright.' She looked over at
Dawson's body, 'Do you think he's -' 

'Dead? Do you much care?' 

'I do not.' Veronica allowed Rothman to pull her to her feet, brushed
herself down, and then as her smashed senses recovered, 'John,' she 
cried with sudden urgency, 'have you seen John?' 

Rothman turned sharply, recalled the voice he'd heard in the field - but
it hadn't been the gardener's voice - 

He left the car at the point it had struck Dawson and turned to run -
and found Veronica ahead of him. 

Chapter Thirty Six 

Veronica reached the church field yards ahead of Rothman, racing to the
point at which she'd left him a few long moments earlier - the clouds 
had lifted slightly, broken into dark fragments which pursued each 
other vigorously across the sky, and for an instant the sun broke 
through, striking a curved object that lay amongst the heather. A steel 
object smeared with blood. For a second Veronica froze, her eyes slowly 
following the trail of blood that led to John Gibbings' throat. 

She glanced back at  Rothman, stooped, placed her hands tentatively
around the wound as he crouched beside her, taking hold of Gibbings' 
hand before sliding her fingers to the man's wrist. 'His pulse is weak, 
his breathing is shallow and I doubt that he hears us. He needs a 
doctor, and quickly - are there any in this godforsaken place?' 

Veronica forced her eyes away from Gibbings' stricken body, glanced
towards the vicarage, 'The Reverend will know -' 

'I'll find out,' Rothman got to his feet, headed for the vicarage. 

'He can't stay here,' Veronica called after him, 'not in these
conditions, tell him what's happened, that I'm bringing John -' 

'What?' 

'Go on -run -' Veronica ushered him forward, took Gibbings in her arms,
gently cradling his neck, and then rose to her feet. 'I can manage Mr. 
Rothman; it would be a great help if you would hurry to the vicarage 
and not impede my progress by standing gawking.' 

She watched him finally turn tail and head for the vicarage, following
carefully in his wake with Gibbings in her arms. 

Robertson held the door open and this time he reflected genuine concern.
'Through here; I have a bedroom at the back, lay Mr. Gibbings upon the 
bed.'  He followed Veronica through as she gently lowered him down. 
'I'll staunch the flow as best I can, but Doctor Ferguson needs to 
attend these wounds, they're much too close to the artery for my 
liking.' 

'Where can I find Doctor Ferguson?' Veronica wiped her eyes and it
wasn't rain water this time. 

'The mainland I'm afraid, just across the junction to the causeway. I'm
sorry, the phone line is down but at least the tide has receded.' 

'I have a motor car. It will not take me long,' Rothman announced. 'Will
you accompany me, Veronica?' 

She shook her head. 'I need to remain with John.' Veronica cast a glance
over her shoulder, but her view of Gibbings was restricted by 
Robertson, now applying more pressure to the wound. 'But thank you for 
returning, Mr. Rothman.' 

'Byron, please.' Rothman smiled and made his way to the car. 

'Please hurry.' Veronica was unable to return his smile, providing him
with a grateful nod of thanks before watching him drive away. 

'I cannot believe this is happening,' Robertson muttered. 'In all my
years spent here - what has happened to cause Mr. Gibbings these 
injuries?' 

'I tried to explain that Mr. Llewellyn was no longer sane,' Veronica
said, revealing the circumstances with thinly disguised bitterness 
providing an edge to her voice. 'What you treat now is a result of that 
fact.' 

Veronica moved alongside Robertson, laid a hand on Gibbings' brow, felt
the heat - 

'Will he recover Reverend?' 

'I pray that he will. He has lost much blood.' Robertson placed the
towel tightly against the wound, 'But it is to the doctor that you 
should address such questions -' 

Robertson paused. He looked Veronica directly in the eye, 'Where is Mr.
Llewellyn now?' 

'Oh my God!' Veronica felt a wave of anxiety rush through her stomach.
'I was concerned for John, I have not thought to search - and the blade 
remains in the grass. I must remove it -' 

'No Miss Day -' Robertson grabbed her arm, 'that would not be
appropriate in the light of what has happened here.' 

'Damn what is appropriate, if Llewellyn has gone this far, if he is
able, he will not hesitate to strike out again - we may all be in 
danger.' 

Veronica shrugged Robertson off, rushed to the door, ran down the field,
through the heather to the area where she'd found Gibbings. Blood 
marked the spot but that was all. 

The blade had gone, Llewellyn must have retrieved it, and to have done
so he must be in sufficient health as to use it. 

Through squalls of rain she looked left and right, forward and behind,
to no avail. She cursed herself for not considering the danger, but her 
concern for John had outweighed everything - now as she trudged back up 
the field, stopping at intervals to search around, she was filled with 
a mounting unease - that they could become besieged by a madman with a 
violent weapon in his grasp. She reached the deserted street and ran to 
the door. Further down on the opposite side Dawson's body lay unmoved. 
He was, she was quite certain, dead. He at least, they did not need to 
worry about. 

*                            * 

Llewellyn examined the sabre; Gibbings' blood had been washed off by the
rain - much to his satisfaction. He had an abhorrence of the sight of 
it - it was the reason he'd fled the scene. 

But he'd dealt with Gibbings in the way he'd intended. The wretched man
had been foolish enough to attempt to wrestle the sabre from him, but 
one swift blow from its sharp blade must surely have severed an artery, 
by now he would be dead. 

No more would he poison Veronica's precious mind - 

And yet he'd watched in shock and disgust as Veronica had hurried to the
scene, with Rothman in her wake - that had been a surprise, but nothing 
like the disturbing experience of watching her caringly cradle the 
dying man in her arms and carry him to the vicarage. 

He'd carried out his actions for Veronica, to enable her to become free
of Gibbings' venomous influence, and yet it seemed that even in his 
death that influence remained; she was his world but could no longer be 
so with his poisoning mind inside hers. And to carry him that far she 
must possess the strength of the Devil. 

He'd acted too late - there was no other course of action than to
terminate Veronica also. 

At least in her death she would be free - 

Llewellyn emerged from behind the chapel and made his way uphill. 

*                            * 

'I have done all I can for the time being - he continues to bleed but
not as profusely. The doctor should be with us shortly. I take it there 
was no sign of Mr. Llewellyn?' 

'Nor the blade - I fear he is not finished yet -' Robertson shot
Veronica a look of alarm, 'Then are we to remain prisoners here?' 

'I will not be subjected to the whims of a madman.' 

'I beg your pardon, Miss Day?' 

'It is against my nature to be cornered like a wild animal.' 

'I must advise Miss Day, against any talk of this nature,' Robertson
stammered. 'You have witnessed the extent of Mr. Gibbings' injuries 
caused by Mr. Llewellyn's use of the blade. It would be foolhardy in 
the extreme - besides there has been enough bloodshed on this island -' 


'Which might have been prevented had you listened to me in the first
instance. Now it is past the point where I am prepared to concede to 
this man -' 

Robertson shook his head despairingly, before a drone a pitch lower than
the howling wind drew his attention. 

He marched through to his front lounge and peered out the window. 'Your
friend is back and he has the doctor with him.' 

Veronica ushered them in, she watched the doctor clean and tend the
wound, was relieved when he stood up and said, 'Your friend needs rest, 
it is a matter of shock as much as the severity of the wound itself. 
But he should be fine.' 

The doctor adjusted his collar and tie, frowned. 'I understand there is
a dangerous man at large, the nature of this wound confirms as much. I 
shall of course notify the constabulary upon my return to the mainland. 
In the meantime I urge you all to exercise extreme caution. 
Circumstances such as these, have, to my knowledge, never arisen here 
before.' 

'There is a man lying in the grass by the cottages,' Veronica said
bluntly. 'I fear he is dead.' 

'That is so,' Rothman cut in, a glance at the doctor. 'I advised Doctor
Ferguson and he examined the scoundrel on the way through.' 

'Veronica,' Rothman uttered as soon as the doctor had departed, 'I feel
you should allow me to drive you from the island. This is not a safe 
place -' 

'I shall leave the island when John does and not before,' Veronica said
adamantly. 'Doctor Ferguson says he needs a rest. I will ensure he gets 
it.' 

'He is welcome to rest here at the vicarage until he is well enough to
travel, as are you, Miss Day -' Robertson announced, albeit edgily. 

'That is most generous of you vicar,' Veronica acknowledged, aware of
the unease in his voice. 'I am sure we will not trouble you for long.' 

Veronica cast her eyes down, took in Gibbings' appearance as he lay
motionless on the bed. He was sleeping but his breathing appeared less 
shallow and this gave her heart. 

'Veronica, if I might speak with you as a matter of urgency,' Rothman
whispered in her ear.  'Alone.' 

'Be my guest,' Robertson said, having overheard. 'The front parlour,' he
indicated, his arm outstretched, his brow knotted. 

'Mr. Rothman please be brief.' Veronica closed the door behind them. 'I
would want to be beside John when he awakes.' 

'I cannot understand your fascination for the gardener, Veronica, any
more than I could Llewellyn, but though I feel your lack of passion for 
him was evident, it seems the same cannot be said of this Gibbings 
fellow. You are aware that a fusion of such diverse backgrounds seldom 
works?' 

'I fear that it is seldom given a chance.' Veronica turned her back,
crossed to the window and arms folded, stared out at a deserted, stormy 
scene, no sign at the moment of the mad Llewellyn.  'I for one am not 
an enthusiast of this rigid class structure, if that offends you Mr. 
Rothman then I am sorry but it is the way I am;' she swung to face him, 
'now, have you anything further to say?' 

'Indeed dear lady.' Rothman approached her, leaning forward, his face
close to hers. 'Your values are most commendable, but your philosophy 
is flawed. I can much better serve your interests than the gardener. 
Together we would make a fine couple.' He gazed at her head, touched it 
with the palm of a hand. 'Why, even our hair seems to match up. I would 
be honoured Veronica, to have you as my wife.' 

Veronica bit her lower lip, edged past him. 'I feel that it is not
possible, Mr. Rothman, indeed, it seems there is little more between us 
than the colour of our hair. What has brought you back is your vision 
of me, is it not? And since you cannot know me that vision is only skin 
deep.' 

Rothman spread his hands. 'I returned out of concern for you and it
seems such concerns have  proved well founded. In any event, would you 
not concede that your perception of the gardener is similar to mine of 
you?' 

Veronica swallowed, met his stare. 'I believe there is a difference Mr.
Rothman, if there is nothing more, I must attend John -' 

'I implore you to reconsider.' Rothman followed her to the door. 'There
is no future in this relationship.' 

'That is for me to decide.' Veronica paused, her hand on the lever. 'I
would thank you to remember as much.' 

'Then at least allow me to remain lest my assistance is required - by
remaining here you put yourself at great risk - Llewellyn has already 
accounted for his sister, along with seriously injuring the -' 

'Dorothea?' Veronica interrupted, her brows knit tightly together. 

Rothman lowered his eyes. 'I took her body from the sea, laid it on the
shore. I am certain it was his work -' 

'I see.' Veronica shook her head. 'I cannot prevent you from remaining
here, Mr. Rothman. I must attend John.' 

She hurried through to the rear of the vicarage, sat at the side of
Gibbings' bed, aware of Rothman's presence in the doorway. Gibbings' 
eyes flickered open momentarily and her spirits rose, though his return 
to consciousness was fleeting and those spirits were dashed with the 
suddenness of a ship striking rocks. 

Despair was creeping through her veins; Llewellyn was no longer sane if
ever he had been.  And what had been her part in this? He'd seemed 
fully in control of his senses when they'd first met, quite an 
honourable gentleman. Had she encouraged him for her own ends, to a 
point where his sanity had been challenged? Was she in some way to 
blame? Not solely for his demise but for the ensuing violence on the 
island? Had the problems on the island been of her making as the vicar 
had seemed to imply? 

If so it was her duty to confront Llewellyn, thus averting more
bloodshed. 

Her sense of responsibility, for so long overlooked, could no longer be
denied. She would seek out Llewellyn, go to him. The burden was hers, 
and by bearing it she would help John. 

It was the only course of action. *                              * 


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