Castle In The Clouds, Chapters Thirty Nine and Forty (standard:drama, 2875 words) [19/21] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Nov 15 2010	Views/Reads: 2370/1871	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
The castle is under siege, and another vies for Veronica's affections.

Chapter Thirty Nine 

'Can't you drive any faster, man?' Rothman glared at the driver of the
carriage from his seat in the rear, receiving a stony glance in 
response. 

'The track is rough on the horses' hooves. Have some concern for the
animal man.' 

Rothman leaned forward, his face flushed. 'Do not address me in that
tone of voice; I shall most certainly speak with your superior.' 

'You might find yourself doing that in any event,' Taylor remarked
brusquely. 'You are a detained man - a man under suspicion,' and then 
looking away and folding his arms, 'you would do well to remember 
that.' 

Rothman was speechless with indignation but there was little point in
further conversation with the abrasive little man. Ahead the castle 
seemed to rear up through the unabating rain. It appeared foreboding, 
impregnable on its high mound of rock, and Rothman stiffened. 

But something else also lay ahead – to their right – he saw Taylor
frown, saw him lift an arm. 'Stop the carriage,' he barked, leaping out 
before it had been reined to a halt; running across to Dorothea's body 
he crouched over it, turning sharply to Rothman. 'She was swept in on 
the tide,' Rothman shouted above the wind. 'I pulled her clear; alas it 
was too late...' 

Taylor got to his feet and closed up on Rothman. 'Why wasn't I informed
of this?' 

'I was more concerned with Miss Day's welfare, as I am now; this
wretched woman is already dead.' Rothman turned and jabbed an arm 
wildly at the castle. 'And if we are not swift, Miss Day might suffer a 
similar fate...' 

'Are you saying? But Taylor dropped his words and marched ahead perhaps
spurred on by Rothman's angry gesture. Rothman caught up, matched him 
stride for stride. The sergeant and his men seemed incompetent, 
probably not used to dealing with anything other than the odd pick 
-pocket. 

And this was a whole different proposition. 

*                           *                         * 

'Let us sit together in our cosy castle, Veronica.' Llewellyn stretched
a hand towards the couch. 'You have returned to me – to your rightful 
place and all is well.' 

Veronica tensed but remained standing. She looked down on Llewellyn as
he sat, hunched forward, still with the sabre in his grasp. ‘It would 
be better if you would provide some of the basic comforts, for example 
heat and food if you could manage it. If we are to live in the castle 
for any length of time we will need provisions...' 

Veronica raised her head to the ceiling, sighed; his facial indifference
said it all. 

The sheer absurdity of her position, her feeling of guilt that she was
in some way to blame was as preposterous as her action in deserting 
John – in marching out into the wilderness and taking the hand of a man 
who obviously suffered the same personality disorder as his sister. 

A stout rapping on the castle's solid oak door, its volume increasing as
it echoed through the castle, had Llewellyn springing to his feet, his 
head turning so sharply it seemed his neck would snap. He jerked it 
back again, looking lop-sided at her, as if trying to assess the 
situation but incapable of doing it. 

'I will answer the door, Thomas.' Veronica had reached the hall, aware
of the sudden hustle of Llewellyn's feet behind; he was alongside her 
in an instant, his pupils darting from side to side, almost protruding 
from their sockets in the dim light highlighted by the whites of his 


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