Castle In The Clouds, Chapters 15 & 16

Chapter Fifteen

Dorothea watched from the gallery as Llewellyn led the pony & trap onto the track at the bottom of the slope. It had stopped raining and the sun had broken through. That was a pity for she would loved to have seen the oh – so – elegant - and refined Miss Day receive another soaking. The fact that she had deliberately splashed rain from a soaked coat into her face was enraging, but she had amassed all her self control and drawn back from the confrontation the woman had seemed set on provoking. That she'd had the nerve and stupidity to attempt such a thing was galling in itself, she could only suppose it to be a pathetic attempt to get her to incur her brother's wrath, thus undermining her position in the castle. If so it had failed dismally, and she'd come out all the stronger for it; she might have been out-manoeuvred during the scene on the terrace but she'd evened the score by her admirable display of self-control. All she needed now was to patiently wait out the next couple of days, until Veronica Day's departure.
For once Hambleton would be her ally in persuading Thomas that this woman must never return, that she was a disruptive, even malicious influence, far from the perfect woman her brother supposed her to be. She pressed her hands onto the sill, leaning closer to the window; Thomas had drawn the trap to a halt and appeared to be in intense conversation with Day. He'd taken her hands in his and for a moment Dorothea had misgivings. Had this boring island turned him into a hopeless romantic? She couldn't understand how Llewellyn had become so besotted with the woman. He'd never been so lovelorn in the past. But it had only been fleeting, in a moment she'd extracted her hands or he'd released his grip, she wasn't sure which, and shortly afterwards the journey was resumed.
What had occurred to cause him to draw the trap to a halt? She shook her head; it wasn't a question worth dwelling on. There were more pressing matters.
Passing Veronica's room she pushed the door open, her violin sat on its stand, the bow alongside. There was an urge, almost irresistible to smash it to pieces; it wasn't hers anyway, Thomas had foolishly bought it, so the satisfaction, quite apart from a response from her brother that Veronica would gleefully appreciate, was muted.
She passed through the castle hall and onto the slope; Gibbings was on his way up it, a broody look in his dark eyes. 'Ah Gibbings, I was coming in search of you, my window latch is stiff, it requires attention, but first show me your hands.'
He was slow to present them for her inspection and she thought she saw annoyance in his eyes. 'Don't hold back on me Gibbings, Dorothea said quietly. 'My brother returns to London shortly, if I am dissatisfied with your manner I am at liberty to dispense with your services.'
She took his slowly extended hands and turned them palm upward, pressing on his fingertips, her face close to his. 'Clean enough,' she whispered through pouted lips. 'This evening I need to inspect our property, expect me at seven -'
'Gibbings shook his head, 'Lifeboat duty Miss Llewellyn.'
Dorothea wafted a hand. 'Then I shall attend at nine – now come and adjust this infernal latch.'
* *

Veronica reached her room and saw at once the door had been pushed open. She inspected her belongings, none had been touched. She sighed, supposing it could have been the wind, the castle got draughty when the breeze was strong.
Washing her hair free of the salt and grit that their lengthy trap ride had bestowed on it, she recalled the events of the day. Thomas had conceded control of the reins to her, full of
admiration for the way she handled them. They'd crossed the causeway onto the mainland and journeyed through the countryside to Berwick, where they'd enjoyed a meal at a hotel before returning shortly before the tide cut the causeway off.
Thomas had asked much about her musical career but it was part of her life she was
reluctant to elaborate on. In truth much of it had been forced on her - she'd been conditioned to becoming a concert violinist, when her love was for the open spaces and expansive skies and shorelines of the north-east.
Similarly, she had no real interest in the growing world of banking, though she'd thought to engage Thomas in polite conversation in that respect.
Could he really reach agreement with his clients and buy Dorothea out? She thought at once of John Gibbings, some of his problems would be solved were she to return to London. Some, for she was certain Dorothea was not his only problem, something else lay beneath, deeply rooted. Finding out what that something was, remained uppermost in her mind.
Thomas had been reserved at first, one glance had been enough for her to determine as much. Hambleton's influence no doubt; unlike Dorothea his words carried weight. But what had Hambleton said that had planted doubt in Thomas' mind? Had he overheard her talking to John on the terrace?
Or had he seen something? She'd often had the feeling that someone had been watching her from behind those Gothic windows, putting it down to Dorothea – but why not Hambleton? He conducted himself with civility but his quiet, watchful eyes travelled everywhere. Mrs. Simms could be ruled out, she didn't have the run of the castle that Hambleton had.
If there was discord between Dorothea and Hambleton it didn't extend as far as her. Both of them were likely to conspire against her. Well so be it, that wouldn't alter her decision to take up Thomas' kind offer one iota.
Veronica towelled her hair dry, took up the violin and began to practice.
* *

It was late in the afternoon when Veronica finished practicing. She went up to the roof garden and stared out to sea, drawing in the moist, salty air, aware of Hambleton's presence in the background as he emptied an ashtray containing Dorothea's cigarette butts.
'Does my presence here disturb you Mr. Hambleton?' she asked, her back to him.
'I beg your pardon, Miss Veronica?'
Veronica slowly turned her head. 'My presence here, I asked if it disturbed you -'
'Why no, Miss Veronica.'
'I feel you are not quite telling the truth.' Veronica took several paces towards him, arms crossed, watching his throat tighten. 'You are concerned that John Gibbings and I are involved in some kind of underhand conduct.'
A muscle twitched in Hambleton's cheek as he shook his head. 'I would never go so far -'
'You may not go so far as an outright accusation Mr. Hambleton, but you have drawn that conclusion, or one very close to it. I can inform you your suspicions are unfounded.' Seeing the butler's discomfort, she added, 'Do not think that Mr. Llewellyn has betrayed your confidence, my own intuition as much as anything else causes me to form this opinion. I have nothing but respect for your employer Mr. Hambleton, there is nothing underhand in progress, rest assured of that.'
Hambleton coughed, placed his fist to his mouth, Veronica reached out and touched him as he brought it down. 'I do not seek to make an enemy of you, I fear I already have one in Miss Llewellyn and one is quite enough, thank you.' Veronica left the roof garden with that, leaving him to ponder her words.
In a little over an hour she would be dining with Llewellyn, but in the meantime the afternoon was bright and warm, and she would walk alone.
Wavelets hissed and sucked on the shore, the fragrance of meadow-sweet filled her nostrils blending with the smell of rotting sea-weed; here, away from crowded concert halls she bathed in the glory of clean air and space. Despite the tension in the castle, she would return as often as she could. For this would be her passport to the joys of nature.
Veronica turned inland, negotiating the grassy mound around the volcanic rock that supported the castle; at its summit she could look down on the garden and doing so now caught sight of Gibbings, busily freeing the garden of spent summer plants.
Fearful that he'd react to Dorothea's torments physically she needed a word with him, armed now with at least a modicum of hope that Thomas might just be able to arrange her departure.
'It's not good for you to be here,' he glowered on her approach.
'I came to offer you advice,' she said, unruffled by his manner.
'I don't need advice,' he turned his back to her, bending his lean frame into the fork.
'Hear me out,' she said, lowering her tone.
Gibbings exhaled heavily, thrusting his fork deep into the soil, then hands on hips. 'Make it quick, Miss Llewellyn has the eyes of a hawk -'
'And the looks of one,' Veronica said, tongue in cheek, noticing a flash of amusement lighten his face, 'has the dark witch bothered you today?'
The cloud returned. 'She pesters me every day and I've told you, you won't make things any easier by interfering.'
'Who said anything about interfering? It's your problem not mine, but I can help and you'll find me more amenable if you drop your resentful tone.'
'So what's the advice?' He finally met her eyes.
'No matter how much she bothers you, do not show aggression; I sense you are capable of it.'
'Easy for you to say,' Gibbings snarled, 'she's carrying out her so-called cottage inspection this evening – but that's not the reason she's coming.'
'I can guess that. Just show patience and trust me,' Veronica said calmly, undaunted by his intransigence. 'If we are lucky the dark witch might have outstayed her welcome at the castle.'
Gibbings frowned, 'You mean she's leaving?'
'I said if we're lucky. I cannot divulge any more than that but I am hopeful – and then
at least one of your problems will be solved, John Gibbings. There are more, aren't there?'
For a split second his eyes were a little misty, but he blinked and they were their normal unreadable selves. She raised a finger as she turned her back, 'Restrain yourself, John, that's all I ask.'
'I'll try,' she heard him say, 'and thank you.'
She turned at that, gave him a long, lingering smile that he returned, then she glanced upwards, to the dining room window, from where a figure moved sharply back.

* *

Chapter Sixteen

Dorothea ate dinner in her quarters, preferring to avoid the company of the obnoxious Veronica, and her own foolishly doting brother. She poured a generous measure of Scotch, glancing up as Hambleton placed the salad dish before her. 'I feel we have a common bond for once, Hambleton,' she said, her head lofted towards him.
'Madam?'
'Come now Hambleton, your brows are raised in bewilderment when you know full well to what I refer.'
'If the subject is Miss Veronica, I have no wish to become embroiled in the matter,' Hambleton replied blandly.
Dorothea sniffed, took a gulp of whisky and regarded him with her hooded eyes. 'You do not approve of her presence in the castle; you are not your normal, imperturbable self.'
'I feel it might be unwise, Madam, to attempt to influence Mr. Llewellyn in respect of Miss Day.'
Dorothea sat back, interlocking her fingers, ignoring her evening meal. 'By your lowered eyes, Hambleton, do I detect that you have tried?'
Hambleton exhaled through his nose. 'I thought it my position to express concern – I simply feel that Mr. Llewellyn has a yearning for Miss Day that she does not carry for him.'
'Because she has a fancy for Gibbings.'
Hambleton shifted uncomfortably, 'I cannot go down that path -'
'Nonetheless your expression betrays you; we must combine at once to convince Thomas of his folly.'
'I fear we are wasting our time -'
'What causes you such pessimism?'
'To put further pressure on Mr. Llewellyn would only incur his wrath,' Hambleton
answered, ignoring her question. 'If that is all Madam, I have other duties to attend to.
'Ah, by that I assume you mean my brother and that woman.' Dorothea picked at her salad, 'You find my brother a good and considerate employer, do you not? I am not finished with this, Hambleton, we will speak later.'
'Madam.' Hambleton left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
* *

The sun was sinking, crimson clouds streaking across its melon surface. The evening had turned breezy and showery, another squall buffeting Dorothea as she reached Gibbings' cottage.
Thrice she thumped the door with her fist, aggravation mounting with each knock – was he deliberately making her wait? Large drops of rain began to fall on her shawl before she heard the latch being pulled back and the door creak open.
'I'll thank you to attend the door with more urgency.' Pushing past him she glanced around the drawing room, throwing her dark shawl onto the couch and taking a quick look at the kitchen, before thrusting open his bedroom door. 'Step inside Gibbings,' she said, casting her eyes around the room.
'I'm alright here,' he said flatly.
'You'll do as I say.' Suddenly her glare was upon him, a warning etched in the furrows of her brows. 'I might consider the condition of this cottage to be adequate or I might provide my brother with a damning report, coupling it with an account of your licentious behaviour with that wench – now step inside while I judge.'
The moment Gibbings stepped through her arms wrapped around him, swinging him round. She dropped her right hand down to his crotch, her fingers forming a claw which clamped firmly on his testicles. He uttered a curse, pushing her away and breaking her hold but she simply laughed as she fell back, grabbing his arm with her hands, the momentum forcing him down on the bed on top of her.
'Why there is fight in you Gibbings, I like that in a man, a bit of excitement in this dull, boring place.' She squeezed her arms around his neck, 'Am I not attractive? A better proposition to the serving wench you lured here?'
'There was no luring,' Gibbings said bitterly, and then placing his hands on the bed to pull himself away, 'I swear I'll -'
'You'll do what? Think carefully about what you say, your actions, your future -'
'I have no future.' Gibbings broke her hold, thrust her arms on the pillow and scowled down, just as the klaxon boomed from the harbour.
'No future?' Dorothea narrowed her eyes. 'Please me Gibbings and your future could be bright, antagonise me and you could well be right.'
'It's you who antagonise me.' Gibbings bit his lip, hauled himself up. 'The klaxon's sounding, I got to go -'
'Yes, that's right Gibbings, rescue your distressed little souls while you dream of Veronica-'
'I don't dream of Veronica,' Gibbings yelled. Dorothea caught the flash of anger in his
eyes and smiled. 'Do you not? Well that is just as well, for she will not be returning to this castle, mark my words.'
She watched her words hit home, Gibbings' haste was disturbed for just a moment before he made for the harbour.
Her smile turned to a glower, Veronica Day, damn her, was the centre of attraction for Gibbings, no matter what he protested. With the finality of her words sinking in, he might just yield to a little pressure.
* *

Veronica ran a tissue across her lips and took a sip of white wine. 'The lobster was excellent Thomas; you must compliment Mrs. Simms.'
'Most certainly.' Llewellyn raised his goblet, regarded her thoughtfully, 'You look particularly radiant this evening, my dear, how that shade of dress compliments your hair.'
'Why thank you,' Veronica swilled her glass, placed it down. 'I've come to a decision Thomas -'
'Oh?' She watched his eyebrows rise, his complexion colour a little.
'I would be more than happy to accept your kind offer of a room here.'
'Why Veronica, that is wonderful news.' Llewellyn slapped his hand on the table, then reached out and took her hands in his.
'I take it my acceptance will not cause additional animosity?'
'Not in the least, I am sure any complications can be resolved.' He looked up on Hambleton's approach, 'Ah Hambleton, another bottle of wine to celebrate Miss Veronica's acceptance of a room here.'
'Certainly sir, I'll uncork one now.'
Veronica studied Hambleton upon his return, there was a twitch in his cheek and his brow had furrowed, 'I shall try not to place any undue demands on you Mr. Hambleton, I'm sure we'll get along famously.'
'Famously indeed,' Llewellyn answered for him, clapping his hands. 'Now then, a glass for you too.'
'No sir, thank you kindly, but I have a slight headache. If there is nothing further?'
'Veronica?' Llewellyn asked, then watching her shake her head he said, 'No thank you Hambleton, that will be all.'
With a curt bow of his head, Hambleton left the dining room.
Veronica sighed, curled her hand around the wine glass. 'I do hope Thomas, that my presence here, although infrequent, will not be too much of a strain upon your resources -'
'Of course not, Veronica.'
'I thought that Hambleton appeared somewhat withdrawn -'
Llewellyn smiled, though there seemed tension beneath. 'My dear Veronica, Hambleton has confessed to being “under the weather,” as they say – it is nothing more than that.'
'In which case, I have no worries.'
'Indeed not,' Llewellyn leaned forward, 'and I trust your visits here will not be too infrequent, you are the smiling face of this castle. Your presence here will be cherished. Veronica -'
'Thomas, I feel the wine going to my head. A breath of fresh air will do me good, following which I should like to retire. Would you mind if I bid you goodnight?'
'Why no – goodnight my dear.' But Llewellyn's face registered surprise and a certain disappointment as Veronica left his company.
Upstairs, standing in the roof garden she heard the klaxon sound, noticed how choppy the sea had become. She thought of the lifeboat, thought of Gibbings, of how he had saved her from the sea that night – and then minutes later she caught sight of him, running towards the mooring in the gathering dusk, she sighed, then raised a smile.