Castle In The Clouds, Chapters 27 & 28

Chapter Twenty Seven
Gibbings waited in the rain, he waited for an hour as a steady stream poured from the hood of his dark cape, his few possessions packed in a bag deposited at his feet, before finally accepting that Veronica wasn't coming.
Following his revelations to her, his anxiety at leaving the island had dissolved into some kind of foolish hope that this beautiful woman who he secretly admired could somehow lead him to a better life, enabling him to fully provide for his daughter Alexandra. Now that hope had been dashed.
But as he'd stood there hunched from the rain, his feelings had taken a strange turn - he'd begun to wonder whether Veronica hadn't changed her mind, whether something or someone within the castle had changed it for her - wonder had turned into apprehension, an outright concern, an inner foreboding that he couldn't understand but nonetheless experienced.
He glanced across the field to the drawing room window where so often he'd been aware of shadowy figures watching, but now there wasn't a soul. The castle seemed closed around a woman he now thought he loved, but that he could become aware of as much in the hour he'd stood there was something he couldn't comprehend. Perhaps the feeling had always existed but he'd fought against it, on account of her background.
Now what did he do? Charge the castle, confront the big butler Dawson and force him to let Veronica go? If indeed he was holding her against her will.
But if he failed he might make things worse for her - surely at the moment no harm could befall Veronica. Mr. Llewellyn wouldn't want that - and yet she had said that he wasn't sane, and Dawson was a nasty man who'd carry out whatever he wanted.
Gibbings decided then that he wouldn't go to the castle - not yet - he'd seek out Mr.
Hambleton at the inn, he would know what to do -
Gibbings scooped up his bag, hoisted it onto his shoulder and set out for the inn.
* *

A single rap on the door heralded Dawson's uninvited entry into Veronica's room.
Unsmiling, he crossed close to her, outstretching an arm. 'Your coat madam - I will see that it is dried.'
'Really, Dawson, it will dry of its own accord,' Veronica said stiffly.
'I insist.' He snatched her coat from the stand.
'You do not have my consent to remove my clothing Dawson.' Veronica raised her hand slightly, stared into uncompromising grey eyes.
Dawson ignored her, taking large strides to the door as Veronica bit her lip, holding back her rising temper. 'Madam,' he said upon reaching it, 'your permission is not required. I have Mr. Llewellyn's authority to ensure that your comfort and safety are respected at all times.'
'I have already advised Mr. Llewellyn -'
'Those are his instructions to me,' Dawson interrupted brusquely.
'Then would you care to enlighten me, as to how far this authority extends?'
'Wherever it is necessary to enforce it,' the gravel voice was unyielding, flat and with a hint of warning.
'I dislike the word "enforce." Veronica came slowly forward, hands on hips; 'In effect I am a prisoner within these walls, is that it, Dawson?'
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.