Castle In The Clouds, Chapters 29 & 30

Chapter Twenty Nine
Veronica braced herself for the conditions. At the top of the slope the wind blew so hard she struggled for breath. She wore only a light coat to protect her from the rain, Dawson having removed her rain-wear. But she was fit and strong, and even the bag she carried, containing her hastily scrambled possessions, wouldn't hinder her to any large degree.
But she was relieved to be leaving the castle; since Dawson's arrival there had been mounting trepidation, testing even her nerves, compounded by the transformation in Thomas' personality. Far from being a home the place had become a place of restriction and confinement, rendered that way by the personalities of those who resided there. She fully believed that Dorothea possessed no real interest in helping her escape, other than to confound her brother - without that desire they would have been at each other's throat, almost were. It was ironic that Dorothea should assist her departure.
And did she feel any sense of betrayal towards Thomas Llewellyn, the man who'd offered her a home there - whom she'd agreed to marry? Perhaps at a later stage there might be some, but the single entity governing her thinking was her desire to assist Gibbings with troubles that he wouldn't divulge - hadn't until that very morning.
Almost too late, she still didn't fully understand the nature of her escape, though it seemed Hambleton had had a hand - but now all that concerned her was leaving the island, with Gibbings - to chart a course for him that would create a sense of purpose, as well as ensuring the continuation of his daughter's education, and then to return to London in time to resume her musical commitments.
Somehow as she battled her way towards the village against the storm, the enthusiasm for doing that had waned. Why precisely, she wasn't sure - her stay on the island had turned as turbulent as the weather, she should be grateful it was over. Glad to be returning to the civility of the concert hall.
But she wasn't, not completely.
Ahead, just passing between the terraced houses which marked the end of the village street, Veronica caught sight of a figure running towards her and experienced an unaccountable surge of adrenalin as she recognised Gibbings. The head of his anorak flopping back and forth he came running up, taking both her free hand and the bag she carried in her right.
'You managed to get out - I thought you weren't coming - I didn't know what to do-'
'I think it had something to do with Mr. Hambleton,' Veronica said, her hands on his shoulders, 'and Dorothea of all people -'
'Aye, I know - I went to him, not knowing what else to do -'
'Thank you John.' Veronica kissed him softly on the cheek, thought she saw him blush, but with his dark tan she couldn't be sure. 'We must leave now before that awful butler realises -'
'There's Mr. Hambleton -' Gibbings pointed back along the track, from where the tall figure of Hambleton came, leaning into the wind, clutching his hat.
'I should thank him too, say goodbye.'
'Mr. Hambleton won't stay here now,' Gibbings stated. 'He only stayed over worry for you.'
Veronica nodded, bit her lip. 'I can't see him wanting to make the trek across the causeway though - not in these conditions. How long will it take us?'
'Half an hour should do it, think you can manage in this weather?' he asked, suddenly concerned.
'I can do anything you can, John Gibbings,' Veronica replied, aware of the cockiness creeping into her voice.
'I would suggest you make haste, not stand around here talking,' Hambleton remonstrated, striding up.
'I wanted to thank you for your intervention,' Veronica said, touching his hand. 'What will you do now?'
'Much the same as you, I feel, though I feel I am not of an age to traverse the causeway. I will await the resumption of the telephone system before summoning a carriage. Now be off with you without further delay.'
'Will he be safe here, John?' Veronica asked anxiously as he led her away. 'There was some kind of distraction I know, and once Dawson finds out -'
'He'll be more concerned with finding you than worrying about Mr. Hambleton,' Gibbings assured her on reaching the village street. 'I need to collect my belongings from the inn, and then we'll leave.'
Veronica realised he was still holding her hand, she gave him a long searching look, feeling a strong sense of companionship - if companionship was the word, as she smiled into his blue eyes.
It took Gibbings only a minute to collect his bag, from whence they set off along the lane towards the causeway that would enable their departure from the island, and then as the road wound to meet it Gibbings froze, let go of her hand -
Before his eyes, the tide had come rushing in.

* *

Dawson finished washing the windows, threw the swab away and proceeded upstairs to Veronica's room. Giving a single knock he pushed the door open, witnessing at once the disarray in her room. Cursing, he marched to her open wardrobe, only to find it bare. A few clothes strewn across her bed were all that remained, and her case had gone.
'Dorothea,' he roared foraging through the castle, 'where to blazes has she gone?'
'Dear me, what is all the commotion?' Dorothea stepped calmly out of her room cigarette holder in hand.
'I asked you where she's gone, tell me, woman, before I -' Dawson lunged, grasping Dorothea's shoulders, forcing her back against the wall. 'I said tell me.'
'Take your hands off me, you oaf.' Dorothea struggled violently, her cigarette catching Dawson's chin, causing him to clutch it while his eyes burned cold fury.
'Compose yourself,' she said angrily. 'If she's taken flight I know nothing of it. I told you I followed her up the stairs. That is all I know.'
'You know more.' But Dawson didn't persist; he marched along the upper passageway, into the gallery then through to Llewellyn's room which provided an unobstructed view across to the village, but gazing out he saw only a deserted, windswept shoreline. He came back, striding furiously, demanding, 'Where would she have gone?'
'I know not, and I care not.' She turned her back on him, knowing it to be unwise but unnerved by the ferocity of the butler's twisted face.
'It is better you find her before my brother returns rather than waste your temper on me.'
Dawson scowled; she smelled his sickly breath on her neck but nothing more, as he pushed past.
The village, he thought, where else than to the village - and then perhaps the mainland. But if he were quick he might yet thwart her - haul her back physically and regain the trust he would surely have lost should Llewellyn return and find her gone.

Chapter Thirty
'Your hair is streaming, you're soaked to the skin, perhaps it would be better to find shelter when all said and done - here, take my coat -'
Veronica shook her head, sending a shower of rainwater to the ground. 'No, and as for shelter, with a thug of a man in all probability pursuing us, would you deem that wise?'
'Unless you're thinking of swimming,' Gibbings replied flatly, 'we have little choice.'
'Don't tempt me,' but the look in Gibbings' eyes dissuaded her from further comment.
'We can shelter at the inn until the tide goes out -'
'The first place the ogre will look. Can you not do better than that, John Gibbings? Or do you wish to remain here after all, with no prospect for you and your daughter?'
'There you go again.' Gibbings' eyes blazed with intensity, matching the turbulence that surrounded them. '|You seek to belittle me whenever you can, to tease me at your will - is it any surprise I distrust you?'
Veronica placed her hands on hips, narrowing her eyes as she stared into his. 'I find it implausible, that you, with your experience of the tide should overlook its flow, that is all. But if you are genuine in your desire for a better future, there is another option until it is viable to travel.'
'Which is?' Gibbings asked, voice and face full of resentment.
'Exactly what our friend Dawson will not be expecting, it is but a short distance though I suggest we make tracks.'
Gibbings coughed out the rain that was trickling down his throat. 'Veronica, this is no time for your riddles,' he said softly. 'You are infuriating in your superiority.'
'I seek not to infuriate, merely to confront a problem you are showing no signs of solving. Now come -'
Gibbings showed signs of resisting, but Veronica's hand clasped his and her strong arm forced him off balance. 'Do I have to drag you?'
She feared Gibbings would offer more resistance, but beneath his glowering look there seemed resigned acceptance.
The rain-swept peninsula was deserted but Veronica sensed that Dawson was not far off, as with Gibbings alongside and apparently content for her hand to remain in his she headed past the church to the gates of the vicarage.
Gibbings finally perceived her intention with a look of abhorrence. 'Veronica,' he spurted, 'now I know you've lost your mind; the Reverend Robertson is no more than an acquaintance. I'm no churchgoer -'
'Dawson will not think of looking for us here,' she said unlatching the gate. 'Once I have explained all he will shield us until it is time to leave.'
Gibbings glanced at her dubiously. 'I suppose I should admire your guts if nothing else,' he grumbled, allowing himself to be ushered through.
Veronica raised her brows and then looking over her shoulder caught sight of the hulking figure of Dawson in his long black cloak. He'd taken a short cut across land and finding the causeway awash, was figuring out his next move.
* *

Rothman sat in the oak-panelled private members' lounge, but for once he was rigid in his black leather armchair, the palm of his right hand twisted around his face.
'You seem unusually perturbed,' Reynolds yawned, abandoning his habit of perusing
his lunchtime paper and laying it down.
'Is it any wonder?' Rothman said. 'I warned you this would happen. Barely a single day has passed since Llewellyn's return from the island and already he has taken flight back there.'
Reynolds raised his brows, drew in breath. 'Perhaps it is easily explained.’
'Oh it is easily explained,' Rothman snapped with unaccustomed venom. 'He has lost touch with reality, old chap. He envisages his dream, for that is what it is, in peril. Having failed to make contact with him, I visited his office earlier with concern - his senior clerk is at a loss to explain his behaviour and it seems he found records at one time exemplary to be in a complete shambles. The poor fellow was at his wits' end trying to sort them out. Llewellyn mark my words is bound for the island and I sense disaster ahead.'
'Then there is precious little we can do,' Reynolds said retrieving his paper, 'than to await its materialisation; if our investment goes awry, then I am certain other opportunities will arise which will prove less costly.'
'For once it is not the investments I despair of. For such a remote, desolate place the island spreads its tentacles afar.' Rothman leapt to his feet, rammed his hands into the pockets of his suit trousers and marched out.
* *

She could not have escaped; for an instant the unacceptable notion that she just might have done so entered Dawson's head – the notion that the swirling tide might have engulfed her - that even in her death she might have outwitted him.
He spun round; through the pouring rain he spotted the entrance to the inn. The former
butler, Hambleton, lodged there. Why the man had remained on the island he hadn't a clue, and then with a surge of fury he recalled the visit Hambleton had made and the part it had obviously played in her escape. Without another thought he headed for the inn.
* *

Hambleton had packed, preparing for a return to the Capital, a usually orderly mind still reeling from what had transpired, when he heard the gruff, raised voice from the bar below, and heard his name mentioned along with Veronica's. He heard a fist come down heavily on the bar, 'I know they're here -'
And then footsteps on the stairs, the landlord's apologetic, worried expression. 'There's a man downstairs, Mr. Hambleton, ranting and raving. I don't want any trouble -'
But Hambleton had already heard the heavy tread of a second set of footsteps on the stairs and steeled herself for an unwanted but expected confrontation.
'It's alright, Thomas,' Hambleton said in as calm a voice as he could manage. 'I will speak to Mr. Dawson.'
The landlord shuffled, hesitated a second before making way for Dawson as the new butler charged in, an index finger cocked and accusing. 'Don't think I'm not aware of your part in this, where is she man - tell me or I'll -'
'Mr. Dawson, accosting me will serve you no purpose,' Hambleton said, retreating backwards. 'Your behaviour ill-suits a man in your position - and as you can see, the lady you seek is not here.'
'Oh, but you are Hambleton, you and your bloody interfering - I see your bags are packed. Your part in this is completed, is it?'
Hambleton looked into the heavy, glaring eyes. 'What I choose to do is my concern - as are Miss Veronica's affairs her own; you had no right to contain her within the castle and certainly no right charging after her like a madman.'
'She is Mr. Llewellyn's intended,' Dawson sneered, displaying his yellow teeth, 'and as such it is my duty to protect her, no matter what measures it may take. You should know about duty Hambleton.'
Dawson's big hands reached down, Hambleton felt himself being raised before the room spun and he was flying through the air. There was an agonising burning sensation as his head struck the underside of the mantelpiece and he blacked out.

* *