Castle In The Clouds, Chapters 37 & 38

Chapter Thirty Seven
Llewellyn had watched the doctor enter and he'd seen him depart; he'd watched from a distance as he'd examined Dawson's lifeless body. He'd seen the shake of the head which told it all.
So Dawson was dead; he was alone - but that was the only way. Only he could drive the Devil from Veronica - and there was but one way of doing it -
And he didn't have to wait long; he was elated about that. Because all of a sudden he saw her emerging from the vicarage, her lovely red hair blown in fine wisps around her neck and face.
He couldn't believe it would be that simple - she had delivered herself to him. His eyes met hers and his mind struggled to focus, yet she wasn't wearing her sweet smile as she walked towards him, directly into his path.
His grip on the sabre tightened, the handle fitting like a glove in his hand -
the blade so silver and pure -
And then she spoke. He cocked his head; he hadn't expected that, for no words seemed necessary.

* * *

'Put the sabre down, Thomas; you no longer have use for it.'
Llewellyn raised the curved tip to the bridge of his nose and seemed to gaze upon it lovingly, angling his head from side to side. 'I do Veronica, for it has not yet finished its good work.'
'And what work is that, Thomas?' Veronica continued her walk towards him, her voice cutting through the wind. 'You think I am the "target" for that good work do you not; the voice of reason has deserted you?'
'You have been harmed by the gardener, irreparably I fear. Though your soul will rest in
peace, unlike the wretched man who has so tainted you.'
'You cannot hold anything against John Gibbings.' Veronica kept her eyes steady, aware of Llewellyn's hands levelling the blade. 'I alone am responsible for my actions. There has been no misguiding force, no unholy influence Thomas. If anyone deserves your wrath it is me.'
The sabre began to shake in Llewellyn's hands, he was close enough now should he suddenly surge forward, to pierce her stomach.
'Veronica my dear, you were as pure as newly laid snow - until he contaminated your mind with impure thoughts - sadly there is little more to say, no further use for words.'
So little time to decide what to do; she could tackle him for the sabre but one thrust would put an end not only to her but John also -
She clasped her hands together, held them out. 'It is not too late, Thomas - I have seen the folly of my ways, and shall return with you to the castle; forgive me, Thomas, and toss that thing aside.'
Llewellyn trembled, rain glistened on his face and his eyes fell on the blade. 'Even were I to do that, the accursed gardener would remain.'
'I have told you, Thomas,' Veronica said taking a step forward, 'it is not the gardener who is responsible. It is me. You are not well, Thomas, let me look after you - let John Gibbings be, you have almost killed him as it is - if you pursue your course there will be nothing left.'
'You would return to the castle with me and become my bride?' His eyes swelled, their whites bright against the smoky sky.
Veronica gave silent assent, forcing her eyes to meet his.
'Then I will get the vicar, he will marry us now -'
Veronica shook her head despairingly. 'Thomas, this is hardly an appropriate time -'
'Veronica!' She heard the call from behind, it made her breath catch in her throat. 'Stay away from him - I beg you, he will kill you!'
'No - no he won't.' Damn! Veronica kept her eyes on Llewellyn, his face had so little movement and colour it might have been plaster, but it had exuded a kind of doughy pleasure and she'd thought she'd managed to pacify him.
Now the stony look of non-comprehension was back in his eyes as he stared past her towards the onrushing Rothman.
‘Byron! No! Stop!’ Veronica held out an arm, refusing to yield ground, it might have been the unaccustomed use of his first name, but nonetheless it brought Rothman to a halt.
'What is he doing here?' Llewellyn hissed through his half-open mouth.
'He came back to help,' Veronica said quickly, the barest of backward glances at Rothman.
'Veronica, I -'
Waving down Rothman and now within striking distance of his blade, Veronica said to
Llewellyn, 'I must speak to Mr. Rothman alone - he needs to understand -'
'Understand, Veronica?'
'That you need taking care of,' she said resolutely, 'and that it is my desire to see to it.'
'Veronica -' Rothman protested, 'what kind of lunacy is this?'
'Please, Thomas, one moment and I shall return -'
'And together we return to the castle?'
Veronica hung her head, 'Yes.'
'Very well, one moment.' But Llewellyn's grasp on the sabre was as intense as ever as he
stood hunched, rainwater and froth oozing from his mouth.
Veronica hurried Rothman to the vicarage entrance, ushered him inside and closed the door as Llewellyn's dark shape hovered outside.
'You cannot contemplate going with him; you will not return -'
Veronica sighed, placed her hands on Rothman's shoulders. 'He is quite insane, but at least I have pacified him and he will do me no harm. You have come this far, do not ensure further bloodshed now, I implore you. Stay with John, look after him.'
'Just a short time ago, that was what you were intent on doing.'
'Just a short while perhaps, but the situation has changed and I see things from a different angle. I feel now, I have no other course of action than to accompany him.' Veronica removed her hands from his shoulders and turned to go, her head down. Rothman grabbed her arm but she shrugged him off, not bearing to take one more look at John, not bearing to think about what the future held.
* *

Llewellyn kissed the blade as Veronica returned slowly towards him; his dream had been reborn, like a phoenix rising from its ashes. His beloved Veronica was coming back to him, but she needed protecting from the evils that surrounded her. Nothing would touch them in their castle stronghold and were it ever to try, then his trusted weapon would deliver the ultimate response. He swung the sabre from right to left, felt it cutting through the wind and saw Veronica flinch.
'Veronica, I did not mean -'
'Thomas,' Veronica drew in as much air as she could, breathed out only slowly, 'please drop
that awful thing.'
'I cannot trust the forces that surround you, my dear; it is for your protection that I carry it.' Llewellyn kissed the blade. 'It will prove our staunchest ally, should they dare besiege us.'
And yet a few short moments ago you would have killed me with it.
'Then at least hold it at a distance from me.' Veronica Day closed her eyes, returning to the castle with this man's final remnants of sanity disintegrating before her very eyes would be like entering the jaws of hell.
But how great had her contribution been to this great character metamorphosis? Should it be her fate now to endure life in the castle with a man devoid of all rationality?
But she had thwarted the bloodbath; John would be safe. That was her achievement and also her main concern. For soon the policemen must surely arrive - her despondency lay in the fact that she hadn't provided John with the ending she'd so desired, she'd failed him - but in so doing she'd failed Llewellyn also, because he'd trusted her and that trust she'd known from the start could never have been returned -
'Why, Thomas, you are shivering.' Veronica touched his free hand. 'It is only the rain that brings the chill; we shall soon be in the warm.'
She felt his hand clamp around her wrist with all the strength of someone without sanity, closed her eyes to the rain, and her mind to painful thought.

* *

Chapter Thirty Eight
'Where is this place - what's happened?' Gibbings flicked his eyes open, searched around the room as he tried to raise himself and found the red-headed man standing over him, there was a pain in his neck that seared through his upper body.
'Lay still,' the man standing over him insisted. 'You need rest.'
Gibbings closed his eyes momentarily as a growing awareness overcame him. 'Veronica,' he murmured, and then louder with more coherence, 'where is she? Is she safe?'
His scrambled senses had recovered sufficiently for him to be able to read Rothman's expression. 'What's happened to her, for God's sake?'
Rothman's lips remained tight; Gibbings struggled to raise his back against the iron bedstead, 'She's not -'
'She went with Llewellyn,' Rothman said tiredly, biting his lip, wiping a smear of blood and seeing Gibbings' look of horror he added, 'there was little I could do. It was her choice - and Llewellyn was brandishing the sabre…’
'Sabre? So she's in the hands of the mad man and we sit here like useless gnomes - he's going to -' Gibbings struggled to leave the bed and the sound of straining strings brought Robertson from his study. 'I hardly think you should be exerting yourself, Mr. Gibbings, the doctor has said -'
'Damn what the doctor said, we just can't stand by -' Gibbings narrowed his eyes, stared at Rothman. 'What are you doing here anyway - I thought you'd -'
'I came back -' Rothman interrupted moodily. 'Veronica has asked that I watch over you and
that is what I intend to do.'
'Just who's looking after her?'
'It certainly cannot be you; you are in no fit condition.'
'Then why have you failed her? Why have you returned?'
'Enough of this talk.' Robertson pushed Rothman aside, adjusting Gibbings' pillows. 'Lie down please; this is not serving Miss Day's interests. The policemen will soon be here, the matter is best left in their hands.'
Rothman left the room, irritated beyond measure, what right did a mere gardener have to question him? He hadn't foreseen Veronica doing this, had been appalled by what she'd done, but was powerless to prevent it.
Rothman tapped his fingers impatiently on the window ledge, Robertson of course was right. This sorry business was best left in the hands of the police, no matter how much the gardener might lay blame at his door. The problem was, the longer it took them, the greater Veronica's plight. Through the wind and rain that rattled the panes, the sound of wheels and trotting horses broke the air and Rothman's spirits rose just a little.

* * *

Veronica felt Llewellyn's free hand clasp hers, fought back the agony of it and tried to keep her mind from contemplating an awful future inside the castle's bleak walls. But her time inside it must surely be short, the policemen would come to arrest Llewellyn and how would the prospect affect her conscience?
Still, in the midst of her plight she struggled, she struggled with it -
'My life is complete my love. I have you and the castle and together we will enjoy our lives as one -'
'Yes, Thomas.' Veronica looked into Llewellyn's unseeing eyes, turned her head away; they were heading along the coastal path towards the castle, and she watched the angry waves driving onto shore.
Llewellyn had no grip on reality - every single strand had gone, as if swept away by the storm.
He was still talking, his voice high - pitched in its attempt to rise above the wind, but she wasn't listening. She'd trained her thoughts on John Gibbings and whether she'd ever see him again. The castle was a fortress, there was no easy way to gain entry if that entry was denied - and denied it would be. There was little point in deluding herself.
Approaching the castle slope Veronica took a look back but the panoramic coastline was deserted, save for the gulls and turnstones, and something lying on the shoreline. Veronica narrowed her eyes, unable to determine what it was.
Llewellyn's features were enveloped in a rigid smile as his unmoving, unblinking eyes stared up at the castle shrouded in an unnatural afternoon darkness.
It was a darkness that seeped through Veronica's bones, bearing down, inevitably entombing her mind, forcing her towards Llewellyn's plane.
Soon to be beyond help, but it was of her making.
Thomas, allow me to walk out of this misery - set my conscience free, that I might rejoin John -
But she knew there was little point in her plea progressing any further than her own mind. Llewellyn wasn't about to listen to anyone or anything. And then, close to shore, at the foot of the castle approach, a sight that made her want to shield her eyes, though she couldn't - she gazed down anyway at the lifeless form of Dorothea, spread-eagled on the ground, dark curly hair tousled across her face, arms askew, eyes wide and unseeing staring upwards into the blanketed grey skies.
'Thomas.' Veronica grabbed at his arm. 'Oh Thomas, we cannot leave her there - whatever has happened, we cannot leave her like that -'
'I will arrange for her disposal my dear. Do not distress yourself, I implore you.' Llewellyn sniffed, raised his head towards the castle slope, raised his arms and spread them out. 'Ah, our castle, our wonderful haven awaits.'
Veronica bit back tears; entering the castle hall now, the draught seemed colder than she could recall.

* * *

‘Officer, the man is mad, completely mad, and Veronica is at his mercy. You must act soon before she is -'
'One thing at a time, Mr. Rothman.' The lean-faced Sergeant Taylor fixed Rothman a severe stare. 'There is a man lying dead in the street.' Taylor drew up a chair, clasped his hands together, 'You have not fully explained your part in this -'
'The thug of a butler had his hands on Veronica. Good God man, the madman's henchman would have killed her. And as for Llewellyn, he is probably in his castle now, as mad as a hatter, with Veronica in peril.'
Taylor fingered his chin. 'Mr.Gibbings has no recollection of what might have transpired to cause the man's unfortunate demise. The Reverend Robertson saw nothing, in essence there is
little hard evidence to substantiate your claim - and are you seriously expecting me to believe
Miss Day simply "walked" into Mr. Llewellyn's arms?'
Rothman placed his hands on Taylor's chair. 'I do not know what possessed her to act in this manner, only that she is in danger, and that by delaying and asking pointless questions you are placing Veronica in even greater danger.'
Taylor got to his feet, adjusted his tie and frowned. 'Very well Mr. Rothman,' he said turning to his three officers standing in the hall. 'But you are to remain in our custody until this unfortunate business is concluded.'
'I am more than willing to accompany you to the castle if it means helping to ensure Veronica's freedom.'
'I said nothing about any such accompaniment,' Taylor said, beckoning his officers and striding to the door. 'Nonetheless it is probably the simplest option.’
Gibbings heard the slam of the vicarage door, puzzled for a moment at the silence that hung over the place and realising what had occurred, struggled from his bed.

* * *

Llewellyn locked and bolted the castle door, his back turned towards her, the sabre tight in his hand; it was a chance she knew. She had strength, perhaps enough to fight her way out, and with it an element of surprise, and yet his insane mind might relish the contact, might actually be inviting it, and his frenzied reaction could then lead to tragic consequences either for her or for him -
And it had been her choice to accompany him, born of the guilt that his affliction might in some way be attributable to her -
Shivering from the draught she turned, stepped away, abandoning any thought of
confrontation.
Llewellyn spun round. 'There my dear.' He clutched the key in his fist and then slipped it into his pocket. 'We are safe within our fortress and nothing can harm us here.'
'Then you can put the weapon down, Thomas. It is making me nervous, and then perhaps you can light some fires. It is a little cold in here -'
'Yes, yes, I should put the sabre down.' He stared at the curved blade with glazed eyes before returning his unseeing stare to her - 'And I will instruct Hambleton to prepare the fire -'
Veronica grimaced. 'Thomas, Hambleton is no longer the butler; I fear there is nobody in this place but us.'
'Nobody?' Llewellyn's eyebrows arched as he spun round bewildered, looked aimlessly around and then swung back clutching his forehead, 'Mrs. Simms -'
Veronica shook her head. 'Mrs. Simms left when Mr. Hambleton resigned.'
Llewellyn blinked in rapid succession. 'There was another fellow - oh yes, Dawson -'
'Dawson is -' Veronica checked herself, 'Dawson is not here either - there is only ourselves, as indeed you wished it to be, now please put that awful thing down and light the fires.'
But Veronica needed only look into the unresponsive eyes to know there would be no fires lit, no food cooked or served, and neither would he relinquish his hold on the sabre -
Llewellyn had his dream, but that was all it was. He was now faced with the bare bones of reality.