Castle In The Clouds, Chapters Forty One and Forty Two

Chapter Forty One
Hambleton's head ached; he'd come to on the bed where the landlord had managed to lay him, and then as his memory slowly, tortuously pieced together events of the past few hours, he'd dragged himself up, waving aside the landlord's protestations and hurried across the square where he'd encountered a distraught Robertson.
'I fear something dreadful has happened, Reverend.' Hambleton paused, took in Robertson's ashen appearance. 'I can see that it has – what is it, man?'
Robertson buried his face in his hands for an instant, shook it forlornly. 'Never since the Saxons pillaged could this island have encountered such violence…'
'Never mind that man – Miss Day – there was a madman in pursuit of her…'
'That madman is no more.' Robertson turned sideways, pointed along the street indicating Dawson's body, 'But there is more than one madman here.'
Hambleton realised at once. 'Llewellyn – what has he done to her?
The Reverend raised his head to the leaden sky, sighed. 'She went with him willingly – Llewellyn had a sabre, used it on Gibbings.'
'You say – willingly?'
Robertson nodded. 'I believe to protect Gibbings. Gibbings received a nasty gash to his chest. He was resting in the vicarage but while my back was turned I fear he took off in pursuit.'
'Then I must hasten.’
'There are policemen in attendance. You should leave it to them.’
'No, I cannot. I feel a part of this unfortunate affair.'
Hambleton turned away, bowed his head into the wind and proceeded towards the castle.
* *

Llewellyn had been bound to a chair. Robbed of his weapon he looked a withered sight, staring ahead with unfocused eyes; the dark suit he'd worn since leaving the city, askew and ragged from his encounters. Rothman could scarcely remove his eyes from Veronica, lying on the chaise-longue, her lovely face turned upwards towards the ceiling, her splendid green eyes closed, while her red hair cascaded over the side of the couch. When he managed to raise his head he became aware of Taylor's scrutiny. 'You have questions to answer, Mr. Rothman, now is as good a time as any.'
Rothman released an impatient sigh. 'If you are referring to the rogue on the main street I have little to say; the beautiful lady here was in extreme jeopardy from his thuggish hands when I struck him with the car. It was not my intention that he should die, I acted solely in Miss Veronica's interests.'
'Nevertheless it remains an act of violence, even were what you say to be true, it cannot be overlooked.' Taylor chewed his lip, turned, crossed to the window and looked down on the woman's body on the beach. 'You say you found her washed to shore…'
'She is my accursed sister.' For a moment Llewellyn's lips sprung to life, his eyes lost their glazed appearance. 'This man played no part in that – she slipped, her wretched body lay lifeless at the foot of the slope. It was I who cast her into the sea.'
'You speak of a most dangerous man, forgive me for my unannounced arrival but I felt the need to return to my former abode.' Hambleton sighed, looked at Llewellyn before gazing into Taylor's eyes, feeling him studying the crusted blood on his temple. 'Yes, Sergeant Taylor, I believe this is the work of the evil man Mr. Llewellyn employed to replace me when I tendered my resignation. I overheard your remark, Sergeant, but I have very little doubt that Mr. Rothman acted in a most noble fashion; had he not done so I believe Miss Veronica's fate would have been dire indeed.'
Llewellyn had once more seemed absent and detached, but now he directed his gaze down on the sleeping Veronica. 'I sought only the lady's protection, to cherish her and to love her…' his mouth twitching with bitterness he added, 'but I find her to be truly cursed. She deserves to be slain for she is tainted with evil…'
'I find this whole business most abhorrent.' Taylor thrust his hands in his pockets, glanced at each in turn. 'I shall need to consult my superiors. However in the light of what has been said and what I have witnessed, it seems I need to reconsider whether there has been genuine foul play in respect of the two deceased. Therefore I intend detaining nobody apart from Mr. Llewellyn. Though I would, at this stage, repeat my request for you all to remain on the island.'
'Then please consult your superiors at the earliest opportunity,' Rothman said through tight lips, thrusting a hand roughly through his rust coloured hair. 'I have no desire to remain on this wretched island any longer than necessary.' He cast his eyes down on Veronica, 'and I am certain that Miss Day would agree. Now if you would excuse me I need some fresh air.'
But the desire for fresh air was not paramount in Rothman's mind; rather it was the need to press home to Gibbings the folly of any thought of romantic attachment with Veronica. He'd already detected that Gibbings thought she was above his station, now was the time to convince him. He'd seen the gardener trudging back towards his tiny cottage from his viewpoint in the castle hall.
* *

The futility of the situation had struck Gibbings long before he'd heard the rap on his door. What future was there for them? She was an accomplished musician while he was a lowly gardener. And besides, the upheavals on the island had begun with her arrival. He wasn't a superstitious man normally but he saw it now as a portent of what might be if he were to leave with her. And he knew he couldn't depart with her, no matter what his emotions screamed at him. The red-headed man, Rothman, had returned for her and was more suited to her standard of life than he was.
He'd never be able to accept that she'd returned to the island for him. Surely the excitement for her lay in Llewellyn before his madness overtook him and the place was plunged into chaos. Surely if not for him she would never have kept her fascination for the place.
The rapping on his door began again, more intense this time – and there he was, the man with a much greater claim to her affections than he could ever have.
'Mr. Gibbings – I come with a message for you, and also to enquire personally as to your welfare.'
But there was little true concern on the redheaded man's face as Gibbings held the door ajar, the thin smile and disinterested eyes told him that. 'I'll be okay,' Gibbings said flatly, and then, 'what message?'
Rothman gave his thin smile. ‘You're a first rate chap. The lovely lady Veronica is most appreciative of your valiant efforts – might I step inside?'
Gibbings sniffed. 'I cannot offer you anything.'
'Perhaps not, but my demands are few.'
Gibbings shifted uneasily, feeling the intruder taking in the contents of the sparsely furnished room. 'So what's this message then? Pass it and then get out.' He bit his lip; bitter bile clogged his throat as he glared at the elegant figure before him.
Rothman removed his gloves and settled on a couch, its upholstery worn and crusting, his eyes locking on Gibbings with a sudden intensity. 'Miss Veronica is about to leave the island, her ordeal, thank heavens, is at an end; she sends her regards and warm wishes as to your future.' Rothman leaned forward, clasping his palms together. 'I feel it would not be in your interests to attempt to accompany her, there is little long term future in…'
'I have no intention of accompanying her.' Gibbings fought back the tide of indignation that fuelled the bile in his throat. 'You can pursue your interest in her without interference from me.'
Gibbings watched Rothman colour, then rise and stiffen, before bidding him a curt good day and marching out on the return journey to the castle. So Veronica had sent Rothman to deliver her message; so much for her concern and feelings for him.
He closed the door that Rothman had left ajar and contemplated an uncertain future on the island.

Chapter Forty Two
At first Veronica saw the ceiling as a cream sky she lay beneath, a sky through which a pale sun shone blandly and then through which a familiar face appeared as if drifting down from the heavens.
Her body shuddered with shock before a reassuring hand touched gently on her shoulder and she saw the ceiling for what it was; the sun became a dimly lit chandelier and the ethereal presence transformed into the more human form of Hambleton.
‘Veronica, please do not fret, you have been sleeping and the nightmare you have recently had to endure, I feel is finally over.'
Veronica curled a hand over her forehead, gazed at Hambleton, took in his concern and then craned her head. 'Llewellyn is gone?'
Hambleton nodded, stooped beside her. 'The policemen took him away; I fear he is quite mad.' In a quieter tone he added, 'I feel that you should leave the island as soon as you are able, there is nothing here for you any longer.’ Veronica held his eyes. 'I will leave when John Gibbings does and not before.'
Hambleton gave a slow shake of his head. 'I feel that will not happen my dear, you must realise that whatever affections you hold for him are wasted – there was a time I thought differently but I do so no longer. John will not leave this island; he no longer possesses the will to do so.'
Veronica pulled herself up, ignoring the pain in her leg and with arms across her chest she paced to a window overlooking distant islands. 'What future is there for him here?' she
asked, her back to Hambleton. 'He will waste away, the castle will become an empty shell - and John along with it.'
'That may well be so,' Hambleton said tracing a finger along his lip, 'but there is nothing you can do; it is time for you to accept that. Resume your musical career my dear, you appear to have lost interest in it if I may say so and that is such a waste. In some ways this island is partly to blame.'
'I will second that.' The crisp tapping of Rothman's boots echoed around the hall, he glanced at Veronica before resting his gaze on Hambleton. 'You will allow us a little time in private, my man?'
Veronica unfurled her arms, turned and placed her hands on hips. 'There is nothing that cannot be said in his presence. Please stay Mr. Hambleton.'
'Very well, I did not mean to appear rude.' Rothman nodded towards Hambleton but his apology was tempered by the edge in his voice. 'I happen to believe that Mr. Hambleton is right, that your career is suffering as this desolate place holds you in its grip; but there is little here for any of us.'
Rothman pursed his lips, it hadn't been what he'd wanted, but Veronica's refusal to dismiss Hambleton had left him with no choice. He desired Veronica Day more than any woman he'd met in his life, and he needed her out of the clutches of Gibbings. There was something in his dark, brooding, good looks that posed a threat to his intentions –
'I propose that we leave this island the moment Sergeant Taylor gives us word, I have a motor car, the finest in production; it will speed us on our way.' Glancing between them, he saw the apprehension in both. 'I implore you – common sense demands that we leave here.’
Hambleton's gaze fell to the floor but when he returned it to Rothman there was resolution in his eyes. 'You intend driving to London?'
All Rothman needed do was nod, but it was Veronica that he craved for and looking to her now his eyes expressed as much. 'And you my dear Veronica?'
He saw the slow bow of her head, not convincing but it was as much as he could hope for, and confirmation that she would be accompanying him.
* *

Veronica Day felt Rothman's eyes upon her, they seemed to burn into her and follow every movement she made. 'My dear, you still appear fatigued, which is hardly surprising considering your ordeal.' He thrust forward a smooth hand. 'Would you care to join me in the parlour while we await this damned sergeant's clearance on what should be patently obvious?'
Veronica met his gaze briefly. 'No forgive me, I am rested enough, I shall take a short walk.' She glanced around at the cold stone walls and trembled. 'I no longer feel comfortable here; it is as though we are uninvited guests now that Llewellyn has been taken away. We have no right to be here no matter what…'
'But dear lady…'
'Please excuse me.'
Veronica swept through the hall at speed. Rothman's boots resounded behind her but she paid no attention. Though her leg still burned she managed to negotiate the slope with scarcely a limp, but there was the perception of Rothman's footsteps behind, pursuing her relentlessly. She bit her lip, the pain she could deal with but Rothman's company was another matter.
'Veronica, please…' inevitably he caught up, wrapping his hand around her upper arm, 'please desist - reconsider, it is foolhardy to face the elements in your condition…'
'Mr. Rothman please!' Veronica swung round, forcibly broke his grip with her left arm. 'I will determine what is foolhardy and what is not. And as for my ‘condition,’ there is nothing the matter other than a minor injury to my leg. Please allow me to continue unhindered.'
She turned, walked the remainder of the slope at pace, but in a cocktail of anger and despair realised that Rothman had been undeterred by her stance. 'My lady, it is not such a minor injury, as you know full well. I tended it. I feel it my duty to accompany you on this foolish walk, particularly as the weather is so inclement.'
'I am very strong, Mr. Rothman, I can manage.'
Rothman baulked from the indignation in her eyes but with renewed bitterness she realised she wasn't going to be allowed the solitude she so desired. She heard his impatient sigh. 'You are right my dear Veronica, we are like uninvited guests in this godforsaken place, that is why I join you now.'
'Your mind runs a ragged path, Mr. Rothman; do you seriously expect me to believe that?' Veronica stopped abruptly, placed her hands on hips, she was tall enough to look him in the eye without inclining her head. 'But I ask that you follow that path rather than joining me on mine.
'Which is to the door of the gardener, I do not understand your affections for this peasant chap.'
Veronica brushed back her windswept hair, leaned forward to him. 'As a matter of fact Mr. Rothman, I was intent on doing no such thing, and even if I had of been what right have you to belittle him?'
'He belittles you. He talks of you in terms that do not befit a lady so why should I pay him the honour of being termed a gentleman?'
Veronica swallowed and then hardened her eyes to combat the moisture which threatened to form droplets. Because it wasn’t true. The man who had come to her aid against the maddened Llewellyn and paid the price, just couldn't do that. Her anger found its voice, the composure she prided herself on finally gave. 'You devise untruths for your own purposes Mr. Rothman. In short you tell lies.'
Rothman's features, so smooth and youthful suddenly developed twitches revealing tiny fissures. 'I will not be spoken to like that by a woman. It is an insult of the highest order.'
'Then it befits you, please leave me in peace.'
'I came from London at great haste to rescue you from the clutches of that madman Llewellyn and you treat me like this…' Rothman's mouth shaped into a bitter twist as he grabbed her shoulders.
'Mr. Rothman,' Veronica said coldly, 'I did not ask you to come, and if you do not remove your hand from my shoulder I will strike you, and if I do so I will hurt you, please do not make me…'
Rothman's temper hanging by a thread suddenly snapped as he gave an angry push, the sheer force of it sending her falling to the uneven ground behind the castle.
Veronica fell on her injured leg and a pang seared through like hot liquid; Rothman stood over her, his anger unabated as she winced with pain. She wanted to spring to her feet, to teach him a lesson, but her agony was so great that all she could do was to produce a wide-eyed defiant gesture.
For a second it seemed that the incensed Rothman, having lost all control might lash out with his foot, but from the direction of the bungalow came a shout that distracted them both, and before he'd a chance to react to the source of that shout he was struck full in the chest.
Gibbings was upon him as he fell, his fist striking first on the chin, and then landing on his nose producing an instant stream of blood.
Before he could strike again Veronica scrambled between them. 'No John – leave him.' Wrapping her arms around his waist she managed to wrestle Gibbings off. Rothman, his elegant grey suit ruffled and muddied, managed to regain his footing, pointing a trembling finger first at Gibbings and then at Veronica. 'Don't think I'll let this be,' he shouted, his chest heaving, 'the peasant here may have no money to call his own, but you will, you vixen, I'll have you know I'll sue you for every penny.'
'You can try Mr. Rothman, oh yes, you can try.' Veronica stepped between the two men, 'but with immediate effect you'd best be on your way, unless you would like the same treatment from me. You will not be fortunate twice.'
Rothman glared, shouted some obscenity and then wheeled away, leaving Veronica and Gibbings to watch him go.
Above, the heavens opened once more, and the rain poured down.