Castle In The Clouds, Chapters Thirty NIne and Forty

Chapter Thirty Nine
'Can't you drive any faster, man?' Rothman glared at the driver of the carriage from his seat in the rear, receiving a stony glance in response.
'The track is rough on the horses' hooves. Have some concern for the animal.'
Rothman leaned forward, his face flushed. 'Do not address me in that tone of voice; I shall most certainly speak with your superior.'
'You might find yourself doing that in any event,' Taylor remarked brusquely. 'You are a detained man - a man under suspicion,' and then looking away and folding his arms, 'you would do well to remember that.'
Rothman was speechless with indignation but there was little point in further conversation with the abrasive little man. Ahead the castle seemed to rear up through the unabating rain. It appeared foreboding, impregnable on its high mound of rock, and Rothman stiffened.
But something else also lay ahead – to their right – he saw Taylor frown, saw him lift an arm. 'Stop the carriage,' he barked, leaping out before it had been reined to a halt; running across to Dorothea's body he crouched over it, turning sharply to Rothman. 'She was swept in on the tide,' Rothman shouted above the wind. 'I pulled her clear; alas it was too late…'
Taylor got to his feet and closed up on Rothman. 'Why wasn't I informed of this?'
'I was more concerned with Miss Day's welfare, as I am now; this wretched woman is already dead.' Rothman turned and jabbed an arm wildly at the castle. 'And if we are not swift, Miss Day might suffer a similar fate…'
'Are you saying? But Taylor dropped his words and marched ahead perhaps spurred on
by Rothman's angry gesture. Rothman caught up, matched him stride for stride. The sergeant and his men seemed incompetent, probably not used to dealing with anything other than the odd pick -pocket.
And this was a whole different proposition.
* *

'Let us sit together in our cosy castle, Veronica.' Llewellyn stretched a hand towards the couch. 'You have returned to me – to your rightful place and all is well.'
Veronica tensed but remained standing. She looked down on Llewellyn as he sat, hunched forward, still with the sabre in his grasp. ‘It would be better if you would provide some of the basic comforts, for example heat and food if you could manage it. If we are to live in the castle for any length of time we will need provisions…'
Veronica raised her head to the ceiling, sighed; his facial indifference said it all.
The sheer absurdity of her position, her feeling of guilt that she was in some way to blame was as preposterous as her action in deserting John – in marching out into the wilderness and taking the hand of a man who obviously suffered the same personality disorder as his sister.
A stout rapping on the castle's solid oak door, its volume increasing as it echoed through the castle, had Llewellyn springing to his feet, his head turning so sharply it seemed his neck would snap. He jerked it back again, looking lop-sided at her, as if trying to assess the situation but incapable of doing it.
'I will answer the door, Thomas.’ Veronica had reached the hall, aware of the sudden hustle of Llewellyn's feet behind; he was alongside her in an instant, his pupils darting from side to side, almost protruding from their sockets in the dim light highlighted by the whites of his eyes.
'You cannot do that Veronica, I cannot allow it.' Llewellyn used his free hand to clasp hers, dragging her with him towards the small window overlooking the entrance. He grimaced as his thigh struck the monk's bench and for a moment his hold on her was broken as he clutched his leg, retaining the sabre by the tiniest thread of his index fingers.
She seized her chance, pushed him aside, causing him to lose balance completely, and then kicking the saber beyond his reach ran towards the door. It unbolted readily enough and she heard shouting and hammering outside, and through it all, Rothman's cultured tones strained with urgency. But the door was thick and the voices muffled, and hope and expectation turned to despair as pulling at the handle she realised that Llewellyn still retained the keys.
Llewellyn rose to his feet, his face contorted, his brow furrowed and dark eyes incensed.
'You would try to trick me – your intended? He rushed headlong towards her, almost tripping over the sabre in his blind anger. You will pay for your treachery…'
Veronica had no time to think. He was upon her, striking her below the throat, the impact sending her reeling against the door. She felt the sharp pain in her back and bit her lip, but as he prepared to strike again she kicked out at his injured thigh, stopping his advance abruptly. She grabbed his injured arm, swung him round and then calling on all her strength hurled him across the hall's flagstone floor where he lay on his back.
It was at that moment Veronica knew she was stronger than him, even in his deranged state, she could force a conclusion and quickly.
She walked forward and looking down upon him held out her hand. 'Thomas, give me the key or I will take it myself.'
Suddenly with a madman's agility Llewellyn sprung up, stumbled away across the hall, forced the Gothic window open and then turned, facing Veronica, his face bitter and twisted. 'My dear Veronica, you have the strength of a demon and that is what you are – my vision has been clouded by your spell. Your beauty is no more than a mask.'
Without looking over his shoulder Llewellyn tossed the key through the opening. 'This castle will become our tomb.'
Veronica strode to the window, looked down towards the volcanic mound to the rear, saw the key glistening in a fleeting moment of sunlight, and sighed. 'You are merely postponing the inevitable Thomas; you cannot contain me here indefinitely. If the policemen do not force a way in I will find a way out. You cannot stop me.'
'Oh but I can…'
Veronica turned, alerted by the gravity in his unnaturally low voice, and winced as the sabre flashed, slashing deep into her calf. She felt a warm, sickly pain.
Slipping to the ground, she felt the weight of Llewellyn's boot on her back. 'You will have the slow, tortuous death you deserve. Every quarter of the hour I will slash one of your limbs my precious, until I reach your divine hands.’ And then holding the quivering sabre against her neck he added, ‘And ultimately your throat.'

Chapter Forty
'What was that? I thought I heard a cry.' Rothman turned in alarm to the trio of policemen repeatedly ramming the door. 'It's no use, we'll never break through this without some kind of ram; we must find another way…'
Taylor looked grim. 'We would need to travel to Berwick for that kind of equipment. I very much doubt we could obtain the equipment before the tide returns across the causeway.'
'Then we have no alternative, we must find a way in.'
Taylor pushed a hand across his chin, surveyed the castle frontage and shook his head. 'The place looks impregnable, what on earth has befallen this island?'
Rothman was in no mood to dwell on such melancholy considerations. 'If nobody else will, I shall scour the surrounds for another method of entry.'
Taylor turned to him. ‘I remind you that you are a detained man.'
'There is a life at stake sergeant.’
'Perhaps even two.' Taylor grunted and turned to his two colleagues. 'Search the exterior thoroughly; we need to force entry quickly.'
But nothing in Taylor's expression could convince Rothman of the effectiveness of his words.
* *

John Gibbings could stand the tension no longer. The pain in his neck and upper body seared but was nothing like the concern he felt for Veronica. He was bare from the waist up, save for the bandaging applied by the doctor. His coat had been placed on the rack in the hall and that was all he took now as protection from the fierce elements as unnoticed by Robertson he slipped out of the rectory.
Veronica had walked away with the madman, in doing so she had been saving him and he had been lying there when every crevice of his mind screamed out that she was in mortal danger.
No longer though. No longer.
By the time Robertson had realised what had transpired Gibbings was halfway towards the castle. Taylor's carriage was visible at the foot of the castle approach, the pony seeming restless in the storm.
How stupid he'd been, if he hadn't been so stubborn all of this could have been averted – the bloodshed, the peril that Veronica was in – but she was of a different breed, like the man with the red hair – Rothman, was his name – in truth they were made for each other. But at least he had the chance to put things right.
The figures around the castle entrance were more definable now, high up on the slope, scurrying back and forth to no avail, while one hammered on the door.
Didn't they realise that from their position the castle was impenetrable – that only if the madman allowed them access would they ever get in.
And what were the chances of that?
None at all.
If there was any chance it would be at the rear, where the Gothic windows looked out across the gardens, closer to the ground. The rock that formed the castle's foundations could be scaled with difficulty, but once having done that there was a small chance he might be able to force entry.
Ignoring the policemen and the one he recognised as Rothman, Gibbings diverted from the path, cutting across fields at the rear of the volcanic mound.
The climb was wet and slippery, the rock fragmented and interspersed with clumps of green moss made ascent all the more hazardous. The rain fell intermittently now, but in squalls, the strength of the wind threatening his stability.
The pain in his chest as sharp as the blade that had pierced it, Gibbings edged across the rocky castle base until he was beneath a dining room window, and only then did he realise the futility of his task: the narrowness of the windows reinforced by the thick central strut running down its centre ruled out any chance of his breaking in.
Despairingly Gibbings glanced at the ground, his eyes falling upon a silver object laying on the wet rock. He examined it between his fingers, his pulse quickening as awareness dawned.
* * *

Llewellyn whirled as the trio burst in, his flailing sabre catching Taylor's arm. Taylor let out a yell as Gibbings surged past him, driving his fist into the pit of Llewellyn's stomach, and as Llewellyn doubled up, snatched the weapon from his hand.
Gibbings glanced as Rothman pushed past, rushing to Veronica's aid, clutching the wound. 'My darling your leg, let me tend it.' Rothman threw off his trench coat, ripped the sleeve from his shirt and bent down to her.
Veronica shook her head, groaned, 'No, help John,' but Rothman appeared not to have heard, wrapping the cloth tightly around her leg while the scuffle continued behind them.
'That should stem the flow, darling, I feel the wound is not as severe as it seemed…'
'Yes, yes… now please go and help John.' Veronica pushed forward, struggled against him as Rothman seemed unwilling to remove her leg from his grasp, stemming any resistance she could offer.
With Taylor reeling in agony, Gibbings felt the wrath of Llewellyn's insane anger. A wild
forearm caught him on the chin, knocking him sideways as Llewellyn seized the chance to retrieve the sabre from the floor. Gibbings began to fall, colliding with a stone column, saw the sabre rise in Llewellyn's frenzied hands and, as the madman closed in, expected at any moment the fatal strike. But just as it seemed that strike would come Llewellyn wheeled away in the direction of Veronica and the attentive Rothman.
Veronica saw him coming, thrust herself up; she found the strength this time to wrench free from Rothman's grasp and as Llewellyn plunged towards them lashed out with the leg Rothman had been attending. The kick was powerful, catching Llewellyn below the groin. Recovering, Gibbings seized his chance, diving forward and grasping Llewellyn's thigh.
The madman lost his balance, was drawn backward into Gibbings' hold, falling heavily, his skull thumping into the flagstone floor. He managed to raise his head, but was restrained by two of Taylor's officers from regaining his footing.
Veronica sighed, finally her ordeal was over. She glanced into Gibbings' eyes and as he rose to his feet, saw him meet her gaze for an instant before casting his own eyes down, draw a deep breath and turn away towards the groaning Taylor.
Rothman's arms were around her, helping her up, his expression full of concern – but it wasn't his concern that she wanted – longed for.
* *

'Ghastly business,' Taylor muttered, then staring at Llewellyn, 'stay with this man until I can arrange his removal.' Looking to the others he added, 'With the exception of Mr. Rothman you are free to leave the castle, but I must request you all remain on the island until this unfortunate business is concluded. Mr. Gibbings, I thank you for your contribution, even if it was somewhat foolhardy; I will transport you to the rectory, the vicar will no doubt be anxious as to your welfare.'
'I'll be all right.' Gibbings turned away. 'I need no further attention.' With a brief glance over his shoulder he headed for the door.
'Thomas wait!’ Veronica called after him as Rothman placed two restraining hands on her arms.
'Please don't exert yourself my dear. You must come with me and lie down.'
'I will not lie down –John…' she called over Rothman's shoulder, 'where are you going – wait.’ She glared at Rothman. 'Let me go!'
'He is not for the likes of you Veronica, please…'
'Do as she says, let her go,' Taylor said sternly, walking towards him. 'You are not currently a free man. I need to speak with you on the subject of the dead man in the main street, and of the body on the shore. Please desist in restraining Miss Day.'
Rothman yielded reluctantly and Veronica met Taylor's eyes briefly before hurrying after Gibbings. 'John, I said wait!’
Gibbings had begun descending the slope, he took a step further and then half turned, halting on the cobbles. 'If that's an order, Miss Veronica.'
'Oh John, please don't revert to that nonsense.' Veronica placed a hand on the drawbridge framework, steadying herself.
Gibbings looked at her bandaged leg and the blood slowly seeping through the makeshift
bandaging. 'You shouldn't be out here, not with your leg like that, you need rest.'
'My leg will be fine John. I will be fine thanks to you.' She drew breath, forced herself away from the support, took his hand and searched his eyes. 'What is it John, what's wrong?'
Gibbings shrugged. 'It won't work Veronica, it isn't right.'
Veronica squeezed his hand. 'Is that what you think John? Before this happened you were ready to leave the island with me – what's happened to change things? And it doesn't involve Llewellyn and this damned place. Don't you try to tell me that.'
Gibbings' eyes finally met hers, with a dark severity. 'I belong here, you belong – oh to hell!' Gibbings struck the wall with his balled fist in a rare display of anger. 'I don't know
where you belong, but it isn't here with the likes of me – nice fine places with nice fine people…'
Veronica clenched her teeth, so tightly a sharp pain seared the veins of her neck. 'You haven't listened to a word I've been saying these last few days.' Her anger disturbed her sense of balance as a violent gust of wind took her sideways, her shoulder striking the drawbridge surround; her leg, complaining from the impact, began to buckle beneath her.
She was aware of Gibbings' sudden movement and his facial agony as he took her in his arms and carried her inside the castle hall, laying her gently down on the chaise -longue.
Gibbings paid scant attention to the others as he left the hall and Veronica covered her eyes; it hadn't been the pain caused by her collision with the wall that caused her reaction but the thought that she might never see him again.
Again he'd come to her aid, once more she'd been unable to bridge the gap that continually seemed to separate them.
'My darling, I said you needed rest.' Rothman was at her side, kneeling over her, taking her hand. 'Now you can appreciate the wisdom of my words. Rest my love for you are in dire need of it.'
'I am in need of only one thing.' But Veronica's lips were stiffening and her words fading as she lapsed into unwanted sleep.