Suddenly she felt alone. Oliver should be there with her, but he wasn’t. Where was he? He couldn’t just have disappeared. Nothing in her could believe that her husband had deserted her. There had been no indication that he was unhappy in their marriage. He’d been so keen to show her Italy and the treasures he’d come across there.
Now she didn’t know what to do. All she could do was wait until he came back to her. Oliver was strong. He would find a way. She had to be patient and believe that he’d come back.
Tiredness hit her so hard, she could barely keep her head up. It was as though all the emotion of the day had now drained the very last of her energy.
Abandoning her desert, she rose and walked out of the dining room, aware that people were watching her. What they were watching for, she had no idea. Were they looking for signs of something? What was it they wanted to see?
Unable to answer that question, it felt like relief when she made it into the still lobby. The American was sitting in the chair he’d sat in before. A quick look in her direction and he nodded without saying anything. She nodded back and kept walking, down into the hallway she and Miss Juno had so intently studied earlier that day. There were no sounds now. The carpet and the walls absorb the sounds of her steps. It made sense that the hotel would invest in such carpets, to dampen the sounds so not to disturb the people sleeping in their rooms.
Upstairs, she made her way into her room, and as she now expected, Oliver wasn’t waiting for her with a tale of his misadventures.
Tears stung sharply and she leaned back on the door. What was she supposed to do? How should she deal with this? She was lost. Something very bad must have happened. Why hadn’t they found him? If he’d been injured, or even dead, on the mountain, they would have found him. So where was he?
Why was this happening? This was her honeymoon. This was not supposed to happen. They should be in Italy by now, not still here, dealing with this… misery.
Sobs had her crouching down along the door. She didn’t know what to do, and this nightmare just continued.
Sitting with her legs crossed, she let her anguish exhaust itself. It had achieved nothing, but she did feel as if she’d released something that clawed inside her chest.
The room was warm, the fire lit in the grate. It cast pale, flickering light across the walls. A lamp had been lit on the wall, and it gave the room a golden, comforting ambiance.
Rising up, she reached behind her and awkwardly tried to undo the buttons down her back. Her dress wasn’t made for dressing and undressing by herself, but she couldn’t tolerate company right now. She was still too close to tears, too raw.
With grasping hands, she undid the buttons along her back, and then the tight binds of her corset, giving herself the relief of breathing freely. Superficially, it helped.
Chapter 11
THE SEARCH PARTY TURNED THEIR attention to the forest, but Clemmie didn’t feel the hope she’d had the day before. There just wasn’t any reason why he would go into the forest. There was also someone traversing the glacier in search for him, someone who was experienced in its dangers.
Mr. Weber’s face told her he held little hope at this point, and when the search party returned later that day, he would believe Oliver was dead and lost in the glacier. If he hadn’t perished yet, he soon would. Lost and alone, with little hope of rescue. This was the most awful feeling Clemmie could think of.
Hope was a dubious thing. If he had run into trouble on the glacier, would it be possible to find him? Mr. Weber seemed to think the glacier swallowed people whole, and they simply couldn’t be retrieved. How many people were buried in that glacier, she wondered. And they looked upon it like a wonder of nature. But then nature was beautiful and cruel, someone had once told her.
Making her way to the breakfast room, she took a seat by one of the windows and ordered tea. Her stomach was in too much turmoil to eat, but she couldn’t think what else to do. People ate around her and the air had the thick smell of sausages.
With a sigh, she leaned back in her chair. In all this, she felt utterly helpless. What would she do if Oliver didn’t come back? Stuck in a country not her own. She had no idea what to do, what would be required of her. How would she even make her way home? The carriage was still there, but she didn’t know how to direct it. The first fork in the road and she would be lost. Horses needed rest and so did the driver. How would she go about doing that? She had no money. How had Oliver paid for things? She hadn’t even paid attention. Did he have money? Had he been robbed? Was it in her rooms?
The task seemed insurmountable. But if Oliver didn’t return, she would have to do something. Normally, if she ran into trouble of any kind, which she didn’t by standard, she wrote a letter to her father and he would organize her retrieval. Now she was all the way in Switzerland, and it was well beyond his reach.
Why had she never been taught the most fundamental practicalities? Because it had never been for her to be practical. She was supposed to be taken care of, in all things. But now she was alone.
Outside the window, she saw the glacier, lying there like a cold, grey slug. It was grey outside too, but it was clear enough to see across the glacier. How could she imagine Oliver being stuck inside it? Chills rose up her spine at the thought of it. It was too horrid to contemplate.
A commotion was heard in the lobby, along with whispers. On rushed feet, she made her way to the lobby. Had they found him?
A woman Clemmie didn’t know stood with Mr. Weber, they looked worried.
“What has happened?” Clemmie asked as she approached. It was well outside good manners, but right now, she didn’t care. “Has Oliver been found?”
Mr. Weber smiled bitterly. “I’m afraid not, Mrs. Rowland.”
The woman turned large eyes at her, then back to Mr. Weber. “What is the meaning of this?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know.”
“Well, who’s done it?” the woman pushed.
“What’s happened?” Clemmie asked.
“It seems someone has vandalized the library.”
Clemmie’s eyebrows drew together, and she was about to ask, but instead, she walked to the library. Above the fireplace were words written over the wall and even across the painting. It said, ‘prima die insidiantur.’
Who would do that, and why? The words felt both familiar and not. Prima, she understood, primary. Die roughly meant ‘the’ in German. Was this German? If so, she didn’t understand what insidiantur meant. The only word that came into her mind was insidious. First the insidious? What was that supposed to mean? But prima in German was also great, which made less sense.
“Traitors die first,” someone said behind her. The slow drawl of the American. Which made this Latin. Of course it was Latin. Why hadn’t she seen that, after accusations of Latin being spoken on two occasions now.
The American’s eyes shifted to her, and there was as much surprise in there as she felt.
“Why would someone write that?”
“Was your husband a traitor?”
“What? No?”
“It sounds like someone is trying to justify what they’ve done.”
Deep chills spread down her whole body. Had someone hurt Oliver? Quickly, she walked, but she didn’t know where she was going. It just felt as though she needed to do something. Was Oliver dead? Had he been murdered? “Oliver?” she half called, as if he would answer her.
Her perspective seemed to kilter for a moment. Everything shifted, as if the world was coming apart. The next thing she knew, noxiousness was assaulting her and she opened her eyes to see worried faces standing over her. Someone was tapping her cheek, which annoyed her deeply.
“Here,” another said and handed her a glass of brandy. Mr. Weber was urging the glass to her mouth and she almost choked on it as it poured into her mouth.
“Give the woman some space,” the American said.
“You fainted.” To her left, Miss Juno spoke to her.
Clemmie was i
n the seat next to the fire. People were still hovering with their concern, and she felt both embarrassed and harassed.
“Oliver,” she repeated, tears stinging the back of her eyes. “I think someone hurt him.”
There was silence in the group. No one was arguing.
“Someone mad must be doing this.”
The woman Clemmie hadn’t seen before looked deeply concerned.
“They tried to hurt Miss Marnier,” Miss Juno said and looked over to the young woman standing a little further back. Miss Marnier looked around with large eyes and nodded. “They must have turned their attention to Mr. Rowland.”
“Then where is he?” someone asked.
“Why would someone hurt him?” the American asked. What was his name again? Something or other Carter. Tom, wasn’t it?
“Why would someone try to hurt me?” Miss Marnier said. “It doesn’t make sense, but someone tried. And perhaps I was luckier than Mr. Rowland.”
A silence descended on the group. Miss Juno walked back a few steps and wrapped her arms around her.
“This is all silly,” Mr. Weber said. “Such things do not happen here. It is all wild imagination.”
“Yet someone wrote on the wall in the library,” Mr. Carter stated. “I’m sure we didn’t imagine that. And it was someone in the hotel. Have we searched the hotel for Mr. Rowland?”
Intently, Clemmie listened. They hadn’t searched the hotel. It had to have a basement and an attic. “It must be searched,” she said. Again, horrid images tried to assault her, but she pushed them away. Maybe Oliver had simply been locked in a room he couldn’t escape. “He might be somewhere here.”
For a moment, Mr. Weber looked set to argue, but he conceded. “I will ask the staff to search the entire hotel, and all the outbuildings.” He walked away and spoke to the doorman.
“I’ll help, if you’ll have me,” Mr. Carter said. Mr. Weber nodded and they all walked into the main corridor that led to the rooms.
“There is something very wrong here,” Miss Juno said, her arms still tightly wrapped.
Yes, there was something very wrong. Maybe Oliver hadn’t wandered up on the mountain by himself after all. Even he would have known it was a foolhardy thing to do. And if he had, he wouldn’t have gone far. No, something had happened to him, and it may even have happened here in the hotel.
Rising from her seat, she returned to the library, searching the entire room. This was the last place Oliver had been seen, at least by her, and she searched for some evidence that something had happened in this room. Was this why the message had been written here? And why Oliver? He hadn’t done anything. No one here knew him, and frankly, that included her. She knew him as well as balls, social calls and batting eyelashes allowed, but it would be unjust to say she knew him well.
It was true, though, that he’d been here before, and perhaps he’d upset someone to the point where they remembered him as he returned. Had he stayed at this hotel? She hadn’t asked. He’d spoken about Italy a great deal, but not his journey getting there.
This also brought into question her assumption that Miss Marnier’s experiences had just been nerves getting the better of her. What if that wasn’t the case? Had someone tried to hurt her and she’d gotten away from them. From her telling, it wasn’t just one person, but several.
Had they tried again and Oliver had tried to intervene? The woman hadn’t said anything. Perhaps she hadn’t been aware. Maybe Oliver had stumbled across them and tried to fight them off.
None of this made sense. All improbable conjecture, but they seemed to have exhausted all logical conclusions. Clemmie wanted to join the search, but she hadn’t been invited to. Even that rude Italian man joined them.
There was no disturbance along the floor and walls of the library that she could see. Other than the writing on the wall, nothing seemed out of place. No blood on the floors, or along the bookcase.
It was insanity to her that she was searching for evidence of her husband’s blood.
Exhausted, she sat down in the nearest chair, unable to think of what else she could do. But maybe Oliver was about to be found, alive and well, and this whole sordid episode was over. They would be on their way, ideally immediately. This place and these people, she would be quite happy to see the backs on all of it.
Chapter 12
THE LOOK IN MR. WEBER’S EYES showed they hadn’t found anything in the search of the hotel. Disappointment bit deep and it seemed Clemmie’s worst fears were being made real. To some degree, the shock of this had already passed, but the confirmation left a stark emptiness.
She truly didn’t know what to do now. There was nothing left to search. They’d searched everywhere. It seemed he wasn’t in the vicinity of the hotel. How could that be? Had he been kidnapped and dumped somewhere too far away for them to find?
Could it be that he’d left of his own volition, without word, and without his carriage? That would be callousness beyond what she believed him capable of. Now she had to question if everything she knew about him had been false. Had she fallen for a pretense? Why would he do that? Could it be she hadn’t picked up on his sheer hatred of her? No, Oliver wasn’t like that. She couldn’t believe it.
And there was proof that something really strange was happening here. Someone had made a threat of some kind on the wall in the library, and it seemed Oliver had been caught up in whatever misdeeds were happening here. So where was he? Where could he be?
It was clear that he hadn’t been dumped somewhere on the mountain. The searchers would have found him. They could have carried him away beyond where he would be found. And him not being able to make his way back here meant he was either injured, dead or restrained.
This still didn’t give her any indication of what she should do.
People were gathering at the reception and it drew her attention. When she looked closer, she realized that guests were checking out of the hotel. They were leaving. After all the commotion, it wasn’t perhaps surprising. Disappearing guests, search parties, and threatening vandalism in the library. It suggested to many that it was time to leave.
The staff were busily trying to accommodate them, while two of the maids were running into the library with rags and pails.
There was nothing for Clemmie to do but sit down. Who would do such a thing? And why?
Once the departing guests were on their way, Mr. Weber looked exhausted. This wasn’t good for the hotel. Reputation was an important part for a hotel. Even she knew that. Mr. Weber was definitely not benefitting from this. Perhaps there were some hotels who benefitted from a bit of mystery. She could imagine the thrill and excitement at the prospects of staying at a haunted hotel, but this wasn’t exciting at all.
“Mr. Weber,” she said when she approached him. She could see in his eyes that her approach was deflating him. “This legend about the platoon of Roman soldiers. What does it say?”
“Uhmm. It is said they got lost in the mountains during bad weather, and were never seen again.”
“And they haunt the area?” Someone had said something like it.
“It is stories parents tell their children to make them behave,” he said dismissively.
“But the legend says they haunt the area,” she pushed. It appeared Mr. Weber wanted to stop her from inquiring about this. “The things that are happening obviously have a reference to this.”
Weber was stumped for a moment as he looked at her. “Yes, it is said that they haunt the area, that in bad weather, you can hear them calling on the mountain, that the wind carries their voices.” Clemmie sought answers in his eyes, because she knew that wasn’t everything. “No one believes such stories. Stories the old-timers used to tell around the fire.”
In her mind, she was trying to piece together why a roman battalion would be haunting guests at a hotel. “What is this thing about traitors dying first?”
“I don’t know.”
How she wished Mr. Coleridge was still here. He’d known about the le
gend. It was he that had mentioned it, so it was well enough known that a professor from England knew about it. “There must be more to the legend. Is there an expert that studies roman history nearby?”
The question seemed to surprise him. “No, I’m afraid not.”
“Then who tells the legend these days?” asked a man behind her. Mr. Carter. He seemed to appear a great deal in her conversations of late.
“The elderly.”
“Perhaps we need a retelling of these stories.” He leaned nonchalantly on the desk.
“They do not speak English,” Mr. Weber finally said.
“My German is fairly good. Can I speak to one of these elders?” She purposefully didn’t say ‘we’ because she hadn’t invited Mr. Carter into this quest.
“They can be found in the tavern on cold nights,” Mr. Weber said. “But I’m not sure this will serve. It isn’t ghosts writing messages in the library.”
“Perhaps not, Mr. Weber,” Mr. Carter said, “but whoever is seems to be using this legend for their purposes.”
“And what are those purposes?” Clemmie asked.
Mr. Carter shrugged.
There was something about him Clemmie didn’t like. It was as if all this was amusing him. Nothing about this was funny, but it seemed to him that he had an interesting puzzle to solve.
But she was torn. It was one thing to go down to the tavern on her own in the morning, but it felt an entirely different thing in the evening, in the dark. Would her nerves allow her to do such a thing in the dark? It felt many steps too far.
“I will go this evening. I think it’s best my carriage is prepared for it,” she said, partially because she hated how fearful and dependent she came across.
“I’d be happy to join you,” Mr. Carter said.
“No, that’s alright. I’ll be fine,” she replied. This was something she could do on her own. Yes, she’d been protected and coddled her entire life, but when needed, she could act to try to find Oliver. She’d felt useless enough by not being able to assist with the search, particularly after Mrs. Schonberg had been fully capable of doing so. Going down to the tavern and asking questions shouldn’t be beyond her.
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