Unfortunately, it did feel like it was. As did anything else other than sitting and drinking tea. But unless she drew herself together and learned how to act, she’d be sitting drinking tea here in this hotel for the rest of her life, out of paralysis for not knowing what to do.
“I will go after supper,” she said to Mr. Weber with a tight smile. With a nod, she left them and went back to her rooms. The lonely starkness of it struck her. Maybe Oliver wasn’t coming back, and she was truly alone now. The enormity of it was too large to take on and she felt her strength wavering again.
Lying down on the bed, she tried to relax, tried to push the whirling thoughts out of her head. All day had been confusion for her, an endless string of confusing events. It took no time for her to fall asleep to dark dreams of Romans chasing her down dark corridors. She’d seen Oliver and she’d been so happy to see him—so relieved he was alive and well.
The disappointment bit deeply when she woke and found herself in the same predicament as before. Oliver was lost, and now that the searches were finished, no one seemed to seek him. They had run out of places to search.
Getting up and refreshing herself in the mirror, she prepared for supper. Looking at the wardrobe, she wondered what she should wear. Her cloak would be necessary. Brown satin. She’d been so enamored with it when she’d gotten it. It suited her coloring, particularly on a cold day with rosy cheeks. That had been the thought at the time, and she laughed bitterly now, because now she had to go down to a tavern in it and find some answers to why her husband had disappeared. That had certainly not been the intention when she’d bought it.
Still feeling tired, she rose from the chair and made her way down to the dining room. Only half the number of people were there from the evening before. Guests had fled the strange happenings at the hotel. She couldn’t blame them. It would be her instincts too, if she hadn’t been embroiled in it.
The Schonbergs were there, the countess and her party, the American who seemed overly interested in all this, and an Italian couple. The rude Italian was dining with them. So he was still here. Why hadn’t he moved on? The Schonbergs were there because this was their destination. The countess was stranded, and the American seemed to be staying because of the mystery.
There were a few other guests that she didn’t recognize—people who must have recently arrived. Or whose presence she simply hadn’t noticed before.
Unable to tolerate company that evening, to put up with their pitying looks, she took a table by herself and ate quickly. Blackness pressed on the windows outside the dining room, and streaks of water showed it rained slightly. Maybe she should wait until morning to go down to the tavern, she asked herself, but felt she couldn’t wait. How could she wait when Oliver was out there somewhere? He deserved her every effort, which meant venturing out into the night and going down to that tavern.
The things that were happening around here were in some way linked to that legend, so she had to understand the entirety of it.
“Is my carriage prepared?” she asked Mr. Weber when she reached the lobby. Was this something he should do for her, or something she should do herself? She didn’t know.
“It is waiting,” Mr. Weber said with a nod and she smiled her gratitude.
Walking out the door, the icy wind pressed on her skirts. The two horses and the black carriage waited. It looked ominous in the darkness.
The lantern by the door of the hotel cast light barely a yard and then there was sheer darkness. The man that was their driver stood holding the harness of the closest horse. Clemmie had barely nodded to the man before, who was French. They’d rented him and the carriage in Calais after they’d arrived by ship. She didn’t even know his name, but his command of English was sufficient.
“Are you familiar with the tavern in the village?” For all she knew, the man had spent every evening there. To be honest, she didn’t even know where he stayed. Was Oliver paying for his accommodation, or was it part of the rental price for him and his services? More importantly, how was he to be paid and did it fall on her to pay him?
It could be that she ended up without transportation soon as well. She could hardly depend on him wishing to take care of her just because she was stranded if she had no money to pay him. Another significant question she had no answers to. Perhaps tomorrow, she’d have to ask him what the arrangements were. Would Mr. Weber evict her too when it came to light she had no money? Back in London, she could always say her father would pay, and most merchants were happy to take that promise on her word. But here, her father was out of reach.
Chapter 13
IT WAS DARK INSIDE THE low-ceilinged tavern made exclusively of wood. The ceiling seemed even lower in the evening. Around her, the faces of people looked harsh. For a moment, she questioned whether she really wanted to do this. People turned to her as she walked in. Probably not the kind of person they normally saw here in the evenings, and certainly not the kind who came alone.
The driver and the carriage were waiting for her, and she would run out of here if this was too unpleasant. One didn’t know, after all, how welcoming outside people were. It had been pointed out to her that in certain quarters, people like them, like her, were not welcome.
A tight smile graced her lips and she walked toward the bar, where the barkeep she’d seen before still stood, regarding her as she approached. But a face drew her attention and she saw Mr. Carter sitting at one of the tables.
She veered toward him. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m curious about this legend,” he said.
For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t invited him, but he’d come anyway. His curiosity was strong, apparently. Even as this annoyed her, she was pleased there was a familiar face. “Do you speak German?”
“Not a whit.”
“Well, I doubt your Latin will be that useful here.”
Approaching the bar, she left Mr. Carter where he was, but he joined her. Her mouth drew tight with annoyance.
“Please,” she said to the barkeep in German. “I would like to speak to one of the elders who knows the legends of this area.”
“Are you the wife of the man taken by the Roman soldiers?” the barkeep asked in his gruff voice.
The question surprised her. It seemed the people in the village were aware of the happenings up in the hotel. Perhaps she shouldn’t be surprised. This was a small and probably close-knit community. The people working at the hotel were likely from this village.
“Yes,” she confirmed. “I was hoping to learn more about this legend.”
The man considered her suspiciously for a moment, as if she was responsible for her husband’s death. Then he nodded to an old man in the corner, who sat by himself. He had gray hair and a dark vest over a generously used white linen shirt. His hand shook slightly as he lifted his tankard of ale to his mouth. “Dieter,” the barkeep added.
“Right, thank you.”
Mr. Carter didn’t understand the conversation, but he got the gist of it and followed as she walked over to the corner where Dieter sat.
“Hello,” she said in German and the man looked at her with rheumy blue eyes. “I understand you know a lot of the tales in the district.”
“You want to know about the Roman soldiers,” he said. It seemed everyone knew about it. “It’s an old legend.”
Well, it would be, she thought. Dating back to Roman times, in fact.
“I might need another drink for such a tale,” the man said and Clemmie pressed her lips together. She hadn’t brought any money. Why hadn’t she thought of it? Turning to Mr. Carter, she said quietly. “Dieter here needs another ale.”
“I’m sure he does,” Mr. Carter said and took himself to the bar without arguing. Turned out he was useful after all, but only because she’d been foolishly unthinking. Obviously, she wanted to repay him, but she wasn’t sure she had the money to—or to pay for anything else she needed.
A sense of panic washed through her, but sh
e pushed it away and focused on the elderly man across the small table from her.
“So it is true, then, the legend about the Roman soldiers disappearing?”
“Oh yes. It was a long time ago. They weren’t the last people to disappear in these mountains.” He took a sip and stared out the black window, lost in his own thoughts.
“The weather was bad,” Clemmie prompted.
“Yes, awful weather.”
“Why were they out in such bad weather?”
“They were chasing a man, someone from their camp. A traitor.”
Clemmie’s eyebrows rose. The scribbles in the library made more sense now.
“If they didn’t catch him that night, he would have gotten away, because he knew the mountains better than they did. The Romans filled their ranks from all over the empire, but not with locals, because they tended to have split loyalties. They fought the Gauls in these mountains, and sentiments in the district weren’t always with the Romans. So they chased this man up into the mountains and they never came back.”
“What does the legend say happened to them?”
“What’s he saying?” Mr. Carter asked, coming back with three ales, placing one in front of her. Ale? Why in the world would he think she drank ale?
Dieter gratefully accepted the new tankard, while Clemmie ignored his question. Instead turning her attention back to Dieter, but she wasn’t sure what to ask now. “Why would anyone fear this legend?”
“It is said they’re still looking for their man—in ghost form. They roam the area, searching for their traitor. People say they hear them calling, particularly on a misty, dark day. They come upon the unwary and they have no mercy. Like I said, many people have disappeared on these mountains, never to be seen again.”
“What of the glacier?”
“Oh, the glacier is dangerous. You wouldn’t want to go on the glacier. Its beauty is best viewed from a distance. Most beauty is, I’ve found.”
“Have you ever heard them?” Clemmie asked.
“Oh, yes. The legend is true. When I was a boy, I walked home from my uncle’s house and got myself lost in the mist. I heard them marching. They sought me.”
“Why would they seek a boy?”
“Who knows why they make the choices they do? Certain days, you are best to stay inside your house.”
“Do they come into houses?” she asked.
“They don’t oft come into the valley. Last time they took someone was twenty years ago. An Italian wandered up the mountain and never came back. It’s said they heard the calls of the soldiers that night. Must have found him.”
Leaning back, the man crossed his arms. “And if they’d taken your husband, there’s little you can do about it. No one can stop the Roman army. Same is true now as then.”
“You don’t really think Roman ghosts are responsible for this, do you?” she asked, already knowing that he did. She just didn’t want to hear the confirmation.
“Oh, they claim their victims. That mountain is their domain. We always suspected there would be problems when they built that hotel. Seems we were right.” He took another big gulp of his ale.
“Have they ever written messages before?”
“You know a Roman soldier is upset with you once his sword is in your gut.”
“Has there been any other incidents at the hotel that you’ve heard of?” She could imagine Mr. Weber would keep quiet about it if ghostly Roman soldiers prowled the halls of the hotel on a regular basis.
The man shrugged. “Maurice Weber is an outsider.”
Was that supposed to explain something? “He is not local?”
“No, he’s not even Swiss. He’s German.” Was this relevant, she wondered.
“Well? What did he say?” Mr. Carter asked, and Clemmie quickly relayed what the man had said.
“Huh,” Mr. Carter said as he absorbed the information. “How well known is this legend?”
Clemmie relayed the question to Dieter.
“Well, everyone who’s lived in this district knows the legend,” he said. “But beyond here…?” He shrugged. “I couldn’t say.”
“Mr. Coleridge knew about it,” she said to Mr. Carter. “He told us about it.”
“So your husband knew about the legend?”
The implication offended her, because it sounded as if he suggested her husband was the one using this legend in some way to… There wasn’t any reason he would and she resented the implication.
Turning to Dieter, she said thank you for the information and rose from her seat, making her way to the door without another word to the annoying Mr. Carter.
As she hoped, her carriage waited and she quickly got in after a quick look around the dark and empty main street in the village.
Chapter 14
TRUTHFULLY, CLEMMIE DIDN’T KNOW how she felt the next day when she woke. Everything she’d learned last night still whirred in her mind, and she’d had horrid dreams where Oliver had been calling for her. She felt utterly useless. Nothing had been achieved. Oliver hadn’t been found.
Maybe it was time she faced up to the fact that he might not be alive. But she couldn’t bring herself to fully believe that. His body hadn’t been found. That had to mean something. Except if he’d had an unfortunate event on the glacier, where his body was unlikely to be found.
Could it be that someone had been chasing him and he’d made his way onto the glacier to escape them? That woman, Miss Marnier, said she’d been attacked.
Ghost stories had been nothing but silly stories to create chills on a cold, dark evening. It wasn’t something she believed in, but now there was the suggestion that ghosts had stolen her husband from her, that they had terrorized before—were known for it.
How could one believe anything at times like this? She didn’t know what to think. Was it out of the realm of possibility? Especially when the locals had been hearing these ghosts on the mountain for centuries?
The room was warm, the fire having been lit. With searching eyes, she looked around the room. It felt easier to focus on the immediate. Was she safe? These ghosts had been wandering the corridors of the hotel. How safe was she really? Did locks keep them out? Locks weren’t known for keeping ghosts out.
How she wished this would all go away, that they’d simply skipped this hotel and kept going. They would be in Italy now. Instead, she was stuck in this awful hotel, with nowhere to go, and not a notion of what to do. And worse, Mr. Weber might have to evict her soon.
Pushing the blankets aside, she rose and walked over to Oliver’s trunk. She hadn’t gone near it until now. It had always been his domain, and she’d stayed out of it.
The lid was heavy when she lifted it and inside his clothes were neatly folded away. That wasn’t his doing, she thought with a smile. Oliver wasn’t the tidiest. Maids had cared for him his whole life, and that hadn’t changed simply because he’d gone on his honeymoon.
Kneeling down, she searched through the trunk. What were the chances that his wallet was in there? It would solve a great deal of pressing issues if it was. Where he kept it, she wasn’t sure. On his person most likely. That seemed to have been the case in Paris. Too many people had access to a hotel room to be safe for valuables, but one never knew.
Searching all pockets of both trunk and clothes, she found no wallet. A pile of coins was all she came away with. Coins that had been left in his clothes as he’d discarded them. It certainly wasn’t enough to support her, or to pay for the bill for staying at this hotel.
Without money, she might end up with no carriage, and nowhere to live. Maybe the driver would be kind and take her back to France if he was going that way. From there, she had no means. In a city, perhaps her father could organize a line of credit with a bank. She didn’t even have enough money to send a telegram.
There were potentially some things she could sell, but not in a village like the one here. She needed a city, and she didn’t even know which one was closest. How had she not paid attention to anything?
There would be an atlas in the library, so she didn’t have to embarrass herself by having to ask.
The bell pull called the maid to her. She needed to dress and go discuss her situation with Mr. Weber. It took a few moments for the maid to come and Clemmie smiled tightly at the girl, who helped her with her hair and then her corset and dress. The girl worked swiftly and they were soon finished. Clemmie knew the girl would stay to tidy and to make the bed as soon as she left.
The dark corridor wasn’t brightened by daylight. It wasn’t the brightest day, but little of the light made it into the corridor. Lanterns still lit the way. The lobby was brighter, and as expected, she found Mr. Weber behind the desk.
Her throat had gone dry with unease. This was not a discussion she wanted to have, and she didn’t know how she would react if her worst fears were confirmed. Mr. Weber didn’t appear to be a cruel and unreasonable man, but Clemmie knew there was only so long he could be accommodating. People without money didn’t fare well in the world.
“Mr. Weber, can you tell me about the arrangements you had with my husband about our stay.” She tried to smile, but it felt forced.
“There were no particular arrangements to speak of,” he said, looking a little confused.
Nervousness asserted again. She didn’t know how to put this. “Did my husband by chance pay for this accommodation in advance?”
“No, that is not the case.”
That was what she feared hearing. “As it happened, my husband was the one that dealt with all monetary things.” Had she said that in past tense, as if she’d assumed he wasn’t coming back? “And he seems to have those resources with him… wherever he is,” she finished awkwardly. “My father is a man of means, and he can more than compensate for any services I engage at this difficult time.”
“I understand,” he said with a nod. “Or perhaps you can utilize the purse that your husband left in the safe.”
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