The Alps Obscure

by Oster, Camille

  There were men she didn’t know, local by the look of them. Her driver was also there and she smiled at him for the kindness. Mr. Weber spoke in German, thanking them, and explaining how they believed the missing had been moved up on the mountain after the search was completed.

  Three carts stood by waiting for them. Clemmie had expected they would walk, but recognized the good thinking of driving them to where they should start searching.

  They got into the backs of the carts, and she joined the one the Schonbergs chose. Mr. Weber waved them off. It seemed he wasn’t joining them. Mr. Luchon was, however, probably to ensure she didn’t sneak off during the search. Clemmie shook her head at the stupidity of his disposition.

  The horses took them up the road until they reached the crossroad, then turned left as she’d indicated they should. But the road quickly grew unfamiliar as she’d walked this way in the dark, and she had no idea how far she’d managed to walk.

  Around her was the side of the mountain, a valley and then another mountain beyond it. How far up the mountain could they have gone? Surely it would be hard to carry unconscious men up the steepest part of it?

  They seemed to go for quite a while and then the front cart stopped.

  “We start here,” said the man who appeared to be leading the search. A stout beard and a weathered face. Mid-forties, Clemmie guessed, and he had the bearing of someone familiar with these lands. “We search below the road and above, and we continue.”

  They were organized into two parties.

  Clemmie approached the man, who looked at her almost as if he was disappointed she was there. “I brought some clothing with scent if that helps,” she said in German. “For the dogs.”

  “It can’t hurt.”

  Taking it out of her coat pocket, she handed the neckerchief to the man and he passed it on to the man handling the dogs. The dogs sniffed it diligently, but they didn’t rush off as she hoped. Instead, they just lingered around and smelled things.

  “Come,” Mrs. Schonberg said. “We will go above the road.”

  As they walked, Clemmie followed, climbing behind them as they sought a way up the steep terrain. It seemed the road had been cut into the mountain in some places, so once they got above the road, it was a little less steep.

  They spread out and walked parallel to the road. Luckily the weather was holding. It wasn’t sunny and warm, but it wasn’t raining either. The plants were unfamiliar to her, more shrubs. In places, trees were clustered together.

  After walking for some time through the difficult terrain, Clemmie grew tired, but she ignored it and kept pushing herself. Her rests were a little more often, but she more or less kept up. It seemed like hours, and her feet were starting to ache—particularly as they were still bruised from her ordeal. That was what she called it now, her ordeal.

  The road was leading them higher. They walked in silence, the only noise being their legs or skirts through the shrubs. But then the silence was broken by the dogs barking. Clemmie didn’t know what was happening. “Have they found something?” she called, but the people around her didn’t know.

  Hurriedly, she made her way down to the road, knowing the dogs were below. No one was there to tell her anything. Then there was shouting. Something was happening. They must have found something. Listening intently, she tried to hear the direction. They were down there somewhere, but she wasn’t entirely sure where. “What’s happening?” she called, but got no response.

  The dogs barked again. They were ahead, but she didn’t know how far. She started running up the road, looking for indication of the people down there. There were trees in the way. But she came across a path that led off the road. It wasn’t much and one probably wouldn’t notice it traveling at speed, but it was definitely there.

  This must be where the cart had come off the road. She set off down it. It led around through the trees, to a plateau with spectacular view of the valley. But right now, she didn’t care about the view, and she ran ahead until she found people, and the dog handlers.

  Their attention told her the direction and she followed, seeing only the side of the hill. Looking closer, she saw an opening. A cave?

  She ran to it, ignoring the man who was calling for her to stay behind. The smell was immediate, but it wasn’t the smell of death. More the unpleasant smell of a sewer.

  The small entrance to the cave opened into what was a storage room. Barrels and flasks. There were men ahead, she heard them talking.

  “Oliver?” she called.

  The men were gathered, and they were hammering on iron. Clemmie pushed her way in, and she saw Oliver. For a moment, she thought he was dead, but his eyes shifted. “Oliver!” she said, kneeling down by the bars that kept him in.

  “Clemmie,” he said weakly and smiled. A water pouch was in his hand and he sipped from it. His weakness was pronounced.

  Another man lay on the ground. He wasn’t moving, and she hadn’t noticed he was there. Mr. Carter.

  “Is he?”

  “He’s still breathing, but he hasn’t been conscious.”

  Clemmie’s heart contracted with concern. “But you are alright?”

  “I’m very weak. We were locked in here and left.”

  A nasty bruise covered the side of Oliver’s face, his eye swollen over. “I can’t believe we found you.”

  “Where’s the other man? The third one?”

  “Not here. No one else was brought here.”

  The banging continued as the men tried to break the lock. “Who would install a prison here?”

  “I think it was intended to lock valuables in.”

  Finally the lock gave, but Oliver was too weak to stand. The men had to carry him out, and Mr. Carter. Being unconscious for so long wasn’t a good sign. Mr. Carter must be seriously injured.

  They were taken outside, the light stung Oliver’s eyes and he tried to protect himself from it. His clothes were dirty and torn, and he was too weak to stand.

  “I didn’t think I’d make it, Clemmie,” he said.

  “Well, we found you.” In her life, she never thought she’d be so happy. Her wedding day was the one she’d thought would be the happiest of her life, but this was sheer joy. “I’m so very pleased we found you. We searched.”

  “Even you. That I did not expect.”

  For a moment, she considered telling him about her ordeal, how she’d been abducted and had escaped. In reality, she would probably have ended up in that little prison with him. But for now, she would leave that for another day.

  All that mattered was that Oliver had been found.

  “We must get the doctor,” a man said. “Where is the cart?”

  Chapter 30

  OLIVER SAT IN THE BATH, STARING at the wall. He had no energy. That much was clear. But he’d had a cup of hot chocolate to revive him, and now had a glass of brandy he was intermittently sipping. Even taking a sip was difficult for him.

  “Whoever’s been doing this is still here,” Clemmie said, not liking the echo in the room. For some odd reason, it felt as though there were others in the room with them—like they were being observed. “They attacked me too.”

  Oliver turned his head to her.

  “He hit me over the head and then sedated me with chloroform, I think.”

  “That’s what he did to me too. I never really saw his face, but he was thin. A thin man.”

  “I didn’t notice.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I woke in the back of the cart. He was taking me, I presume to where you were. I escaped, ran into the dark and hid. He searched, but he didn’t find me.” Again, she considered if she should tell him about the marching Romans, but she didn’t want him to think she was mentally unstable. It was still very important to her that Oliver thought well of her.

  “He cared nothing for us,” Oliver said. “He gave us nothing to sustain ourselves. I don’t think he intended for us to be rescued.”

  Clemmie’s frown deepened. “I cannot
understand such callousness. What can drive such people?”

  “Madness. Greed.”

  “But he’s gained nothing. Surely this cannot be for simple robbery.”

  “No,” Oliver agreed. “I don’t think so.”

  “Did you see any messages in Latin?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That man has been leaving messages about the hotel, in Latin, saying that traitors will die first. I think his intention was to use the legend of the lost Romans to explain his work.” And in the end, it was those Romans that had led her to find his victims.

  There was a knock on the door. “Mr. Rowland? I must take your statement at the earliest opportunity.”

  Clemmie recognized the voice of Constable Luchon. “Ah, our less than helpful constable.”

  “Has he been troublesome?”

  “Only from the perspective that he is adamant I’m behind this. His natural assumption is that wives wish to do away with their husbands, as early as the honeymoon. I do wonder at the state of his marriage.”

  “I will speak to him,” Oliver said sternly.

  “Well, we’ll see if he’s in any way capable of identifying this man, or if he still insists on arresting me.” Clemmie rose to open the door.

  “I insist this interview is without your wife.”

  Oliver looked at her. “Why don’t you go have some tea and warm up? I will deal with this.”

  There was a certain comfort in the people around her taking care of things for her. A comfort, but she wouldn’t entirely depend on it as she had previously. There were times when she had to take care of herself.

  For a moment, she considered insisting she should stay, but she did find Luchon so odious, she wasn’t sure she should force herself to stomach it. And she was tired and thirsty. A bit of tea would do her good.

  Clemmie left without saying a word, but she was aware that when Luchon left, Oliver would be alone, and she didn’t trust that he would be safe. Because of this, she would return to Oliver as soon as Luchon was finished with his questions. And then they should probably not be without each other while they were staying there.

  Leaving the men behind, she walked to the lobby, where the doctor was just arriving to attend to Mr. Carter, who’d been taken upstairs to his room.

  The countess and her party were there too, lingering. Miss Juno saw her and smiled as she came over. “I understand they found your husband and Mr. Carter, which is the best news. Did they say who did this?”

  “No, Oliver said it was a thin man. He never saw his face.”

  “So not the ghosts, then? Miss Marnier insists it’s the ghosts doing all this.”

  “On that account, I don’t know, but I know it’s a man who’s abducting people from this hotel.”

  “They didn’t find Mister Hubert,” Miss Juno said. “We must still find him. If not with the others, then where was he taken?”

  “I don’t know,” Clemmie said. “There was no trace of him in the cave.”

  “So yet more mystery,” Miss Juno said. “Poor Mr. Hubert. And poor Mr. Carter. I hope the doctor is able to help him. It seemed he was badly. How is your husband?”

  “Weak from lack of food,” Clemmie said. “The constable is interviewing him now.”

  “Have you eaten? You must be hungry?” Miss Marnier said. “Why don’t you join us for a late lunch? It’s all been too much up in the air to eat today.”

  The countess’ party hadn’t been there as they’d eaten breakfast early that morning.

  “That is very kind, but I need to tend to Oliver.”

  “Of course,” Miss Marnier said, and then she and Miss Juno bid goodbye and walked toward the dining room. Clemmie took a seat in the lobby and waited. It was quiet for once. Everyone was off tending to something, so this was the first moment Clemmie had been alone since leaving her room that day. What an eventful day. It was only early, but it felt as though it had been several days long.

  And Oliver had been found. He was alive and well. The relief was deep. Her husband was still her husband.

  Mr. Weber appeared, looking harried.

  “Oh, Mr. Weber,” she called. “Did you manage to send that telegram yet?”

  “No, I’m sorry. With the search party, there was no one to take it to Bern.”

  “Well, in that we found Mr. Rowland, I don’t think it is necessary to send it now. It will only distress his parents. It seems like such a long time, but it was only a few days he was gone.”

  “As you wish, Madame,” he said.

  “How is Mr. Carter?”

  “The doctor is tending to him. The injury is to his head. It seems he was hit harder, or took the blow worse than either you or your husband.”

  A man walked into the door and Mr. Weber looked over. “Please excuse me,” he said with a smile, before going to attend the man. It seemed he knew him. They whispered quietly between themselves. “I will get the constable,” Mr. Weber finally said and walked off without another word, leaving the man standing uncomfortably with his hat in his hands. He looked like a man who lived here, rather than one who traveled through.

  After a few moments, Clemmie followed, wondering what was going on. Also, if the constable was being taken away, Oliver would be left on his own, and she’d decided they were better off in each other’s company from now on.

  Talking reached her as she walked down the hall towards the bathing room. The door was open and the constable was stepping out to joined Mr. Weber.

  “Where did you say he was found?” Mr. Luchon asked.

  “On the road south,” Mr. Weber said. “Some twelve miles south of the village.”

  “I see,” Mr. Luchon responded, completely ignoring her as he walked past. Clemmie continued to the bathroom, seeing Oliver standing with his dressing gown on. He looked weak, but he was standing.

  “You need new clothes,” Clemmie realized. “I’ll go get some.” His filthy clothes were in a pile in the corner. They couldn’t be recovered.

  “I feel brave enough to dash to our room in this dressing gown. It’s large enough to protect my modesty.”

  Modesty wasn’t Oliver’s strongest driver. In fact, he liked to shock people a little with his jokes. Clemmie smiled. She was so utterly glad he was still alive. “Come on, then,” she said, waiting for him to join her. The walk back to their room was slow, the stairs particularly so. “What was that all about?”

  “Some man, a footman, fell off a carriage and got trampled. Or runover. Anyway, there was an accident and a man has died.”

  “That’s terrible. I’ve had enough of people dying or disappearing. I wish things would be boringly normal for a while. I suppose Mr. Luchon will be called away to deal with it.”

  “It seems the carriage set off from here,” Oliver said.

  “From here? But no one has been allowed to leave.” Or maybe Mr. Luchon was allowing some people to leave, particularly the ones who had arrived after all of this nastiness started. Or maybe it was people who’d just arrived and had been advised not to stay. “How odd.”

  They reached their rooms, and Oliver fell down on the bed, seeming very content to stay in his dressing gown. Clemmie locked the door. “I think you must eat before you sleep. You cannot sustain yourself on brandy alone. I will ask the kitchen to bring something up. They’re still serving.”

  Clemmie pulled the chain for the maid, but Oliver was already asleep. Unfortunately, he would have to wake and eat when the food arrived, then he could sleep as long as he liked.

  Chapter 31

  AGAINST CLEMMIE’S BETTER judgment, Oliver wished to go down to dinner that night. At no point had she left his side, and she didn’t intend on it either.

  Attention was definitely on them as they walked into the dining room. The Schonbergs invited them over to join them, and Oliver accepted. They walked past the countess’ table, that seemed sullenly quiet. The countess looked very tired and deflated. She was no longer the woman who swept into the room and expected things
to go as she wanted. Miss Juno looked downtrodden, and Miss Marnier seemed absently disinterested.

  “There has been news,” Mrs. Schonberg said. “The countess’ driver had to go and identify a body today, some man who’d met with an accident. And it turned out it was Mr. Hubert, the footman from the countess’ party who disappeared. He didn’t disappear at all. It seems he chose to leave his employment and met with an accident as he did.”

  With wide eyes, Clemmie listened. Mr. Hubert was the footman who fell off the carriage? How could that be? What carriage? The last carriage she’d seen leave here had been… two days ago. Really, it had seemed much longer. Those people had left before the constable arrived. Was that the carriage?

  “The blither did a runner?” Oliver said. “Maybe he wasn’t happy in his employment. I suppose if you’re a footman, you can offer your services elsewhere and simply leave when they do.”

  “Would you hire a footman in a place like this? With no references?”

  “Maybe he wasn’t offered employment, simply conveyance. Could be the man had some woman he was chucking it in for? Some girl he’d gotten to know wherever they’ve been, and he’d decided he couldn’t live without her.”

  “Oliver, I think you are quite the romantic at heart.” But it wasn’t true. The countess was heading south, so they hadn’t come that way. Perhaps the man simply feared the things that had been going on in the hotel.

  Clemmie tried to remember Mr. Hubert, but she couldn’t. There was some notion that she’d seen a man as part of the countess’ party, but she had no recollection of him in her mind beyond a mere shape. “Do you remember this man?” Clemmie asked the Schonbergs.

  “I don’t recall meeting him.”

  There was a question in Clemmie’s mind that she couldn’t entirely give voice to. Was this man responsible for the abductions? The news that the constable was coming and he’d hopped on the only carriage leaving. That seemed logical, if it wasn’t for the fact that a message had been written on the countess’ door just yesterday.