The Alps Obscure

by Oster, Camille

  Oliver ate heartily, but Clemmie had lost her appetite. Her mind was full of questions, and she had no one to ask. From what she did recall about the man, he wasn’t a stout man. She would have noticed a stout footman. Footmen were usually quite young and slim. But then maybe she wouldn’t have noticed, as she had recently come to realize that she paid little attention to the people around, particularly servants. And one of those people she’d tended to ignore had rendered her unconscious and abducted her.

  With a sigh, she half-heartedly took a bite of the fish they were being served.

  “From what’s being said, the mist rolled in and this man started to flail around him until he fell,” Mr. Schonberg said.

  Unease immediately crept into Clemmie’s smile. “What do you mean flail?”

  “Maybe it was a bee,” Mrs. Schonberg suggested.

  They ate in silence for a while, Clemmie churning this new information over in her head. Mr. Hubert wasn’t a victim, and the way he left was suspicious. Constable Luchon must see that, surely.

  “It’s been an exhausting day,” Mr. Schonberg said when they’d finished eating. “A day with good results.” He clapped Oliver on the back. “Welcome back, but I think we part company soon. As soon as the constable lets us leave.”

  “I think we’re all ready to leave,” Oliver replied.

  “Well, good night until tomorrow.” The Schonbergs rose and said a final good evening before walking out of the dining room.

  “Are you tired?” Clemmie asked.

  “I should probably stay up a little longer, considering I just woke up. Otherwise I’ll wake in the middle of the night.”

  That was something Clemmie knew well. “I didn’t sleep well while you were gone.”

  Oliver ordered a port for himself and a sherry for her, and they sat there as people slowly left the dining room. The Italian man was still there, sitting with his book and some kind of liqueur. There was another couple that Clemmie didn’t know. The countess and her party had left some time ago.

  “Or maybe that footman scarpered because he was the one doing all this,” Oliver said, nursing his port. “He heard the constable was being called and decided to get away before he was caught.”

  “The threat was written on the countess’ door after he’d left.”

  “That does suggest it is someone here.”

  That was true. All the messages, the sight and sounds of the Romans in the hotel did suggest it wasn’t someone wholly unattached to the hotel. The fact that the man had escaped just as the constable was coming was highly suspicious—if it wasn’t for the fact that someone had written that message after he’d left. There could be no assumption that they were safe.

  “When do you think they’ll let us leave?” Clemmie asked.

  “Shouldn’t be long. He can’t hold us here forever. I’d like to be on my way as soon as possible.”

  “You wish to return home?”

  “Gad, no. We should continue. We are much closer to Italy than we are to England, so I think it’s best we keep going.”

  “Oh,” Clemmie said with surprise. The notion of Italy had been something she’d dismissed entirely.

  “Besides, I’d rather have some warmth than head back to dreary spring.”

  It seemed strange to continue with their previous plans when something so monumental had interfered with it. Almost as if they were pretending it hadn’t happened. But she also understood that perhaps he wanted to put it all behind him. As for herself, she’d want to return to her mother at the earliest opportunity. Venturing into the wider world had proved devastating. But she wasn’t a child anymore, who ran to her mother anytime something awful happened. In fact, this whole thing had changed her. She’d found strength in herself that she hadn’t known existed, or she’d built it out of sheer necessity. And for that reason, she would pull herself together and they would continue with their plans.

  Oliver yawned.

  “You are tired,” she said. “You must recuperate your strength. The constable might release us tomorrow.”

  “Good point,” Oliver said. “I feel like all I did was sleep, but you’re right. It’s been very taxing. I just wish Mr. Carter would recover. To be honest, I didn’t even know his name until I was rescued. I had no recollection of him.”

  “A curious man by all accounts. I think he was trying to solve what had happened to you, and must have drawn the attention of the culprit. Perhaps he even found him.”

  “Yes, well, he lost that fight if so.”

  “The man responsible has a habit of whacking people on the back of the head,” Clemmie said. “We both have bumps to prove it.”

  “Coward.” With that, Oliver finished his port and they rose. As they walked, she could tell that he was stiff. It had been quite an ordeal for him, and maybe some warm weather in Italy would be better for his recuperation. Not that Oliver would admit he needed it.

  Clemmie felt much safer walking through the corridors with Oliver beside her. Just having another person there made it feel less perilous. She couldn’t wait to be away from this place, to feel safe again. Back to the world where bad people didn’t hide in the shadows, waiting for an opportunity to pounce. But then she wasn’t entirely sure she would ever feel that way again, and that was the true loss inflicted by all this.

  They made it back to their room without incident, and Clemmie placed the key sideways in the lock as had become her habit.

  With a sigh of relief, she leaned on the door. Oliver was back, they were both fine, and hopefully they would leave this all behind in the morning, and never return here. Equally, she hoped this wouldn’t linger for Mr. Weber. He was a nice man, a helpful man, and she wished this wouldn’t haunt him and his business. And Mr. Carter, she wished him all speed in his recovery. Poor man. None of them had deserved any of this. And this poppycock about traitors was just that—poppycock.

  Oliver was growing increasingly tired now, as if all strength was leaving him, and his movements slowed. She helped him into bed after he undressed, and he was asleep before his head hit the pillow. As for herself, she didn’t feel as if she could relax yet. It had been such an eventful day, her mind wouldn’t slow. The same questions over and over. Who had done this? Was it Mr. Hubert? But how could the message appear after he’d left? It couldn’t have been Mr. Hubert.

  The chair by the fire drew her and she sat down, absorbing the lulling heat. Her mind couldn’t relax, but at least her body could, and she felt much more relaxed now that Oliver was back. Looking at him, she saw the lump in the bed that was him. Lost to the world right then.

  Chapter 32

  SHE MOVED FAST. SHE FELT wind under her wings, the pressure and pull of the air currents. Over and along the road. Traveling fast. Her eyes as sharp as she’d ever seen. Around her were mountains and valleys. But she wasn’t alone. There were others around her, and they were seeking something, traveling in silence. The intent was heavy and serious. They were seeking.

  The mist came with them, and powerful beats of her wings had her flying higher, above the road and seeing the curves ahead, the mist claiming everything around her, like a menacing force descending.

  Menacing was how she felt. Fury and wrath sharpened her gaze. There was nothing she couldn’t see. Even blades of grass, streams that trickled, pine cones in the trees and the jagged edges of the mountains above them. But none of those things were the intention of this quest.

  No, they followed the road and ahead, still out of the reach of the mist was a carriage. Her attention focused on it. It was black and large, and she knew that carriage. Two men sat on top and another stood to attention on the back. A fine carriage, clearly owned by someone wealthy. Another followed, a mail courier who was trying to pass.

  But it was the man standing on the back that her attention was on. He was unaware of her, of them traveling so much faster than the carriage was. The horses jittered and neighed nervously. They felt her coming. Her and the men with her.

  The mist env
eloped them and the grass, trees and mountains disappeared. It was just the carriage now and a road that seemed to lead nowhere.

  She screamed, a piercing scream that filled the misty scene. Her talons reached for him, sharp claws aiming for his face. The hate in her was so extreme, she wanted nothing but to claw his eyes. His face was so clear to her. Every feature she could see, along with the surprise as she attacked him. His hands came up to fight her as her talons clawed at him, her wings flapped.

  “Fucking bird,” he screamed angrily, but she wouldn’t stop. The spear that flew into his back distracted him as he slammed forward and then back, losing his footing. It was quite elegant, the fall, seeming to go forever, but he hit the ground hard, then disappeared under the mail courier’s horses, followed by the bumps of the wagon.

  Yells and drawn in horses as the carriages stopped. The drivers getting down to see to him. But she already knew he was dead. Justice had been done and she flew higher. Away stood the men, the soldiers, watching as the man was tended to.

  A scream pierced, a woman screaming. She didn’t see a woman, and she didn’t care, but the scream grew louder.

  Clemmie woke and the scream followed. Someone was screaming. Immediately, she sought Oliver to make sure he was alright. No, as her senses sharpened, she noted the scream was from outside the room. For a moment, she feared it had been her screaming—from the strangeness of her dream, but it wasn’t.

  Now she was awake and another scream worked through the door. Clemmie found herself sitting by the fire where she must have fallen asleep. Her mind was still groggy from the very strange dream. She’d been a bird and she’d actually felt like she’d been flying. Had felt her feathers, and the air underneath her.

  But there was danger. Something was happening. Oliver didn’t move and she rushed over to check on him, but he was sleeping soundly. A heavy sleeper, it seemed, and the fact that he was physically exhausted.

  For a moment, Clemmie didn’t know what to do. Whether to wake him. But he wasn’t dressed, and she needed to see what was happening. She had to know, because the screams continued.

  Making her mind up, she walked to the door and unlocked it, relocked it again from the outside, before she followed the sounds of the screams.

  There were other people. People who’d come out of their rooms in their nightclothes. Mr. Weber came rushing, having quickly dressed. Also a maid from downstairs, but the screams were coming from Miss Marnier. She looked hysterical. Her hair was loose and her feet were bare.

  “I saw him. In the window. That man was staring at me,” she screamed angrily.

  “That can’t be,” Mr. Weber said. “Your window is thirty feet off the ground. It must have been a nightmare.”

  “I know what I saw. That man was staring at me.”

  Miss Marnier had been hysterical before, but this was on another level. Her eyes darted wildly and she kept licking her lips. Clemmie could see her hands shaking. There was no doubt she was genuinely frightened.

  The constable was there, wearing his hastily put on uniform. Miss Juno was trying to put her arm around Miss Marnier, and the countess stood back, trying to hide how terrified she was.

  “How can a man stand thirty feet in the air?” the Italian man asked, coming from behind Clemmie to walk toward the commotion.

  “I saw him clear as day. He was watching me,” Miss Marnier screamed. “He was going to kill me. I could see it in his eyes.”

  “What did he look like?” Mr. Weber asked.

  “Strong, mean and horrible. The menace in his eyes. Hatred. He had a scar on his face. Ugly, awful man.”

  Goosebumps rose up Clemmie’s skin. “Was he Roman?” Clemmie asked.

  Miss Marnier turned her crazed eyes at her and there was stillness. “Yes!” she said as if just realizing. “He had a spear.”

  “A spear?” the Italian man said questioningly. “Thirty-foot Roman soldier with a spear? That’s quite a feat. Clearly some kind of trickery.” The men went on to discuss it. Some kind of rig holding him up, or a platform. Was there a ledge he could have used? They turned their attention to Mr. Weber, who was telling them there was the tiniest of ledges where the stone of the foundation met the plaster of the exterior.

  But Clemmie’s attention was still on Miss Marnier, because she knew who the woman was referring to. And now it seems he’d appeared before Miss Marnier to terrify her.

  “Were you awake?” Clemmie asked.

  “Of course I was awake. I’m not some idiot sleepwalking. He was there!”

  In her dream, Clemmie had been a bird chasing down Mr. Hubert. The dream had been so clear and she’d seen things she didn’t normally see. She’d felt what it was like to fly, something her mind couldn’t even concoct.

  “Then he is accusing you,” Clemmie said.

  “Accusing me of what?” Miss Marnier shot back, but she saw defiance in the woman’s face rather than shock. A defiance that was even stronger than her fear of a ghost outside her window. Clemmie’s mind was turning over, trying to understand the conclusion was she reaching.

  “You are dressed, Mrs. Rowland?” the constable asked. “Why is that?”

  “I fell asleep by the fire.”

  “You have not been outside by any chance?” he asked, moving closer and reaching for her skirt. It seemed he still wanted to accuse her. By the look on his face, he didn’t get the proof he sought by feeling her skirt. She supposed he expected it would be cold from being outside.

  Right now, though, Clemmie wasn’t interested in the constable and his accusations, and she returned her attention back to Miss Marnier. “Why would he accuse you?” she asked. It was a question more to herself, but she voiced it.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about?” Miss Marnier spat back. Her attention shifted to the constable and back. “Are you responsible for this?” she accused back.

  “No,” Clemmie said. “I am not.”

  Through all this, Clemmie was trying to put the pieces together in her mind. The Roman was accusing her. And the Roman and his men had been there to cause Mr. Hubert’s fall from the carriage. And his crow, it seemed. She had been the crow.

  None of this could be explained, but now she knew in her gut that Miss Marnier was in some way responsible. It was Miss Marnier that had written the threatening messages. But why? Why would she do this?

  As if revealing herself, Miss Marnier’s eyes shot to the countess and back, as if she was trying to reformulate and recoup. This was about the countess, Clemmie realized. Exactly how and why, she didn’t know, but she felt it in her gut. This was about her.

  Clemmie stared at the woman, who had recovered some of her steely posture. It was her they were trying to undo.

  “Have there been other things?” Clemmie asked the countess. “Things we do not know about?”

  The woman’s silence was palpable.

  “She’s the one who’s done all this, her and Mr. Hubert,” Clemmie said to the woman.

  “You can’t say that,” the Italian man said, coming to Miss Marnier’s defense. Clemmie stared at him, trying to determine whether he was part of this. He’d always rubbed Clemmie the wrong way, but his clear confusion suggested he wasn’t. He was simply defending Miss Marnier against what seemed a wild accusation.

  “Mr. Hubert was thin, was he not? Tall and thin. Oliver said the man who abducted and imprisoned them was tall and thin. He hid his features, but that he could not hide.”

  “It is true,” Mr. Weber said when no one else spoke.

  “He was the one responsible, but he feared your arrival,” Clemmie said, turning her attention to the constable. “So he ran. But you weren’t done,” she continued, returning her gaze to Miss Marnier.”

  “You have absolutely no proof.” Again Miss Marnier looked for support amongst the faces around her. “There is no proof of any of this,” she continued. “Wild accusations.”

  Except the Roman soldiers were accusing her. She had used them as the cover for her activiti
es, and she unleashed their wrath as a consequence.

  “No, Miss Marnier couldn’t have done this,” Miss Juno said, but there was a hint of uncertainty in her voice. “Why would she?”

  “Exactly,” Miss Marnier said victoriously. “Why would I?” There was spite and viciousness in the statement. The shock of her fright had shaken her mask and she couldn’t quite get it back on now.

  Still the countess said nothing.

  “You are the one who led everyone to where you’d hidden your husband, didn’t you? The constable came and you led everyone to where he was. That was your doing,” Miss Marnier accused. The sharpness was clear and pointed. “Some would say it looks like this is all your doing.”

  That fed right into what the constable believed. Right now, Clemmie was very aware that Miss Marnier was trying to deflect away from herself.

  “Mr. Weber,” the countess said curtly. “If it wouldn’t be too much of an imposition, I would like a separate room for myself and my grandchild.”

  “Yes, of course,” Mr. Weber said. “I will arrange it for you now, if you will come with me.”

  The countess walked past, as regally as Clemmie had ever seen her. “Alette,” she called. “If you would bring the child.”

  The countess’ elderly companion came out of the room, walking with the child, who tightly held a teddy bear. The poor thing must be terrified with all this commotion.

  For a moment, Clemmie wondered why the woman hadn’t stayed in her rooms and insisted the people in her party find other rooms, but maybe she didn’t trust her rooms to be safe. Could be a wise choice. Who knew what else Miss Marnier had planned? Could you trust anything she’d touched if she was capable of doing what she’d done? Well, Mr. Hubert had done the abductions,

  Clemmie was certain of that, but he’d been in cahoots with Miss Marnier—maybe even directed by her.

  The questions remained for why she’d done this, but it wasn’t going to be information that Miss Marnier volunteered.

  The countess had left and everyone else simply stood.

  “Just keep her away from me,” Miss Marnier accused and started walking back to her room.