The Alps Obscure Page 8

  “Safe?” she asked.

  “Yes, upon arrival, he left a purse in our safe for safekeeping.”

  Why hadn’t she known this? Because it wasn’t something she’d paid attention to. There was a purse. Perhaps enough to support her while everything was so… horrid.

  Relief washed over her. She wouldn’t find herself out on the street with no means.

  “I take it it’s enough to cover any expenses incurred?” she asked tactfully.

  “I should say so,” he replied. “I have not gone into it, but it seemed weighty enough.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Weber. That is encouraging to hear.”

  Now they had an awkward moment.

  “If you don’t mind me saying,” Mr. Weber said. “I wonder if it is perhaps time you consider your next step. Perhaps in light of what’s happened, you would wish to return to your family, or even your husband’s family?”

  “But we don’t know what has happened,” she replied. How could she simply leave? A minute ago, she’d been worried that she’d be forced to, but now she couldn’t imagine leaving with Oliver having disappeared into thin air.

  “Mr. Weber!” a sharp voice said behind her, cutting into their conversation. “My staff have been told that our carriage is far from ready. Is the blacksmith in the village incompetent?”

  “He is very competent, my lady. The damage is quite severe, and I understand it will take some days yet for the repairs to be completed.”

  The countess’ mouth tightened with displeasure. “All this hullabaloo is not pleasing me,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I would very much like to be on my way.”

  “That is understandable, my lady. If you would like, I can send one of the boys down to the blacksmith to get an understanding of how they fare.”

  “Yes,” she said. The woman wasn’t pleased, but she was mollified. Her eyes turned to Clemmie. “You are the one whose husband has gone missing.” It was a statement rather than a question.

  “Yes,” Clemmie answered.

  “I was sorry to hear of your misfortune. It is a terrible thing to lose a husband.”

  “It is… Yes.” It was all she could say.

  “But one survives.”

  It was a cold statement, but Clemmie suspected it was supposed to be encouraging. Perhaps that was as encouraging as the lady was capable of being. With that, she turned and walked away, regally floating as she tended to do.

  Chapter 15

  THE DAY DRAGGED. Clemmie veered between panic and frustration. They’d searched and they hadn’t found Oliver, so now they did nothing. Mr. Schonberg was still tramping. He’d gone out that morning and swore to her that he’d keep looking. His generosity had almost made her cry, but the most bitter part of her wanted to accuse that he was only doing it because that was what he wanted to do anyway. But that was her frustration talking.

  The American had stayed out of sight since she’d left him in the tavern the night before. Perhaps he’d stayed and drank, or maybe he’d disappeared as well. She should check, but the man annoyed her so much, she didn’t want to. That was a childish reaction and she would ask if she didn’t see him during the afternoon.

  Sitting where she was at the edge of the lobby, she considered the people around, this eclectic group of people. And one she shouldn’t know as well as she now did, because she should have left here without much heed to any of them, but now she was stuck in their company.

  “The mists are rolling in,” Miss Juno said, returning from outside with her charge. “They sneak up on you. One minute everything is clear, then you look up and you can barely see two yards in front of you. Go into the breakfast room and we’ll ask for a hot chocolate for you,” she said to the child. Then she turned back to Clemmie. “I can imagine it would be easy to get lost when it does.”

  How did Mr. Schonberg navigate it when the clouds came? She would ask him when he came back. Is that what had happened to Oliver? Then why hadn’t he been found? Surely he couldn’t have wandered so far it was out of walking range? If so, he should have found a road or a village. Or did the wilderness stretch so far it was possible to get utterly lost. “I think Mr. Schonberg is out there currently.”

  “I should think he has a compass.” It was the countess. Clemmie hadn’t seen her approach. “Where is the boy?”

  “He’s in the breakfast room. We are about to ask for some hot chocolate.”

  “You are expected to be with him,” the older woman said sharply.

  “Yes, of course,” Miss Juno replied, looking admonished. “I’ll just…” She walked to the breakfast room, and behind the countess came Miss Marnier.

  “It’s getting misty again.”

  “Actually, I think it’s the clouds,” Clemmie said.

  “Mist, clouds. What’s the difference?”

  That was a question Clemmie couldn’t answer, not that Miss Marnier was looking for an explanation.

  “Care to join us for a hot chocolate?” the countess asked. It was the first time she’d shown any friendly consideration.

  “I’d be honored,” Clemmie said and joined them as they walked into the breakfast room, which was otherwise deserted. “I was sorry to hear about the carriage. I hope it’s fixed soon.”

  “Struck by a boulder, would you believe? It has delayed us for days now, and resolution doesn’t seem to be in sight.”

  The windows outside were utterly grey. Nothing was seen at all, until she moved closer and could look down on the ground just outside the hotel. As Miss Juno had said, it couldn’t be more than a few yards visibility. “I do hope Mr. Schonberg is alright,” she said, then felt immediately guilty, because she’d written Oliver off. How could she say something like that? Careless and stupid, she berated herself.

  “And what will you do?” the countess asked.

  “Honestly, I don’t know. I can’t just leave. I have to know where he is, at least what happened to him.”

  “And how long will you wait?”

  Another question she didn’t have an answer to. Mr. Weber had suggested she leave too, but how could she? “I’m not ready to give up.”

  “Then you are stuck in this place like we are,” Miss Marnier said with her arms tightly crossed. “Sitting ducks for these monsters.”

  “Shush,” the countess said sharply. “No more of such talk.” Her voice wasn’t quite as firm now.

  “They seek people to wreak their retribution on. Traitors. That is what they do. And now the mists come, and they come with it. I saw them. They came.”

  “Don’t be silly,” the countess admonished, but her full assurance wasn’t there. “And why would they attack you?”

  “Maybe it’s other people’s accusations of sin that cling to us, justified or not.”

  “What nonsense.”

  “They have walked the mists for thousands of years,” Miss Marnier said. “I know what I saw. What I felt. The dread that comes.” She shivered visibly. “I wish to be away from here.”

  “The carriage will soon be fixed, I have been assured.”

  Something black appeared in the greyness outside and Clemmie’s heart jumped painfully in her chest. Violent flapping and a thud into the window. Nerves ran sharply in her veins and her fingers shook with the fright.

  A bird. A black bird recovered and stood on the sill outside the window. It raised its wings and shook them before folding them to him. It looked at them, as if accusing them of hurting it. Shiny black eyes like poisonous belladonna berries.

  “Stupid bird,” the countess said.

  Turning its head, the bird looked at them. Clemmie could only watch it with shocked horror as it started to peck on the glass as if testing if it could get to them.

  Just as quickly, it took off, almost with disgust.

  Clemmie’s hand was clutching her throat. “That gave me a fright.”

  “My grandmother would say that was a warning,” Miss Marnier said.

  “A warning of what?”

  “Th
at they are still looking for the one that’s drawn them. They're looking for their traitor.”

  “When did you become so morose?” the countess accused.

  “Maybe after they tried to kill me,” Miss Marnier replied. “But they didn’t, so I think they determined that I wasn’t the one they were looking for.”

  “What nonsense. Are you suggesting that ghosts came for Mrs. Rowland’s husband?”

  “We have yet to find another explanation.”

  A chill spread down Clemmie’s spine. Something was definitely happening here. She’d seen proof of it herself. The warning in the library. She’d even heard them herself—someone marching in the corridor.

  “Hush,” Miss Marnier said sharply. “I hear something.”

  They all quietened and listened. Clemmie listened so intently her ears were ringing. Then there it was, a shout. The realization struck her almost like a physical blow. “Where’s it coming from?” she asked, looking at Miss Marnier, whose shocked eyes looked back at her.

  This couldn’t be happening. Turning, Clemmie sought someone, someone who could confirm this was utter nonsense. Someone with an explanation for all this, but there was no one there.

  Miss Marnier rushed out of the room. Where was she going? Over at one of the tables, Miss Juno sat, looking utterly white in fright. The child was looking between them, noticing something was wrong, but didn’t know what.

  “Finish your chocolate, Frederick,” the countess said and walked out after Miss Marnier. Clemmie followed, not because she strictly intended to, but her legs simply took her. Miss Marnier was standing outside the main doors of the hotel, on the stoop. She stepped nervously from one foot to the other.

  “Come inside this instance,” the countess said, holding the door open.

  “I can hear them,” Miss Marnier said in a panicked voice, almost to the point of hysteria. “Can you not hear them?”

  Mr. Weber stood by looking perplexed.

  Clemmie couldn’t hear them at the moment, so she moved closer. She heard the calls, the sharpness of Latin without being able to make out any words, and the grinding noise of armor.

  Her eyes darted in the ubiquitous grayness, but she saw nothing. Nothing moved, nothing disturbed. Clemmie’s eyes turned to Mr. Weber, and she saw in his eyes that he had no explanation. He wasn’t from here. Hadn’t been here long at all, an outsider, according to the men in the village tavern.

  Miss Marnier screamed and shuttled backwards, terrified. Clemmie’s eyes immediately sought the directions she was looking in and a dark shadow appeared. A figure was forming in the dark along where the road was.

  The countess lost her bearing and collapsed. Mr. Weber rushed to catch her. There was too much happening at once, and Clemmie’s heart was about to beat itself out of her ribcage. Fragmented, panicked thoughts rushed through her mind. They were coming.

  The form solidified and Clemmie stared in horror as the figure took form. Mr. Schonberg.

  A sharp exhale escaped her. It was only Mr. Schonberg. “Mr. Schonberg!” she said sharply. “You gave us the worst fright.”

  Mr. Weber was still grappling with the countess, and Clemmie rushed to help with the heavy form of the unconscious woman. From how direct and staid the woman was, Clemmie wouldn’t have guessed she’d be prone to fainting.

  “I am sorry. I only came to return after the clouds came in.” He came to assist them carry the countess into the chair by the fireplace, just as Miss Marnier had a day or so previously. How many days? Clemmie couldn’t recall anymore. And she’d passed out too with shock once. Time seemed to have lost meaning for her at the moment. It felt like she’d been here forever.

  “I will get the smelling salts,” Miss Marnier said and rushed toward the corridor that led to the guest rooms.

  “Did you hear anything?” Mr. Weber asked.

  “I heard the calls and the marching,” Mr. Schonberg said. “The ghosts walk this afternoon, yes?” He said it so matter of factly, as if it was a natural occurrence. “The clouds came in and I had to make my way back.”

  “It’s fortunate they didn’t find you,” Clemmie said, but didn’t quite know why she said it. Obviously, she was relieved nothing had happened to him.

  “Fortunate indeed,” he said, again so matter of factly, it didn’t seem that he was in any way perturbed by this. It felt odd, but then it could be the German stoicism.

  Miss Marnier returned with the small bottle of smelling salts in her hand, which Mr. Weber immediately uncorked and wafted under the countess’ nose. With a few sharp jerks to escape the noxious smell, she came to immediately, and moaned.

  “There are too many people fainting in my lobby,” Mr. Weber said, looking concerned. As the countess rose, she was led away by Miss Marnier and Mr. Schonberg toward her rooms.

  “Nothing like this has happened before?” Clemmie asked.

  “Never. It is concerning, but I don’t believe in ghosts.”

  Clemmie looked away, not sure she could say the same, particularly after that black bird coming to herald their arrival. It all felt so ominous.

  “Mr. Weber, have you seen Mr. Carter today?” she asked, remembering that she’d intended to inquire.

  “Not for a few hours, but I did see him going for a bath earlier today.”

  “Oh,” Clemmie said, feeling assured. So he hadn’t been claimed by the ghosts as he’d returned home from the tavern last night. “Good.”

  Chapter 16

  MR. CARTER WAS PRESENT at supper, and so seemed to be everyone else—well, of the people who couldn’t and wouldn’t leave. New people had arrived, unaware of the dramas of the hotel in the last week. It wasn’t as if Mr. Weber would be warning them as they checked in. What could he say? It appears we are presently being haunted by Roman soldiers, who are, as far as we can understand, searching for a traitor.

  And they seemed to have found one, she thought with a deep sigh. Poor Oliver. This nightmare just didn’t end.

  Everyone was urging her to leave and go home, but how could she? Oliver hadn’t been found.

  “Mrs. Rowland,” a voice said and she looked up to see Mr. Carter. She’d been too distracted by her own thoughts to notice him approaching. “I understand there have been some incidents this afternoon.”

  “The countess fainted when she saw Mr. Schonberg appear out of the mist,” she said, not quite knowing why she was making light of what had happened.

  “And the Romans have been wandering by all accounts.”

  Clemmie didn’t quite know how to respond to that. By his admission, he knew what had happened.

  “I don’t believe in ghosts,” he finally said. “Well, we have ghosts in our minds and hearts from events in the past, but not ghosts that roam hallways and mountains.”

  On the surface, she wasn’t perhaps surprised he was a skeptical man, but it made her wonder about his interest in all this.

  “I think the question one has to ask is who has something to gain from this?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The most detached would say you,” he continued, ignoring her question.

  “Me?”

  “Recently married, now without the encumbrance of an actual husband.”

  “I think this conversation is over,” she said sternly with her arms crossed.

  “Hear me out,” he said, trying to placate her. “The point I’m making is that someone is doing this, and they’re doing it for a reason.”

  “It certainly isn’t me,” she replied tartly, still deeply offended at his insinuation.

  “Who has something to gain from this?”

  “No one,” she shot back. Was that true? Looking around, she surveyed people in this room.

  “I mean it wouldn’t be hard to make noise in the mist. The mountains would bounce voices all over the place. Perhaps the people in the village are upset this hotel has opened.”

  “And they would steal Oliver to prove it?”

  “No, that is more tricky. It does al
l seem targeted at him, doesn’t it? Does he have any enemies here, I wonder.”

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t a question she could answer. It wasn’t as if she could say he’d never seen any of these people before, because the truth was that he’d been to this part of the world before. Perhaps someone had been so upset with him then that they now took this opportunity upon his return to…

  “But as your husband can’t be found, it does make one wonder if this is more about you.”

  “Me?”

  “He hasn’t been found. That suggests this is something more than a mere accident. Perhaps he is not injured at all and simply hiding. How much do you know about the man you married?”

  Clemmie blinked for a moment, again wondering if this man was being cruel to her. More than once, he’d seemed intent on blaming this all on her. “As much as most brides. He is a fine, upstanding man.”

  “Can it be concluded that he would not toy with you?”

  “That’s absurd.”

  “Is it?”

  “Either way, someone is doing this, and they’re doing it for a reason. These ‘happenings’ have continued even after your husband’s disappearance. If it was directed at you, and I’m not saying it is,—"

  “You actually are.”

  “I am speculating. It helps to derive conclusions where there are none. As I was saying, these happenings continued after your husband’s disappearance, which suggests the person’s objectives haven’t been achieved yet.”

  As offended as she was by this man, he did make an arresting point. “And what would be that objective?”

  “I would say, a haunting is usually done, provided one doesn’t believe in actual ghosts, to torment someone.”

  The words were stark and the logic sound. It had certainly tormented her. It raised all sorts of questions in her head. Who would want to torment her? There were suggestions in her head, but she didn’t want to contemplate them. There were some people who hadn’t been best pleased with her marriage. Oliver had been a good prospect for a few, and she’d stolen him away.