The Alps Obscure Page 9

  The more treacherous thought was with regards to Oliver himself. Did he secretly hate her, and had done this in order to torment her? That would be inordinately extreme. It wouldn’t be the first time a girl had discovered a husband was very different from the person they’d portrayed themselves to be during the courting process.

  Oliver was from a good family. This didn’t make sense for him, and he’d been very considerate throughout their time together, even as they’d been married and traveled south. “No, I cannot believe it,” she said.

  “Hate doesn’t have to be rational. It doesn’t even have to be personal.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Someone can hate you deeply without knowing you. You simply represent something.”

  “What could I possibly represent?”

  “A young, beautiful woman of means, of good standing. A newlywed. There are many things that the unhinged could find. Perhaps even the young, handsome husband of good means.”

  This was… too much for her to understand. Petty jealousy she understood, but not… hatred, as he was suggesting. And really, if anyone seemed intent on tormenting her, it was the man sitting opposite her.

  “They will act again,” he said, looking around the room at the people present, not unlike how she’d just done a few minutes earlier.

  No one here seemed to particularly dislike her, except maybe that rude Italian. Could it be that she’d incensed him so much he’d decided to destroy her life? Looking over at him, he appeared absorbed in a book, holding it awkwardly open with one hand while eating his soup.

  In all honesty, she’d paid so little attention to him, other than internally groaning whenever she saw him. But it didn’t seem like she’d seen him around much at the seminal moments.

  The Schonbergs had been very kind and she simply couldn’t see them as responsible. Then again, Mr. Schonberg had been on the mountain when all that haunting had been happening. By all accounts, they were both well educated. “The person responsible would know Latin,” she said. “The only one I know that speaks Latin is you.”

  “Well observed. But I can assure you, I’m not responsible.”

  How could she know that? If they were dealing with someone with hidden irrational hatred, it could be anyone. And he did seem to have a knack for tormenting her.

  “I think I’ve had enough for one day,” she said. “I will retire.”

  As expected. Mr. Carter rose as she did. He gave a sharp bow and she smiled as graciously as she could make herself. The truth was that she didn’t feel like smiling at all.

  Without making eye contact with anyone, she made her way out of the dining room. Mr. Weber bowed his head to her in the lobby, but she didn’t stop to chat. It had been an exhausting day, and she wasn’t sure she could take anymore.

  Mr. Weber’s business was hurting with all this. He was losing guests and the rates they paid, so it seemed illogical he would be involved with this. Particularly as this was a new hotel trying to recoup the vast investments made to build it. In fact, this could have him very worried. Opinions of important people, like the Countess von Rothbach would probably carry far and wide.

  Whoever was seeking to torment was tormenting him as well. But could he be the target? Could the village below be upset with this hotel looming above them? Then again, he would buy their crops and employ people. One would assume a hotel would be to their benefit. But it could simply be one jealous person who was responsible for this, and their hatred could be irrational.

  The chances that the people in the village spoke Latin were slim. It wouldn’t be impossible to garner understanding of some phrases, and they knew the legends better than anyone. But to hurt Oliver was extreme. For petty retribution again Mr. Weber, that did seem extreme.

  That gave her hope. Perhaps he was simply imprisoned somewhere while this person tormented Mr. Weber. There was still hope and she couldn’t leave while there was.

  In her thoughts, she’d wandered deeper into the corridor, so far she no longer heard the din from the dining room. The corridor was quiet and dark, the lanterns sparsely lighting the space.

  It was terrible to think someone was lurking in these corridors, someone wishing to do harm. Mr. Carter’s accusation that this was directed at her returned. Someone may wish her harm, which made walking alone through these hallways the perfect time to strike.

  Looking back, she listened for noise, but heard nothing. Turning the other way, she heard distant talking. It was too faint to hear any words and she couldn’t determine the direction it came from.

  Turning, she tried to find the source, but had to give up. This was a hotel. There were people in their rooms, having conversations and carrying on with their business.

  Acknowledging her silliness, she continued to the staircase which led up to the second story where her rooms were. It was equally quiet up there, and it felt as if she was further away from safety.

  If it wasn’t for the fact that she’d heard the soldiers walking inside the hotel, she wouldn’t be worried, but they were in this hotel—the ghosts or the people claiming to be ghosts.

  The idea that she was the target for this hadn’t occurred to her until Mr. Carter had mentioned it. She’d been there for everything that had happened, except when Oliver disappeared. Mr. Carter’s argument could have some merit.

  A chill rose up her back. She felt exposed here in the hallway. If they hated her enough to harm Oliver, what would stop them from harming her?

  Quickly, she rushed to her room and grappled with getting her key out of her reticule, her eyes intermittently searching down the hall to see if anyone approached her.

  As the door gave, she slipped inside and firmly closed it behind her, locking it and leaving the key angled inside the lock it so no key could be placed in it from the outside. All the maids had keys. Who knew how many keys there were to this room?

  In fact, a maid had been in the room. The fire was lit, and the room had been tidied. Her things were there, and Oliver’s things, as if expecting him back any moment.

  Chapter 17

  “OLIVER!” CLEMMIE CALLED, stepping on the uneven ground that gave way. Mist obscured her vision more than a few feet away, but there were bodies on the ground—fallen soldiers left after a battle. She didn’t belong here, wherever this was. All she knew was that she was somewhere she didn’t belong, but she had to find Oliver.

  Mud sucked her feet into the ground, the sopping wetness stopping her progress. “Oliver!” she called again. Mud stained most of her dress and she feared stepping on someone, and she feared sinking deeper.

  No sun showed in the stretching grey of the sky. No color anywhere. This place was horrid, and she wanted to be away from here, but she needed to find Oliver. It was important. Fear dripped off her, but she had to hold it together. Oliver needed her. When she found him, they could escape.

  The mist shifted like veils, but over to her left, it parted a bit, and hope surged that she could see where she needed to go. A man stood with a spear and an undulating cape. A roman. The look in his eyes was hostile and Clemmie knew he would hurt her.

  Working her legs, she tried desperately to move away, but the mud slowed her down. She wasn’t getting anywhere and that man would reach her at any moment.

  Looking back again, she saw that he hadn’t moved. Strong body and mean face, a creature of war.

  “You don’t belong here!” he called. It sounded like a battle cry and an accusation. She knew she didn’t belong there, she just needed to find Oliver.

  Waking with a start, Clemmie could hardly catch her breath. Sweat soaked her clammy nightgown and she felt cold. Cool air was stealing her heat as she’d abruptly sat up. Her eyes searched for a threat in the room, but she saw nothing but dark calmness.

  The fire was in embers, casting the palest of light across the room. But her heart still beat sharply, urging her to run.

  Stroking her hand over her face, she tried to calm herself. She was cold and pulling the bla
nkets back over her wet nightdress. It wouldn’t do, because she would slumber in discomfort all night. With a tug on the string holding the neckline together, she shimmied it up her body and off, leaving her naked. The sheets were still uncomfortable and she knew she needed to shift to the cold side of the bed.

  Instead of shifting, she lifted the blankets off her and tiptoed to the fire where she added some fresh coal. The cool air was seeping more warmth from her and she searched for her dressing gown to then return to sit by the fire, where a small space of warmth and light soothed her. It felt more welcoming than the cool bed.

  Her dreams were starting to betray her, terrifying her every night. And they were getting worse. In the dream, as well as in her heart, she felt there was still hope. Oliver could be found. Somehow. Her mind told her that she was being unrealistically hopeful at this point, and she even prayed that the answer turned out that cruelty and callousness were behind all this. That would mean he was alive and well, somewhere. Maybe she would rather live with anger and disappointment, than the grief of losing him. She wasn’t sure she could cope with him being disappeared, never knowing what had happened to him.

  Many would wonder if she’d been deserted. She could see the question in their eyes: what was so wrong with her that her groom would run away without a word?

  With her head resting on her knee, her eyes closed. She was still so tired, but she feared more horrible dreams. Why couldn’t she have happy dreams when she needed them the most?

  No, she had to head back to bed, or she would be exhausted the entire day, which would probably make it much harder to deal with all the things happening. Grudgingly, she went back to bed and shivered under the cold blankets, rubbing her feet together in attempts to generate some heat. Before long, sleep claimed her again.

  *

  Light spilled into the room when she woke again. It had been more dreams of being lost. Not terrifying this time, just endless searching. The fire had died and the room was cold, which was unusual, until she remembered that she’d placed her key so the room couldn’t be entered. The maid had been locked out, and now she was uncomfortable for it.

  Dashing out of bed, she retrieved her cold dressing gown and then poured some coal on the fire and lit it with some kindling. At least she knew how to light a fire.

  These last few days, it had occurred to her how little she knew about getting things done. A mere few days back, she’d been nervous walking down to the village on her own to buy a book. Incidentally, a book she hadn’t cracked open since. It sat on the dressing table where she’d left it as soon as she’d returned. Might never need it now.

  For a moment, she felt her spirits flag, felt the enormity of what was happening press down on her. Oliver was missing, and she was running out of options for finding him. Mr. Carter seemed to be the only one interested in continuing the search. Well, Mr. Schonberg had promised to look for him during his walks. Now she felt ungenerous for being so annoyed at Mr. Carter for his interest, when she should be thanking him.

  This all gave her an urge to talk to him about what they could do, what his suspicions were. He clearly had some, and he didn’t think it was ghosts. Although remembering that soldier from her dream, she didn’t feel as confident. She’d seen him so clearly. Brown hair and a rugged face with a scar. The cold, piercing eyes. There was no human caring in those eyes. A creature of war. That certainly wasn’t a man she wanted to run into in a dark alley, or on a misty mountain.

  Calling the maid, she waited until the girl came to help her dress. As she waited, she thought of Mr. Carter’s accusations. Someone was doing this, using this legend to terrify. It seemed inconceivable that someone would do such a thing. Clemmie couldn’t account for such behavior. It was just… evil. It was the only word that fit. Snubbing someone was callous. Laughing at someone’s misfortune was cruel, and she had certainly seen such behavior. But to torment someone, that was something else entirely. Evil was the only word that fit.

  Clemmie rushed to unlock the door as the girl tried to enter again. “Good morning,” Clemmie said in German and the girl curtseyed quickly before stepping in. “I would like to dress.”

  Quickly and efficiently, Clemmie was ready to face the day and she thanked the girl, who guardedly searched the hallway with wide eyes and tight lips before leaving. It occurred to her that she was scared. The realization hit her hard, because the girl was local and she was scared. Did that mean something more than she knew about? Did the locals know things they weren’t telling? Things were happening in this hotel and it felt as though there were secrets kept. For some reason, this made her even more uncomfortable about all this.

  The breakfast room had diners, but not as many as when they’d first arrived. The Schonbergs were there and they smiled cordially to her as she walked in and assembled a plate for herself. Coffee was served and she accepted a cup. Shortly after she sat down, the countess and her party came, none of them looking terribly happy, but then they never had as far as Clemmie had seen.

  Then the rude Italian, who paid her little attention, but Mr. Carter didn’t come. She’d hoped to talk to him about what they could do, but he wasn’t there.

  Outside the window, it was a somewhat clear day and she could see the glacier. No doubt, Mr. Schonberg would walk today. Perhaps even accompanied by his wife.

  If Oliver was recovered—when Oliver was recovered, she corrected herself—she would be a better wife, one that took an interest in the things he was interested in. Not a wife that just sat and waited at home. That was the kind of marriage she wanted.

  It was comforting to think of such things, but she also felt a little silly, almost like she was planning a party during a war.

  As she finished, she rose and went to see Mr. Weber, who, as expected, was behind the reception. “Have you seen Mr. Carter this morning?” she asked.

  “No, I have not seen him come down.”

  That was odd, because she hadn’t seen him skip breakfast before, and she’d assumed he’d eaten before her. Breakfast service was almost over. Mr. Weber would see anyone leaving the hotel, or coming through the lobby, from his vantage point. Although it could be that Mr. Carter had walked past just as he’d had his back turned.

  “Perhaps he’s simply not hungry today,” she said with a smile. “I might stretch my legs.” She smiled tightly. It felt as though it had been a long time since she’d taken any exercise at all. Mostly, she’d been a ball of nerves, sitting and fretting.

  “It’s a clear day. A good day to admire the glacier, but I highly recommend you do not go near it. There is a vantage point up the road. It provides a marvelous view.”

  The smile hid her sadness, because that was what Oliver was going to do that day, take her to the look-out. How angry she’d been when she’d thought he’d gone without her. Although maybe he had gone, and there was some evidence of him being there. Now she had to go look. “I think I will. I’ll just get my coat.”

  Chapter 18

  THE WIND WAS BLUSTERY outside, cool and icy, but her coat was of good quality, and her gloves protected her hands. With this wind, she’d foregone her hat, which her mother would strictly disapprove of, but she hadn’t brought any hat suitable for windy locations. Mrs. Schonberg’s hat was smart, as it molded to her head. How was it the woman was so effortlessly efficient?

  Gravel crunched under her feet, and for a moment, it felt as though she was escaping all her troubles, and just being a girl walking along the road. A carriage came, along with all the jingling noises, creaking suspension and hoofbeats. She stepped aside and let it pass, the window covered with a gauzy material that didn’t let her look inside.

  Keeping going, she reached the lookout and did admire the glacier. It was so incredibly vast, snaking along the valley between snow-capped mountains. Birds soared across it, and everything seemed still and calm, other than the wind.

  Taking a deep breath, she exhaled. The world wasn’t falling to pieces. Unfortunate things were happening, and they we
re awful, but the world itself wasn’t falling into an abyss.

  Looking around, she saw nothing that would help her. In her mind, she’d built this moment up to be the one where she found some evidence that would make things clear, that one piece that would unravel the entire puzzle, but there was nothing. It sent her emotions crashing again, and thick despair intruded on the moment of calm.

  This was never going to end. How could Oliver be found when they’d already searched for him? What could have happened? How could he not be found? What would explain that?

  Only the glacier, a dark voice said inside her head. Maybe he had been stupid and had attempted to cross it on his own. It was the only logical explanation. But then there was all this other hoo-hah. There had to be a link. There just had to be.

  What she needed was to speak to Mr. Carter. He seemed to view this from a perspective she had trouble grasping, and perhaps it was a good thing that he wasn’t so emotionally invested, as panic and despair seemed to grip her mind intermittently.

  It was silly standing there and admiring beauty when finding Oliver should be her only priority. With that, she left and walked back down the hill toward the hotel.

  The carriage was there when Clemmie arrived, the horses being led away for stabling. Someone had arrived, but they’d been dealt with by the time she made it into the lobby. It was almost as if Clemmie had forgotten it was a hotel, and guests were still going to come.

  Would they choose to stay there if they knew about what was happening there? Probably not. Then again, she’d felt so exhausted after her journey that by the time she’d reached the hotel here, she wouldn’t have cared if someone had told her it was haunted. With Oliver at her side, such things didn’t bother her.

  How she missed him. Missed not being alone anymore.

  Mr. Weber returned from wherever he’d been, presumably helping the new arrivals.

  “Has Mr. Carter made an appearance yet?” she asked.