The staff were busily trying to accommodate them, while two of the maids were running into the library with rags and pails.
There was nothing for Clemmie to do but sit down. Who would do such a thing? And why?
Once the departing guests were on their way, Mr. Weber looked exhausted. This wasn’t good for the hotel. Reputation was an important part for a hotel. Even she knew that. Mr. Weber was definitely not benefitting from this. Perhaps there were some hotels who benefitted from a bit of mystery. She could imagine the thrill and excitement at the prospects of staying at a haunted hotel, but this wasn’t exciting at all.
“Mr. Weber,” she said when she approached him. She could see in his eyes that her approach was deflating him. “This legend about the platoon of Roman soldiers. What does it say?”
“Uhmm. It is said they got lost in the mountains during bad weather, and were never seen again.”
“And they haunt the area?” Someone had said something like it.
“It is stories parents tell their children to make them behave,” he said dismissively.
“But the legend says they haunt the area,” she pushed. It appeared Mr. Weber wanted to stop her from inquiring about this. “The things that are happening obviously have a reference to this.”
Weber was stumped for a moment as he looked at her. “Yes, it is said that they haunt the area, that in bad weather, you can hear them calling on the mountain, that the wind carries their voices.” Clemmie sought answers in his eyes, because she knew that wasn’t everything. “No one believes such stories. Stories the old-timers used to tell around the fire.”
In her mind, she was trying to piece together why a roman battalion would be haunting guests at a hotel. “What is this thing about traitors dying first?”
“I don’t know.”
How she wished Mr. Coleridge was still here. He’d known about the legend. It was he that had mentioned it, so it was well enough known that a professor from England knew about it. “There must be more to the legend. Is there an expert that studies roman history nearby?”
The question seemed to surprise him. “No, I’m afraid not.”
“Then who tells the legend these days?” asked a man behind her. Mr. Carter. He seemed to appear a great deal in her conversations of late.
“The elderly.”
“Perhaps we need a retelling of these stories.” He leaned nonchalantly on the desk.
“They do not speak English,” Mr. Weber finally said.
“My German is fairly good. Can I speak to one of these elders?” She purposefully didn’t say ‘we’ because she hadn’t invited Mr. Carter into this quest.
“They can be found in the tavern on cold nights,” Mr. Weber said. “But I’m not sure this will serve. It isn’t ghosts writing messages in the library.”
“Perhaps not, Mr. Weber,” Mr. Carter said, “but whoever is seems to be using this legend for their purposes.”
“And what are those purposes?” Clemmie asked.
Mr. Carter shrugged.
There was something about him Clemmie didn’t like. It was as if all this was amusing him. Nothing about this was funny, but it seemed to him that he had an interesting puzzle to solve.
But she was torn. It was one thing to go down to the tavern on her own in the morning, but it felt an entirely different thing in the evening, in the dark. Would her nerves allow her to do such a thing in the dark? It felt many steps too far.
“I will go this evening. I think it’s best my carriage is prepared for it,” she said, partially because she hated how fearful and dependent she came across.
“I’d be happy to join you,” Mr. Carter said.
“No, that’s alright. I’ll be fine,” she replied. This was something she could do on her own. Yes, she’d been protected and coddled her entire life, but when needed, she could act to try to find Oliver. She’d felt useless enough by not being able to assist with the search, particularly after Mrs. Schonberg had been fully capable of doing so. Going down to the tavern and asking questions shouldn’t be beyond her.
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
