“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
