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.
“No,” he said with a frown. “I’m afraid not.”
“Perhaps I should go see if he’s alright,” Clemmie asked. “Or both of us.” Rumors would likely spread if she were seen going to his room. And she would have some explaining to do when Oliver comes back.
“Of course,” he said, popping behind the counter to retrieve a key. They walked in silence down the corridor to a room at the end, past where she normally took the stairs to her room. “Mr. Carter,” Mr. Weber called, rapping on the door with his knuckles. “Are you alright?”
There was no answer, and after a few moments, Mr. Weber knocked again. “Perhaps he is bathing.”
“All morning?” Clemmie said.
“It is possible he has left the hotel without me seeing. I am not a prison guard.”
“Of course,” Clemmie said with a gentle smile.
“But as we are here, perhaps we should check.”
Mr. Weber unlocked the door and it creaked as it opened. The room was empty, the bed was made. Personal effects were present, which she didn’t recognize as she didn’t know the man that well. “His things are still here,” she said.
“He must simply have gone out. It is a nice day.”
“Has Mr. Carter given any indication when he intends to leave?” she asked.
“Not as of yet. I believe his intention is to head north. I recall him saying he will eventually make his way to London.”
“Right,” Clemmie said and watched as Mr. Weber closed the door.
“We will not disturb his privacy more.”
With a nod, Mr. Weber left, leaving Clemmie alone in the corridor. There was nothing else for it but to wait for him to appear. Perhaps he was out somewhere. It could even be that he’d discovered something—something that would lead to Oliver.
Hope flared in her again. This would end one day. It had to. Right now, it was hard to make herself believe it. Oliver had been gone so long now. The chances of a good ending were thinning, the most logical part of her mind told herself. These things she didn’t want to believe.
Returning to her room, she sat in the chair for a while, but felt ill at ease. Up here in her room, she wouldn’t hear if something happened, something important. It wasn’t as if someone would come tell her. She was just hidden away. Maybe she should send a telegram to her father. And Oliver’s family didn’t know anything was wrong yet.
After lunch, she would inquire with Mr. Weber about sending a missive to the nearest telegram post. Ask for help, for someone to come. To do what? Maybe a detective to discover what had happened. But the people here, the people responsible, may be long gone before a detective reached her. Maybe there were detectives nearby that she should engage. Assistance could be had. Someone professional, who knew how to sleuth.
Mr. Carter might take offense, because he seemed to relish the role. But worrying about someone taking offense was not her higher priority right now.
Shifting to the bed, she lay down and tucked her hands under her head, feeling useless and pointless. As a detective, she wasn’t terribly good, because she couldn’t think of what to investigate.
From her discussion with Mr. Carter, there were a few things to consider. The first being the target for this campaign, which Mr. Carter felt was either her or Mr. Weber. Carter seemed too focused on the idea that it was her, and the man still hadn’t completely ruled out that Oliver had simply left her.
Thinking back on the things that had happened, she recalled that the very first thing that had happened had been directed toward Miss Marnier, the countess’ governess. This wasn’t related to Clemmie at all, which suggested that maybe Mr. Weber was the target, or Miss Marnier. Oliver’s disappearance was the second thing. Or was it Miss Juno hearing the soldiers in the hallway? The warning in the library, which had definitely happened after Oliver had disappeared.
In that context, perhaps it would be better to conclude Mr. Weber, and the hotel, was the target. The villagers could hate him, and the hotel. They had access and the means to carry out something like this. They were even part of the staff of the hotel.
The other alternative was that it really was the ghostly forms of long-gone Roman soldiers, haunting the living. And there was a long history of it in these parts.
Clemmie wasn’t sure what she believed in terms of that. Never had she been someone who’d concerned themselves with ghosts or the occult. It was popular in some circles, but it had always been too gloomy and macabre for her when there were so many more exciting things to focus her energies on. Saying that, she wasn’t sure she’d describe herself as completely skeptical either. It was simply a topic she hadn’t engaged with much.
If it wasn’t for there being a history of these things in the village, then she’d dismiss it outright, but how much proof did one need? How many years of haunting? A thousand? After a thousand years of hauntings, should one admit there was something to it?
The skeptic would say it was collective folly. Individually all things could probably be explained. Even that terrifying crow that had scared her out of her wits. That couldn’t have been planned. But it could just be coincidence—flying into the window
