It was too dark to say it was close to dawn, so she had no idea what time it was. It could be very early. Either way, she didn’t want to go back to sleep. Nothing good came from her sleep right now. So instead, she drew the chair close to the fire and curled up in it. The flames were her only companion and she listened absently to the crackle.
Before long, she slipped away into sleep. Mercifully, it was dreamless.
*
Shoulders stiff, she woke, feeling cold as the fire had died down again. She stretched and her body creaked slightly as she extended her legs. Dawn was definitely cresting out the window, and now she was brave enough to look. A few cows grazed down toward the village, but otherwise, it was still outside. It looked as though it would be a clear day—the kind where a cold night would give to a beautiful day. Touches of frost could be seen on the grass below her. It really had been cold last night.
Still stiff and cold, she moved around the room and tried to warm her blood. What she wanted was a warm bath, and recalled Mr. Weber mentioning something about hot water being available at certain times. There was a bath available for guests to use, and today, a hot bath would soothe both her body and mind.
Oliver had said that the sea in Italy was as warm as a bath, and she’d marveled at the statement. It seemed she would never reach Italy now. Not that she cared. After everything that had happened, all she wished was to be at home again.
Calling the maid, she dressed for breakfast. The day had started by the time she was finished, and she wandered downstairs, to see what were now familiar faces. A new couple sat along the far wall. They must have arrived sometime during the day. How did Mr. Weber manage to remember all the names and faces, she wondered, with people coming and going all day long?
“Mr. Weber,” she said as she encountered him carrying the coffee pot, which he sometimes did for the breakfast service. It was a time he liked to chat with the guests. “When did you say the hot water was available?”
“After eight, and before ten.”
“Right. Thank you. I think I will take advantage of that facility.”
“I will have some towels sent to your room,” he said with a bow and a smile.
“Thank you.”
Continuing to the side table, she started to fill her plate and then took the table which had now become habit. She ate, feeling a little as if she’d survived the night. Her tiredness gave her a somewhat disconnected feeling, but for right now, she felt content, and she was glad when no one disturbed her.
A cup or two of coffee later and the clock on the wall ticked past eight, so she rose and returned to her room, and sure enough, two towels had been placed on her bed. Her room had been tidied and her sodden nightgown had been taken away for cleaning.
Taking the towels, she left her room and wandered downstairs to the hallway below, to the room with the bath. It was tiled and cold, with two windows high up. The white bath stood along one wall, two small wheels to let the water pour. This showed the newness of the hotel. Plumbed water like this was much more advanced than what she was used to at home. But from what she understood, many newly built houses were investing in the convenience.
The water pounded the metal bath as it started pouring, icy cold to the touch. This really was such a convenience compared to maids carrying heated water upstairs. Where the water came from, and how it was made hot, she had little understanding of, but she appreciated it all the same.
Over her fingers, the water started to run warmer, and filling the bath took a fraction of the time it normally would. Clemmie wondered if she would ever have such a convenience in her house. She hoped so, but understood it was quite an undertaking to install it.
She’d specifically chosen a dress she could manage on her own and she started to undress as the water filled. The tumbling sound of water was comforting, but shock pierced her as she looked over. Writing had appeared on the mirror. It hadn’t been there before, but now it was there as if ghosts had walked into the room and written it before her very eyes. Prima die insidiantur, it said, and she knew what it meant this time.
A scream escaped her. How was it there? It hadn’t been there. She would have seen it. And it was written in nothing. No ink, or paint. It just appeared on the glass of the mirror.
Hard knocks banged on the door, and Clemmie just about jumped out of her skin. “Are you alright in there?” a woman’s voice called.
Clemmie rushed for the door, fumbling with the lock, fearing a ghost would sneak up on her as she turned her back. Finally, the lock gave way and she saw a maid staring intently at her. “I heard a scream. The water has not burnt you, has it?”
For a moment, Clemmie couldn’t speak. “There was writing on the mirror,” she uttered. “It just appeared out of thin air.”
The girl looked, but Clemmie saw that the writing had disappeared. The girl blinked and looked back at
