“There was writing on the mirror. It appeared before my eyes.”
“I don’t see any writing,” the girl said, looking at her suspiciously. Then she walked past and turned off the pouring water. Leaning down, she felt the water with her hand. “It’s a good temperature.”
Now it was Clemmie’s turn to blink. The girl didn’t care, or didn’t believe her.
“You don’t understand. It was there. I saw it.” Clemmie felt her control slide into panic. “I was locked in here by myself and writing appeared on the mirror.”
The girl’s mouth was open, but she had nothing to say.
“Is anything the matter?” It was Mr. Weber asking from behind her. He looked to the maid for an explanation, but she only stared dumbly back at him.
“I was preparing for a bath and writing appeared on the mirror. It’s disappeared now.”
“Writing?”
“It appeared out of nowhere, and then disappeared again.”
“What did it say?”
“Same as in the library. Prima die insidiantur.”
“It was the steam, you stupid woman,” the rude Italian said and pushed past her as he walked into the bathing room. “The steam shows any fatty residue on the glass. When you opened the door again, the steam escaped.”
Clemmie only stared at him. What was he talking about? Steam did not write.
The Italian walked over to the mirror and with his breath, he exhaled on it, and for a moment, part of a letter showed and then immediately disappeared.
“I think someone is trying to frighten again,” Mr. Weber said. “Someone must have written the message in the mirror, knowing it would appear when the bath was next filled.”
Clemmie still stared at the Italian, trying not to feel such intense dislike for him. And curious that he knew exactly what had happened and how to create such an effect. Part of her wanted to argue, wanted to tell him he was wrong, but she had to concede she’d been silly—had scared herself half to death.
But then someone was trying to scare her. Or had she simply been the one unlucky enough to see this latest iteration of the threatening message?
“Marie, clean the mirror,” Mr. Weber said curtly to the maid, who quickly followed the directive. “It is a cruel trick,” he said and smiled. “Fear not. I will keep an eye on the door to ensure no one interferes with your relaxation.”
With a wave, he urged the maid out, and then looked expectantly at Mr. Moran, who complied as well. With a smile, Mr. Weber closed the door.
Truthfully, she didn’t feel like a bath now, at stripping down and being so exposed and vulnerable, but she felt compelled to after the effort, and maybe even expense, of creating the hot water. A bath was a luxury that could never be wasted.
Wanting to or not, she took off her dress, chemise and drawers and left them on the chair that stood by and stepped into the bath. It was lovely and warm, and she felt her body relax. Not fully, because she still felt on edge, and she intermittently watched the mirror in case writing should appear again, but it didn’t.
Chapter 21
BACK IN HER ROOM, CLEMMIE felt warmed after her bath, but still unease. Her hair was drying by the heat of the fire. The explanation the Italian had provided was logical. Even on paper, she’d heard of ink that appeared only when steam was applied, so there had to be some truth to his statement. The knowledge that writing could appear on mirrors with steam had been unknown to her, and she smarted with the accusation of being stupid.
But someone had intended for that message to be found in a most terrifying way, and it had been successful. And if Mr. Moran hadn’t explained the mechanics of it, she would probably still believe that a ghost had written it in front of her eyes.
Maybe she had been stupid going for taking a bath in the first place. What if someone had come in and drowned her in the bath? Was that what had happened to Mr. Carter? it could be for all they knew.
A chill worked down her body in spite of the pink warmth lingering from the bath. Had the intention been to terrify and murder her? But who had known she was there? Or had she just been the unlucky person who’d decided to take a bath?
Who had known? Just about everyone as she’d practically announced her intentions in the breakfast room. How could she have been so stupid? There was someone meaning ill in the hotel, maybe even a murderer, and she’d announced she’d be utterly alone and sitting in a convenient body of water. It could be that only Mr. Weber’s vigilance had kept her safe.
This again brought into question whether this was all directed at her. Her husband had been taken from her, and then Mr. Carter, who’d been trying to help. And now the attack had been more direct. Or it could all be coincidence. It seemed too neat to be coincidence. But then Miss Marnier had been attacked too. And the soldiers had been seen in the village, and she’d been nowhere around then. Perhaps she had just been the unlucky victim. Who knew how long prior that little scare tactic had been in place? Anytime since the last person who’d had a bath, and that was hard to ascertain. At least not since yesterday morning, which was the last time hot water had been generated.
How were they doing this? How could there be no sign of Oliver and Mr. Carter? The hotel had been searched twice now. There were staff in every part of it, and it was recently built, so there weren’t any unknown compartments or secret walkthroughs hidden by time. They had to have been removed, and that would be heavy cargo.
If they’d been taken away, it would have to have been by
