“That man hit me on the head,” she said.
“Did you see who it was?”
“No. I didn’t get a chance to, but he must still be here. I’m not sure this is good.”
“I will watch the door personally, if you like.”
That would make her feel more safe. Although there was no reason the culprit couldn’t clunk him in the head to get to her, and… drown her. Fear reasserted itself again. Or even more ghostly writings on the mirror. The Italian’s explanation made sense. That didn’t mean it was the only explanation—merely a way of explaining it away.
But she was cold—cold enough to catch sickness. That was important. She needed to warm herself, and wash all the scrapes. Even in her hands, she could see mud and dirt ground into her wounds. If she developed an infection, it could be the end of her. “Yes, I would appreciate that,” she said and started walking again.
The water had been poured, and a maid was fussing, ready to help her. “I think I prefer to do this alone,” she said and the maid quietly left. Mr. Weber nodded to her before closing the door.
Towels were folded on a chair, as was her dressing gown. Her torn gown was useless. It couldn’t be repaired, so she wasn’t gentle as she took it off. Her fingers made clumsy with the cold.
Her body was a sight, with bruises and scrapes. Blood smeared across one knee. Angry welts in places. And then it felt like her skin was on fire as she stepped into the hot water. Her toes and fingers the worst. It felt too hot, but she forced herself in, and as soon as the pain relented, the warmth eased her.
She lay there for a moment and let the warm work its way into her body. Every tired muscle, every ache. The wounds on her hands and knees pierced in pain. There was also one on her hip, she felt now. And the warmth was making her head pound in ache too. Particularly on the back where she’d been whacked. With her fingers, she felt a large swelling, but it didn’t seem the skin had broken. At least not there. There was blood in her hair however, and the water took on a less than pristine hue from the dirt and blood.
In the warmth, her eyes wanted to close, but she feared falling asleep. She still feared this room, and that fear made her scrub her body, even the aching sores, and then get out. Her skin was pink and steaming as she wrapped the towel around her.
Nothing had happened. No one had come crashing through the door, and no ghostly messages. At once she felt exhausted, but too awake to sleep. Her vision felt a little blurry and her mind disengaged with lack of sleep, but she wasn’t sure she’d ever sleep properly again.
There was also a deep pride that she had survived. She’d matched wits with an evildoer, someone intent on subduing her in the most horrible way, and she was still here. She’d made it back to the hotel, and the constable was coming. These last few hours, she would guard herself. Whoever this man was, he would not get her now. She was going to win. She was going to live.
And with the constable, hopefully there would be some answers to what had happened to Oliver, and to Mr. Carter.
Being that she was only in her dressing gown, she had to return to her room. Inside, the fire had been lit and the maid stood by to help her dress. Again, Clemmie dismissed her. Even though she knew a man was responsible, she didn’t feel as though she could trust anyone at the moment. Once the maid left, Clemmie placed her key in the lock and partially twisted it so no other key could be placed inside it from the outside.
For now, she was safe in here, unless someone broke down the door. Hopefully the person responsible wouldn’t be so blatant. Again she told herself the constable was coming and safety would come with him.
Grabbing the chair, she brought it over to the fire to sit and dry herself. Maybe she should rest for a moment. She feared not being on guard, but at some point, she would have to sleep.
Chapter 25
A KNOCK ON HER DOOR WOKE Clemmie from where she’d sat down by the fire in a damp dressing gown. The warm had overcome her and she’d slipped off. In some ways, she felt better for it, but she was also a bit groggy.
“Mrs. Rowland, the constable has arrived, and he’d like to speak to you,” Mr. Weber called from outside the door.
“Uhmm,” she said, trying to get her mind in order. “I’ll be there shortly.”
Mr. Weber seemed to accept her answer and it remained quiet outside her door. On stiff feet, she rose. Her shoes were utterly destroyed, but they had protected her feet from the worst of it. Unfortunately, they hadn’t been strong enough to protect her from bruising, and the soles of her feet felt like long bruises. It hurt to walk, but she took herself to her wardrobe and opened it.
Most of her dresses would require assistance to get into, and for some reason, that fact had her crying, but she didn’t know why. Maybe because she was completely unable to fend for herself. She couldn’t even dress herself.
Obviously, she could call a maid to assist her, but she didn’t want to. She wanted to be alone, and she wanted the ability to manage herself.
Pulling herself together again, she drew out one of her day dresses and pulled it on, but got a fright when
