In the end, she tied her hair back simply with a ribbon. Really, no one was going to be looking at her hair.
In was actually sunny out of the window, completely countermanding how she felt, and what the situation really was. Something terrible was going on here, and had been.
Rising, she left her room and locked the door. Stuck again in a desolate hallway where someone had attacked her before. She was very conscious of the fact that someone could walk up to her any moment and whack her on the head. There was someone here very intent on carrying her away from here. For a moment, she was a little resentful of Mr. Weber for not waiting for her.
Steeling herself, she walked, but every nerve in her body was aware of her surroundings, her ears listening for someone coming, her eyes searching for betraying shadows approaching.
It was an uncomfortable walk, but eventually, she made it to the light of the lobby, to safety.
A policeman stood in the lobby. Dark hair and mustache, wearing a dark blue coat with brass buttons, and a square hat. He didn’t immediately look like a man she would trust. Something about him came across as sneaky-looking. But she supposed he was intelligent and observant, and maybe that made for a good constable. It didn’t, however, look as though he could subdue a strong man.
Mr. Weber stood with him and she could see him informing the constable of her arrival. “Mrs. Rowland, may I present Constable Luchon. He is here to investigate the disappearances.”
The man looked at her, taking in all her injuries. “Madame,” he said. “Please.” He indicated toward the library and she walked as he directed.
They sat down at the small table by the fire. Clemmie couldn’t help but look up where that message had been carefully cleaned away.
“I understand there was some trouble last night.” He spoke in English and brought out a notebook from his pocket. His collar looked so stiff that he could barely bend his neck. Posture was straight and strong.
“Yes, I was abducted and carried away on a cart.”
“And where were they taking you?”
“He,” she added.
“A man. Was there only one?”
“Yes.”
“And how did you get in the cart?”
“They—he snuck up on me from behind, just in the hallway back there, and hit me on the head with something.”
“And you have no recollection of what happened after that?”
“Not until I woke in the cart. In the dark.”
“And when were you abducted, do you think?”
“Before lunch.”
The man twisted his head. “And you awoke again at night. That is a long time to be unconscious. It would suggest a very bad injury to your head, or some chemical applied to keep you unwitting.”
“I noted a sweet taste in my mouth when I woke.”
“Is that so?” he said, noting the observation in his notebook. “You were subdued with a chemical.”
“They must have carried me downstairs, and then taken to a cart.”
“You are a slight woman, so a man could carry you.”
“Did Mr. Weber tell you about Oliver, my husband, and Mr. Carter? They are missing too.”
“He did tell me.”
“I suspect they were hidden somewhere and taken out under the cover of darkness and carried away.”
“And where was he carrying you?”
“I don’t know. I had to walk for hours. The road joined the one here outside the hotel, but up the road to the right. I couldn’t tell you the distance, I’m afraid.” It had felt like forever to her, but she had no idea how far it had actually been. “It was dark.”
“And this man beat you?”
Clemmie blinked for a moment. “No, I sustained these injuries escaping. At least I think so.” How could she say which bruises had been there as she’d woken up? “I took a tumble or two.”
“And what did the man do?”
“He searched for a while, but I hid. Then he turned around and returned the way we’d come. Returned here, I suppose,” she said, looking around furtively.
“And who do you think this man was?”
“He swore in a language I don’t know.”
“Did you recognize his voice?”
She shook her head. “But it was dark and I was distressed.”
“Why do you think this man targeted you and your husband?”
The question stumped her. “I don’t know. Oliver did come here once before, so I wondered if he’d upset someone who then remembered him. But as far as I know, Mr. Carter has never been here before. It has to be some deranged mind at work. Did Mr. Weber tell you about the messages?”
“Which messages?”
“The ones in Latin. One was written right here,” she said, pointing to above the fireplace. “Traitors die first, it said. Written in Latin.”
“You speak Latin?”
“Mr. Carter did. Does,” she corrected herself in a notion of solidarity with him, as if her belief he was still alive would make it so. “Someone has been threatening the people here. Miss Marnier was the first to experience harassment. Miss Juno, the nursemaid and the countess von Rothbach’s grandchild, heard… noises in the hallway. I heard them too. They sounded like… armor.”
“Armor?”
“Are you familiar with the legend of the disappeared Roman soldiers? It is said they are looking for traitors.”
“I know of the legend.”
“They say people have disappeared around here for centuries.”
“I am only interested in the last week.”
“Alright. A few of us have heard them calling from the mist. The clouds, I mean.”
“Calling?”
“Marching,” she said. If she hadn’t experienced it so fully during the night, she might not mention it, but there was no doubt that there had been a battalion, or whatever a group of
