Startled awake, her senses searched for danger around her, but the room was quiet. Not safe in her dreams, and not safe awake. It was a miserable existence.
Looking at the small clock on the bedside table, she saw it was just the end of the lunch services, so she shot up and straightened herself. In the mirror, she saw that there were streaks from the pillow on her face, but that could not be helped. The former her would never go down with such telltale signs on her, but she was famished and there were bigger things to worry about than people knowing she’d just come from a nap. Who wouldn’t think it was understandable in these circumstances? Unless it was construed into some kind of sign of guilt.
Straight and strong, she marched through the hallway, while secretly, she was terrified someone lay in wait for her. She would scream and scream if someone came rushing toward her, but luckily, no one did. Maybe they were too afraid to act now that the constable was here.
There were people in the lobby, and they all stared at her as she emerged. Something had happened, she felt it like a tension in her spine. Everyone was there, including the constable. Miss Juno was shaking like a leaf. The countess’ mouth was as tight as Clemmie had ever seen it.
“Mrs. Rowland, please tell us where you have been,” the constable said.
“In my room sleeping. The night's activities caught up with me. Why?”
“Have you been near the countess’ room?”
“No. I don’t know where it is. Why? Has something happened?”
“That message,” Miss Juno said. “The threat. It was on our door.”
Seems the responsible party wasn’t too wary to act because the constable was here. And for once, the threat wasn’t directed at her.
In the back stood the rude Italian, not saying anything. Clemmie still wondered if it was him. The Schonbergs were there too, standing together.
They all stood staring at her as if she could explain this. It made her angry. How could all these people turn on her after everything that had happened?
Instead of saying anything, Clemmie started walking toward the dining room. She was famished and catching the lunch service was more important than those stupid, gawking people. Finding her usual table, she sat down and waited for service. Truthfully, she was still too tired to deal with all this, but the implication was clear that the threat was still present.
The presence of someone next to her had her looking up, expecting to see the waiter, but it was the Schonbergs. “May we join you.”
For a moment, she thought about saying no. It would be rude, but she felt as though she was losing her manners completely. Not quite. “Please, be my guest.”
They sat down. “Something else has happened,” Mrs. Schonberg said quietly. “One of the servants has gone missing, it seems.” Another man missing. It was almost too common to be shocking. “A Mr. Hubert. A footman in the countess’ party. And now that message appeared on the countess’ door.”
It did seem like the threat was aimed in that direction.
“Well, I have neither the strength nor disposition to wrestle three men away from here,” Clemmie said tartly.
“The constable has been asking questions about you,” Mr. Schonberg said quietly. “It is nonsense, of course.”
“I don’t even know why he would think I would be responsible.”
“I think in investigations, the true culprits of crime are often the people closest to the victim,” Mr. Schonberg said.
Clemmie didn’t know what to say. That didn’t even make sense to her. “Is there a spate of women, in these parts, doing away with their husbands on their honeymoons?”
“That does suggest a very callous person. You are anything but callous,” Mrs. Schonberg said, and Clemmie appreciated the endorsement. “But the person doing this is still very much here.”
“What were the circumstances of this footman disappearing?” Clemmie asked. “When was he last seen?”
“This morning, apparently. He was in the staff room for breakfast, and now he’s gone, and there is blood in his room.”
“Blood?” Clemmie said, feeling her anxiety soar again.
“It appears he was injured in some way in his room, and now he cannot be found,” Mr. Schonberg said quietly. “If not for your abduction, it seems this person is very focused on men.”
“Did anyone take a cart from the hotel?” Clemmie asked. “That was how I was conveyed.”
It occurred to her that if the constable believed she was responsible for this, her abduction had been something she’d staged, along with all the bruises and scrapes on her body. Even thinking so was inconceivable, but this man seemed intent on believing she was responsible. Which meant, she’d been wandering the mountains all night, then came back and took a bath, subdued and abducted this Mr. Hubert, and then came down for lunch.
“I must admit I am losing confidence in this man,” she said and wondered how bad things could get for her. Could she be arrested and carted away to prison based on this man’s miscalculations? Who would be there to help her if that happened?
With a deep sigh, she waited for her food to arrive. Again she felt completely out of her depth. A short while back, she’d been scared of going to the village on her own to buy a book. “I don’t know what to do about all this,” she admitted. “I just don’t know.”
“Surely someone would have seen a body being carried out of the hotel,” Mr. Schonberg continued.
“Previously, the people were drugged and hidden somewhere until dark. I was,” she said and they both looked at her.
“So you think he is in the hotel somewhere?”
“He has to be. They couldn’t very well pull up a cart and load a man into it without being noticed, especially after what’s happened lately. Can this really be the work of one person?” Then again, she’d been loaded into a cart. That had likely been after dark, though.
