“And you knew him from back in England?”
“No, we have never met him before.”
“But your husband had. They were at the same university. If that is true, you must have met his man as you visited your fiancé.”
“We were not betrothed during his university days. And from the sounds of it, they hadn’t met, simply had people in common. Mr. Coleridge was interested in antiquities, and it is not a subject Oliver is particularly interested in.”
“Are you interested in antiquities?”
“Not particularly.”
“And where did this Mr. Coleridge travel onto?”
“His destination was England, I believe. I would presume Oxford.”
“You are a wealthy woman with your husband dead.”
“My husband is missing, not dead.” Truthfully, it was hard for her to believe that, but she disliked being told he was dead based on no evidence. “We are both from wealthy families, so it makes little difference.”
“But a widow has many freedoms.”
“If I didn’t wish to get married, I wouldn’t have. Are you done with these ludicrous questions?” She was channeling the countess’ behavior. Never would she speak so sternly normally, but she was fully within her right to. “I am starting to worry you are too interested in chasing shadows over actually finding these men.” She might as well go for it. “Have you actually done anything to find the missing men? And how dare you assume they are dead. Have you done anything useful at all?”
The man certainly didn’t like being challenged. The old her would have cringed at the very idea of someone being upset with her, but there were much more important things here.
“Have you established where and how these men were taken? I can assure you, you won’t find them in my room. They are not in the hotel, so where are they? Where is Mr. Hurbert? He was taken this morning, and no cart has left the hotel.”
“How do you know that no cart was taken?”
“Well, I am assuming you would have chased them down if someone had trundled off with one, in light of how I was taken.”
“Yes, this abduction that you escaped from. Yet you have no idea who or how you were taken.”
“A man.”
“What man?”
“I am not here to do your job for you. That is for you to establish.”
“No, my job is to arrest the culprit.”
“It seems your job is to chase delusions.”
“Was your husband perhaps regretting his marriage to you?”
“No, he wasn’t.”
Mr. Schonberg spent a whole day with him, and he could attest to Oliver’s state of mind, she was going to say, but thought better of it. How did she know who this observation of them rowing had come from? Someone had said it, and it wasn’t true. Who could it have been? Frankly, she didn’t really remember the day before his disappearance. He’d been tramping and he was exhausted, but relatively happy with the day. There had been no quarreling. It must have been some statement that Constable Luchon misinterpreted. The man seemed to be set on proving she’d done this and would twist anything to support his assumption.
“Now if you have nothing further to ask, I have a telegram to send.”
“Who are you sending a telegram to?”
“To my father. He is a man of means and will engage the people necessary to find Oliver.” Because her faith in this man was beyond repair.
Chapter 28
AT SUPPER, CLEMMIE SAT AT her usual table. There was a wariness in the room. People wanted to leave, but the constable wasn’t allowing anyone to go, including staff for telegram sending, which was apparently a substantial journey. It seemed even the countess couldn’t get past the man.
But what was clear was that the threat was still here. Threats were still appearing, and people were still disappearing. More targeted at the countess now—written on her very door. The woman didn’t look happy. Her grandchild fussed, clearly feeling the tension.
The Schonbergs sat at their usual table too, quietly talking between themselves. Was he the one who’d egged the constable into believing things were poorly between her and her husband? It could be that he’d done so inadvertently. Maybe Oliver had said something in jest that had been taken the wrong way. Oliver did like to jest. He wasn’t necessarily someone who hid his thoughts.
Then there was the rude Italian, who was there too. Clemmie watched him for a moment. There was still that feeling in her that he could be involved. In terms of irrational motives, he seemed the person who least liked people.
The countess’ party had lost her footman, and she her husband. There was no one that particularly mourned Mr. Carter on account of him being alone. His family would have no idea he was missing. Maybe there was no way of actually reaching them, or was there an address for them somewhere in Mr. Carter’s room?
Mr. Weber had promised to send someone to deliver the telegram as soon as it was allowed, but Clemmie knew it would take much too long for someone to be engaged and actually arrive. She would probably be cast in prison before they did. So maybe it was important she send the telegram before the option was denied her. But Mr. Weber had the telegram and the money to send it, so she felt safe in that regard.
The food was very nice, but Clemmie ate because she had to. She still needed to recuperate her strength from her ordeal.
Through the door walked the constable, and he took a seat close to the dark window. The room grew more uncomfortable with his presence. Clemmie knew he was asking people about her specifically. His interest in her could hardly have gone unnoticed.
Suddenly, she didn’t want to stay and watch this horrid man eat, so she left the dining room. The lobby was quiet. Mr. Weber was helping with
