As for herself, Clemmie expected there was a chance she’d be arrested before she had a chance to return to English soil. “Both of us have had honeymoons that have been far from expected,” Clemmie said, finding it hard to think she was still technically on her honeymoon. As were the Schonbergs.
“We are thinking we might return in late summer. This is a beautiful area in the summer.”
Clemmie smiled, but didn’t say anything. She wasn’t sure anything could impel her to return here again. In fact, she wasn’t entirely sure she could be urged to leave England again. This feeling of being remote and friendless hadn’t been one she’d enjoyed.
They ate and finished quickly.
“I believe we are leaving shortly. I will go collect the boots for you,” Mrs. Schonberg said. “Mr. Weber said he was gathering men from the village, and I think we are to meet outside.”
“I will go get one of Oliver’s neckerchiefs. There is one or two that should carry his scent. For the dogs.”
It comforted her that Mrs. Schonberg joined her to walk down the corridor. When they parted, Clemmie ran again, darting up the stairs and into her room. She searched through Oliver’s trunk and found the neckerchief and shoved it into her pocket.
The search was an excuse for her to run down the corridors, and she reached the lobby without interference. Maybe the culprit was too scared now that the search was on. Now that the victims were to be found. Clemmie fully believed the day would be successful. She felt it in her gut.
“Ah, you are to join the search, Mrs. Rowland?” the constable said when she arrived.
“Yes, as it is my Oliver missing.”
“A perfect opportunity for a culprit to sneak away.” He had that intensity when he watched her, as if she would reveal her guilt.
“That must make things difficult for you as the culprit could choose to sneak away from the hotel while we’re searching.”
“You did not join the first search. Why was that?”
“I was too distraught,” she said. The truth was that she hadn’t thought herself capable, but she would rather die than reveal that vulnerability to this man.
“These are the boots,” Mrs. Schonberg said and held up a pair of the ugliest boots Clemmie had laid eyes on. “They are not the height of fashion in anyone’s books, but your feet will thank you at the end of the day.”
“That is what’s important,” Clemmie said and took them. “Excuse me,” she said dryly to the constable. The man really was horrible.
On the far side of the lobby, Clemmie took a seat and changed her shoes for the boots. They were heavy and made her feel hefty, but they were comfortably broad inside. Shifting her shoes behind the seat, Clemmie stashed them there until she came back, and then joined the party who was moving outside.
There were men she didn’t know, local by the look of them. Her driver was also there and she smiled at him for the kindness. Mr. Weber spoke in German, thanking them, and explaining how they believed the missing had been moved up on the mountain after the search was completed.
Three carts stood by waiting for them. Clemmie had expected they would walk, but recognized the good thinking of driving them to where they should start searching.
They got into the backs of the carts, and she joined the one the Schonbergs chose. Mr. Weber waved them off. It seemed he wasn’t joining them. Mr. Luchon was, however, probably to ensure she didn’t sneak off during the search. Clemmie shook her head at the stupidity of his disposition.
The horses took them up the road until they reached the crossroad, then turned left as she’d indicated they should. But the road quickly grew unfamiliar as she’d walked this way in the dark, and she had no idea how far she’d managed to walk.
Around her was the side of the mountain, a valley and then another mountain beyond it. How far up the mountain could they have gone? Surely it would be hard to carry unconscious men up the steepest part of it?
They seemed to go for quite a while and then the front cart stopped.
“We start here,” said the man who appeared to be leading the search. A stout beard and a weathered face. Mid-forties, Clemmie guessed, and he had the bearing of someone familiar with these lands. “We search below the road and above, and we continue.”
They were organized into two parties.
Clemmie approached the man, who looked at her almost as if he was disappointed she was there. “I brought some clothing with scent if that helps,” she said in German. “For the dogs.”
“It can’t hurt.”
Taking it out of her coat pocket, she handed the neckerchief to the man and he passed it on to the man handling the dogs. The dogs sniffed it diligently, but they didn’t rush off as she hoped. Instead, they just lingered around and smelled things.
“Come,” Mrs. Schonberg said. “We will go above the road.”
As they walked, Clemmie followed, climbing behind them as they sought a way up the steep terrain. It seemed the road had been cut into the mountain in some places, so once they got above the road, it was a little less steep.
They spread out and walked parallel to the road. Luckily the weather was holding. It wasn’t sunny and warm, but it wasn’t raining either. The plants were unfamiliar to her, more shrubs. In places, trees were clustered together.
After walking for some time through the difficult terrain, Clemmie grew tired, but she ignored it and kept pushing herself. Her rests were a little more often, but she more or less kept up. It seemed like hours, and her feet were starting to ache—particularly as they were still bruised from her ordeal. That was what she called it now, her ordeal.
The road was leading them higher. They walked in silence, the only
