Hurriedly, she made her way down to the road, knowing the dogs were below. No one was there to tell her anything. Then there was shouting. Something was happening. They must have found something. Listening intently, she tried to hear the direction. They were down there somewhere, but she wasn’t entirely sure where. “What’s happening?” she called, but got no response.
The dogs barked again. They were ahead, but she didn’t know how far. She started running up the road, looking for indication of the people down there. There were trees in the way. But she came across a path that led off the road. It wasn’t much and one probably wouldn’t notice it traveling at speed, but it was definitely there.
This must be where the cart had come off the road. She set off down it. It led around through the trees, to a plateau with spectacular view of the valley. But right now, she didn’t care about the view, and she ran ahead until she found people, and the dog handlers.
Their attention told her the direction and she followed, seeing only the side of the hill. Looking closer, she saw an opening. A cave?
She ran to it, ignoring the man who was calling for her to stay behind. The smell was immediate, but it wasn’t the smell of death. More the unpleasant smell of a sewer.
The small entrance to the cave opened into what was a storage room. Barrels and flasks. There were men ahead, she heard them talking.
“Oliver?” she called.
The men were gathered, and they were hammering on iron. Clemmie pushed her way in, and she saw Oliver. For a moment, she thought he was dead, but his eyes shifted. “Oliver!” she said, kneeling down by the bars that kept him in.
“Clemmie,” he said weakly and smiled. A water pouch was in his hand and he sipped from it. His weakness was pronounced.
Another man lay on the ground. He wasn’t moving, and she hadn’t noticed he was there. Mr. Carter.
“Is he?”
“He’s still breathing, but he hasn’t been conscious.”
Clemmie’s heart contracted with concern. “But you are alright?”
“I’m very weak. We were locked in here and left.”
A nasty bruise covered the side of Oliver’s face, his eye swollen over. “I can’t believe we found you.”
“Where’s the other man? The third one?”
“Not here. No one else was brought here.”
The banging continued as the men tried to break the lock. “Who would install a prison here?”
“I think it was intended to lock valuables in.”
Finally the lock gave, but Oliver was too weak to stand. The men had to carry him out, and Mr. Carter. Being unconscious for so long wasn’t a good sign. Mr. Carter must be seriously injured.
They were taken outside, the light stung Oliver’s eyes and he tried to protect himself from it. His clothes were dirty and torn, and he was too weak to stand.
“I didn’t think I’d make it, Clemmie,” he said.
“Well, we found you.” In her life, she never thought she’d be so happy. Her wedding day was the one she’d thought would be the happiest of her life, but this was sheer joy. “I’m so very pleased we found you. We searched.”
“Even you. That I did not expect.”
For a moment, she considered telling him about her ordeal, how she’d been abducted and had escaped. In reality, she would probably have ended up in that little prison with him. But for now, she would leave that for another day.
All that mattered was that Oliver had been found.
“We must get the doctor,” a man said. “Where is the cart?”
Chapter 30
OLIVER SAT IN THE BATH, STARING at the wall. He had no energy. That much was clear. But he’d had a cup of hot chocolate to revive him, and now had a glass of brandy he was intermittently sipping. Even taking a sip was difficult for him.
“Whoever’s been doing this is still here,” Clemmie said, not liking the echo in the room. For some odd reason, it felt as though there were others in the room with them—like they were being observed. “They attacked me too.”
Oliver turned his head to her.
“He hit me over the head and then sedated me with chloroform, I think.”
“That’s what he did to me too. I never really saw his face, but he was thin. A thin man.”
“I didn’t notice.”
“Then what happened?”
“I woke in the back of the cart. He was taking me, I presume to where you were. I escaped, ran into the dark and hid. He searched, but he didn’t find me.” Again, she considered if she should tell him about the marching Romans, but she didn’t want him to think she was mentally unstable. It was still very important to her that Oliver thought well of her.
“He cared nothing for us,” Oliver said. “He gave us nothing to sustain ourselves. I don’t think he intended for us to be rescued.”
Clemmie’s frown deepened. “I cannot understand such callousness. What can drive such people?”
“Madness. Greed.”
“But he’s gained nothing. Surely this cannot be for simple robbery.”
“No,” Oliver agreed. “I don’t think so.”
“Did you see any messages in Latin?”
“What do you mean?”
“That man has been leaving messages about the hotel, in Latin, saying that traitors will die first. I think his intention was to use the legend of the lost Romans to explain his work.” And in the end, it was those Romans that had led her to find his victims.
There was a knock on the door. “Mr. Rowland? I must take your statement at the earliest opportunity.”
Clemmie recognized the voice of Constable Luchon. “Ah, our less than helpful constable.”
“Has he been troublesome?”
“Only from the perspective that he is adamant I’m behind this. His natural assumption is
