“Fucking bird,” he screamed angrily, but she wouldn’t stop. The spear that flew into his back distracted him as he slammed forward and then back, losing his footing. It was quite elegant, the fall, seeming to go forever, but he hit the ground hard, then disappeared under the mail courier’s horses, followed by the bumps of the wagon.
Yells and drawn in horses as the carriages stopped. The drivers getting down to see to him. But she already knew he was dead. Justice had been done and she flew higher. Away stood the men, the soldiers, watching as the man was tended to.
A scream pierced, a woman screaming. She didn’t see a woman, and she didn’t care, but the scream grew louder.
Clemmie woke and the scream followed. Someone was screaming. Immediately, she sought Oliver to make sure he was alright. No, as her senses sharpened, she noted the scream was from outside the room. For a moment, she feared it had been her screaming—from the strangeness of her dream, but it wasn’t.
Now she was awake and another scream worked through the door. Clemmie found herself sitting by the fire where she must have fallen asleep. Her mind was still groggy from the very strange dream. She’d been a bird and she’d actually felt like she’d been flying. Had felt her feathers, and the air underneath her.
But there was danger. Something was happening. Oliver didn’t move and she rushed over to check on him, but he was sleeping soundly. A heavy sleeper, it seemed, and the fact that he was physically exhausted.
For a moment, Clemmie didn’t know what to do. Whether to wake him. But he wasn’t dressed, and she needed to see what was happening. She had to know, because the screams continued.
Making her mind up, she walked to the door and unlocked it, relocked it again from the outside, before she followed the sounds of the screams.
There were other people. People who’d come out of their rooms in their nightclothes. Mr. Weber came rushing, having quickly dressed. Also a maid from downstairs, but the screams were coming from Miss Marnier. She looked hysterical. Her hair was loose and her feet were bare.
“I saw him. In the window. That man was staring at me,” she screamed angrily.
“That can’t be,” Mr. Weber said. “Your window is thirty feet off the ground. It must have been a nightmare.”
“I know what I saw. That man was staring at me.”
Miss Marnier had been hysterical before, but this was on another level. Her eyes darted wildly and she kept licking her lips. Clemmie could see her hands shaking. There was no doubt she was genuinely frightened.
The constable was there, wearing his hastily put on uniform. Miss Juno was trying to put her arm around Miss Marnier, and the countess stood back, trying to hide how terrified she was.
“How can a man stand thirty feet in the air?” the Italian man asked, coming from behind Clemmie to walk toward the commotion.
“I saw him clear as day. He was watching me,” Miss Marnier screamed. “He was going to kill me. I could see it in his eyes.”
“What did he look like?” Mr. Weber asked.
“Strong, mean and horrible. The menace in his eyes. Hatred. He had a scar on his face. Ugly, awful man.”
Goosebumps rose up Clemmie’s skin. “Was he Roman?” Clemmie asked.
Miss Marnier turned her crazed eyes at her and there was stillness. “Yes!” she said as if just realizing. “He had a spear.”
“A spear?” the Italian man said questioningly. “Thirty-foot Roman soldier with a spear? That’s quite a feat. Clearly some kind of trickery.” The men went on to discuss it. Some kind of rig holding him up, or a platform. Was there a ledge he could have used? They turned their attention to Mr. Weber, who was telling them there was the tiniest of ledges where the stone of the foundation met the plaster of the exterior.
But Clemmie’s attention was still on Miss Marnier, because she knew who the woman was referring to. And now it seems he’d appeared before Miss Marnier to terrify her.
“Were you awake?” Clemmie asked.
“Of course I was awake. I’m not some idiot sleepwalking. He was there!”
In her dream, Clemmie had been a bird chasing down Mr. Hubert. The dream had been so clear and she’d seen things she didn’t normally see. She’d felt what it was like to fly, something her mind couldn’t even concoct.
“Then he is accusing you,” Clemmie said.
“Accusing me of what?” Miss Marnier shot back, but she saw defiance in the woman’s face rather than shock. A defiance that was even stronger than her fear of a ghost outside her window. Clemmie’s mind was turning over, trying to understand the conclusion was she reaching.
“You are dressed, Mrs. Rowland?” the constable asked. “Why is that?”
“I fell asleep by the fire.”
“You have not been outside by any chance?” he asked, moving closer and reaching for her skirt. It seemed he still wanted to accuse her. By the look on his face, he didn’t get the proof he sought by feeling her skirt. She supposed he expected it would be cold from being outside.
Right now, though, Clemmie wasn’t interested in the constable and his accusations, and she returned her attention back to Miss Marnier. “Why would he accuse you?” she asked. It was a question more to herself, but she voiced it.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” Miss Marnier spat back. Her attention shifted to the constable and back. “Are you responsible for this?” she accused back.
“No,” Clemmie said. “I am not.”
Through all this, Clemmie was trying to put the pieces together in her mind. The Roman was accusing her. And the Roman and his men had been there to cause Mr. Hubert’s fall from the carriage. And his crow, it seemed. She
