The Alps Obscure

by Oster, Camille

  By Camille Oster

  Copyright ©2020 Camille Oster

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the work of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Camille Oster – Author

  www.camilleoster.com

  http://www.facebook.com/pages/Camille-Oster/489718877729579

  camille.osternz@gmail.com

  @camilleoster_author (Instagram)

  Chapter 1

  Furka Pass, Switzerland, 1885

  EVER SINCE THEY STARTED climbing along the winding road, the air was decidedly chilly. Fogginess marred the view, which Clemmie assumed was spectacular. This was the Swiss Alps—a tribute to splendor if there ever was one, from what she’d heard.

  All this was beyond exciting, heading to Italy on her honeymoon. She’d known this day would come, but she hadn’t been sure exactly when, and that she’d be so lucky in her husband, Oliver Rowland. One of the most handsome men she’d ever met, and she’d been beside herself when he’d started courting her. Clear skin and good features, neat brown hair and soulful eyes—eyes she could get lost in.

  The courtship had gone perfectly, and now they were here, traveling to Italy together. It still felt strange that she was allowed to simply leave with him, after all the supervision and chaperoning, she was now a wife, and such things weren’t needed. Not that they really had been necessary. She wasn’t one to flout the rules simply because they were there. Those girls definitely existed, and she’d met a few of them at her finishing school.

  “Are you cold?” Oliver asked.

  “No, I am perfectly warm.” He’d furnished her with a woolen blanket and she was as comfortable as could be, although a little weary with all the movement. The carriage was well sprung, but these were long days.

  “This hotel is new, and the view is a marvel,” Oliver said. “The Rhone Glacier is magnificent. The weather was too poor when I was here before, but I thought we’d stay a few days and recover from the journey. Hopefully, we’ll get a day or two where we can properly see the glacier. They say it’s a remnant from the ice age.”

  History wasn’t something Clemmie excelled at, so she wasn’t sure how long ago that was. “That is a wonder,” she said and smiled. Oliver liked it when she was impressed by the things he said, and she adored that he cared about her opinion.

  They seemed to be a very good match. His family was good. They had all seemed very nice the times they’d met. They’d dined together, both her family and his. Her father was pleased with the match.

  During those meetings before they’d married, he’d told her of his Grand Tour and how he’d loved Italy. And now he was sharing that love with her. It was beyond exciting.

  “I hope we get some good days,” she said with a smile. Oliver smiled back. She adored it when he smiled, and it was hard not to see how excited he was about this trip. Truthfully, stopping to see a glacier wasn’t something that would occur to her, but she was about to find out why anyone would. “Are we traveling through Paris on the way home as well?”

  “It is probably the easiest way.”

  “I like Paris.”

  “You liked the fashion,” Oliver stated.

  “I cannot deny I was inspired.”

  “Well, in Italy, it is the landscape, the history, the architecture. The food and the people. Water so blue, it cannot be matched. It is simply marvelous.”

  It was true she was looking forward to it. How could she not when Oliver spoke so enthusiastically about it.

  “I think we must be getting close now,” Oliver said and leaned closer to the window. Raindrops ran down the outside of the pane. All Clemmie saw was gray wetness, but it was still very exciting. Just being here with Oliver was amazing, and he was her husband.

  The carriage seemed to reach a peak for a while, not the first they’d encountered. They’d gone up mountains endlessly. At times the wind pushed on the side of the carriage, which made her wonder how harsh the weather was outside.

  They turned a sharp corner and the carriage slowed.

  “I think we’re here,” Oliver said and shifted closer to the door. Clemmie felt the coolness of his absence. In all, she was ready to stretch her legs, to get out of this carriage for a while. A cup of tea wouldn’t go astray either. Lunch had been nice, although the food and flavors were unfamiliar.

  Oliver opened the door and the blustering wind beat into the carriage. “Come,” he said, holding his hand out. “We’re definitely here.”

  “Excellent,” Clemmie said and stepped out. The pressure of the wind on her skirt was immediate. It was hard to keep her eyes open fully. No, the weather wasn’t nice at all, but perhaps it would pass by morning.

  Porters came and attended to their trunks, while a doorman came to let them inside. The hotel seemed nice, very new. A roaring fire crackled not far away and Clemmie moved closer to it while Oliver dealt with the desk.

  The fire drew her attention for a while. Hopefully, it would chase away the cold humidity that seemed to stick to her. The dampness wasn’t ideal for her blond curls, but little could be done about that. The warmth was reassuring, and before long, Oliver was back, holding two steaming cups. He handed one to her. “Hot cider,” he said.

  With a smile, Clemmie accepted it and took a small sip of the warm liquid. Wisps of steam rose from it and the cup itself warmed her hand. It was spiced—a pleasant drink.

  “Our rooms will be ready soon. They’re preparing them now. Are you hungry?”

  “I think I prefer to wait until supper,” Clemmie replied and took another sip of her cider.

  An older woman walked into the room, wearing a silk gown in dark blue, with black beading. She had a regal bearing and her gray hair was neatly pinned.

  “Where are you, Monsieur Weber?” she asked in German. Clemmie was pleased that after years of study, she’d mastered the fundamentals of the language. “That stupid man is never where he’s supposed to be.”

  “I believe he is seeing all is right with our rooms,” Oliver stated.

  The woman turned sharply and considered them. No expression broke her cool regard. Perhaps she didn’t understand English.

  A younger woman, a maid, by the look of it, came rushing out from where the woman had come. “I’ll speak to the kitchen,” the young woman said nervously.

  “See that you do,” the lady said and then kept walking.

  “That is Countess Wilhelmina von Rothbach,” a man said. English by accent. “She is… exacting, I have observed. Her carriage has had an incident. I fear not everything is to her standards at the moment.” The man flipped his paper over and under his arm. “Philip Coleridge. Antiquarian. Oxford.”

  “Oliver Rowland, former student.”

  “Ah,” the man said with delight. “And what did you study?”

  “Classical literature, mostly.”

  “Marvelous. You would have known Aldus Copperall then.”

  “I did indeed,” Oliver responded. “Oh, and this is Clementine Rowland. My wife.”

  “A delight,” Philip said, stepping forward to take her hand. A quick kiss on her knuckles and he released it. Truthfully, Clemmie was a little too weary and unsettled to fully engage in conversation with strangers, but Oliver seemed to warm to the man.

  “I might rest,” Clemmie said when she saw the man from the desk return.

  “Right, of course,” Oliver said with a smile. “We should see where our rooms are.”

  “Naturally. Well, I hope we’ll see each other at supper. The weather is a little rough just at the moment. I should move north, but I thou
ght I might wait for a nice day. The Alps are stunning when the sun shines. They really are. It’s worth the wait. The glacier is astounding. I hope you get a chance to see it while you’re here.”

  “We hope to,” Oliver replied. “One can only pray the weather will be merciful to us.”

  “In the meantime,” Mr. Coleridge said, “I might see myself to the bar. They keep quite good stock. Perhaps to keep us sedate in bad weather like this,” he finished with a wink.

  Clemmie smiled. He did seem like a nice man, but as she stood there, she stifled a yawn.

  “Come, my dear,” Oliver said and urged her toward the neatly uniformed young man who stood waiting for them. “I think resting before supper would do us both good.”

  They were taken through a doorway, where lanterns lit a hallway that felt a little dark. Being up in the mountains, the gas for lighting would be quite impossible. They followed the young man, who walked silently on the thick carpet, up a set of stairs and along another hallway.

  “Room fourteen,” he said as he stopped and turned back to them before unlocking the door with a key attached to an engraved brass oval.

  The room itself was bright, with large windows. A fire warmed the space. There were a sitting room and bedroom to the right. “This is perfect,” Oliver said, taking the key off the young man.

  “The water closet is down the hall. Hot water is available between eight and ten in the mornings.”

  “Excellent. Our trunks have been brought?”

  “Of course,” the young man said and made to leave.

  “Why don’t you go rest?” Oliver suggested. “I think I’ll sit and read for a while. Perhaps I will join Mr. Coleridge in the bar, if that’s alright.”

  “Perfect.” Admittedly, she preferred that he stay, but she didn’t want to be seen as overbearing and needy. She was only going to rest, after all. She’d done so in strange rooms on a number of occasions. It just hadn’t been in another country. “I suppose it will be dark soon.”

  “It shouldn’t take long, I would suspect.”

  “Perhaps light a lamp before you go. I should hate to wake in total darkness.”

  “Of course,” Oliver said and came over to give her a quick kiss. Again, she stifled a yawn. “Go rest.”

  Chapter 2

  THE DINING ROOM WAS A large space with tables dotting the space. People talked and ate. A laugh pierced through the murmur of the diners.

  Mr. Weber greeted them. “Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Rowland. You join us this evening. Mr. Coleridge is here if you wish to join him.”

  “Of course,” Oliver said brightly, and Clemmie irrationally wondered if her company was boring him. Perhaps they had spent too much time together, as it had only been them for days on end. But before she could think about it further, she was being led to a table on the far side of the dining hall by the dark window.

  Mr. Coleridge was seated and looked happy to see them. “I hope you’re well-rested. It can be a testing journey through the mountains. Now, I understand you’re heading south.”

  “Yes, we are to visit both Venice and Florence.”

  “Both wondrous cities. Have you been before?”

  Oliver and Mr. Coleridge went on to talk about sights they’d seen and what there was to see. As Clemmie knew very little, it was hard to follow the conversation. Instead, she watched as the countess arrived in the dining room, wearing the same dress as before—and the same look of disapproval. Clemmie suspected the woman’s disapproval was perpetual.

  “Very old family,” Mr. Coleridge said, having noticed her walk in too. “As I understand it, they are related to Catherine the Great, and by extension with most of the royal families in Europe. She’s heading south to Italy as well, I believe. I heard it said she heads south for her health.”

  “But it’s spring,” Clemmie said with confusion. “Would she not go south for the winter?”

  “Correct you are. Perhaps it’s pollen she fears. Some are like that, cannot tolerate summers.”

  That was true. Clemmie had a friend who suffered terribly with summer sniffles.

  “The Mediterranean climate is gentler in most regards, except when it comes to the heat in summer. I, personally, cannot tolerate the heat, so I head north for summer, like the birds do.”

  Clemmie smiled at the comparison.

  “She has quite the entourage,” he continued, referring to the countess. I believe she has one of the grandchildren with her, who travels with nurses and a governess. And there’s a companion too, and other people whose purpose I don’t know. “One cannot always relate to the nobles. They do seem less independent than most. I couldn’t imagine traveling with so many.”

  “Do you travel alone, Mr. Coleridge?” Clemmie asked.

  “I do. I tend to meet people at my destination, but traveling together is tiring, I find. It doesn’t always bring out the best in people. And when you travel with a group, you are so less likely to meet interesting people like yourself.”

  “Rightly said,” Oliver said. “I made some fast friends out of the people I’ve stumbled across while abroad.”

  “Now comes a German couple. Mr. and Mrs. Schonberg, who I believe come from Munich. Lovely couple. Their English isn’t perhaps the best, but better than my German. I believe, like yourself, they are on their honeymoon.”

  Clemmie looked over to see a young couple, very handsome.

  “They’ve been here a few days and he’s rather partial to tramping around the mountains. A hobby I cannot bring myself to understand. So, I expect they intend to be here a few days. Actually, I gather this is the destination for their honeymoon.”

  “Oh,” Clemmie said with surprise, not having guessed anyone would choose this as the location for their honeymoon.

  “Then we have a Russian gentleman over there. I know very little about him. We haven’t had the chance to be introduced. He arrived shortly before you did. The others I haven’t really met either. Although I did meet Mr. Moran, a businessman from Milan. I believe he is heading north to Germany.”

  “This is quite the intersection of Europe, isn’t it?” Clemmie said.

  “As I said, it is certainly a place to meet interesting people.”

  Their meals arrived. Roasted lamb with small potatoes and fine gravy. A bottle of wine accompanied it. “I have to say I haven’t had a bad meal since I arrived.”

  It was delicious and Clemmie felt her hunger after the long day’s travel. She probably ate a little more than she should have, and ended up with the uncomfortable feeling of being just a bit too content. The wine was delicious as well, and she stayed with her wine while the men enjoyed their desserts.

  “There’s a village down in the valley,” Mr. Coleridge stated once he’d finished. “Today we can’t see it, but on a clear evening, you can see the lights. It’s a delightful little village. A very good bakery. The Germans are good bakers. Some would say the French are better, but I don’t agree.”

  The noise of a broken plate drew their attention back toward the countess’ table and the waiter rushed to help. In the commotion, the countess rose and left the dining room. One of the younger women looked flustered and close to tears. It seemed not a happy household.

  “Have you seen the glacier?” Oliver asked.

  “It’s magnificent. It is ice, but it has colors you can see nowhere else. There’s a cave you can walk into, and you are surrounded by ice. I don’t know how thick is it over your head, but it has to be at least thirty yards if not more. The ice has a translucent quality, of course. It really is a marvel.”

  “I’d very much like to see it,” Oliver said.

  “It would be a crime to pass through here and not see it. Shall we retire to the parlor?”

  “Excellent Idea,” Oliver said, turning to Clemmie questioningly.

  “I could do with a small digestive,” she said.

  “They have all the Italian liqueurs and sherries from Portugal. Port too, if that suits your fancy.”

  “A sherry w
ould be nice.”

  They rose and left the dining room. There were a surprising number of people there. The hotel had to be close to full occupancy. But perhaps people came from places around, such as the village, to dine here as well.

  The parlor had a more comfortable quality, with cushioned chairs and a large fire. Dark wood paneling on the walls gave a warm quality. There looked to be a library attached to it. It was a nice space, particularly on a cold night.

  The Italian gentleman they’d seen before was there, reading a book and sipping on a small glass of liqueur. A cigar sat on an ashtray next to him.

  “Do you mind if I smoke, Mrs. Rowland?”

  For a moment, she didn’t answer. She still wasn’t used to her new surname and didn’t always recognize that she was being spoken to. “No, please go ahead,” she said when she realized her error. The smell of cigars reminded her of her father, who liked to smoke in the evenings after supper. Oliver didn’t like tobacco and declined when Mr. Coleridge offered him one.

  A man came over and inquired if they wanted drinks and both Mr. Coleridge and Oliver requested a port, while Oliver asked for a sherry for her. As she sat, she watched the Italian man, who was dark in complexion and had hair in neat waves along his head. Absently, he took a sip of his liqueur without looking up from his book. Perhaps she should explore some of the excellent Italian liqueurs Mr. Coleridge had mentioned. It was a topic she knew very little about, and it would be nice to return from this trip with expanded experiences.

  The fire crackled, and Clemmie started to feel more relaxed. Her rest hadn’t been terribly long. It had been difficult to fall asleep and she wasn’t sure she’d gotten that much rest in the end.

  The warmth and the pleasantly subdued conversation were lulling her into tiredness. Even the sherry did little to revive her, and she struggled to keep her eyes open. Hopefully, she would sleep very well that night, Oliver’s warm body next to her.

  For his sake, she hoped there would be a clear day come morning. Mr. Coleridge’s description of the glacier had her curious. Her mind couldn’t conceptualize what he was saying, but she was eager to see what he meant. Oh, the stories she would tell her cousin when she returned home.