The Alps Obscure

by Oster, Camille

  “No,” he said with a frown. “I’m afraid not.”

  “Perhaps I should go see if he’s alright,” Clemmie asked. “Or both of us.” Rumors would likely spread if she were seen going to his room. And she would have some explaining to do when Oliver comes back.

  “Of course,” he said, popping behind the counter to retrieve a key. They walked in silence down the corridor to a room at the end, past where she normally took the stairs to her room. “Mr. Carter,” Mr. Weber called, rapping on the door with his knuckles. “Are you alright?”

  There was no answer, and after a few moments, Mr. Weber knocked again. “Perhaps he is bathing.”

  “All morning?” Clemmie said.

  “It is possible he has left the hotel without me seeing. I am not a prison guard.”

  “Of course,” Clemmie said with a gentle smile.

  “But as we are here, perhaps we should check.”

  Mr. Weber unlocked the door and it creaked as it opened. The room was empty, the bed was made. Personal effects were present, which she didn’t recognize as she didn’t know the man that well. “His things are still here,” she said.

  “He must simply have gone out. It is a nice day.”

  “Has Mr. Carter given any indication when he intends to leave?” she asked.

  “Not as of yet. I believe his intention is to head north. I recall him saying he will eventually make his way to London.”

  “Right,” Clemmie said and watched as Mr. Weber closed the door.

  “We will not disturb his privacy more.”

  With a nod, Mr. Weber left, leaving Clemmie alone in the corridor. There was nothing else for it but to wait for him to appear. Perhaps he was out somewhere. It could even be that he’d discovered something—something that would lead to Oliver.

  Hope flared in her again. This would end one day. It had to. Right now, it was hard to make herself believe it. Oliver had been gone so long now. The chances of a good ending were thinning, the most logical part of her mind told herself. These things she didn’t want to believe.

  Returning to her room, she sat in the chair for a while, but felt ill at ease. Up here in her room, she wouldn’t hear if something happened, something important. It wasn’t as if someone would come tell her. She was just hidden away. Maybe she should send a telegram to her father. And Oliver’s family didn’t know anything was wrong yet.

  After lunch, she would inquire with Mr. Weber about sending a missive to the nearest telegram post. Ask for help, for someone to come. To do what? Maybe a detective to discover what had happened. But the people here, the people responsible, may be long gone before a detective reached her. Maybe there were detectives nearby that she should engage. Assistance could be had. Someone professional, who knew how to sleuth.

  Mr. Carter might take offense, because he seemed to relish the role. But worrying about someone taking offense was not her higher priority right now.

  Shifting to the bed, she lay down and tucked her hands under her head, feeling useless and pointless. As a detective, she wasn’t terribly good, because she couldn’t think of what to investigate.

  From her discussion with Mr. Carter, there were a few things to consider. The first being the target for this campaign, which Mr. Carter felt was either her or Mr. Weber. Carter seemed too focused on the idea that it was her, and the man still hadn’t completely ruled out that Oliver had simply left her.

  Thinking back on the things that had happened, she recalled that the very first thing that had happened had been directed toward Miss Marnier, the countess’ governess. This wasn’t related to Clemmie at all, which suggested that maybe Mr. Weber was the target, or Miss Marnier. Oliver’s disappearance was the second thing. Or was it Miss Juno hearing the soldiers in the hallway? The warning in the library, which had definitely happened after Oliver had disappeared.

  In that context, perhaps it would be better to conclude Mr. Weber, and the hotel, was the target. The villagers could hate him, and the hotel. They had access and the means to carry out something like this. They were even part of the staff of the hotel.

  The other alternative was that it really was the ghostly forms of long-gone Roman soldiers, haunting the living. And there was a long history of it in these parts.

  Clemmie wasn’t sure what she believed in terms of that. Never had she been someone who’d concerned themselves with ghosts or the occult. It was popular in some circles, but it had always been too gloomy and macabre for her when there were so many more exciting things to focus her energies on. Saying that, she wasn’t sure she’d describe herself as completely skeptical either. It was simply a topic she hadn’t engaged with much.

  If it wasn’t for there being a history of these things in the village, then she’d dismiss it outright, but how much proof did one need? How many years of haunting? A thousand? After a thousand years of hauntings, should one admit there was something to it?

  The skeptic would say it was collective folly. Individually all things could probably be explained. Even that terrifying crow that had scared her out of her wits. That couldn’t have been planned. But it could just be coincidence—flying into the window just as they were watching for something terrifying out the window. Surely one couldn’t train a crow to do that?

  A noise had her breath caught and she listened intently, fearing hearing the creaks and grinding metal of armor. Unease clenched along her spine as she listened. What was it that she feared? That they would come walking through the walls and carry her away?

  A shuffling noise. She was too scared to move in case she didn’t hear something while she did. Then a door closing. Steps walked past the soft carpet outside and Clemmie told herself off for being so silly. It was simply someone leaving their room. Now she was jumping at shadows. Although the idea of a shadow moving right now would be terrifying, the state she was in.

  With a deep sigh, she relaxed again, deeply hating that this was how she was spending her honeymoon. Poor, poor Oliver.

  Time dragged and she simply stared at the wall until it was time to go down for lunch. In all honesty, she was rather hungry after the morning’s exertion, but she didn’t really feel like eating. Mostly she was going down because it was better than staring at the wall.

  The hallway gave her that uneasy feeling that was starting to become familiar. She felt exposed here—alone and far away from everyone. Things had happened here. She’d heard it with her own ears. But then things had happened in the library too, which had been very close to where people were. It suggested there were no safe places. Even her room had untold keys to it. Or in the case of ghosts, perhaps keys weren’t needed.

  Chiding herself again, she walked calmly to the stairs and down. Holding her head up and telling herself that she was absolutely not scared. But it was a relief when the brightness of the lobby shone along the walls. Mrs. Schonberg came into view. As always, she looked smart and well put together. “Ah, Mrs. Rowlands. How are you today? Are you coming to luncheon?”

  “I am,” Clemmie said.

  “Well, I’m alone today too, so perhaps we dine together, yes?”

  “That would be nice.” Although she was alone because her husband was out tramping. A far cry from being along because one’s husband was missing. There was a certain callousness in Mrs. Schonberg’s statement, but perhaps that was more related to the coolness with which the woman carried herself.

  Mrs. Schonberg’s arm slipped into hers and they walked together. And in other ways, the woman was very friendly and cordial. Clemmie still struggled to understand her.

  “How is your designing faring?” Clemmie asked as they walked toward the dining room.

  “I find the mountains inspiring. Nature has much to teach us. Jagged and sharp beauty.”

  “A crow flew into the window yesterday,” Clemmie said, not quite sure why she did.

  “Birds do not always see the glass,” Mrs. Schonberg responded. “It is a strange thing they do.”

  “How long are you staying?”


  “Another week. Then we return home.”

  They seated themselves at one of the tables. “Will you tramp any more with your husband?”

  “I don’t know. We’ll see. It is a hobby with solitude. The solitude of it is very important to Hans. He enjoys company at times, but his heart is with the solitude.”

  “Oliver is not much for solitude. Or tramping, frankly.”

  “It is a hard life if one cannot stand one’s own company.”

  The statement gave Clemmie pause, because she was rarely alone. Had never really seen any purpose for being alone, other than necessary things one did in privacy. But even when changing, her maid was there. There seemed little purpose in being alone. It achieved little.

  Although if one was designing things, she could see the benefit of being alone.

  Speaking of alone, Clemmie had forgotten the main reason she was here and looked around the dining room. The countess and her party were there. The rude Italian, and the new couple that had arrived earlier. A man she didn’t recognize. “Mr. Carter is not here.”

  “Who?” Mrs. Schonberg asked.

  “The American,” Clemmie said, looking back at her. “He wasn’t here for breakfast either.”

  “Maybe he has continued his journey,” the woman said with little concern.

  “No, his things are still here.” Unless he’d checked out while she’d been in her room. It could have happened. The unease in her feared something much worse. She would speak to Mr. Weber after eating. Although she didn’t want to confront the idea that there was yet another man missing. A hard lump sat in her throat at the thought. Things were getting worse.

  With a tight smile, she considered the woman in front of her. Could she and her husband be responsible? Or her husband alone? He had been out there when the soldiers had been calling. That they did know for sure. But why? Why would someone do something like that?

  Chapter 19

  WHEN MR. CARTER DIDN’T COME to supper, it was official as far as Clemmie was concerned, that something had happened. She’d stood by the door to the dining room and waited, but he hadn’t come. Mr. Weber was behind the desk and he knew what her concern was.

  “He has disappeared too,” she said, looking over at him. A look of frustrated sadness met her.

  “I hoped it wasn’t so, but I think you are right.”

  “What must we do? Do we search again?”

  Mr. Weber didn’t have an answer. “We must call a constable, I think. I will ask the staff to search the hotel again.”

  Biting her lip, Clemmie wondered grimly. Could a constable solve this? Then she nodded. Something was happening here and simply waiting wasn’t likely to resolve it. It could even be murder. A chill rose up her spine.

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “Last night, leaving the dining room. He was asking some questions.”

  “What kind of questions?”

  “Questions about where people have been over the last days. I think he was trying to identify who could be responsible.”

  “So he was asking questions and now he has disappeared,” she said. It was a statement rather than a question. “Obviously, someone objected.”

  “It seems so. I will send a man to collect the constable.”

  Surprisingly, she was hungry and she walked into the dining hall. Again she was eating alone. Before all this, she would have felt embarrassed about eating alone, and she’d be tying herself in knots wondering if people were watching her. They did watch her, but now she wondered if a pair of those eyes knew exactly what had happened to Oliver and Mr. Carter.

  Where were they? Where was Oliver? They had searched outside. They had searched in the hotel.

  Mr. Carter was not a tramper. He didn’t seem to leave the hotel for any reason. The only time she’d seen him leave the hotel had been when he’d gone to the village to ask about the curse. Then again, she hadn’t kept tabs on him and his coming and goings.

  Sometime during the night, Mr. Carter disappeared. Some of the people here weren’t present at the time Oliver had disappeared. That left the Schonbergs, the countess and her party, the rude Italian and Mr. Carter himself.

  The Schonbergs were chatting amicably between themselves. They seemed not so bothered by Mr. Carter being missing. Was that because they knew there was no threat to themselves?

  Nothing inside her understood the mind or the urges that had led someone to do this. It simply wasn’t in her, but maybe that wasn’t important. Was it not enough to say that someone had urges she would never understand? It wasn’t always important to know why.

  The countess was there with her staff and her grandchild. The child was looking nervously at the grim faces. Clemmie knew that Miss Marnier and Miss Juno were scared. The countess had fainted. They were stuck here until their carriage was fixed.

  The Italian she didn’t know much about other than that she didn’t particularly like him, and that was brought on mostly by him not liking her. Given that he didn’t know her made his hostile behavior suspicious in her book.

  As she’d seen him a few times, his attention was absorbed by a newspaper. And why was he still here? As opposed to her and the countess, he wasn’t stuck here, and he wasn’t here to tramp like the Schonbergs.

  “Mrs. Rowland, how are you?”

  Clemmie turned to see Miss Juno. Her smile was tight and her eyes had that look of being a little larger than they should be.

  “I am…” What could she say? “Mr. Carter seems to be missing.”

  As if hoping to find him, the woman’s eyes searched the room. “We saw him last night,” she said. “He spoke to us. Quite an arrogant man. I’m sure he’s just gone out.”

  “That’s what I said when my Oliver went missing. Now Mr. Carter has gone missing too. What did he say when he spoke to you?”

  “He asked about our carriage.”

  “The one that was damaged?”

  “Maybe he was wondering if that accident is linked.”

  “Is it linked?”

  “We didn’t see how, but I suppose if those… specters can make a man disappear, they can make a boulder roll.” Her eyes darted again and she stepped closer, lowering her voice. “They said the soldiers were seen in the village.”

  This was news to Clemmie. “Really? When?”

  “Last night. Maybe Mr. Carter ran afoul of them. He seemed a man given to curiosity, I would say. This is awful. Simply awful.”

  Clemmie didn’t know how to take this information. “Did you see him leave?”

  “No. He was more interested in the carriage.”

  “How is the countess faring?”

  Miss Juno looked over at her employer, who was sitting with Miss Marnier. “She isn’t liking this one bit. We can’t understand what the issue is with the carriage. Something about needing the right steel for the forge. We all want to be on our way. The countess seems particularly concerned at night. She doesn’t sleep well. Luckily, I sleep like a log. There could be a whole company of soldiers marching down the corridor. I probably wouldn’t notice. But Miss Marnier is scared. We are all scared. Something terrible is happening. Can’t you feel it? I swear I feel as though I’m being observed every moment.”

  It was true that Clemmie had felt that way too. But then she was being observed, being the left-behind bride of the man who’d disappeared.

  “Because we did hear them wandering the other day, didn’t we?” Miss Juno said earnestly, as if seeking confirmation. Clemmie wondered if Miss Juno had been told she was being fanciful.

  “Yes, we did hear them. And I heard them again—myself, Miss Marnier and the countess. We heard them in the mist.”

  The slim woman tucked her arms to herself. “I don’t like it here. I feel scared going around every corner. Funnily, it seemed like a very nice hotel when we arrived, but now I look at everything with suspicion.”

  “Mrs. Rowland, how are you?” Miss Marnier said, approaching them.

  “As well as can
be expected.”

  “It seems Mr. Carter has gone missing,” Miss Juno said and Miss Marnier’s eyebrows drew together sharply.

  “No, surely not. He seemed such a kind man.”

  “Sometime after supper last night. Did you see him afterward?”

  “He came and spoke to us for a moment, didn’t he, Miss Juno?” Miss Marnier said. “He didn’t seem distressed in any way. I think he said he was heading back to his room.”

  It seems he never made it. From what she’d noted earlier, his bed hadn’t been slept in. So it wasn’t that he’d been woken during the night and had left his room. Or worse, been dragged from his bed. “Somehow he must have disappeared after that.”

  “Maybe he heard something and was drawn out,” Miss Marnier said. “Once out there, they must have pushed him like they tried to do with me.”

  “What happened that day?”

  “I was just taking some exercise. The mist came in and within moments it was impossible to see. I heard them first. I actually called to them for assistance,” she said as if she’d done the dumbest thing she could have. Her mouth drew tight. “I saw figures, but not real forms. I thought it was the mist, but now I wonder. I saw… the uniforms. There was no doubt. Then I felt the push along my back. So hard I just about went over the edge where I stood.”

  “And no one else was there? No one real?”

  “No. Only them… those creatures.”

  “There were more than one?”

  “Oh yes. I swear it.”

  “First you, then Oliver, and now Mr. Carter,” Clemmie said with a worried voice.

  “Legend says they hunt for the guilty, and perhaps that is why I’m still here. I simply don’t carry any significant sin. I certainly haven’t betrayed anyone.”

  “Neither have I,” Miss Juno said emphatically.

  “Maybe only those who have betrayed should worry. Honestly, if it wasn’t so terrifying, I would think it just.”

  “Have you had anything to do with that Italian man?”

  “His name is Giuseppe Moran,” Miss Marnier said. “I think he’s from Milan.”

  “He seems a bit… uncouth.”