1816: the Grandest Tour

Italy: Chapter 4

The tourists departed Bischofshofen well cheered at its hospitality. Only a small part of the valley was left, and soon the road began to steepen on a long ascent into the foothills. Rising higher with every step, they pulled back the carriage curtains to admire the rolling countryside all around. On their left was a steep drop into a ravine with a river running through it, while on the right they still saw the roofs and steeples of the odd hamlet. At one of these, called Flachau, they stopped for lunch, but soon regained their upward, southward progress.

After their stop the landscape changed again, and they found themselves trundling beside the stream from before, which up close they realized was a torrent of rushing rapids and foam. As the trip turned monotonous at least the active noise from the water had a soothing effect.

Everyone amused themselves as well as they could, whether with reading, chatting, or attempting to scribble notes or letters amid the jostle of the carriage. Isaac knew Otto spoke no English, and was sorely tempted to whisper his observations from the previous night to George, but in the end he thought better of it. How suspicious was it really? The man could merely have been relieving himself, or something equally innocent. At least this was what the generous-minded George would say. Isaac had a less rosy view of the world, however, and trusted his instincts.

By early evening they'd reached Sankt Michael im Lungau, a sleepy village nestled in the long shadow of the mountains. The local inn was quite run-down compared to their previous lodgings, but they made do as best they could. Sankt Michael offered little besides Alpine scenery, so after a brief walk they settled again for the night in much the same sleeping arrangement.

Isaac knew he was being overly suspicious. He knew that Otto was ten-to-one a sincere, honest Austrian guide and nothing at all untoward was afoot. So when he saw Otto in the corner of the room, scribbling a little note to himself, or perhaps a letter, what harm could there be in asking what he was writing? Isaac did so, in French since it was their only common language, and for some reason Otto looked up at him like a frightened animal.

"Pardon, what did you say?" said the guide.

"I just wondered what you were writing there."

"This? Oh!" Otto gave a nervous little laugh. "A message. A letter to my wife – mother-in-law..."

Isaac couldn't make much sense of this, so decided not to comment. Otto was clearly spooked, so he kept explaining.

"My wife, she stays with my mother-in-law, her mother," he said. "Back in Salzburg. So that's why I had to say both wife and mother-in-law, ha! Ha!"

Isaac smiled and nodded. It was plain to him – this guide was fishier than the Portsmouth seafood market. The only question now was: what was he up to?

Before they set out in the morning, Isaac took George and Tobias aside. Doing his best not to cause too much alarm, he conveyed his hunch about their guide to the two gentlemen, citing all the evidence he'd gathered so far.

"Good gracious," Tobias said, going a little pale. "But, if you think his behavior suspicious, what exactly do you suspect?"

"I think he may be an agent from the Austrian government."

"A government sp–!" Tobias almost yelped, before George and Isaac clapped his shoulders to shut him up.

"It's funny you should mention all that," George said in low voice, "because I've noticed some curious things myself. I simply brushed them off, thought it must be a difference of custom or culture. But that secretive writing he does – I saw him doing it at the wedding party. Seemed an odd place to start scribbling God-knows-what. I asked him about it, and he gave me the very same answer as yours! Complete cobblers."