The Haunted Hotel / Отель с привидениями

The old nurse appeared again at the door, announcing another visitor.

‘I’m sorry to disturb you, my dear. But here is Mrs. Ferrari. She wants to know when she may say a few words to you.’

Agnes turned to Henry, before she replied.

‘You remember Emily Bidwell, my favourite pupil years ago at the village school, and afterwards my maid? She left me, to marry an Italian courier, named Ferrari.’

Henry rose.

‘I will be glad to see Emily at any other time,’ he said. ‘But I will go now. My mind is disturbed, Agnes. I will cross the Channel[15] tonight. A few weeks’ change will help me, I hope.’

He took her hand.

‘Is there anything in the world that I can do for you?’ he asked very earnestly.

She thanked him, and tried to release her hand.

‘God bless you, Agnes!’ he said.

Her face flushed again. He lifted her hand to his lips, kissed it fervently, and left the room. The nurse hobbled after him.

‘Don’t be sad, Master Henry,’ whispered the old woman. ‘Try her again, when you come back!’

Agnes tried to compose herself. She paused before a little water-colour drawing[16] on the wall, which had belonged to her mother. It was her own portrait when she was a child.

The courier’s wife entered – a little meek melancholy woman, with white eyelashes, and watery eyes. Agnes shook hands with her kindly.

‘Well, Emily, what can I do for you?’

The courier’s wife made a rather strange answer:

‘I’m afraid to tell you, Miss.’

‘Sit down, and let me hear. How does your husband behave to you?’

Emily’s light grey eyes looked more watery than ever. She shook her head and sighed resignedly. ‘I have no positive complaint to make against him, Miss. But I’m afraid he doesn’t care about me; and he seems to take no interest in his home – I may almost say he’s tired of his home. It will be better for both of us, Miss, if he travels for a while. Not to mention the money.’

She put her handkerchief to her eyes, and sighed again.

‘I don’t quite understand,’ said Agnes. ‘I thought your husband had an engagement to take some ladies to Switzerland and Italy?’

‘Oh, Miss, one of the ladies fell ill – and the others won’t go without her. They paid him a month’s salary as compensation. But the loss is serious.’

‘I am sorry to hear it, Emily. Let us hope he will soon have another chance.’

‘Miss, you see, there are so many couriers at the moment just now. If someone privately recommends-’

She stopped.

Agnes understood her directly.

‘You want my recommendation,’ she rejoined.

Emily blushed.

‘It will be such a chance for my husband,’ she answered confusedly. ‘A letter, inquiring for a good courier (a six months’ engagement, Miss!) came to the office this morning. The secretary will recommend another man. If my husband could only send his testimonials… with just a word in your name, Miss… A private recommendation, you know.’

She stopped again, and sighed again, and looked down at the carpet.

Agnes began to be rather weary of the mysterious tone of her visitor.

‘If you want my interest with any friend of mine,’ she said, ‘why can’t you tell me the name?’

The courier’s wife began to cry.

‘I’m ashamed to tell you, Miss.’

For the first time, Agnes spoke sharply.

‘Nonsense, Emily! Tell me the name directly – or drop the subject – whichever you like best.’

Emily made a last desperate effort. She wrung her handkerchief hard in her lap and said,

‘Lord Montbarry!’

Agnes rose and looked at her.

‘You have disappointed me,’ she said very quietly. ‘You know that it is impossible for me to communicate with Lord Montbarry. I always supposed you had some delicacy of feeling. I am sorry to find that I am mistaken.’

Emily walked to the door.

‘I beg your pardon, Miss. I am not quite so bad as you think. But I beg your pardon.’

She opened the door. Agnes called her back. There was something in the woman’s apology that appealed to her.

‘Come,’ she said. ‘Let me not misunderstand you. What is it that you expected me to do?’

Emily was wise enough to answer this time quickly.

‘My husband will send his testimonials, Miss, to Lord Montbarry in Scotland. I only wanted you to let him say in his letter that you have known his wife since she was a child, and that you feel some little interest in his welfare on that account. I don’t ask it now, Miss. I was wrong.’

‘It seems only a small favour to ask,’ Agnes said. ‘But I am not sure that I allow my name to be mentioned in your husband’s letter. Let me hear again exactly what he wishes to say.’

Emily repeated the words. Agnes wrote:

‘I venture to state that Miss Agnes Lockwood has known my wife from her childhood, and she feels some little interest in my welfare on that account.

Then Agnes handed the written paper to Emily.

‘Your husband must copy it exactly,’ she stipulated. ‘On that condition, I grant your request.’

Emily was thankful. Then she vanished.

Two days later, the post brought a few grateful lines from Emily. Her husband got the place. Ferrari was engaged, for six months certain, as Lord Montbarry’s courier.

The Second Part

Chapter V

After only one week in Scotland, my lord and my lady returned unexpectedly to London. For a week more, the newly-married couple remained in London, in the strictest retirement. On one day in that week the nurse met Lord Montbarry himself. The good woman’s report described him, with malicious pleasure, as wretchedly ill.

‘His cheeks are hollow, my dear, and his beard is grey. I hope the dentist hurt him!’

On the third day the newspapers announced the departure of Lord and Lady Montbarry for Paris, on their way to Italy.

Mrs. Ferrari informed Agnes that her husband’s temper was improved. One other servant accompanied the travelers – Lady Montbarry’s maid, a silent, unsociable woman. Her ladyship’s brother, Baron Rivar, was already on the Continent. He will meet his sister and her husband in Rome.

One by one the dull weeks succeeded each other in the life of Agnes. She was seeing her friends, reading and drawing. But her wound was too deep to forget. And an old friend and school companion who saw her during a brief visit to London, was inexpressibly distressed by the change that she detected in Agnes. This lady was Mrs. Westwick, the wife of that brother of Lord Montbarry, who was described in the ‘Peerage’ as presumptive heir to the title. Mr. Westwick was then in America. Mrs. Westwick invited Agnes to her home in Ireland.

‘Come and stay with me while my husband is away. My three little girls will make you their playfellow, and the only stranger you will meet is the governess. Pack up your things, and I will call for you[17] tomorrow on my way to the train.’

Agnes thankfully accepted the invitation. For three happy months she lived under the roof of her friend. The girls cried at her departure; the youngest of them wanted to go back with Agnes to London. Half in jest, she said to her old friend,

‘If your governess leaves you, keep the place open for me.’

Mrs. Westwick laughed. The children took it seriously, and promised to let Agnes know.

When Miss Lockwood returned to London, the old nurse told her,

‘Mrs. Ferrari, my dear, came here, in a dreadful state of mind. She was inquiring when you would be back. Her husband has left Lord Montbarry, without a word of warning – and nobody knows what has become of him.’

Agnes felt alarmed as well as surprised. She at once sent a message to Mrs. Ferrari, to say that she had returned.

In an hour more the courier’s wife appeared, in a state of agitation. After hearing from her husband from Paris, Rome, and Venice, Emily had twice written to him afterwards – and had received no reply. She went to the office in Golden Square. The post of the morning brought a letter to the secretary from a courier in Venice. It contained startling news of Ferrari.

The writer stated that he had recently arrived in Venice. Ferrari was with Lord and Lady Montbarry, at one of the old Venetian palaces. He was a friend of Ferrari, so he went to pay him a visit. He rang at the door that opened on the canal. No answer. He went round to a side entrance. Here, he found a pale woman with magnificent dark eyes, who was Lady Montbarry herself.

She asked, in Italian, what he wanted. He answered that he wanted to see the courier Ferrari, if it was quite convenient. She at once informed him that Ferrari had left the palace, without any reason. He did not leave an address at which his monthly salary could be paid. Amazed at this reply, the courier inquired if any person had offended Ferrari, or quarrelled with him. The lady answered,

‘To my knowledge, certainly not. I am Lady Montbarry. We are as much astonished as you are at his extraordinary disappearance. If you hear of him, pray let us know.’

The courier at once entered on the necessary investigations – without the slightest result. Nobody saw him. Nobody knew anything. They said that her ladyship’s English maid had left her, before the disappearance of Ferrari, to return to her relatives. His lordship was ill. He lived in the strictest retirement. The courier discovered a stupid old woman who did the housework at the palace. She arrived in the morning and went away at night. She had never seen the lost courier – she had never even seen Lord Montbarry, who was in his room. Her ladyship, ‘a most gracious and adorable mistress,’ was in constant attendance on her noble husband. There was no other servant then in the house but herself.

An Italian doctor once visited his lordship. He also had never seen Ferrari. The doctor described Lord Montbarry’s malady as bronchitis. The police were looking for the lost man – and that was the only hope, to Ferrari’s wife.

‘What do you think of it, Miss?’ the poor woman asked eagerly. ‘What will you advise me to do?’

Agnes did not know what to say. She was not thinking of the lost Ferrari; her mind was in Venice, by the sick man’s bedside.

‘I hardly know what to say,’ she answered.

‘Do you think it would help you, Miss, if you read my husband’s letters to me? There are only three of them.’

Agnes compassionately read the letters. The first letter was from Paris.

‘We leave Paris tomorrow. I don’t much like my lord. He is proud and cold, and, between ourselves, stingy in money matters. We were discussing some centimes in the hotel bill; and twice already. Some sharp remarks passed between the newly-married couple, her ladyship like to purchase pretty tempting things at the shops in Paris. “I can’t afford it!” For my part, I like her. She has the nice, easy manners.’

The second letter was dated from Rome.

‘My lord is incurably restless. I suspect he is uneasy in his mind. He is constantly reading old letters, when her ladyship is not present. We stopped in Genoa, but he hurried us on. The same thing in Florence. My lady’s brother met us in Rome. There was a quarrel already (the lady’s maid tells me) between my lord and the Baron. The latter wanted to borrow money of the former. His lordship refused in language which offended Baron Rivar. My lady pacified them.’

The third, and last letter, was from Venice.

‘More of my lord’s economy! We hired a damp, mouldy, rambling old palace. My lord says the quiet of Venice is good for his nerves. But a foreign architect is going to turn the palace into an hotel. The Baron is still with us, and there are more disagreements about money matters. I don’t like the Baron – and I don’t find my lady agreeable. She was much nicer before the Baron joined us. I receive my salary regularly at the end of each month – not a franc extra, though I do many things which are not part of a courier’s work. And the Baron was trying to borrow money of me! He is an inveterate gambler. And I saw other things besides, which don’t increase my respect for my lady and the Baron. The maid wants to leave. She is a respectable British female. It is a dull life here. When my lord goes out, he goes alone, and generally towards nightfall. Indoors, he shuts himself up in his own room with his books, and sees as little of his wife and the Baron as possible. Does he suspect anything? Who knows. However, the pay is good – and I’m not going to leave, like my lady’s maid.’

Agnes handed back the letters with feelings of shame and distress.

‘The one thing I can suggest,’ she said, ‘to consult a person of greater experience than ours. I will write and ask my lawyer to come and advise us tomorrow.’

Emily eagerly and gratefully accepted the suggestion. An hour was arranged for the meeting on the next day; and the courier’s wife left.

Weary and heartsick, Agnes lay down on the sofa, to rest and compose herself. The careful nurse brought a cup of tea. They were talking quietly, when they heard a loud knock at the house door. Hurried footsteps ascended the stairs. The door of the sitting-room was thrown open violently; the courier’s wife rushed in like a mad woman.

‘He’s dead! They’ve murdered him!’

Those wild words were all she could say. She dropped on her knees at the foot of the sofa and fell back in a swoon.

The nurse took the necessary measures to restore the fainting woman.

‘What’s this?’ she exclaimed. ‘Here’s a letter in her hand. See what it is, Miss.’

The open envelope was addressed to ‘Mrs. Ferrari.’ The post-mark was ‘Venice.’ On the note-paper, one line only was written. It contained these words:

‘To console you for the loss of your husband’

Agnes opened the enclosure next.

It was a Bank of England note for a thousand pounds.

Chapter VI

The next day, the friend and legal adviser of Agnes Lockwood, Mr. Troy, called on her by appointment in the evening. Mrs. Ferrari told the lawyer that was known about Ferrari’s disappearance. Mr. Troy read (first) the three letters addressed by Ferrari to his wife; (secondly) the letter written by Ferrari’s courier-friend, describing his visit to the palace and his interview with Lady Montbarry; and (thirdly) the one line of anonymous writing which accompanied the extraordinary gift of a thousand pounds to Ferrari’s wife.

‘She looks very ill, poor thing!’

In these words the lawyer opened the business of the evening.

‘She has suffered a terrible shock,’ Agnes answered.

Mr. Troy turned to Mrs. Ferrari, and looked at her again. He drummed absently with his fingers on the table. At last he spoke to her.

‘My good lady, you don’t really believe that your husband is dead?’

Mrs. Ferrari put her handkerchief to her eyes. The word ‘dead’ was ineffectual to express her feelings. ‘Murdered!’ she said sternly, behind her handkerchief.

‘Why? And by whom?’ Mr. Troy asked.

‘You have read my husband’s letters, sir,’ she began. ‘I believe he discovered-’ She stopped.

‘What did he discover?’

‘He discovered Lady Montbarry and the Baron!’ she answered. ‘The Baron is no more that vile woman’s brother than I am. My poor dear husband saw the wickedness of those two wretches. The lady’s maid left her place on account of it. They have killed my husband, because he knew much.’

Mr. Troy listened with an expression of satirical approval.

‘Mrs. Ferrari,’ he said, ‘you build up your sentences well, can be a good lawyer. Complete the case, my good lady – complete the case. Tell us next who sent you this letter with the bank-note. The “two wretches” who murdered Mr. Ferrari will hardly send you a thousand pounds. Who is it – eh? I see the post-mark on the letter is “Venice.” Have you any friend in that interesting city, with a large heart, who wishes to console you anonymously?’

It was not easy to reply to this.

‘I don’t understand you, sir,’ Mrs. Ferrari answered. ‘I don’t think this is a joke.’

Agnes drew her chair a little nearer to her friend Mr. Troy.

‘What is the most probable explanation, in your opinion?’ she asked.

‘I shall offend Mrs. Ferrari if I tell you,’ Mr. Troy answered.

‘No, sir, you won’t!’ cried Mrs. Ferrari.

The lawyer leaned back in his chair.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Observe, madam, I don’t dispute your view of the position of affairs at the palace in Venice. You have your husband’s letters to justify you; and you have also the significant fact that Lady Montbarry’s maid did really leave the house. We will say, then, that Lord Montbarry is victim of a foul wrong – and that Mr. Ferrari was the first to find it out. Now listen! Your husband is in this miserable household, under very awkward circumstances for him. What does he do? He wisely withdraws himself from association with a disgraceful discovery. He runs away secretly. The money modifies this view – unfavourably so far as Mr. Ferrari is concerned. I now say that bank-note there on the table is the price of his absence. The guilty persons sent it to his wife.’

Mrs. Ferrari’s watery grey eyes brightened suddenly.

‘It’s false!’ she cried. ‘It’s a shame to speak of my husband in that way!’

‘I told you I could offend you!’ said Mr. Troy.

Agnes took the offended wife’s hand. She appealed to the lawyer to reconsider his theory. While she was speaking, the servant interrupted her. He brought a visiting-card. It was the card of Henry Westwick; and there was an ominous request.

‘I bring bad news. Let me see you for a minute downstairs.’ Agnes immediately left the room.

Alone with Mrs. Ferrari, Mr. Troy told the courier’s wife,

‘My good soul,’ he began, ‘I respect you for speaking so warmly in your husband’s defence. I don’t want to offend you, I am a total stranger to you and to Mr. Ferrari. A thousand pounds is a large sum of money; and a poor man may be tempted by it and keep out of the way for a while. My only interest is to get at the truth. If you give me time, I’ll try to find your husband.’

‘I am much obliged to you, sir,’ was all Ferrari’s wife said.

Mr. Troy put his hands in his pockets, and looked out of window. After an interval of silence, the drawing-room door was opened.

Mr. Troy expected to see Agnes. To his surprise there appeared, in her place, a perfect stranger to him – a gentleman, with an expression of pain and embarrassment on his handsome face. He looked at Mr. Troy, and bowed gravely.

‘Some news has greatly distressed Miss Agnes Lockwood,’ he said. ‘She has retired to her room. I can speak to you in her place.’

Then he noticed Mrs. Ferrari, and held out his hand to her kindly.

‘It is some years since we last met, Emily,’ he said. ‘I am afraid you have almost forgotten “Master Henry”. My name is Henry Westwick. I am the younger brother of the late Lord Montbarry.’

‘The late Lord Montbarry!’ Mr. Troy exclaimed.

‘My brother died in Venice yesterday evening. There is the telegram,’ he handed the paper to Mr. Troy.

The message was in these words:

‘Lady Montbarry, Venice. To Stephen Robert Westwick, Newbury’s Hotel, London.

It is useless to take the journey. Lord Montbarry died of bronchitis, at 8.40 this evening. All needful details by post.’

‘Was this expected, sir?’ the lawyer asked.

‘I cannot say that we are surprised,’ Henry answered. ‘My brother Stephen (who is now the head of the family) received a telegram three days ago, informing him that alarming symptoms had declared themselves. The second physician was invited. He telegraphed that Lord Montbarry was in a state of insensibility, and that, in his brief intervals of consciousness, he recognised nobody.

My brother waited in London for later information. The third telegram is now in your hands.’

‘Mrs. Ferrari,’ said Mr. Troy, ‘have you heard what Mr. Westwick has just told me?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Have you any questions to ask?’

‘No, sir.’

‘You look alarmed,’ the lawyer persisted. ‘Is it still about your husband?’

‘I shall never see my husband again, sir. I am sure of it now.’

‘Sure of it, after what you have just heard?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Can you tell me why?’

‘No, sir. It’s a feeling I have. I can’t tell why.’

‘Oh, a feeling?’ Mr. Troy repeated, in a tone of compassionate contempt.

He rose.

‘Accept the expression of my sympathy[18], sir,’ he said to Mr. Westwick politely. ‘I wish you good evening.’

Henry turned to Mrs. Ferrari as the lawyer closed the door.

‘I have heard of your trouble, Emily, from Miss Lockwood. Is there anything I can do to help you?’

‘Nothing, sir, thank you. Perhaps, I will go home. I am very sorry for Miss Agnes.’

She left.

Henry Westwick looked round him in the solitude of the little drawing-room. It was something to be even near Agnes – to see her things. There, in the corner, was her chair, with her embroidery on the work-table. On the little easel near the window was her last drawing, not quite finished yet. The book she was reading lay on the sofa, with her tiny pencil. One after another, he looked at the objects that reminded him of the woman whom he loved.

‘She will never forget Montbarry,’ he thought to himself. ‘Not one of us feels his death as she feels it. Miserable, miserable wretch-how she loved him!’

In the street, an acquaintance, a wearisome inquisitive man stopped Henry.

‘Sad news, Westwick, this about your brother. Rather an unexpected death, wasn’t it? We never heard at the club that Montbarry’s lungs were weak. What will the insurance offices do?’

‘Stop it,’ said Henry irritably.

‘Ah!’ said his friend, ‘you think the widow will get the money? So do I! so do I!’

Chapter VII

Some days later, the insurance offices (two in number) received the formal announcement of Lord Montbarry’s death, from her ladyship’s London solicitors. The sum insured in each office was five thousand pounds. The Directors thought it desirable to consider their position. So the two offices decided to send a commission of inquiry to Venice, ‘to obtain further information.’

Mr. Troy received the earliest news. He wrote at once to Agnes:

‘You are intimately acquainted[19], I know, with Lady Barville, the late Lord Montbarry’s eldest sister. The solicitors employed by her husband are also the solicitors to one of the two insurance offices. There may possibly be something in the report of the commission of inquiry on Ferrari’s disappearance. Ordinary persons will not be permitted, of course, to see such a document. But a sister of the late lord is a relative. The lawyers will at least answer any questions she may ask. Let me hear what you think of this suggestion.’

Agnes declined Mr. Troy’s proposal.

‘My interference,’ she wrote, ‘has already produced deplorable results. I cannot and dare not stir any further in the case of Ferrari. I will not even look at the report to which you allude if it is in my hands – I have heard more than enough already of that hideous life in the palace in Venice. If Mrs. Ferrari chooses to address herself to Lady Barville (with your assistance), that is of course quite another thing. But, even in this case, my name must not be mentioned. Forgive me, dear Mr. Troy! I am very unhappy, and very unreasonable – but I am only a woman, and you must not expect too much from me.’

The lawyer wanted to discover the present address of Lady Montbarry’s English maid. This excellent suggestion had one drawback: money. And there was no money to spend. Mrs. Ferrari did not want to use the thousand-pound note. It was in a bank. ‘My husband’s blood-money!’ So the attempt to solve the mystery of Ferrari’s disappearance was suspended for a while.

It was the last month of the year 1860. The commission of inquiry was already at work. On the 10th of December, the term for which the late Lord Montbarry had hired the Venetian palace, expired. Lady Montbarry’s lawyers advised her to leave for London. Baron Rivar will accompany her to England, but will not remain in that country. The Baron, ‘well known as an enthusiastic student of chemistry,’ heard of certain recent discoveries in the United States, and was anxious to investigate them personally.

Mr. Troy duly communicated these items of news to Mrs. Ferrari, whose anxiety about her husband made her a frequent visitor at the lawyer’s office. She attempted to relate the news to her good friend and protectress. Agnes steadily refused to listen, and positively forbade any further conversation relating to Lord Montbarry’s wife.