The Haunted Hotel: A Mystery of Modern Venice

  CHAPTER III

  There was a time when a man in search of the pleasures of gossip soughtthe society of ladies. The man knows better now. He goes to thesmoking-room of his club.

  Doctor Wybrow lit his cigar, and looked round him at his brethren insocial conclave assembled. The room was well filled; but the flow oftalk was still languid. The Doctor innocently applied the stimulantthat was wanted. When he inquired if anybody knew the Countess Narona,he was answered by something like a shout of astonishment. Never (theconclave agreed) had such an absurd question been asked before! Everyhuman creature, with the slightest claim to a place in society, knewthe Countess Narona. An adventuress with a European reputation of theblackest possible colour--such was the general description of the womanwith the deathlike complexion and the glittering eyes.

  Descending to particulars, each member of the club contributed his ownlittle stock of scandal to the memoirs of the Countess. It wasdoubtful whether she was really, what she called herself, a Dalmatianlady. It was doubtful whether she had ever been married to the Countwhose widow she assumed to be. It was doubtful whether the man whoaccompanied her in her travels (under the name of Baron Rivar, and inthe character of her brother) was her brother at all. Report pointedto the Baron as a gambler at every 'table' on the Continent. Reportwhispered that his so-called sister had narrowly escaped beingimplicated in a famous trial for poisoning at Vienna--that she had beenknown at Milan as a spy in the interests of Austria--that her'apartment' in Paris had been denounced to the police as nothing lessthan a private gambling-house--and that her present appearance inEngland was the natural result of the discovery. Only one member ofthe assembly in the smoking-room took the part of this much-abusedwoman, and declared that her character had been most cruelly and mostunjustly assailed. But as the man was a lawyer, his interference wentfor nothing: it was naturally attributed to the spirit of contradictioninherent in his profession. He was asked derisively what he thought ofthe circumstances under which the Countess had become engaged to bemarried; and he made the characteristic answer, that he thought thecircumstances highly creditable to both parties, and that he looked onthe lady's future husband as a most enviable man.

  Hearing this, the Doctor raised another shout of astonishment byinquiring the name of the gentleman whom the Countess was about tomarry.

  His friends in the smoking-room decided unanimously that the celebratedphysician must be a second 'Rip-van-Winkle,' and that he had justawakened from a supernatural sleep of twenty years. It was all verywell to say that he was devoted to his profession, and that he hadneither time nor inclination to pick up fragments of gossip atdinner-parties and balls. A man who did not know that the CountessNarona had borrowed money at Homburg of no less a person than LordMontbarry, and had then deluded him into making her a proposal ofmarriage, was a man who had probably never heard of Lord Montbarryhimself. The younger members of the club, humouring the joke, sent awaiter for the 'Peerage'; and read aloud the memoir of the nobleman inquestion, for the Doctor's benefit--with illustrative morsels ofinformation interpolated by themselves.

  'Herbert John Westwick. First Baron Montbarry, of Montbarry, King'sCounty, Ireland. Created a Peer for distinguished military services inIndia. Born, 1812. Forty-eight years old, Doctor, at the presenttime. Not married. Will be married next week, Doctor, to thedelightful creature we have been talking about. Heir presumptive, hislordship's next brother, Stephen Robert, married to Ella, youngestdaughter of the Reverend Silas Marden, Rector of Runnigate, and hasissue, three daughters. Younger brothers of his lordship, Francis andHenry, unmarried. Sisters of his lordship, Lady Barville, married toSir Theodore Barville, Bart.; and Anne, widow of the late PeterNorbury, Esq., of Norbury Cross. Bear his lordship's relations well inmind, Doctor. Three brothers Westwick, Stephen, Francis, and Henry;and two sisters, Lady Barville and Mrs. Norbury. Not one of the fivewill be present at the marriage; and not one of the five will leave astone unturned to stop it, if the Countess will only give them achance. Add to these hostile members of the family another offendedrelative not mentioned in the 'Peerage,' a young lady--'

  A sudden outburst of protest in more than one part of the room stoppedthe coming disclosure, and released the Doctor from further persecution.

  'Don't mention the poor girl's name; it's too bad to make a joke ofthat part of the business; she has behaved nobly under shamefulprovocation; there is but one excuse for Montbarry--he is either amadman or a fool.' In these terms the protest expressed itself on allsides. Speaking confidentially to his next neighbour, the Doctordiscovered that the lady referred to was already known to him (throughthe Countess's confession) as the lady deserted by Lord Montbarry. Hername was Agnes Lockwood. She was described as being the superior ofthe Countess in personal attraction, and as being also by some yearsthe younger woman of the two. Making all allowance for the folliesthat men committed every day in their relations with women, Montbarry'sdelusion was still the most monstrous delusion on record. In thisexpression of opinion every man present agreed--the lawyer evenincluded. Not one of them could call to mind the innumerable instancesin which the sexual influence has proved irresistible in the persons ofwomen without even the pretension to beauty. The very members of theclub whom the Countess (in spite of her personal disadvantages) couldhave most easily fascinated, if she had thought it worth her while,were the members who wondered most loudly at Montbarry's choice of awife.

  While the topic of the Countess's marriage was still the one topic ofconversation, a member of the club entered the smoking-room whoseappearance instantly produced a dead silence. Doctor Wybrow's nextneighbour whispered to him, 'Montbarry's brother--Henry Westwick!'

  The new-comer looked round him slowly, with a bitter smile.

  'You are all talking of my brother,' he said. 'Don't mind me. Not oneof you can despise him more heartily than I do. Go on, gentlemen--goon!'

  But one man present took the speaker at his word. That man was thelawyer who had already undertaken the defence of the Countess.

  'I stand alone in my opinion,' he said, 'and I am not ashamed ofrepeating it in anybody's hearing. I consider the Countess Narona tobe a cruelly-treated woman. Why shouldn't she be Lord Montbarry'swife? Who can say she has a mercenary motive in marrying him?'

  Montbarry's brother turned sharply on the speaker. 'I say it!' heanswered.

  The reply might have shaken some men. The lawyer stood on his groundas firmly as ever.

  'I believe I am right,' he rejoined, 'in stating that his lordship'sincome is not more than sufficient to support his station in life; alsothat it is an income derived almost entirely from landed property inIreland, every acre of which is entailed.'

  Montbarry's brother made a sign, admitting that he had no objection tooffer so far.

  'If his lordship dies first,' the lawyer proceeded, 'I have beeninformed that the only provision he can make for his widow consists ina rent-charge on the property of no more than four hundred a year. Hisretiring pension and allowances, it is well known, die with him. Fourhundred a year is therefore all that he can leave to the Countess, ifhe leaves her a widow.'

  'Four hundred a year is not all,' was the reply to this. 'My brotherhas insured his life for ten thousand pounds; and he has settled thewhole of it on the Countess, in the event of his death.'

  This announcement produced a strong sensation. Men looked at eachother, and repeated the three startling words, 'Ten thousand pounds!'Driven fairly to the wall, the lawyer made a last effort to defend hisposition.

  'May I ask who made that settlement a condition of the marriage?' hesaid. 'Surely it was not the Countess herself?.'

  Henry Westwick answered, 'It was the Countess's brother'; and added,'which comes to the same thing.'

  After that, there was no more to be said--so long, at least, asMontbarry's brother was present. The talk flowed into other channels;and the Doctor went home.

  But his morbid curiosity about the Countess was not set at rest yet.In his leisure moments he found himself wonde
ring whether LordMontbarry's family would succeed in stopping the marriage after all.And more than this, he was conscious of a growing desire to see theinfatuated man himself. Every day during the brief interval before thewedding, he looked in at the club, on the chance of hearing some news.Nothing had happened, so far as the club knew. The Countess's positionwas secure; Montbarry's resolution to be her husband was unshaken.They were both Roman Catholics, and they were to be married at thechapel in Spanish Place. So much the Doctor discovered about them--andno more.

  On the day of the wedding, after a feeble struggle with himself, heactually sacrificed his patients and their guineas, and slipped awaysecretly to see the marriage. To the end of his life, he was angrywith anybody who reminded him of what he had done on that day!

  The wedding was strictly private. A close carriage stood at the churchdoor; a few people, mostly of the lower class, and mostly old women,were scattered about the interior of the building. Here and thereDoctor Wybrow detected the faces of some of his brethren of the club,attracted by curiosity, like himself. Four persons only stood beforethe altar--the bride and bridegroom and their two witnesses. One ofthese last was an elderly woman, who might have been the Countess'scompanion or maid; the other was undoubtedly her brother, Baron Rivar.The bridal party (the bride herself included) wore their ordinarymorning costume. Lord Montbarry, personally viewed, was a middle-agedmilitary man of the ordinary type: nothing in the least remarkabledistinguished him either in face or figure. Baron Rivar, again, in hisway was another conventional representative of another well-known type.One sees his finely-pointed moustache, his bold eyes, hiscrisply-curling hair, and his dashing carriage of the head, repeatedhundreds of times over on the Boulevards of Paris. The only noteworthypoint about him was of the negative sort--he was not in the least likehis sister. Even the officiating priest was only a harmless,humble-looking old man, who went through his duties resignedly, andfelt visible rheumatic difficulties every time he bent his knees. Theone remarkable person, the Countess herself, only raised her veil atthe beginning of the ceremony, and presented nothing in her plain dressthat was worth a second look. Never, on the face of it, was there aless interesting and less romantic marriage than this. From time totime the Doctor glanced round at the door or up at the galleries,vaguely anticipating the appearance of some protesting stranger, inpossession of some terrible secret, commissioned to forbid the progressof the service. Nothing in the shape of an event occurred--nothingextraordinary, nothing dramatic. Bound fast together as man and wife,the two disappeared, followed by their witnesses, to sign theregisters; and still Doctor Wybrow waited, and still he cherished theobstinate hope that something worth seeing must certainly happen yet.

  The interval passed, and the married couple, returning to the church,walked together down the nave to the door. Doctor Wybrow drew back asthey approached. To his confusion and surprise, the Countessdiscovered him. He heard her say to her husband, 'One moment; I see afriend.' Lord Montbarry bowed and waited. She stepped up to theDoctor, took his hand, and wrung it hard. He felt her overpoweringblack eyes looking at him through her veil. 'One step more, you see,on the way to the end!' She whispered those strange words, and returnedto her husband. Before the Doctor could recover himself and followher, Lord and Lady Montbarry had stepped into their carriage, and haddriven away.

  Outside the church door stood the three or four members of the clubwho, like Doctor Wybrow, had watched the ceremony out of curiosity.Near them was the bride's brother, waiting alone. He was evidentlybent on seeing the man whom his sister had spoken to, in broaddaylight. His bold eyes rested on the Doctor's face, with a momentaryflash of suspicion in them. The cloud suddenly cleared away; the Baronsmiled with charming courtesy, lifted his hat to his sister's friend,and walked off.

  The members constituted themselves into a club conclave on the churchsteps. They began with the Baron. 'Damned ill-looking rascal!' Theywent on with Montbarry. 'Is he going to take that horrid woman withhim to Ireland?' 'Not he! he can't face the tenantry; they know aboutAgnes Lockwood.' 'Well, but where is he going?' 'To Scotland.' 'Doesshe like that?' 'It's only for a fortnight; they come back to London,and go abroad.' 'And they will never return to England, eh?' 'Who cantell? Did you see how she looked at Montbarry, when she had to lifther veil at the beginning of the service? In his place, I should havebolted. Did you see her, Doctor?' By this time, Doctor Wybrow hadremembered his patients, and had heard enough of the club gossip. Hefollowed the example of Baron Rivar, and walked off.

  'One step more, you see, on the way to the end,' he repeated tohimself, on his way home. 'What end?'