On the very day when Miss Lockwood returned to London, she was recalledto those associations with the past which she was most anxious toforget. After the first kissings and greetings were over, the oldnurse (who had been left in charge at the lodgings) had some startlinginformation to communicate, derived from the courier's wife.
'Here has been little Mrs. Ferrari, my dear, in a dreadful state ofmind, inquiring when you would be back. Her husband has left LordMontbarry, without a word of warning--and nobody knows what has becomeof him.'
Agnes looked at her in astonishment. 'Are you sure of what you aresaying?' she asked.
The nurse was quite sure. 'Why, Lord bless you! the news comes fromthe couriers' office in Golden Square--from the secretary, Miss Agnes,the secretary himself!' Hearing this, Agnes began to feel alarmed aswell as surprised. It was still early in the evening. She at oncesent a message to Mrs. Ferrari, to say that she had returned.
In an hour more the courier's wife appeared, in a state of agitationwhich it was not easy to control. Her narrative, when she was at lastable to speak connectedly, entirely confirmed the nurse's report of it.
After hearing from her husband with tolerable regularity from Paris,Rome, and Venice, Emily had twice written to him afterwards--and hadreceived no reply. Feeling uneasy, she had gone to the office inGolden Square, to inquire if he had been heard of there. The post ofthe morning had brought a letter to the secretary from a courier thenat Venice. It contained startling news of Ferrari. His wife had beenallowed to take a copy of it, which she now handed to Agnes to read.
The writer stated that he had recently arrived in Venice. He hadpreviously heard that Ferrari was with Lord and Lady Montbarry, at oneof the old Venetian palaces which they had hired for a term. Being afriend of Ferrari, he had gone to pay him a visit. Ringing at the doorthat opened on the canal, and failing to make anyone hear him, he hadgone round to a side entrance opening on one of the narrow lanes ofVenice. Here, standing at the door (as if she was waiting for him totry that way next), he found a pale woman with magnificent dark eyes,who proved to be no other than Lady Montbarry herself.
She asked, in Italian, what he wanted. He answered that he wanted tosee the courier Ferrari, if it was quite convenient. She at onceinformed him that Ferrari had left the palace, without assigning anyreason, and without even leaving an address at which his monthly salary(then due to him) could be paid. Amazed at this reply, the courierinquired if any person had offended Ferrari, or quarrelled with him.The lady answered, 'To my knowledge, certainly not. I am LadyMontbarry; and I can positively assure you that Ferrari was treatedwith the greatest kindness in this house. We are as much astonished asyou are at his extraordinary disappearance. If you should hear of him,pray let us know, so that we may at least pay him the money which isdue.'
After one or two more questions (quite readily answered) relating tothe date and the time of day at which Ferrari had left the palace, thecourier took his leave.
He at once entered on the necessary investigations--without theslightest result so far as Ferrari was concerned. Nobody had seen him.Nobody appeared to have been taken into his confidence. Nobody knewanything (that is to say, anything of the slightest importance) evenabout persons so distinguished as Lord and Lady Montbarry. It wasreported that her ladyship's English maid had left her, before thedisappearance of Ferrari, to return to her relatives in her owncountry, and that Lady Montbarry had taken no steps to supply herplace. His lordship was described as being in delicate health. Helived in the strictest retirement--nobody was admitted to him, not evenhis own countrymen. A stupid old woman was discovered who did thehousework at the palace, arriving in the morning and going away againat night. She had never seen the lost courier--she had never even seenLord Montbarry, who was then confined to his room. Her ladyship, 'amost gracious and adorable mistress,' was in constant attendance on hernoble husband. There was no other servant then in the house (so far asthe old woman knew) but herself. The meals were sent in from arestaurant. My lord, it was said, disliked strangers. My lord'sbrother-in-law, the Baron, was generally shut up in a remote part ofthe palace, occupied (the gracious mistress said) with experiments inchemistry. The experiments sometimes made a nasty smell. A doctor hadlatterly been called in to his lordship--an Italian doctor, longresident in Venice. Inquiries being addressed to this gentleman (aphysician of undoubted capacity and respectability), it turned out thathe also had never seen Ferrari, having been summoned to the palace (ashis memorandum book showed) at a date subsequent to the courier'sdisappearance. The doctor described Lord Montbarry's malady asbronchitis. So far, there was no reason to feel any anxiety, thoughthe attack was a sharp one. If alarming symptoms should appear, he hadarranged with her ladyship to call in another physician. For the rest,it was impossible to speak too highly of my lady; night and day, shewas at her lord's bedside.
With these particulars began and ended the discoveries made byFerrari's courier-friend. The police were on the look-out for the lostman--and that was the only hope which could be held forth for thepresent, to Ferrari's wife.
'What do you think of it, Miss?' the poor woman asked eagerly. 'Whatwould you advise me to do?'
Agnes was at a loss how to answer her; it was an effort even to listento what Emily was saying. The references in the courier's letter toMontbarry--the report of his illness, the melancholy picture of hissecluded life--had reopened the old wound. She was not even thinkingof the lost Ferrari; her mind was at Venice, by the sick man's bedside.
'I hardly know what to say,' she answered. 'I have had no experiencein serious matters of this kind.'
'Do you think it would help you, Miss, if you read my husband's lettersto me? There are only three of them--they won't take long to read.'
Agnes compassionately read the letters.
They were not written in a very tender tone. 'Dear Emily,' and 'Yoursaffectionately'--these conventional phrases, were the only phrases ofendearment which they contained. In the first letter, Lord Montbarrywas not very favourably spoken of:--'We leave Paris to-morrow. I don'tmuch like my lord. He is proud and cold, and, between ourselves,stingy in money matters. I have had to dispute such trifles as a fewcentimes in the hotel bill; and twice already, some sharp remarks havepassed between the newly-married couple, in consequence of herladyship's freedom in purchasing pretty tempting things at the shops inParis. "I can't afford it; you must keep to your allowance." She hashad to hear those words already. For my part, I like her. She has thenice, easy foreign manners--she talks to me as if I was a human beinglike herself.'
The second letter was dated from Rome.
'My lord's caprices' (Ferrari wrote) 'have kept us perpetually on themove. He is becoming incurably restless. I suspect he is uneasy inhis mind. Painful recollections, I should say--I find him constantlyreading old letters, when her ladyship is not present. We were to havestopped at Genoa, but he hurried us on. The same thing at Florence.Here, at Rome, my lady insists on resting. Her brother has met us atthis place. There has been a quarrel already (the lady's maid tellsme) between my lord and the Baron. The latter wanted to borrow moneyof the former. His lordship refused in language which offended BaronRivar. My lady pacified them, and made them shake hands.'
The third, and last letter, was from Venice.
'More of my lord's economy! Instead of staying at the hotel, we havehired a damp, mouldy, rambling old palace. My lady insists on havingthe best suites of rooms wherever we go--and the palace comes cheaperfor a two months' term. My lord tried to get it for longer; he saysthe quiet of Venice is good for his nerves. But a foreign speculatorhas secured the palace, and is going to turn it into an hotel. TheBaron is still with us, and there have been more disagreements aboutmoney matters. I don't like the Baron--and I don't find theattractions of my lady grow on me. She was much nicer before the Baronjoined us. My lord is a punctual paymaster; it's a matter of honourwith him; he hates parting with his money, but he does it because hehas given his word. I receive my salary regularly at the end of eachmont
h--not a franc extra, though I have done many things which are notpart of a courier's proper work. Fancy the Baron trying to borrowmoney of me! he is an inveterate gambler. I didn't believe it when mylady's maid first told me so--but I have seen enough since to satisfyme that she was right. I have seen other things besides, which--well!which don't increase my respect for my lady and the Baron. The maidsays she means to give warning to leave. She is a respectable Britishfemale, and doesn't take things quite so easily as I do. It is a dulllife here. No going into company--no company at home--not a creaturesees my lord--not even the consul, or the banker. When he goes out, hegoes alone, and generally towards nightfall. Indoors, he shuts himselfup in his own room with his books, and sees as little of his wife andthe Baron as possible. I fancy things are coming to a crisis here. Ifmy lord's suspicions are once awakened, the consequences will beterrible. Under certain provocations, the noble Montbarry is a man whowould stick at nothing. However, the pay is good--and I can't affordto talk of leaving the place, like my lady's maid.'
Agnes handed back the letters--so suggestive of the penalty paidalready for his own infatuation by the man who had deserted her!--withfeelings of shame and distress, which made her no fit counsellor forthe helpless woman who depended on her advice.
'The one thing I can suggest,' she said, after first speaking some kindwords of comfort and hope, 'is that we should consult a person ofgreater experience than ours. Suppose I write and ask my lawyer (whois also my friend and trustee) to come and advise us to-morrow afterhis business hours?'
Emily eagerly and gratefully accepted the suggestion. An hour wasarranged for the meeting on the next day; the correspondence was leftunder the care of Agnes; and the courier's wife took her leave.
Weary and heartsick, Agnes lay down on the sofa, to rest and composeherself. The careful nurse brought in a reviving cup of tea. Herquaint gossip about herself and her occupations while Agnes had beenaway, acted as a relief to her mistress's overburdened mind. They werestill talking quietly, when they were startled by a loud knock at thehouse door. Hurried footsteps ascended the stairs. The door of thesitting-room was thrown open violently; the courier's wife rushed inlike a mad woman. 'He's dead! They've murdered him!' Those wildwords were all she could say. She dropped on her knees at the foot ofthe sofa--held out her hand with something clasped in it--and fell backin a swoon.
The nurse, signing to Agnes to open the window, took the necessarymeasures 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 (evidently in a feigned hand-writing)to 'Mrs. Ferrari.' The post-mark was 'Venice.' The contents of theenvelope were a sheet of foreign note-paper, and a folded enclosure.
On the note-paper, one line only was written. It was again in afeigned handwriting, and 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.