The Haunted Hotel: A Mystery of Modern Venice

  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--still persisting in the conviction of her husband'sdeath--had sufficiently recovered to be present at the consultation.Assisted by Agnes, she told the lawyer the little that was knownrelating to Ferrari's disappearance, and then produced thecorrespondence connected with that event. Mr. Troy read (first) thethree letters addressed by Ferrari to his wife; (secondly) the letterwritten by Ferrari's courier-friend, describing his visit to the palaceand his interview with Lady Montbarry; and (thirdly) the one line ofanonymous writing which had accompanied the extraordinary gift of athousand pounds to Ferrari's wife.

  Well known, at a later period, as the lawyer who acted for LadyLydiard, in the case of theft, generally described as the case of 'MyLady's Money,' Mr. Troy was not only a man of learning and experiencein his profession--he was also a man who had seen something of societyat home and abroad. He possessed a keen eye for character, a quainthumour, and a kindly nature which had not been deteriorated even by alawyer's professional experience of mankind. With all these personaladvantages, it is a question, nevertheless, whether he was the fittestadviser whom Agnes could have chosen under the circumstances. LittleMrs. Ferrari, with many domestic merits, was an essentially commonplacewoman. Mr. Troy was the last person living who was likely to attracther sympathies--he was the exact opposite of a commonplace man.

  'She looks very ill, poor thing!' In these words the lawyer opened thebusiness of the evening, referring to Mrs. Ferrari as unceremoniouslyas if she had been out of the room.

  'She has suffered a terrible shock,' Agnes answered.

  Mr. Troy turned to Mrs. Ferrari, and looked at her again, with theinterest due to the victim of a shock. He drummed absently with hisfingers 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' wasineffectual to express her feelings. 'Murdered!' she said sternly,behind her handkerchief.

  'Why? And by whom?' Mr. Troy asked.

  Mrs. Ferrari seemed to have some difficulty in answering. 'You haveread my husband's letters, sir,' she began. 'I believe hediscovered--' She got as far as that, and there she stopped.

  'What did he discover?'

  There are limits to human patience--even the patience of a bereavedwife. This cool question irritated Mrs. Ferrari into expressingherself plainly at last.

  'He discovered Lady Montbarry and the Baron!' she answered, with aburst of hysterical vehemence. 'The Baron is no more that vile woman'sbrother than I am. The wickedness of those two wretches came to mypoor dear husband's knowledge. The lady's maid left her place onaccount of it. If Ferrari had gone away too, he would have been aliveat this moment. They have killed him. I say they have killed him, toprevent it from getting to Lord Montbarry's ears.' So, in short sharpsentences, and in louder and louder accents, Mrs. Ferrari stated heropinion of the case.

  Still keeping his own view in reserve, Mr. Troy listened with anexpression of satirical approval.

  'Very strongly stated, Mrs. Ferrari,' he said. 'You build up yoursentences well; you clinch your conclusions in a workmanlike manner.If you had been a man, you would have made a good lawyer--you wouldhave taken juries by the scruff of their necks. Complete the case, mygood lady--complete the case. Tell us next who sent you this letter,enclosing the bank-note. The "two wretches" who murdered Mr. Ferrariwould hardly put their hands in their pockets and send you a thousandpounds. 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, and apurse to correspond, who has been let into the secret and who wishes toconsole you anonymously?'

  It was not easy to reply to this. Mrs. Ferrari began to feel the firstinward approaches of something like hatred towards Mr. Troy. 'I don'tunderstand you, sir,' she answered. 'I don't think this is a jokingmatter.'

  Agnes interfered, for the first time. She drew her chair a littlenearer to her legal counsellor and friend.

  '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, hating Mr. Troy undisguisedlyby this time.

  The lawyer leaned back in his chair. 'Very well,' he said, in his mostgood-humoured manner. 'Let's have it out. Observe, madam, I don'tdispute 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 thesignificant fact that Lady Montbarry's maid did really leave the house.We will say, then, that Lord Montbarry has presumably been made thevictim of a foul wrong--that Mr. Ferrari was the first to find itout--and that the guilty persons had reason to fear, not only that hewould acquaint Lord Montbarry with his discovery, but that he would bea principal witness against them if the scandal was made public in acourt of law. Now mark! Admitting all this, I draw a totallydifferent conclusion from the conclusion at which you have arrived.Here is your husband left in this miserable household of three, undervery awkward circumstances for him. What does he do? But for thebank-note and the written message sent to you with it, I should saythat he had wisely withdrawn himself from association with adisgraceful discovery and exposure, by taking secretly to flight. Themoney modifies this view--unfavourably so far as Mr. Ferrari isconcerned. I still believe he is keeping out of the way. But I nowsay he is paid for keeping out of the way--and that bank-note there onthe table is the price of his absence, sent by the guilty persons tohis wife.'

  Mrs. Ferrari's watery grey eyes brightened suddenly; Mrs. Ferrari'sdull drab-coloured complexion became enlivened by a glow of brilliantred.

  'It's false!' she cried. 'It's a burning shame to speak of my husbandin that way!'

  'I told you I should offend you!' said Mr. Troy.

  Agnes interposed once more--in the interests of peace. She took theoffended wife's hand; she appealed to the lawyer to reconsider thatside of his theory which reflected harshly on Ferrari. While she wasstill speaking, the servant interrupted her by entering the room with avisiting-card. It was the card of Henry Westwick; and there was anominous request written on it in pencil. 'I bring bad news. Let mesee you for a minute downstairs.' Agnes immediately left the room.

  Alone with Mrs. Ferrari, Mr. Troy permitted his natural kindness ofheart to show itself on the surface at last. He tried to make hispeace with the courier's wife.

  'You have every claim, my good soul, to resent a reflection cast uponyour husband,' he began. 'I may even say that I respect you forspeaking so warmly in his defence. At the same time, remember, that Iam bound, in such a serious matter as this, to tell you what is reallyin my mind. I can have no intention of offending you, seeing that I ama total stranger to you and to Mr. Ferrari. A thousand pounds is alarge sum of money; and a poor man may excusably be tempted by it to donothing worse than to keep out of the way for a while. My onlyinterest, acting on your behalf, is to get at the truth. If you willgive me time, I see no reason to despair of finding your husband yet.'

  Ferrari's wife listened, without being convinced: her narrow littlemind, filled to its extreme capacity by her unfavourable opinion of Mr.Troy, had no room left for the process of correcting its firstimpression. 'I am much obliged to you, sir,' was all she said. Hereyes were more communicative--her eyes added, in their language, 'Youmay say what you please; I will never forgive you to my dying day.'

  Mr. Troy gave it up. He composedly wheeled his chair around, put hishands in his pockets, and looked out of window.

  After an interval of silence, the drawing-room door was opened.

  Mr. Troy wheeled round again briskly to the table, expecting to seeAgnes. To his surprise there appeared, in her place, a perfectstranger to him--a gentleman, in the prime of life, with a markedexpression of pain and embarrassment on his handsome face. He lookedat Mr. Troy, and bowed
gravely.

  'I am so unfortunate as to have brought news to Miss Agnes Lockwoodwhich has greatly distressed her,' he said. 'She has retired to herroom. I am requested to make her excuses, and to speak to you in herplace.'

  Having introduced himself in those terms, he noticed Mrs. Ferrari, andheld out his hand to her kindly. 'It is some years since we last met,Emily,' he said. 'I am afraid you have almost forgotten the "MasterHenry" of old times.' Emily, in some little confusion, made heracknowledgments, and begged to know if she could be of any use to MissLockwood. 'The old nurse is with her,' Henry answered; 'they will bebetter left together.' He turned once more to Mr. Troy. 'I ought totell you,' he said, 'that my name is Henry Westwick. I am the youngerbrother of the late Lord Montbarry.'

  'The late Lord Montbarry!' Mr. Troy exclaimed.

  'My brother died at Venice yesterday evening. There is the telegram.'With that startling answer, 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 ofbronchitis, at 8.40 this evening. All needful details by post.'

  'Was this expected, sir?' the lawyer asked.

  'I cannot say that it has taken us entirely by surprise,' Henryanswered. 'My brother Stephen (who is now the head of the family)received a telegram three days since, informing him that alarmingsymptoms had declared themselves, and that a second physician had beencalled in. He telegraphed back to say that he had left Ireland forLondon, on his way to Venice, and to direct that any further messagemight be sent to his hotel. The reply came in a second telegram. Itannounced that Lord Montbarry was in a state of insensibility, andthat, in his brief intervals of consciousness, he recognised nobody.My brother was advised to wait in London for later information. Thethird telegram is now in your hands. That is all I know, up to thepresent time.'

  Happening to look at the courier's wife, Mr. Troy was struck by theexpression of blank fear which showed itself in the woman's face.

  'Mrs. Ferrari,' he said, 'have you heard what Mr. Westwick has justtold me?'

  'Every word of it, sir.'

  'Have you any questions to ask?'

  'No, sir.'

  'You seem to be alarmed,' the lawyer persisted. 'Is it still aboutyour husband?'

  'I shall never see my husband again, sir. I have thought so all along,as you know. I feel 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 compassionatecontempt. 'When it comes to feelings, my good soul--!' He left thesentence unfinished, and rose to take his leave of Mr. Westwick. Thetruth is, he began to feel puzzled himself, and he did not choose tolet Mrs. Ferrari see it. 'Accept the expression of my sympathy, sir,'he said to Mr. Westwick politely. 'I wish you good evening.'

  Henry turned to Mrs. Ferrari as the lawyer closed the door. 'I haveheard of your trouble, Emily, from Miss Lockwood. Is there anything Ican do to help you?'

  'Nothing, sir, thank you. Perhaps, I had better go home after what hashappened? I will call to-morrow, and see if I can be of any use toMiss Agnes. I am very sorry for her.' She stole away, with her formalcurtsey, her noiseless step, and her obstinate resolution to take thegloomiest view of her husband's case.

  Henry Westwick looked round him in the solitude of the littledrawing-room. There was nothing to keep him in the house, and yet helingered in it. It was something to be even near Agnes--to see thethings belonging to her that were scattered about the room. There, inthe corner, was her chair, with her embroidery on the work-table by itsside. On the little easel near the window was her last drawing, notquite finished yet. The book she had been reading lay on the sofa,with her tiny pencil-case in it to mark the place at which she had leftoff. One after another, he looked at the objects that reminded him ofthe woman whom he loved--took them up tenderly--and laid them downagain with a sigh. Ah, how far, how unattainably far from him, she wasstill! 'She will never forget Montbarry,' he thought to himself as hetook up his hat to go. 'Not one of us feels his death as she feels it.Miserable, miserable wretch--how she loved him!'

  In the street, as Henry closed the house-door, he was stopped by apassing acquaintance--a wearisome inquisitive man--doubly unwelcome tohim, at that moment. 'Sad news, Westwick, this about your brother.Rather an unexpected death, wasn't it? We never heard at the club thatMontbarry's lungs were weak. What will the insurance offices do?'

  Henry started; he had never thought of his brother's life insurance.What could the offices do but pay? A death by bronchitis, certified bytwo physicians, was surely the least disputable of all deaths. 'I wishyou hadn't put that question into my head!' he broke out irritably.'Ah!' said his friend, 'you think the widow will get the money? So doI! so do I!'