 8 On the fourteenth, the directors and their legal advisors met for the reading of the report with closed doors. These were the terms in which the commissioners related the results of their inquiry, private and confidential. We have the honour to inform our directors that we arrived in Venice on December 6, 1860. On the same day we proceeded to the palace inhabited by Lord Montberry at the time of his last illness and death. We were received with all possible courtesy by Lady Montberry's brother, Baron Rivard. My sister was her husband's only attendant throughout his illness. The Baron informed us. She is overwhelmed by grief and fatigue, or she would have been here to receive you personally. What are your wishes, gentlemen, and what can I do for you in her ladyship's place? In accordance with our instructions we answered that the death and burial of Lord Montberry, abroad, made it desirable to obtain more complete information relating to his illness, to the circumstances which had attended it, then could be conveyed in writing. We explained that the law provided for the lapse of a certain interval of time before the payment of the sum assured, and we expressed our wish to conduct the inquiry with the most respectful consideration for her ladyship's feelings and for the convenience of any other members of the family inhabiting the house. To this the Baron replied, I am the only member of the family living here, and I and the palace are entirely at your disposal. From first to last we found this gentleman perfectly straightforward and most amably willing to assist us. With the one exception of her ladyship's room we went over the whole of the palace the same day. It is an immense place only partially furnished. The first floor and part of the second floor were the portions of it that had been inhabited by Lord Montberry and the members of the household. We saw the bed-chamber at one extremity of the palace in which his lordship died and the small room communicating with it which he used as a study. Next to this was a large apartment or hall the doors of which he habitually kept locked, his object being, as we were informed, to pursue his studies uninterruptedly in perfect solitude. On the other side of the large hall were the bed-chamber occupied by her ladyship and the dressing room in which the maid slept previous to her departure for England. Beyond these were the dining and reception rooms, opening into an anti-chamber which gave access to the grand staircase of the palace. The only inhabited rooms on the second floor were the sitting room and bedroom occupied by Baron Rivard and another room at some distance from it which had been the bedroom of the courier Ferrari. The rooms on the third floor and on the basement were completely unfurnished and in a condition of great neglect. We inquired if there was anything to be seen below the basement and we were at once informed that there were vaults beneath which we were at perfect liberty to visit. We went down so as to leave no part of the palace unexplored. The vaults were, it was believed, used as dungeons in the old times, say some centuries since. Air and light were only partially admitted to these dismal places by two long shafts of winding construction which communicated with the backyard of the palace and the openings of which, high above the ground, were protected by iron gratings. The stone stairs leading down into the vaults could be closed at will by a heavy trap door in the back hall which we found open. The Baron himself led the way down the stairs. We remarked that it might be awkward if that trap door fell down and closed the opening behind this. The Baron smiled at the idea. Don't be alarmed, gentlemen, he said. The door is safe. I had an interest in seeing to it myself when we first inhabited the palace. My favorite study is the study of experimental chemistry and my workshop since we have been in Venice is down here. These last words explained a curious smell in the vaults which we noticed the moment we entered them. We can only describe the smell by saying that it was of a twofold sort, faintly aromatic as it were, in its first effect, but with some after odor very sickening in our nostrils. The Baron's furnaces and retorts and other things were all there to speak for themselves, together with some packages of chemicals having the name and address of the person who had supplied them, plainly visible on their labels. Not a pleasant place for study, Baron Rivar observed, but my sister is timid. She has a horror of chemical smells and explosions, and she has banished me to these lower regions so that my experiments may neither be smelt nor heard. He held out his hands on which we had noticed that he wore gloves in the house. Accidents will happen sometimes, he said, no matter how careful a man may be. I burned my hands severely in trying a new combination the other day, and they are only recovering now. We mentioned these otherwise unimportant incidents in order to show that our exploration of the palace was not impeded by any attempt at concealment. We were even admitted to her lady ship's own room on a subsequent occasion when she went out to take the air. Our instructions recommended us to examine his lordship's residence because the extreme privacy of his life at Venice, and the remarkable departure of the only two servants in the house might have some suspicious connection with the nature of his death. We found nothing to justify suspicion. As to his lordship's retired way of life, we have conversed on the subject with the consul and the banker, the only two strangers who held any communication with him. He called once at the bank to obtain money on his letter of credit and excused himself from accepting an invitation to visit the banker at his private residence on the ground of delicate health. His lordship wrote to the same effect on sending his card to the consul to excuse himself from personally returning that gentleman's visit to the palace. We have seen the letter and we beg to offer the following copy of it. Many years passed in India, having injured my constitution. I have ceased to go into society. The one occupation of my life now is a study of oriental literature. The era of Italy is better for me than the era of England, or I should never have left home. Pray except the apologies of a student and an invalid. The active part of my life is at an end. The self-seclusion of his lordship seems to us to be explained in these brief lines. We have not, however, on that account spared our inquiries in other directions. Nothing to excite, a suspicion of anything wrong, has come to our knowledge. As to the departure of the ladies-maid, we have seen the woman's receipt for her wages in which it is expressly stated that she left Lady Montbury's service because she disliked the continent and wished to get back to her own country. This is not an uncommon result of taking English servants to foreign parts. Lady Montbury has informed us that she abstained from engaging another maid in consequence of the extreme dislike which his lordship expressed to having strangers in the house in the state of his health at the time. The disappearance of the courier Ferrari is in itself unquestionably a suspicious circumstance. Neither her leadership nor the Baron can explain it and no investigation that we could make has thrown the smallest light on this event, or has justified us in associating it directly or indirectly with the object of our inquiry. We have even gone the length of examining the portmanteau which Ferrari left behind him. It contains nothing but clothes and linen, no money, and not even a scrap of paper in the pockets of clothes. The portmanteau remains in charge of the police. We have also found opportunities of speaking privately to the old woman who attends to the rooms occupied by her ladyship and the Baron. She was recommended to fill this situation by the keeper of the restaurant who has supplied the meals to the family throughout the period of their residence at the palace. Her character is most favourably spoken of. Unfortunately her limited intelligence makes her of no value as a witness. We were patient and careful in questioning her and we found her perfectly willing to answer us, but we could elicit nothing which is worth including in the present report. On the second day of our increase, we had the honour of an interview with Lady Montbury. Her ladyship looked miserably worn and ill and seemed to be quite at a loss to understand what we wanted with her. Baron Rivard who introduced us explained the nature of our errand in Venice and took pains to assure her that it was a purely formal duty on which we were engaged. Having satisfied her ladyship on this point, he discreetly left the room. The questions which we addressed to Lady Montbury related mainly, of course, to his lordship's illness. The answers given with great nervousness of manner, but without the slightest appearance of reserve informed us of the facts that follow. Lord Montbury had been out of order for some time past, nervous and irritable. He first complained of having taken cold on November 13th last. He passed a wakeful and feverish night and remained in bed the next day. Her ladyship proposed sending for medical advice. He refused to allow her to do this, saying that he could quite easily be his own doctor in such a truffling manner as a cold. Some hot lemonade was made at his request, with a view to producing perspiration. Lady Montbury's maid having left her at that time, the courier Ferrari, then the only servant in the house, went out to buy the lemons. Her ladyship made the drink with her own hands. It was successful in producing perspiration and Lord Montbury had some hours of sleep afterwards. Later in the day, having need of Ferrari's services, Lady Montbury rang for him. The bell was not answered. Baron Rivard searched for the man in the palace and out of it in vain. From that time forth not a trace of Ferrari could be discovered. This happened on November 14th. On the night of the 14th the feverish symptoms accompanying his lordship's cold returned. They were in part perhaps attributable to the annoyance and alarm caused by Ferrari's mysterious disappearance. It had been impossible to conceal the circumstance, as his lordship rang repeatedly for the courier, insisting that the man should relieve Lady Montbury and the Baron by taking their places during the night at his bedside. On the 15th, the day on which the old woman first came to do the housework, his lordship complained of sore throat and of a feeling of oppression on the chest. On this day and again on the 16th her ladyship and the Baron entreated him to see a doctor. He still refused. I don't want strange faces about me. My cold will run its course in spite of the doctor, chapter that was his answer. On the 17th he was so much worse that it was decided to send for medical help whether he liked it or not. Baron Rivard, after inquiry at the consuls, secured the services of Dr. Bruno, well known as an eminent physician in Venice, with the additional recommendation of having resided in England and having made himself acquainted with English forms of medical practice. Thus far our account of his lordship's illness has been derived from statements made by Lady Montbury. The narrative will now be most fitly continued in the language of the doctor's own report, herewith subjoined. My medical diary informs me that I first saw the English lord Montbury on November 17. He was suffering from a sharp attack of bronchitis. Some precious time had been lost through his obstinate objection to the presence of a medical man at his bedside. Generally speaking he appeared to be in a delicate state of health. His nervous system was out of order. He was at once timid and contradictory. When I spoke to him in English he answered in Italian, and when I tried him in Italian he went back to English. It mattered little. The malady had already made such progress that he could only speak a few words at a time, and those in a whisper. I had once applied the necessary remedies, copies of my prescriptions with translation into English, accompanying the present statement and are left to speak for themselves. For the next three days I was in constant attendance on my patient. He answered to the remedies, employed, improving slowly, but decidedly. I could conscientiously assure Lady Montbury that no danger was to be apprehended thus far. She was indeed a most devoted wife. I vainly endeavored to induce her to accept the services of a competent nurse. She would allow nobody to attend on her husband but herself. Night and day this estimable woman was at his bedside. In her brief intervals of repose her brother watched the sick man in her place. This brother was, I must say, very good company in the intervals when we had time for a little talk. He dabbled in chemistry down in the horrid underwater vaults of the palace, and he wanted to show me some of his experiments. I have enough of chemistry in writing prescriptions, and I declined. He took it quite good humoredly. I am straying away from my subject. Let me return to the sick Lord. Up to the twentieth then things went well enough. I was quite unprepared for the disastrous change that showed itself when I paid Lord Montbury my morning visit on the twenty-first. He had relapsed and seriously relapsed. Examining him to discover the cause, I found symptoms of pneumonia, that is to say, in unmedical language, inflammation of the substance of the lungs. He breathed with difficulty and was only partially able to relieve himself by coughing. I made the strictest inquiries and was assured that his medicine had been administered as carefully as usual and that he had not been exposed to any changes of temperature. It was with great reluctance that I added to Lady Montbury's distress, but I felt bound when she suggested a consultation with another physician to own that I too thought there was really need for it. Her ladyship instructed me to spare no expense and to get the best medical opinion in Italy. The best opinion was happily within our reach. The first and foremost of Italian physicians is Torello of Padua. I sent a special messenger for the great man. He arrived on the evening of the twenty-first and confirmed my opinion that pneumonia had set in and that our patient's life was in danger. I told him what my treatment of the case had been and he approved of it in every particular. He made some valuable suggestions and, at Lady Montbury's express request, he consented to defer his return to Padua until the following morning. We both saw the patient at intervals in the course of the night. The disease steadily advancing set our utmost resistance at defiance. In the morning Dr. Torello took his leave. I can be of no further use, he said to me. The man is past all help and he ought to know it. Later in the day I warned my lord as gently as I could that his time had come. I am informed that there are serious reasons for my stating what passed between us on this occasion in detail without any reserve. I comply with the request. Lord Montbury received the intelligence of his approaching death with becoming composure but with a certain doubt. He signed to me to put my ear to his mouth. He whispered faintly, Are you sure? It was no time to deceive him. I said, positively sure. He waited a little, gasping for breath, and then he whispered again, Feel under my pillow. I found under his pillow a letter sealed and stamped ready for the post. His next words were just audible and no more. Post it yourself. I answered, of course, that I would do so and I did post the letter with my own hand. I looked at the address. It was directed to a lady in London, the street I cannot remember. The name I can perfectly recall, it was an Italian name, Mrs. Ferrari. That night my lord nearly died of asphyxia. I got him through it for the time and his eyes showed that he understood me when I told him the next morning that I had posted the letter. This was his last effort of consciousness. When I saw him again he was sunk in apathy. He lingered in a state of insensibility, supported by stimulants, until the 25th, and died, unconscious to the last, on the evening of that day. As to the cause of his death it seems if I may be excused for saying, so simply absurd to ask the question. Bronchitis terminating in pneumonia, there is no more doubt that this, and this only, was the malady of which he expired than that two and two make four. Dr. Torello's own note of the cases added here to a duplicate of my certificate, in order, as I am informed, to satisfy some English offices in which his Lordship's life was insured. The English offices must have been founded by that celebrated saint and doubter mentioned in the New Testament, whose name was Thomas. Dr. Bruno's evidence ends here. Reverting for a moment to our inquiry's address to Lady Montberry, we have to report that she can give us no information on the subject of the letter which the doctor posted at Lord Montberry's request. When his Lordship wrote it, what it contained, why he kept it a secret from Lady Montberry and from the Baron also, and why he should write it all to the wife of his courier. These are questions to which we find it simply impossible to obtain any replies. It seems even useless to say that the matter is open to suspicion. Suspicion implies conjecture of some kind, and the letter under my Lord's pillow baffles all conjecture. Application to Mrs. Ferrari may perhaps clear up the mystery. Her residence in London will be easily discovered at the Italian courier's office, Golden Square. Having arrived at the close of the present report, we have now to draw your attention to the conclusion which is justified by the results of our investigation. The plain question before our directors and ourselves appears to be this. Has the inquiry revealed any extraordinary circumstances which rendered the death of Lord Montberry open to suspicion? The inquiry has revealed extraordinary circumstances beyond all doubt, such as the disappearance of Ferrari, the remarkable absence of the customary establishment of servants in the house, and the mysterious letter which his Lordship asked the doctor to post. But where is the proof that any one of these circumstances is associated, suspiciously and directly associated, with the only event which concerns us, the event of Lord Montberry's death? In the absence of any such proof, and in the face of the evidence of two eminent physicians, it is impossible to dispute the statement on their certificate that his Lordship died a natural death. We are bound, therefore, to report that there are no valid grounds for refusing the payment of the sum for which the late Lord Montberry's life was assured. We shall send these lines to you by the post of tomorrow, December 10, leaving time to receive your further instructions, if any, in reply to our telegram of this evening, announcing the conclusion of the inquiry. By Wilkie Collins. Chapter 9 Now, my good creature, whatever you have to say to me, out with it at once. I don't want to hurt you needlessly, but these are business hours and I have other people's affairs to attend to, besides yours. Addressing Ferrari's wife with his usual blunt good humor, in these terms, Mr. Troy registered the lapse of time, by a glance at the watch on his desk, and then waited to hear what his client had to say to him. It's something more, sir, about the letter with a thousand-pound note, Mrs. Ferrari began. I have found out who sent it to me. Mr. Troy started. This is news indeed, he said. Who sent you the letter? Lord Montberry sent it, sir. It was not easy to take Mr. Troy by surprise, but Mrs. Ferrari threw him completely off his balance. For a while he could only look at her in silent surprise. Nonsense. He said, as soon as he had recovered himself. There is some mistake, it can't be. There is no mistake, Mrs. Ferrari rejoined, in her most positive manner. Two gentlemen from the insurance office called on me this morning to see the letter. They were completely puzzled, especially when they heard of the bank note inside. But they know who sent the letter. His Lordship's doctor in Venice posted it at his Lordship's request. Go to the gentleman yourself, sir, if you don't believe me. They were polite enough to ask if I could account for Lord Montberry's writing to me and sending me the money. I gave them my opinion directly. I said it was like his Lordship's kindness. Like his Lordship's kindness? Mr. Troy repeated in blank amazement. Yes, sir. Lord Montberry knew me like all the other members of his family when I was at school on the estate in Ireland. If he could have done it he would have protected my poor dear husband, but he was helpless himself in the hands of my lady and the baron, and the only kind thing he could do was to provide for me in my widowhood like the true noble man he was. A very pretty explanation, said Mr. Troy. What did your visitors from the insurance officers think of it? They asked if I had any proof of my husband's death. And what did you say? I said I give you better than proof, gentlemen, I give you my positive opinion. That satisfied them, of course. They didn't say so in words, sir. They looked at each other and wished me good morning. Well, Mrs. Ferrari, unless you have some more extraordinary news for me, I think I shall wish you good morning, too. I can take a note of your information, very startling information I own, and in the absence of proof I can do no more. I can provide you with proof, sir, if that is all you want, said Mrs. Ferrari with great dignity. I only wish to know first whether the law justifies me in doing it. You may have seen in the fashionable intelligence of the newspapers that Lady Montberry has arrived in London at Newberry's hotel. I propose to go and see her. The deuce you do? May I ask for what purpose? Mrs. Ferrari answered in a mysterious whisper. For the purpose of catching her in a trap, I shall not stand in my name, I shall announce myself as a person on business, and the first words I say to her will be these. I come, my lady, to acknowledge the receipt of the money sent to Ferrari's widow. Ah, you may well start, Mr. Troy, it almost takes you off your guard, doesn't it? Make your mind easy, sir, I shall find the proof that everybody asks me for in her guilty face. Let her only change color by the shadow of a shade, let her eyes only drop for half an instant, I shall discover her. The one thing I want to know is, does the law permit it? The law permits it? Mr. Troy answered gravely. But whether her ladyship will permit it is quite another question. Have you really courage enough, Mrs. Ferrari, to carry out this notable scheme of yours? You have been described to me by Miss Lockwood as rather a nervous, timid sort of person. And if I may trust my own observation, I should say you justify the description. If you had lived in the country, sir, instead of living in London, Mrs. Ferrari replied, you would sometimes have seen even a sheep turn on a dog. I am far from saying that I am a bold woman, quite the reverse. But when I stand in that wretched presence, and think of my murdered husband, the one of us too who is likely to be frightened is not me. I am going there now, sir. You shall hear how it ends. I wish you good morning. With those brave words, the courier's wife gathered her mantle about her, and walked out of the room. Mr. Troy smiled, not satirically, but compassionately. The little simpleton, he thought to himself, if half of what they say of Lady Montberry is true, Mrs. Ferrari and her trap have but a poor prospect before them, I wonder how it will end. All Mr. Troy's experience failed to forewarn him of how it did end. The Haunted Hotel by Wilkie Collins Chapter 10 In the meantime Mrs. Ferrari held to her resolution. She went straight from Mr. Troy's office to New Burry's hotel. Lady Montberry was at home and alone, but the authorities of the hotel hesitated to disturb her when they found that the visitor declined to mention her name. Her ladyship's new maid happened to cross the hall while the matter was still in debate. She was a French woman, and on being appealed to, she settled the question in the swift, easy, rational French way. Madame's appearance was perfectly respectable. Madame might have reasons for not mentioning her name, which Milady might approve. In any case, there being no orders forbidding the introduction of a strange lady, the matter clearly rested between Madame and Milady. Would Madame therefore be good enough to follow Milady's maid up the stairs? In spite of her resolution, Mrs. Ferrari's heart beat as if it would burst out of her bosom when her conductress led her into an ante-room, and knocked at a door opening into a room beyond. But it is remarkable that persons of sensitively nervous organization are the very persons who are capable of forcing themselves, apparently by the exercise of a spasmodic effort of will, into the performance of acts of the most audacious courage. A low grave voice from the inner room said, Come in. The maid opening the door announced, A person to see you, Milady, on business, and immediately retired. In the one instant while these events passed, timid little Mrs. Ferrari mastered her own throbbing heart, stepped over the threshold, conscious of her clammy hands, dry lips and burning head, and stood in the presence of Lord Montberry's widow to all outward appearance as supremely self-possessed as her ladyship herself. It was still early in the afternoon, but the light in the room was dim. The blinds were drawn down. Lady Montberry sat with her back to the windows, as if even the subdued daylight were disagreeable to her. She had altered sadly for the worse in her personal appearance since the memorable day when Dr. Wibrow had seen her in his consulting room. Her beauty was gone. Her face had fallen away to mere skin and bone. The contrast between her ghastly complexion and her steely glittering black eyes was more startling than ever. Robed in dismal black, relieved only by the brilliant whiteness of her widow's cap, reclining in a panther-like suppleness of attitude on a little green sofa, she looked at the stranger who had intruded on her with a moment's languid curiosity, then dropped her eyes again to the handscreen which she held between her face and the fire. I don't know you, she said. What do you want with me? Mrs. Ferrari tried to answer. Her first burst of courage had already worn itself out. The bold words that she had determined to speak were living words still in her mind, but they died on her lips. There was a moment of silence. Lady Montberry looked round again at the speechless stranger. Are you deaf? She asked. There was another pause. Lady Montberry quietly looked back again at the screen and put another question. Do you want money? Money? That one word roused the sinking spirit of the courier's wife. She recovered her courage. She found her voice. Look at me, my lady, if you please. She said with a sudden outbreak of audacity. Lady Montberry looked round for the third time. The fatal words passed Mrs. Ferrari's lips. I come, my lady, to acknowledge the receipt of the money sent to Ferrari's widow. Lady Montberry's glittering black eyes rested with steady attention on the woman who had addressed her in those terms. Not the faintest expression of confusion or alarm, not even a momentary flutter of interest stirred the deadly stillness of her face. She reposed as quietly. She held the screen as composately as ever. The test had been tried and had utterly failed. There was another silence. Lady Montberry considered with herself. The smile that came slowly and went away suddenly, the smile at once so sad and so cruel, showed itself on her thin lips. She lifted her screen and pointed with it to a seat at the farther end of the room. Be so good as to take that chair, she said. Helpless under her first bewildering sense of failure, not knowing what to say or what to do next, Mrs. Ferrari mechanically obeyed. Lady Montberry rising on the sofa for the first time watched her with undisguised scrutiny as she crossed the room, then sank back into a reclining position once more. No, she said to herself, the woman walks steadily, she is not intoxicated, the only other possibility is that she may be mad. She had spoken loud enough to be heard. Stung by the insult, Mrs. Ferrari instantly answered her, I am no more drunk or mad than you are. No, said Lady Montberry. Then you are only insolent. The ignorant English mind I have observed is apt to be insolent in the exercise of unrestrained English liberty. This is very noticeable to us foreigners among you people in the streets. Of course I can't be insolent to you in return, I hardly know what to say to you. My maid was imprudent in admitting you so easily to my room. I suppose your respectable appearance misled her. I wonder who you are. You mentioned the name of a courier who left us very strangely. Was he married by any chance? Are you his wife? And do you know where he is? Mrs. Ferrari's indignation burst its way through all restraints. She advanced to the sofa, she feared nothing in the fervor and rage of her reply. I am his widow, and you know it, you wicked woman. Ah! It was an evil hour when Miss Lockwood recommended my husband to be his lordship's courier. Before she could add another word, Lady Montberry sprang from the sofa with a stealthy suddenness of a cat, seized her by both shoulders, and shook her with the strength and frenzy of a madwoman. You lie! You lie! You lie! She dropped her hold at the third repetition of the accusation and threw up her hands wildly with a gesture of despair. Oh, Hesumaria! Is it possible? She cried, can the courier have come to me through that woman? She turned like lightning on Mrs. Ferrari and stopped her as she was escaping from the room. Stay here, you fool! Stay here and answer me! If you cry out, assures the heavens are above you, I'll strangle you with my own hands. Sit down again, and fear nothing. Wretch! It is I who am frightened, frightened out of my senses. Confess that you lied. When you used Miss Lockwood's name just now. No, I don't believe you on your oath. I will believe nobody but Miss Lockwood herself. Where does she live? Tell me that, you noxious, stinging little insect, and you may go. Terrified as she was, Mrs. Ferrari hesitated. Lady Montberry lifted her hands threateningly, with long, lean, yellow-white fingers outspread and crooked at the tips. Mrs. Ferrari shrank at the side of them and gave the address. Lady Montberry pointed contemptuously to the door, then changed her mind. No, not yet. You will tell Miss Lockwood what has happened, and she may refuse to see me. I will go there at once, and you shall go with me. As far as the house, not inside of it. Sit down again. I am going to ring for my maid. Turn your back to the door. Your cowardly face is not fit to be seen. She rang the bell. The maid appeared. My cloak and bonnet instantly. The maid produced the cloak and bonnet from the bedroom. A cab at the door. Before I can count ten. The maid finished. Lady Montberry surveyed herself in the glass and wheeled round again, with her cat-like suddenness to Mrs. Ferrari. I look more than half-dead already, don't I? She said with a grim outburst of irony. Give me your arm. She took Mrs. Ferrari's arm and left the room. You have nothing to fear so long as you obey. She whispered on the way downstairs, you leave me at Miss Lockwood's door and never see me again. In the hall they were met by the landlady of the hotel. Lady Montberry graciously presented her companion. My good friend Mrs. Ferrari, I am so glad to have seen her. The landlady accompanied them to the door. The cab was waiting. Getting first to good Mrs. Ferrari said her ladyship and tell the men where to go. They were driven away. Lady Montberry's variable humor changed again. With a low groan of misery she threw herself back in the cab. Lost in her own dark thoughts as careless of the woman whom she had bent to her iron will, as if no such person sat by her side, she preserved a sinister silence until they reached the house where Miss Lockwood lodged. In an instant she roused herself to action. She opened the door of the cab and closed it again on Mrs. Ferrari before the driver could get off his box. Take that lady a mile farther in her way home, she said as she paid the men his fare. The next moment she had knocked at the house door. Is Miss Lockwood at home? Yes, ma'am. She stepped over the threshold the door closed on her. Which way, ma'am? asked the driver of the cab. Mrs. Ferrari put her hand to her head and tried to collect her thoughts. Could she leave her friend and benefactress helpless at Lady Montberry's mercy? She was still vainly endeavouring to decide on the course that she ought to follow when a gentleman stopping at Miss Lockwood's door happened to look towards the cab window and saw her. Are you going to call on Miss Agnes, too? He asked. It was Henry Westwick. Mrs. Ferrari clasped her hands in gratitude as she recognised him. Go in, sir. She cried. Go in directly. That dreadful woman is with Miss Agnes. Go and protect her. What woman? Henry asked. The answer literally struck him speechless. With amazement and indignation in his face, he looked at Mrs. Ferrari as she pronounced the hated name of Lady Montberry. I'll see to it, was all he said. He knocked at the house door, and he, too, in his turn was let in. End of Chapter 10 Recording by Kehinde of Badrack.com Chapter 11 Of The Haunted Hotel A Mystery of Modern Venice Recording by Kehinde This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Haunted Hotel By Wilkie Collins Chapter 11 Lady Montberry, Miss Agnes was writing a letter when the servant astonished her by announcing the visitor's name. Her first impulse was to refuse to see the woman who had intruded on her. But Lady Montberry had taken care to follow close on the servant's heels. Before Agnes could speak, she had entered the room. I beg to apologise for my intrusion, Miss Lockwood. I have a question to ask you, in which I am very much interested. No one can answer me but yourself. In low hesitating tones, with her glittering black eyes bent modestly on the ground, Lady Montberry opened the interview in those words. Without answering, Agnes pointed to a chair. She could do this and, for the time, she could do no more. All that she had read of the hidden and sinister life in the palace at Venice, all that she had heard of Montberry's melancholy death and burial in a foreign land, all that she knew of the mystery of Ferrari's disappearance, rushed into her mind when the black-robed figure confronted her, standing just inside the door. The strange conduct of Lady Montberry added a new perplexity to the doubts and misgivings that troubled her. There stood the adventurous, whose character had left its mark on society all over Europe, the fury who had terrified Mrs. Ferrari at the hotel inconceivably transformed into a timid, shrinking woman. Lady Montberry had not once ventured to look at Agnes since she had made her way into the room. Advancing to take the chair that had been pointed out to her, she hesitated, put her hand on the rail to support herself, and still remained standing. Please, give me a moment to compose myself. She said faintly. Her head sank on her bosom. She stood before Agnes like a conscious culprit before a merciless judge. The silence that followed was literally the silence of fear on both sides. In the midst of it the door was opened once more and Henry Westwick appeared. He looked at Lady Montberry with a moment's steady attention, bowed to her with formal politeness, and passed on in silence. At the sight of her husband's brother, the sinking spirit of the woman sprang to life again. Her drooping figure became erect. Her eyes met Westwick's look, brightly defiant. She returned his bow with an icy smile of contempt. Henry crossed the room to Agnes. Is Lady Montberry here by your invitation? He asked quietly. No. Do you wish to see her? It is very painful to me to see her. He turned and looked at his sister-in-law. Do you hear that? He asked coldly. I hear it. She answered more coldly still. Your visit is to say the least of it ill-timed. Your interference is to say the least of it out of place. With that retort Lady Montberry approached Agnes. The presence of Henry Westwick seemed at once to relieve and embolden her. Permit me to ask my question, Miss Lockwood. She said with graceful courtesy. It is nothing to embarrass you. When the courier Ferrari applied to my late husband for employment, did you? Her resolution failed her before she could say more. She sank trembling to the nearest chair, and after moments struggle composed herself again. Did you permit Ferrari? She resumed, to make sure of being chosen for our courier by using your name. Agnes did not reply with her customary directness. Traffling as it was, the reference to Montberry proceeding from that woman of all others confused and agitated her. I have known Ferrari's wife for many years. She began, and I take an interest. Lady Montberry abruptly lifted her hands with a gesture of entreaty. Ah, Miss Lockwood, don't waste time by talking of his wife. Answer my plain question plainly. Let me answer her. Henry whispered, I will undertake to speak plainly enough. Agnes refused by a gesture. Lady Montberry's interruption had roused her sense of what was due to herself. She resumed her reply in plainer terms. When Ferrari wrote to that late Lord Montberry, she said, he did certainly mention my name. Even now she had innocently failed to see the object which her visitor had in view. Lady Montberry's impatience became unconvernable. She started to refeed and advance to Agnes. Was it with your knowledge and permission that Ferrari used your name? She asked. The whole soul of my question is in that. For God's sake answer me. Yes or no? Yes. That one word struck Lady Montberry, as a blow might have struck her. The fierce life that had animated her face the instant before faded out of it suddenly and left her like a woman turned to stone. She stood mechanically, confronting Agnes with a stillness so rapt and perfect that not even the breath she drew was perceptible to the two persons who were looking at her. Henry spoke to her roughly. Rouse yourself. He said, you have received your answer. She looked round at him. I have received my sentence. She rejoined and turned slowly to leave the room. To Henry's astonishment Agnes stopped her. Wait a moment, Lady Montberry, I have something to ask on my side. You have spoken of Ferrari. I wish to speak of him too. Lady Montberry bent her head in silence. Her hand trembled as she took out her handkerchief and passed it over her forehead. Agnes detected the trembling and shrank back a step. Is the subject painful to you? She asked timidly. Still silent Lady Montberry invited her by a wave of the hand to go on. Henry approached attentively watching his sister-in-law. Agnes went on. No trace of Ferrari has been discovered in England. She said, have you any news of him and will you tell me if you have heard anything in mercy to his wife? Lady Montberry's thin lips suddenly relaxed into their sad and cruel smile. Why do you ask me about the lost courier? She said, you will know what has become of him, Ms. Lockwood, when the time is ripe for it. Agnes started. I don't understand you, she said. How shall I know? Will someone tell me? Someone will tell you. Henry could keep silence no longer. Perhaps your relationship may be the person, he interrupted with ironical politeness. She answered him with contemptuous ease. You may be right, Mr. Westwick. One day or another I may be the person who tells Ms. Lockwood what has become of Ferrari, if. She stopped with her eyes fixed on Agnes. If what? Henry asked. If Ms. Lockwood forces me to it. Agnes listened in astonishment. Force you to it. She repeated, how can I do that? Do you mean to say my will is stronger than yours? Do you mean to say that the candle doesn't burn the moth when the moth flies into it? Lady Montberry rejoined. Have you ever heard of such a thing as the fascination of terror? I am drawn to you by a fascination of terror. I have no right to visit you. I have no wish to visit you. You are my enemy. For the first time in my life against my own will I submit to my enemy. See, I am waiting because you told me to wait, and the fear of you, I swear it, creeps through me while I stand here. Oh, don't let me excite your curiosity or your pity. Follow the example of Mr. Westwick. Be hard and brutal and unforgiving like him. Grant me my release. Tell me to go. The frank and simple nature of Agnes could discover but one intelligible meaning in this strange outbreak. You are mistaken in thinking me your enemy, she said. The wrong you did me when you gave your hand to Lord Montberry was not intentionally done. I forgave you my sufferings in his lifetime. I forgive you even more freely now that he has gone. Henry heard her with mingled emotions of admiration and distress. Say no more, he exclaimed. You are too good to her. She is not worthy of it. The interruption passed unheeded by Lady Montberry. The simple words in which Agnes had replied seemed to have absorbed the whole attention of this strangely changeable woman. As she listened, her face settled slowly into an expression of hard and tearless sorrow. There was a marked change in her voice when she spoke next. It expressed the last worst resignation which has done with hope. You good innocent creature. She said, what does your amiable forgiveness matter? What are your poor little wrongs in the reckoning for greater wrongs which is demanded of me? I am not trying to frighten you. I am only miserable about myself. Do you know what it is to have a firm presentiment of calamity that is cunning to you, and yet to hope that your own positive conviction will not prove true? When I first met you, before my marriage, and first felt your influence over me, I had that hope. It was a starvelling sort of hope that lived a lingering life in me until today. You struck it dead when you answered my question about Ferrari. How have I destroyed your hopes? Agnes asked. What connection is there between my permitting Ferrari to use my name to Lord Montbury, and the strange and dreadful things you are saying to me now? The time is near, Miss Lockwood, when you will discover that for yourself. In the meanwhile, you shall know what my fear of you is, in the plainest words I can find. On the day when I took your hero from you, and blighted your life, I am firmly persuaded of it. You were made the instrument of the retribution that my sins of many years had deserved. Oh, such things have happened before today. One person has before now been the means of innocently ripening the growth of evil in another. You have done that already, and you have more to do yet. You have still to bring me to the day of discovery, and to the punishment that is my doom. We shall meet again, here in England, or there in Venice, where my husband died, and meet for the last time. In spite of her better sense, in spite of her natural superiority to superstitions of all kinds, Agnes was impressed by the terrible earnestness with which those words were spoken. She turned pale as she looked at Henry. Do you understand her? She asked. Nothing is easier than to understand her. He replied contemptuously. She knows what has become of Ferrari, and she is confusing you in a cloud of nonsense, because she daren't own the truth. Let her go. If a dog had been under one of the chairs and had barked, Lady Montbury could not have proceeded more impenetrably with the last words she had to say to Agnes. Advise your interesting Mrs. Ferrari to wait a little longer. She said, You will know what has become of her husband, and you will tell her. There will be nothing to alarm you. Some travelling event will bring us together the next time. As travelling, I dare say, as the engagement of Ferrari. Sad nonsense, Mr. Westwick, is it not? But you make allowances for women. We all talk nonsense. Good morning, Miss Lockwood. She opened the door, suddenly, as if she was afraid of being called back for the second time, and left them. End of Chapter 11, Recording by Cain Day, of Bahatrak.com Chapter 12 of The Haunted Hotel A mystery of modern Venice. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Cain Day. The Haunted Hotel by Wilkie Collins Chapter 12 Do you think she is mad? Agnes asked. I think she is simply wicked, false, superstitious, inveterately cruel, but not mad. I believe her main motive in coming here was to enjoy the luxury of frightening you. She has frightened me. I am ashamed to own it, but so it is. Henry looked at her, hesitated for a moment, and seated himself on the sofa by her side. I am very anxious about you, Agnes. He said. But for the fortunate chance which led me to call here today, who knows what that vile woman might not have said or done, if she had found you alone. My dear, you are leading a sadly unprotected, solitary life. I don't like to think of it. I want to see it changed. Especially after what has happened today. No, no, it is useless to tell me that you have your old nurse. She is too old. She is not in your rank of life. There is no sufficient protection in the companionship of such a person for a lady in your position. Don't mistake me, Agnes. What I say, I say in the sincerity of my devotion to you. He passed and took her hand. She made a feeble effort to withdraw it and yield it. Will the day never come, he pleaded, when the privilege of protecting you may be mine, when you will be the pride and joy of my life as long as my life lasts. He pressed her hand gently. She made no reply. The color came and went on her face. Her eyes were turned away from him. Have I been so unhappy as to offend you? He asked. She answered that. She said almost in a whisper. No. Have I distressed you? You have made me think of the sad days that are gone. She said no more. She only tried to withdraw her hand from his for the second time. He still held it. He lifted it to his lips. Can I never make you think of other days than those of the happier days to come? Or if you must think of the time that has passed, can you not look back to the time when I first loved you? She sighed as he put the question. Spare me, Henry. She answered sadly. Say no more. The color again rose in her cheeks. Her hand trembled in his. She looked lovely, with her eyes cast down and her bosom heaving gently. At that moment he would have given everything he had in the world to take her in his arms and kiss her. Some mysterious sympathy passing from his hand to hers seemed to tell her what was in his mind. She snatched her hand away and suddenly looked up at him. The tears were in her eyes. She said nothing. She let her eyes speak for her. They warned him, without anger, without unkindness, but still they warned him to press her no further that day. Only tell me that I am forgiven, he said, as he rose from the sofa. Yes, she answered quietly. You are forgiven. I have not lowered myself in your estimation, Agnes. Oh no! Do you wish me to leave? She rose in her turn from the sofa and walked to her writing table before she replied. The unfinished letter which she had been writing when Lady Montberry interrupted her lay open on the blotting book. As she looked at the letter, and then looked at Henry, the smile that charmed everybody showed itself in her face. You must not go just yet, she said. I have something to tell you. I hardly know how to express it. The shortest way, perhaps, will be to let you find it out for yourself. You have been speaking of my lonely, unprotected life here. It is not a very happy life, Henry. I own that. She paused, observing the growing anxiety of his expression as he looked at her, with a shy satisfaction that perplexed him. Do you know that I have anticipated your idea? She went on. I am going to make a great change in my life if your brother Stefan and his wife will only consent to it. She opened the desk of the writing table while she spoke, took the letter out, and handed it to Henry. He received it from her mechanically. Vague doubts which she hardly understood himself kept him silent. It was impossible to the change in her life of which she had spoken could mean that she was about to be married, and yet he was conscious of a perfectly unreasonable reluctance to open the letter. Their eyes met, she smiled again. Look at the address, she said. You ought to know the handwriting, but I dare say you won't. He looked at the address. It was in the large irregular, uncertain writing of a child. He opened the letter instantly. Dear Aunt Agnes, our governess is going away. She has had money left to her and a house of her own. We have had cake and wine to drink her health. You promised to be our governess if we wanted another. We want you. Mama knows nothing about this. Please come before mama can get another governess. You're loving Lucy who writes this. Clara and Blanche have tried to write too, but they are too young to do it. They blot the paper. Your eldest niece, Agnes explained, as Henry looked at her in amazement. The children used to call me aunt when I was staying with their mother in Ireland in the autumn. The three girls were my inseparable companions. They are the most charming children I know. It is quite true that I offered to be their governess if they ever wanted one on the day when I left them to return to London. I was writing to propose it to their mother just before you came. Not seriously, Henry exclaimed. Agnes placed her unfinished letter in his hand. Enough of it had been written to show that she did seriously propose to enter the household of Mr. and Mrs. Stefan Westwick as governess to their children. Henry's bewilderment was not to be expressed in words. They won't believe you are an earnest, he said. Why not? Agnes asked quietly. You are my brother Stefan's cousin. You are his wife's old friend. All the more reason, Henry, for trusting me with the charge of their children. But you are their equal. You are not obliged to get your living by teaching. There is something absurd in your entering their service as a governess. What is there absurd in it? The children love me. The mother loves me. The father has shown me innumerable instances of his true friendship and regard. I am the very woman for the place, and as to my education I must have completely forgotten it. Indeed, if I am not fit to teach three children the eldest of whom is only eleven years old. You say I am their equal. Are there no other women who serve as governesses and who are the equals of the persons whom they serve? Besides, I don't know that I am their equal. Have I not heard that your brother Stefan was the next heir to the title? Will he not be the new lord? Never mind answering me. We won't dispute whether I am right or wrong in turning governess. We will wait the event. I am weary of my lonely useless existence here, and eager to make my life more happy and more useful in the household of all others in which I should like most to have a place. If you will look again you will see that I have these personal considerations still to urge before I finish my letter. You don't know your brother and his wife as well as I do if you doubt their answer. I believe they have courage enough and hard enough to say yes. Henry submitted without being convinced. He was a man who disliked all eccentric departures from custom and routine, and he felt especially suspicious of the change proposed in the life of Agnes. With new interests to occupy her mind she might be less favorably disposed to listen to him on the next occasion when he urged his suit. The influence of the lonely useless existence of which she complained was distinctly an influence in his favor. While her heart was empty her heart was accessible, but with his nieces in full possession of it the clouds of doubt overshadowed his prospects. He knew the sex well enough to keep these purely selfish perplexities to himself. The waiting policy was especially the policy to pursue with a woman as sensitive as Agnes. If he once offended her delicacy he was lost. For the moment he wisely controlled himself and changed the subject. My little niece's letter has had an effect, he said, which the child never contemplated in writing it. She has just reminded me of one of the objects that I had in calling on you today. Agnes looked at the child's letter. How does Lucy do that? She asked. Lucy's governess is not the only lucky person who has had money left her, Henry answered. Is your old nurse in the house? You don't mean to say that nurse has got a legacy? She has got a hundred pounds. Send for her, Agnes, while I show you the letter. He took a handful of letters from his pocket and looked through them while Agnes rang the bell. Returning to him she noticed a printed letter among the rest which lay open on the table. It was a prospectus and the title of it was Palace Hotel Company of Venice Limited. The two words, Palace and Venice, instantly recalled her mind to the unwelcome visit of Lady Montberry. What is that? She asked, pointing to the title. Henry suspended his search and glanced at the prospectus. A really promising speculation, he said. Large hotels always pay well if they are well managed. I know the man who is appointed to be manager of this hotel when it is open to the public, and I have such entire confidence in him that I have become one of the shareholders of the company. The reply did not appear to satisfy Agnes. Why is the hotel called the Palace Hotel, she inquired. Henry looked at her and at once penetrated her motive for asking the question. Yes, he said, it is the Palace that Montberry hired at Venice and it has been purchased by the company to be changed into a hotel. Agnes turned away in silence and took a chair at the farther end of the room. Henry had disappointed her. His income as a younger son stood in need as she well knew of all the additions that he could make to it by successful speculation. But she was unreasonable enough, nevertheless, to disapprove of his attempting to make money already out of the house in which his brother had died. Incapable of understanding this purely sentimental view of a plain matter of business, Henry returned to his papers in some perplexity at the sudden change in the manner of Agnes towards him. Just as he found the letter of which he was in search, the nurse made her appearance. He glanced at Agnes expecting that she would speak first. She never even looked up when the nurse came in. It was left to Henry to tell the old woman why the bell had summoned her to the drawing-room. Well, nurse, he said, you have had a wind full of luck, you have had a legacy left you of a hundred pounds. The nurse showed no outward signs of exaltation. She waited a little to get the announcement of the legacy well settled in her mind and then she said quietly, Master Henry, who gives me that money if you please? My late brother Lord Montbury gives it to you. Agnes instantly looked up, interested in the matter for the first time. Henry went on. His will lives legacies to the surviving old servants of the family. There is a letter from his lawyers authorizing you to apply to them for the money. In every class of society, gratitude is the rarest of all human virtues. In the nurse's class it is extremely rare, her opinion of the man who had deceived and deserted her mistress remained the same opinion still perfectly undisturbed by the passing circumstance of the legacy. I wonder who reminded my lord of the old servants? She said, he would never have hard enough to remember them himself. Agnes suddenly interposed. Nature, always abhorring monotony, institutes reserves of temper as elements in the composition of the gentlest woman living. Even Agnes could on rare occasions be angry. The nurse's view of Montbury's character seemed to have provoked her beyond endurance. If you have any sense of shame in you, she broke out, you ought to be ashamed of what you have just said. Your ingratitude disgusts me. I leave you to speak with her, Henry. You won't mind it. With this significant intimation that he too had dropped out of his customary place in her good opinion, she left the room. The nurse received the smart reproof administered to her, with every appearance of feeling rather amused by it than not. When the door had closed, this female philosopher winked at Henry. There is a power of obstinacy in young women, she remarked. Miss Agnes wouldn't give my lord up as a bad one, even when he jilted her. And now she sweet on him after he's dead. Say a word against him and she fires up as you see. All obstinacy. It will wear out with time. Stick to her, master Henry. Stick to her. She doesn't seem to have offended you, said Henry. She? The nurse repeated in amazement. She offend me. I like her in her tantrums. It reminds me of her when she was a baby. Lord bless you. When I go to pit her good night, she'll give me a big kiss, poor dear, and say, nurse, I didn't mean it. About this money, master Henry, if I was younger, I should spend it in dress and jewelry. But I'm too old for that. What shall I do with my legacy when I have got it? Put it out at interest, Henry suggested. Get so much a year for it, you know. How much shall I get? the nurse asked. If you put your hundred pounds into the funds, you will get between three and four pounds a year. The nurse shook her head. Three or four pounds a year? That won't do. I want more than that. Look here, master Henry. I don't care about this bit of money. I never did like the man who has left it to me, though he was your brother. If I lost it all tomorrow, I shouldn't break my heart. I'm well enough off as it is for the rest of my days. They say you're a speculator. Put me in for a good thing, there's a dear. Neck or nothing and that for the funds. She snapped her fingers to express her contempt for security of investment at three percent. Henry produced the prospectus of the Venetian Hotel Company. You're a funny old woman, he said. There, you dashing speculator, there is neck or nothing for you. You must keep it a secret from his agnes. Mind, I'm not at all sure that she would approve of my helping you to this investment. The nurse dug out her spectacles. Six percent guaranteed, she read, and the directors have every reason to believe that 10 percent or more will be ultimately realized to the shareholders by the hotel. Put me into that, master Henry, and wherever you go for heaven's sake, recommend the hotel to your friends. So the nurse following Henry's mercenary example had her pecuniary interest, too, in the house in which Lord Montberry had died. Three days passed before Henry was able to visit Agnes again. In that time the little cloud between them had entirely passed away. Agnes received him with even more than her customary kindness. She was in better spirits than usual. Her letter to Mrs. Stephen Westwick had been answered by return of post, and her proposal had been joyfully accepted with one modification. She was to visit the Westwicks for a month, and, if she really liked teaching the children, she was then to be governess, aunt, and cousin, all in one, and was only to go away in an event which her friends in Ireland persisted in contemplating, the event of her marriage. You see, I was right, she said to Henry. He was still incredulous. Are you really going? He asked. I am going next week. When shall I see you again? You know you are always welcome at your brother's house. You can see me when you like. She held out her hand. Pardon me for leaving you. I am beginning to pack up already. Henry tried to kiss her at parting. She drew back directly. Why not? I am your cousin, he said. I don't like it, she answered. Henry looked at her and submitted. Her refusal to grant him his privilege as a cousin was a good sign. It was indirectly an act of encouragement to him in the character of her lover. On the first day in the week Agnes left London on her way to Ireland. As the event proved, this was not distinct to be the end of her journey. The way to Ireland was only the first stage on a roundabout road, the road that led to the palace at Venice. In the spring of the year 1861 Agnes was established at the country seat of her two friends, now promoted on the death of the First Lord without offspring to be the new Lord and Lady Montberry. The old nurse was not separated from her mistress. A place suited to her time of life had been found for her in the pleasant Irish household. She was perfectly happy in her new sphere and she spent her first half years dividend from the Venice Hotel Company with characteristic prodigality in presence for the children. Early in the year also the directors of the life insurance offices submitted to circumstances and paid the £10,000. Immediately afterwards the widow of the First Lady Montberry, otherwise the dowager Lady Montberry, left England with Baron Rivard for the United States. The Baron's object was announced in the scientific columns of the newspapers to be investigation into the present state of experimental chemistry in the great American Republic. His sister informed inquiring friends that she accompanied him in the hope of finding consolation and change of scene after the bereavement that had fallen on her. Hearing this news from Henry Westwick, then paying a visit at his brother's house, Agnes was conscious of a certain sense of relief. With the Atlantic between us, she said, Surely I have done with that terrible woman now. Barely a week passed before those words had been spoken, before an event happened which reminded Agnes of the terrible woman once more. On that day Henry's engagements had obliged him to return to London. He had ventured on the morning of his departure to press his suit once more on Agnes and the children as he had anticipated proved to be innocent obstacles in the way of his success. On the other hand he had privately secured a firm ally in his sister-in-law. Have a little patience, the new Lady Montberry's had said, and leave me to turn the influence of the children in the right direction. If they can persuade her to listen to you, they shall. The two ladies had accompanied Henry and some other guests who went away at the same time to the railway station and had just driven back to the house when the servant announced that a person of the name of Rowland was waiting to see her leadership. Is it a woman? Yes, my lady. Young Lady Montberry turned to Agnes. This is the very person, she said, whom your lawyer thought likely to help him when he was trying to trace the lost courier. You don't mean the English maid who was with Lady Montberry at Venice? My dear, don't speak of Montberry's horrid widow by the name which is my name now. Stefan and I have arranged to call her by her foreign title before she was married. I am Lady Montberry, and she is the Countess. In that way there will be no confusion. Yes, Mrs. Rowland was in my service before she became the Countess's maid. She was a perfectly trustworthy person, with one defect that obliged me to send her away. A sullen temper which led to perpetual complaints of her in the servant's hall. Would you like to see her? Agnes accepted the proposal in the faint hope of getting some information for the courier's wife. The complete defeat of every attempt to trace the lost man had been accepted as final by Mrs. Ferrari. She had deliberately arrayed herself in widow's mourning, and was earning her livelihood in an employment which the unweary kindness of Agnes had procured for her in London. The last chance of penetrating the mystery Ferrari's disappearance seemed to rest now on what Ferrari's former fellow servant might be able to tell. With highly wrought expectations, Agnes followed her friend into the room in which Mrs. Rowland was waiting. A tall bony woman, in the autumn of life with sunken eyes and iron grey hair, rose stiffly from her chair, and saluted the ladies with stern submission as they opened the door. A person of unblemished character evidently, but not without visible drawbacks. Big bushy eyebrows, an awfully deep and solemn voice, a harsh unbending manner, a complete absence in her figure of the undulating line's characteristic of the sex, presented virtue in this excellent person under its least alluring aspect. Strangers, on a first introduction to her, were accustomed to wonder why she was not a man. Are you pretty well, Mrs. Rowland? I am as well as I can expect to be, my lady, at my time of life. Is there anything I can do for you? Your ladyship can do me a great favour if you will please speak to my character while I was in your service. I am offered a place to wait on an invalid lady who has lately come to live in this neighbourhood. Ah yes, I have heard of her, a Mrs. Carberry, with a very pretty niece, I am told. But Mrs. Rowland you left my service some time ago. Mrs. Carberry will surely expect you to refer to the last mistress by whom you were employed. A flash of virtuous indignation irradiated Mrs. Rowland's sunken eyes. She coughed before she answered, as if her last mistress stuck in her throat. I have explained to Mrs. Carberry, my lady, that the person I last served I really cannot give her her title in your ladyship's presence has left England for America. Mrs. Carberry knows that I acquitted the person of my own free will and knows why and approves of my conduct so far. A word from your ladyship will be amply sufficient to get me the situation. Very well, Mrs. Rowland, I have no objection to be your reference under the circumstances. Mrs. Carberry will find me at home tomorrow until two o'clock. Mrs. Carberry is not well enough to leave the house, my lady. Her niece, Miss Helding, will call and make the inquiries if your ladyship has no objections. I have not the least objection. The pretty niece carries her own welcome with her. Wait a minute, Mrs. Rowland, this lady is Miss Lockwood, my husband's cousin and my friend. She is anxious to speak to you about the courier who was in the late Lord Montgomery's service at Venice. Mrs. Rowland's bushy eyebrows frowned in stern disapproval of the new topic of conversation. I regret to hear it, my lady, was all she said. Perhaps you have not been informed of what happened after you left Venice, Agnes ventured to add. Ferrari left the palace secretly and he has never been heard of since. Mrs. Rowland mysteriously closed her eyes as if to exclude some vision of the lost courier which was of a nature to disturb a respectable woman. Nothing that Mr. Ferrari could do would surprise me. She replied in her deepest, base tones. You speak rather harshly of him, said Agnes. Mrs. Rowland suddenly opened her eyes again. I speak harshly of nobody without reason. She said, Mr. Ferrari behaved to me Miss Lockwood as no old man living has ever behaved before or since. What did he do? Mrs. Rowland answered with a stony stare of horror. He took liberties with me. Young lady Montberry suddenly turned aside and put her handkerchief over her mouth in convulsions of suppressed laughter. Mrs. Rowland went on with a grim enjoyment of the bewilderment which her reply had produced in Agnes. And when I insisted on an apology Missy had the audacity to say that the life at the palace was dull and he didn't know how else to amuse himself. I am afraid I have hardly made myself understood, said Agnes. I am not speaking to you out of any interest in Ferrari. Are you aware that he is married? I pity his wife, said Mrs. Rowland. She is naturally in great grief about him. Agnes proceeded. She ought to thank God she is rid of him. Mrs. Rowland interposed. Agnes still persisted. I have known Mrs. Ferrari from her childhood and I am sincerely anxious to help her in this matter. Did you notice anything while you were at Venice that would account for her husband's extraordinary disappearance? On what sort of terms, for instance, did he live with his master and mistress? On terms of familiarity with his mistress, said Mrs. Rowland, which was simply sickening to a respectable English servant. She used to encourage him to talk to her about all his affairs, how he got on with his wife, and how pressed he was for money and such like, just as if they were equals. Contemptable, that's what I call it. And his master, Agnes continued, how did Ferrari get on with Lord Montbury? My Lord used to leave shut up with his studies and his sorrows. Mrs. Rowland answered, with a hard solemnity expressive of respect for his Lordship's memory. Mr. Ferrari got his money when it was due and he cared for nothing else. If I could afford it I would leave the place too, but I can't afford it. Those were the last words he said to me, on the morning when I left the palace. I made no reply. After what had happened on that other occasion I was naturally not on speaking terms with Mr. Ferrari. Can you really tell me nothing which will throw any light on this matter? Nothing, said Mrs. Rowland, with an undisguised relish of the disappointment that she was inflicting. There was another member of the family at Venice, Agnes resumed, determined to sift the question to the bottom while she had the chance. There was Baron Rivard. Mrs. Rowland lifted her large hands covered with rusty black gloves in mute protest against the introduction of Baron Rivard as a subject of inquiry. Are you aware, Miss? She began that I left my place in consequence of what I observed. Agnes stopped her there. I only wanted to ask. She explained if anything was said or done by Baron Rivard which might account for Ferrari's strange conduct. Nothing that I know of, said Mrs. Rowland. The Baron and Mr. Ferrari, if I may use such an expression, were birds of a feather so far as I could see. I mean, one was as unprincipled as the other. I am, a just woman, and I will give you an example. Only the day before I left I heard the Baron say, through the open door of his room, while I was passing along the corridor. Ferrari, I want a thousand pounds. What would you do for a thousand pounds? And I heard Mr. Ferrari answer, anything, sir, as long as I was not found out. And then they both burst out laughing. I heard no more than that. Judge for yourself, Miss. Agnes reflected for a moment. A thousand pounds was the sum that had been sent to Mrs. Ferrari in the anonymous letter. Was that enclosure in any way connected, as a result, with the conversation between the Baron and Ferrari? It was useless to press any more inquiries on Mrs. Rowland. She could give no further information which was of the slightest importance to the object in view. There was no alternative but to grant her dismissal. One more effort had been made to find a trace of the lost man, and once again the effort had failed. They were a family party at the dinner table that day. The only guest left in the house was a nephew of the new Lord Montberry, the eldest son of his sister, Lady Barville. Lady Montberry could not resist telling the story of the first and last attack made on the virtue of Mrs. Rowland, with a comically exact imitation of Mrs. Rowland's deep and dismal voice. Being asked by her husband what was the object which had brought that formidable person to the house, she naturally mentioned the expected visit of Mrs. Haldane. Arthur, Barville, unusually silent and preoccupied so far, suddenly struck into the conversation with a burst of enthusiasm. Mrs. Haldane is the most charming girl in all Ireland. He said, I caught sight of her yesterday over the wall of her garden, as I was riding by. One time is she coming tomorrow. Before two, I'll look into the drawing room by accident. I am dying to be introduced to her. Agnes was amused by his enthusiasm. Are you in love with Mrs. Haldane already? she asked. Arthur answered gravely. It's no joking matter. I have been all day at the garden while waiting to see her again. It depends on Mrs. Haldane to make me the happiest or the wretchedest man living. You foolish boy! How can you talk such nonsense? He was talking nonsense, undoubtedly. But if Agnes had only known it, he was doing something more than that. He was innocently leading her another stage nearer on the way to Venice. THE HAUNTED HOTEL As the summer months advanced, the transformation of the Venetian palace into the modern hotel proceeded rapidly towards completion. The outside of the building with its fine Palladian front, looking on the canal, was wisely left unaltered. Inside, as a matter of necessity, the rooms were almost rebuilt, so far at least as the size and the arrangement of them were concerned. The vast saloons were partitioned off into apartments containing three or four rooms each. The broad corridors in the upper regions afforded spare space enough for rows of little bed chambers devoted to servants and to travelers with limited means. Nothing was spared but the solid floors and the finely carved ceilings. These last in excellent preservation as to workmanship, merely required cleaning and regilding here and there, to add greatly to the beauty and importance of the best rooms in the hotel. The only exception to the complete reorganization of the interior was at one extremity of the edifice, on the first and second floors. Here there happened in each case to be rooms of such comparatively moderate size and so attractively decorated that the architect suggested leaving them as they were. It was afterwards discovered that these were no other than the apartments formerly occupied by Lord Montberry on the first floor and by Baron Rivard on the second. The room in which Montberry had died was still fitted up as a bedroom and was now distinguished as number 14. The room above it in which the Baron had slept took its place on the hotel register as number 38. With the ornaments on the walls and ceilings cleaned and brightened up and with the heavy old fashioned beds, chairs and tables replaced by bright, pretty and luxurious modern furniture, these two promised to be at once the most attractive and the most comfortable bed chambers in the hotel. As for the once desolate and disused ground floor of the building, it was now transformed by means of splendid dining rooms, reception rooms, billiard rooms and smoking rooms into a palace by itself. Even the dungeon like vaults beneath, now lighted and ventilated on the most approved modern plan, had been turned as if by magic into kitchens, servants' offices, ice rooms and wine cellars worthy of the splendor of the grandest hotel in Italy in the now bygone period of 17 years since. Passing from the laps of the summer months at Venice to the laps of the summer months in Ireland, it is next to be recorded that Mrs. Rowland obtained the situation of attendant on the invalid Mrs. Carberry, and that the fair Miss Haldane like a female Caesar came, saw and conquered on her first day's visit to the new Lord Montberry's house. The ladies were as loud in her praises as Arthur Barville himself. Lord Montberry declared that she was the only perfectly pretty woman he had ever seen who was really unconscious of her own attractions. The old nurse said she looked as if she had just stepped out of a picture and wanted nothing but a gilt frame round her to make her complete. Miss Haldane on her side returned from her first visit to the Montberry's, charmed with her new acquaintances. Later on the same day Arthur called with an offering of fruit and flowers for Mrs. Carberry, and with instructions to ask if she was well enough to receive Lord and Lady Montberry and Miss Lockwood on the morrow. In a week's time the two households were on the friendliest terms. Mrs. Carberry, confined to the sofa by a spinal malady, had been hither too dependent on her knees for one of the few pleasures she could enjoy, the pleasure of having the best new novels read to her as they came out. Discovering this Arthur volunteered to relieve Miss Haldane at intervals in the office of reader. He was clever at mechanical contrivances of all sorts, and introduced improvements in Mrs. Carberry's couch, and in the means of conveying her from the bed chamber to the drawing room, which alleviated the poor lady's sufferings and brightened her gloomy life. With these claims on the gratitude of the aunt aided by the personal advantages which he unquestionably possessed, Arthur advanced rapidly in the favor of the charming niece. She was, it is needless to say, perfectly well aware that he was in love with her while he was himself modestly reticent on the subject so far as words went. But she was not equally quick in penetrating the nature of her own feelings towards Arthur. Watching the two young people with keen powers of observation necessarily concentrated on them by the complete seclusion of her life, the invalid lady discovered signs of roused sensibility in Miss Haldane when Arthur was present which had never yet shown themselves in her social relations with other admirers eager to pay their addresses to her. Having drawn her own conclusions in private, Mrs. Carberry took the first favorable opportunity in Arthur's interests of putting them to the test. I don't know what I shall do, she said one day, when Arthur goes away. Miss Haldane looked up quickly from her work. Surely he is not going to leave us, she exclaimed. My dear, he has already stayed at his uncle's house a month longer than he intended. His father and mother naturally expect to see him at home again. Miss Haldane met this difficulty with a suggestion which could only have proceeded from a judgment already disturbed by the ravages of the tender passion. Why can't his father and mother go and see him at Lord Montberry's? She asked. Sir Theodore's place is only 30 miles away and Lady Barville is Lord Montberry's sister. They needn't stand on ceremony. They may have other engagements, Mrs. Carberry remarked. My dear aunt, we don't know that. Suppose you ask Arthur. Suppose you ask him. Miss Haldane bent her head again over her work. Suddenly as it was done, her aunt had seen her face and her face betrayed her. When Arthur came the next day, Mrs. Carberry said a word to him in private while her niece was in the garden. The last new novel lay neglected on the table. Arthur followed Miss Haldane into the garden. The next day he wrote home, enclosing in his letter a photograph of Miss Haldane. Before the end of the week, Sir Theodore and Lady Barville arrived at Lord Montberry's and formed their own judgment of the fidelity of the portrait. They had themselves married early in life and, strange to say, they did not object on principle to the early marriages of other people. The question of age being thus disposed of, the course of true love had no other obstacles to encounter. Miss Haldane was an only child and was possessed of an ample fortune. Arthur's career at the university had been creditable, but certainly not brilliant enough to present his withdrawal in the light of a disaster. As Sir Theodore's eldest son, his position was already made for him. He was two and twenty years of age and the young lady was eighteen. There was really no producible reason for keeping the lovers waiting, and no excuse for deferring the wedding day beyond the first week in September. In the interval, while the bride and bridegroom would be necessarily absent on the inevitable tour abroad, a sister of Mrs. Carberry volunteered to stay with her during the temporary separation from her niece. On the conclusion of the honeymoon, the young couple were to return to Ireland and were to establish themselves in Mrs. Carberry's spacious and comfortable home. These arrangements were decided upon early in the month of August. About the same date, the last alterations in the old palace at Venice were completed. The rooms were dried by steam, the cellars were stocked. The manager collected round him his army of skilled servants, and the new hotel was advertised all over Europe to open in October. The Haunted Hotel by Wilkie Collins Chapter 15 Ms. Agnes Lockwood to Mrs. Ferrari I promise to give you some account to Emily of the marriage of Mr. Arthur Barville and Ms. Haldane. It took place ten days since, but I have had so many things to look after in the absence of the master and mistress of this house that I am only able to write to you today. The invitations to the wedding were limited to members of the families on either side in consideration of the ill health of Ms. Haldane's aunt. On the side of the Montbury family there were present, besides Lord and Lady Montbury, Sir Theodore and Lady Barville, Mrs. Norbury, whom you may remember as his Lordship's second sister, and Mr. Francis Westwick and Mr. Henry Westwick. The three children and I attended the ceremony as bridesmaids. We were joined by two young ladies, cousins of the bride and very agreeable girls. Our dresses were white, trimmed with green in honour of Ireland, and we each had a handsome gold bracelet given to us as a present from the bridegroom. If you add to the persons whom I have already mentioned, the elder members of Mrs. Carberry's family and the old servants in both houses privileged to drink the health of the married pair at the lower end of the room, you will have the list of the company at the wedding breakfast complete. The weather was perfect and the ceremony with music was beautifully performed. As for the bride, no words can describe how lovely she looked or how well she went through it all. We were very merry at the breakfast and the speeches went off in the whole quite well enough. The last speech, before the party broke up, was made by Mr. Henry Westwick, and was the best of all. He offered a happy suggestion at the end which had produced a very unexpected change in my life here. As well as I remember, he concluded in these words, On one point we are all agreed, we are sorry that the parting hour is near and we should be glad to meet again. Why should we not meet again? This is the autumn time of the year. We are most of us leaving home for the holidays. What do you say if you have no engagements that will prevent it to joining our young married friends before the close of their tour and renewing the social success of this delightful breakfast by another festival in honor of the honeymoon? The bride and bridegroom are going to Germany and the Tyrol on their way to Italy. I propose that we allow them a month to themselves and that we arrange to meet them afterwards in the north of Italy, say, at Venice. This proposal was received with great applause which was changed into shouts of laughter by no less a person than my dear old nurse. The moment Mr. Westwick pronounced the word Venice, she started up among the servants at the lower end of the room and called out at the top of her voice. Go to our hotel, ladies and gentlemen. We get six percent on our money already and if you will only crowd the place and call for the best of everything, it will be ten percent in our pockets in no time. Ask Master Henry. Appealed to in this irresistible manner, Mr. Westwick had no choice but to explain that he was concerned as a shareholder in a new hotel company at Venice and that he had invested a small sum of money for the nurse not very considerably as I think in the speculation. Hearing this, the company by way of humoring the joke, drank a new toast, success to the nurse's hotel and a speedy rise in the dividend. When the conversation returned in due time to the more serious question of the proposed meeting at Venice, difficulties began to present themselves caused of course by invitations for the autumn which many of the guests had already accepted. Only two members of Mrs. Carberry's family were at liberty to keep the proposed appointment. On our side we were more at leisure to do as we pleased. Mr. Henry Westwick decided to go to Venice in advance of the rest to test the accommodation of the new hotel on the opening day. Mrs. Norbury and Mr. Francis Westwick volunteered to follow him and after some persuasion Lord and Lady Montberry consented to a species of compromise. His lordship could not conveniently spare time enough for the journey to Venice, but he and Lady Montberry arranged to accompany Mrs. Norbury and Mr. Francis Westwick as far on their way to Italy as Paris. Five days since they took their departure to meet their travelling companions in London, leaving me here in charge of the three dear children. They begged hard of course to be taken with papa and mama, but it was thought better not to interrupt the progress of their education and not to expose them, especially the two younger girls, to the fatigue of travelling. I have had a charming letter from the bride this morning dated Cologne. You cannot think how artlessly and prettily she assures me of her happiness. Some people as they say in Ireland are born to good luck, and I think Arthur Barville is one of them. When you next write I hope to hear that you are in better health and spirits and that you continue to like your employment. Believe me sincerely your friend, A.L. Agnes had just closed and directed her letter when the eldest of her three pupils entered the room with a startling announcement that Lord Montberry's travelling servant had arrived from Paris. Alarmed by the idea that some misfortune had happened, she ran out to meet the man in the hall. Her face told him how seriously he had frightened her before she could speak. There's nothing wrong, miss, he hastened to say. My lord and my lady are enjoying themselves at Paris. They only want you and the young ladies to be with them. Saying these amazing words he handed to Agnes, a letter from Lady Montberry. Dearest Agnes, she read, I am so charmed with a delightful change in my life. It is six years remember since I last travelled on the continent that I have exerted all my fascinations to persuade Lord Montberry to go on to Venice. And what is more to the purpose I have actually succeeded. He has just gone to his room to write the necessary letters of excuse in time for the post to England. May you have as good a husband, my dear, when your time comes. In the meanwhile the one thing wanting now to make my happiness complete is to have you and the darling children with us. Montberry is just as miserable without them as I am, though he doesn't confess it so freely. You will have no difficulties to trouble you. Louise will deliver these hurried lines and will take care of you on the journey to Paris. Kiss the children for me a thousand times and never mind their education for the present. Pack up instantly, my dear, and I will be fonder of you than ever. Your affectionate friend, Adela Montberry. Agnes folded up the letter and feeling the need of composing herself took refuge for a few minutes in her own room. Her first natural sensations of surprise and excitement at the prospect of going to Venice were succeeded by impressions of a less agreeable kind. With the recovery of her customary composure came the unwelcome remembrance of the parting words spoken to her by Montberry's widow. We shall meet again, here in England, or there in Venice where my husband died and meet for the last time. It was an odd coincidence to say the least of it that the march of events should be unexpectedly taking Agnes to Venice after those words had been spoken. Was the woman of the mysterious warnings and the wild black eyes still thousands of miles away in America, or was the march of events taking her unexpectedly too on the journey to Venice? Agnes started out of her chair ashamed of even the momentary concession to superstition which was implied by the mere presence of such questions as these in her mind. She rang the bell and sent for her little pupils and announced their approaching departure to the household. The noisy delight of the children, the inspiring effort of packing up in a hurry roused all her energies. She dismissed her own observed misgivings from consideration with the contempt that they deserved. She worked as only women can work when their hearts are in what they do. The travellers reached Dublin that day in time for the boat to England. Two days later they were with Lord and Lady Montberry at Paris. End of Chapter 15 Chapter 16 of The Haunted Hotel A mystery of modern Venice. The Slipper Fox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Kehinde. The Haunted Hotel by Wilkie Collins Chapter 16 It was only the 20th of September when Agnes and the children reached Paris. Mrs. Norbury and her brother Francis had then already started on their journey to Italy, at least three weeks before the date at which the new hotel was to open for the reception of travellers. The person answerable for this premature departure was Francis Westwick. Like his younger brother Henry he had increased his pecuniary resources by his own enterprise and ingenuity with this difference that his speculations were connected with the arts. He had made money in the first instance by a weekly newspaper and he had then invested his profits in a London theatre. This latter enterprise admirably conducted had been rewarded by the public with steady and liberal encouragement. Pondering over a new form of theatrical attraction for the coming winter season, Francis had determined to revive the languid public taste for the ballet by means of an entertainment of his own invention combining dramatic interest with dancing. He was now accordingly in search of the best dancer possessed of the indispensable personal attractions who was to be found in the theatres of the continent. Hearing from his foreign correspondence of two women who had made successful appearances, one at Milan and one at Florence, he had arranged to visit those cities and to judge of the merits of the dancers for himself before he joined the bride and bridegroom. His widowed sister having friends at Florence whom she was anxious to see readily accompanied him. The Montberrys remained at Paris until it was time to present themselves at the family meeting in Venice. Henry found them still in the French capital when he arrived from London on his way to the opening of the new hotel. Against Lady Montberry's advice, he took the opportunity of renewing his addresses to Agnes. He could hardly have chosen a more unpropituous time for pleading his cause with her. The gaites of Paris, quite incomprehensibly to herself as well as to everyone about her, had a depressing effect on her spirits. She had no illness to complain of. She shared willingly in the ever-varying succession of amusements of four strangers by the ingenuity of the liveliest people in the world, but nothing roused her. She remained persistently dull and weary through it all. In this frame of mind and body she was in no humour to receive Henry's ill-timed addresses with favour, or even with patience. She plainly and positively refused to listen to him. Why do you remind me of what I have suffered? She asked, petulantly, don't you see that it has left its mark on me for life? I thought I knew something of women by this time. Henry said, appealing privately to Lady Montberry for consolation, but Agnes completely puzzles me. It is a year since Montberry's death, and she remains as devoted to his memory as if he had died faithful to her. She still feels the loss of him, as none of us feel it. She is the truest woman that ever breathed the breath of life, Lady Montberry answered. Remember that, and you will understand her. Can such a woman as Agnes give her love or refuse it according to circumstances? Because the man was unworthy of her, was he less the man of her choice? The truest and best friend to him, little as he deserved it in his lifetime, she naturally remains the truest and best friend to his memory now. If you really love her, wait and trust to your two best friends, to time and to me. There is my advice. Let your own experience decide whether it is not the best advice that I can offer. Resume your journey to Venice tomorrow, and when you take leave of Agnes, speak to her as cordially as if nothing had happened. Henry wisely followed this advice. Thoroughly understanding him, Agnes made the leave taking friendly and pleasant on her side. When he stopped at the door, for a last look at her, she hurriedly turned her head so that her face was hidden from him. Was that a good sign? Lady Montberry, accompanying Henry down the stair, said, Yes, decidedly. Right when you get to Venice, we shall wait here to receive letters from Arthur and his wife, and we shall time our departure for Italy accordingly. A week passed, and no letter came from Henry. Some days later, a telegram was received from him. It was dispatched from Milan instead of from Venice, and it brought this strange message. I have left the hotel. We'll return on the arrival of Arthur and his wife. Address meanwhile, Alberto Rial, Milan. Preferring Venice before all other cities of Europe and having arranged to remain there until the family meeting took place, what unexpected event had led Henry to alter his plans, and why did he state the bare fact without adding a word of explanation? Let the narrative follow him, and find the answer to those questions at Venice.