The Haunted Hotel / Отель с привидениями

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The message was in these words:

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Have you any questions to ask?’

‘No, sir.’

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

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

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

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Can you tell me why?’

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

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

He rose.

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

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

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

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

She left.

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

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

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

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

‘Stop it,’ said Henry irritably.

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

Chapter VII

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

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

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

Agnes declined Mr. Troy’s proposal.

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

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