Уилки Коллинз
The Haunted Hotel / Отель с привидениями
The Second Part
Chapter V
After only one week in Scotland, my lord and my lady returned unexpectedly to London. For a week more, the newly-married couple remained in London, in the strictest retirement. On one day in that week the nurse met Lord Montbarry himself. The good woman’s report described him, with malicious pleasure, as wretchedly ill.
‘His cheeks are hollow, my dear, and his beard is grey. I hope the dentist hurt him!’
On the third day the newspapers announced the departure of Lord and Lady Montbarry for Paris, on their way to Italy.
Mrs. Ferrari informed Agnes that her husband’s temper was improved. One other servant accompanied the travelers – Lady Montbarry’s maid, a silent, unsociable woman. Her ladyship’s brother, Baron Rivar, was already on the Continent. He will meet his sister and her husband in Rome.
One by one the dull weeks succeeded each other in the life of Agnes. She was seeing her friends, reading and drawing. But her wound was too deep to forget. And an old friend and school companion who saw her during a brief visit to London, was inexpressibly distressed by the change that she detected in Agnes. This lady was Mrs. Westwick, the wife of that brother of Lord Montbarry, who was described in the ‘Peerage’ as presumptive heir to the title. Mr. Westwick was then in America. Mrs. Westwick invited Agnes to her home in Ireland.
‘Come and stay with me while my husband is away. My three little girls will make you their playfellow, and the only stranger you will meet is the governess. Pack up your things, and I will call for you[17] tomorrow on my way to the train.’
Agnes thankfully accepted the invitation. For three happy months she lived under the roof of her friend. The girls cried at her departure; the youngest of them wanted to go back with Agnes to London. Half in jest, she said to her old friend,
‘If your governess leaves you, keep the place open for me.’
Mrs. Westwick laughed. The children took it seriously, and promised to let Agnes know.
When Miss Lockwood returned to London, the old nurse told her,
‘Mrs. Ferrari, my dear, came here, in a dreadful state of mind. She was inquiring when you would be back. Her husband has left Lord Montbarry, without a word of warning – and nobody knows what has become of him.’
Agnes felt alarmed as well as surprised. She at once sent a message to Mrs. Ferrari, to say that she had returned.
In an hour more the courier’s wife appeared, in a state of agitation. After hearing from her husband from Paris, Rome, and Venice, Emily had twice written to him afterwards – and had received no reply. She went to the office in Golden Square. The post of the morning brought a letter to the secretary from a courier in Venice. It contained startling news of Ferrari.
The writer stated that he had recently arrived in Venice. Ferrari was with Lord and Lady Montbarry, at one of the old Venetian palaces. He was a friend of Ferrari, so he went to pay him a visit. He rang at the door that opened on the canal. No answer. He went round to a side entrance. Here, he found a pale woman with magnificent dark eyes, who was Lady Montbarry herself.
She asked, in Italian, what he wanted. He answered that he wanted to see the courier Ferrari, if it was quite convenient. She at once informed him that Ferrari had left the palace, without any reason. He did not leave an address at which his monthly salary could be paid. Amazed at this reply, the courier inquired if any person had offended Ferrari, or quarrelled with him. The lady answered,
‘To my knowledge, certainly not. I am Lady Montbarry. We are as much astonished as you are at his extraordinary disappearance. If you hear of him, pray let us know.’
The courier at once entered on the necessary investigations – without the slightest result. Nobody saw him. Nobody knew anything. They said that her ladyship’s English maid had left her, before the disappearance of Ferrari, to return to her relatives. His lordship was ill. He lived in the strictest retirement. The courier discovered a stupid old woman who did the housework at the palace. She arrived in the morning and went away at night. She had never seen the lost courier – she had never even seen Lord Montbarry, who was in his room. Her ladyship, ‘a most gracious and adorable mistress,’ was in constant attendance on her noble husband. There was no other servant then in the house but herself.
An Italian doctor once visited his lordship. He also had never seen Ferrari. The doctor described Lord Montbarry’s malady as bronchitis. The police were looking for the lost man – and that was the only hope, to Ferrari’s wife.
‘What do you think of it, Miss?’ the poor woman asked eagerly. ‘What will you advise me to do?’
Agnes did not know what to say. She was not thinking of the lost Ferrari; her mind was in Venice, by the sick man’s bedside.
‘I hardly know what to say,’ she answered.
‘Do you think it would help you, Miss, if you read my husband’s letters to me? There are only three of them.’
Agnes compassionately read the letters. The first letter was from Paris.
‘We leave Paris tomorrow. I don’t much like my lord. He is proud and cold, and, between ourselves, stingy in money matters. We were discussing some centimes in the hotel bill; and twice already. Some sharp remarks passed between the newly-married couple, her ladyship like to purchase pretty tempting things at the shops in Paris. “I can’t afford it!” For my part, I like her. She has the nice, easy manners.’
The second letter was dated from Rome.
‘My lord is incurably restless. I suspect he is uneasy in his mind. He is constantly reading old letters, when her ladyship is not present. We stopped in Genoa, but he hurried us on. The same thing in Florence. My lady’s brother met us in Rome. There was a quarrel already (the lady’s maid tells me) between my lord and the Baron. The latter wanted to borrow money of the former. His lordship refused in language which offended Baron Rivar. My lady pacified them.’
The third, and last letter, was from Venice.
‘More of my lord’s economy! We hired a damp, mouldy, rambling old palace. My lord says the quiet of Venice is good for his nerves. But a foreign architect is going to turn the palace into an hotel. The Baron is still with us, and there are more disagreements about money matters. I don’t like the Baron – and I don’t find my lady agreeable. She was much nicer before the Baron joined us. I receive my salary regularly at the end of each month – not a franc extra, though I do many things which are not part of a courier’s work. And the Baron was trying to borrow money of me! He is an inveterate gambler. And I saw other things besides, which don’t increase my respect for my lady and the Baron. The maid wants to leave. She is a respectable British female. It is a dull life here. When my lord goes out, he goes alone, and generally towards nightfall. Indoors, he shuts himself up in his own room with his books, and sees as little of his wife and the Baron as possible. Does he suspect anything? Who knows. However, the pay is good – and I’m not going to leave, like my lady’s maid.’
Agnes handed back the letters with feelings of shame and distress.
‘The one thing I can suggest,’ she said, ‘to consult a person of greater experience than ours. I will write and ask my lawyer to come and advise us tomorrow.’
Emily eagerly and gratefully accepted the suggestion. An hour was arranged for the meeting on the next day; and the courier’s wife left.
Weary and heartsick, Agnes lay down on the sofa, to rest and compose herself. The careful nurse brought a cup of tea. They were talking quietly, when they heard a loud knock at the house door. Hurried footsteps ascended the stairs. The door of the sitting-room was thrown open violently; the courier’s wife rushed in like a mad woman.
‘He’s dead! They’ve murdered him!’
Those wild words were all she could say. She dropped on her knees at the foot of the sofa and fell back in a swoon.
The nurse took the necessary measures to restore the fainting woman.
‘What’s this?’ she exclaimed. ‘Here’s a letter in her hand. See what it is, Miss.’
The open envelope was addressed to ‘Mrs. Ferrari.’ The post-mark was ‘Venice.’ On the note-paper, one line only was written. It contained these words:
‘To console you for the loss of your husband’
Agnes opened the enclosure next.
It was a Bank of England note for a thousand pounds.
Chapter VI
The next day, the friend and legal adviser of Agnes Lockwood, Mr. Troy, called on her by appointment in the evening. Mrs. Ferrari told the lawyer that was known about Ferrari’s disappearance. Mr. Troy read (first) the three letters addressed by Ferrari to his wife; (secondly) the letter written by Ferrari’s courier-friend, describing his visit to the palace and his interview with Lady Montbarry; and (thirdly) the one line of anonymous writing which accompanied the extraordinary gift of a thousand pounds to Ferrari’s wife.
‘She looks very ill, poor thing!’
In these words the lawyer opened the business of the evening.
‘She has suffered a terrible shock,’ Agnes answered.
Mr. Troy turned to Mrs. Ferrari, and looked at her again. He drummed absently with his fingers on the table. At last he spoke to her.
‘My good lady, you don’t really believe that your husband is dead?’
Mrs. Ferrari put her handkerchief to her eyes. The word ‘dead’ was ineffectual to express her feelings. ‘Murdered!’ she said sternly, behind her handkerchief.
‘Why? And by whom?’ Mr. Troy asked.
‘You have read my husband’s letters, sir,’ she began. ‘I believe he discovered-’ She stopped.
‘What did he discover?’
‘He discovered Lady Montbarry and the Baron!’ she answered. ‘The Baron is no more that vile woman’s brother than I am. My poor dear husband saw the wickedness of those two wretches. The lady’s maid left her place on account of it. They have killed my husband, because he knew much.’
Mr. Troy listened with an expression of satirical approval.
‘Mrs. Ferrari,’ he said, ‘you build up your sentences well, can be a good lawyer. Complete the case, my good lady – complete the case. Tell us next who sent you this letter with the bank-note. The “two wretches” who murdered Mr. Ferrari will hardly send you a thousand pounds. Who is it – eh? I see the post-mark on the letter is “Venice.” Have you any friend in that interesting city, with a large heart, who wishes to console you anonymously?’
It was not easy to reply to this.
‘I don’t understand you, sir,’ Mrs. Ferrari answered. ‘I don’t think this is a joke.’
Agnes drew her chair a little nearer to her friend Mr. Troy.
‘What is the most probable explanation, in your opinion?’ she asked.
‘I shall offend Mrs. Ferrari if I tell you,’ Mr. Troy answered.
‘No, sir, you won’t!’ cried Mrs. Ferrari.
The lawyer leaned back in his chair.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Observe, madam, I don’t dispute your view of the position of affairs at the palace in Venice. You have your husband’s letters to justify you; and you have also the significant fact that Lady Montbarry’s maid did really leave the house. We will say, then, that Lord Montbarry is victim of a foul wrong – and that Mr. Ferrari was the first to find it out. Now listen! Your husband is in this miserable household, under very awkward circumstances for him. What does he do? He wisely withdraws himself from association with a disgraceful discovery. He runs away secretly. The money modifies this view – unfavourably so far as Mr. Ferrari is concerned. I now say that bank-note there on the table is the price of his absence. The guilty persons sent it to his wife.’
Mrs. Ferrari’s watery grey eyes brightened suddenly.
‘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], 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], 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.
It was the last month of the year 1860. The commission of inquiry was already at work. On the 10th of December, the term for which the late Lord Montbarry had hired the Venetian palace, expired. Lady Montbarry’s lawyers advised her to leave for London. Baron Rivar will accompany her to England, but will not remain in that country. The Baron, ‘well known as an enthusiastic student of chemistry,’ heard of certain recent discoveries in the United States, and was anxious to investigate them personally.
Mr. Troy duly communicated these items of news to Mrs. Ferrari, whose anxiety about her husband made her a frequent visitor at the lawyer’s office. She attempted to relate the news to her good friend and protectress. Agnes steadily refused to listen, and positively forbade any further conversation relating to Lord Montbarry’s wife.
‘You have Mr. Troy to advise you,’ she said; ‘and you are welcome to what little money I can spare, if money is wanted. All I ask in return is that you will not distress me. Let me hear nothing more, until I can rejoice with you that your husband is found.’
Chapter VIII
On the 14th the Directors and their legal advisers met for the reading of the report, with closed doors.
‘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 Montbarry at the time of his last illness and death.
We were received with all possible courtesy by Lady Montbarry’s brother, Baron Rivar. “My sister was her husband’s only attendant throughout his illness,” the Baron informed us. “She is overwhelmed by grief and fatigue. 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 Montbarry abroad made it desirable to obtain more complete information relating to his illness. We explained the law, and we expressed our wish to conduct the inquiry with the most respectful consideration for her ladyship’s feelings, and for any other members of the family.
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.” We found this gentleman perfectly straightforward, he was amiably 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 Montbarry and the members of the household. We saw the bedchamber, in which his lordship died, and the small room, which he used as a study. Next to this was a large apartment or hall, the doors of which he kept locked. On the other side of the large hall were the bedchamber 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 antechamber, 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 Rivar, and another room at some distance from it, which was the bedroom of the courier Ferrari.
The rooms on the third floor and on the basement were completely unfurnished. We inquired if there was anything to see below the basement. We were informed that there were vaults beneath.
We went down. The vaults were used as dungeons in the old times. Two long shafts of winding construction communicated with the back yard of the palace. The openings were protected by iron gratings. The stone stairs could be closed by a heavy trap-door in the back hall, which was 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 us. The Baron smiled at the idea. “Don’t be alarmed, gentlemen,” he said; “the door is safe. My favourite study is the study of experimental chemistry – and my workshop is down here.”
These last words explained a curious smell in the vaults, which we noticed. The smell was of a twofold sort – faintly aromatic, in its first effect, but with some after-odour very sickening. The Baron’s furnaces and retorts, and other things, were all there, together with some packages of chemicals. “Not a pleasant place for study,” Baron Rivar observed, “but my sister is timid. She has a horror of chemical smells and explosions.” He held out his hands, on which we noticed that he wore gloves in the house. “Accidents happen sometimes,” he said, “I burnt my hands severely, and they are only recovering now.”
Later we were even admitted to her ladyship’s own room, when she went out. Our instructions recommended us to examine his lordship’s residence, because the extreme privacy of his life in 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 conversed on the subject with the consul and the banker. He called once at the bank to obtain money on his letter of credit. He did not accept an invitation to visit the banker at his private residence. His lordship wrote to the consul, as well. We saw the letter, and we offer the copy of it.
“Many years in India have injured my constitution. I don’t go into society; the occupation of my life now is the study of Oriental literature. The air of Italy is better for me than the air of England. Pray accept the apologies of a student and an invalid. The active part of my life is at an end.”
The self-seclusion of his lordship is explained in these brief lines. Nothing to excite a suspicion of anything wrong has come to our knowledge.
As to the departure of the lady’s maid, we have seen the woman’s receipt for her wages. She left Lady Montbarry’s service because she disliked the Continent, and wished to get back to her own country.
The disappearance of the courier Ferrari is, in itself, unquestionably a suspicious circumstance. Neither her ladyship nor the Baron can explain it. We have examined 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 the clothes. The portmanteau remains in charge of the police.
We have also spoken privately to the old woman who attends to the rooms occupied by her ladyship and the Baron. Unfortunately, her limited intelligence makes her of no value as a witness. She was willing to answer us; but we could elicit nothing useful.
On the second day of our inquiries, we had the honour of an interview with Lady Montbarry. Her ladyship looked miserable and ill. Baron Rivar, who introduced us, explained the nature of our errand in Venice. After that he discreetly left the room.
The questions which we addressed to Lady Montbarry related mainly, of course, to his lordship’s illness. The answers informed us of the facts that follow:
Lord Montbarry had been out of order for some time past – nervous and irritable. He first complained of illness on November 13. He passed a wakeful and feverish night, and remained in bed the next day. Her ladyship proposed medical advice. He refused to call the doctor. Some hot lemonade was made at his request. 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. Lord Montbarry had some hours of sleep afterwards. Later in the day, Lady Montbarry rang for Ferrari. The bell was not answered. Baron Rivar searched for the man, in the palace and out of it, in vain. This happened on November 14.
On the night of the 14th, the feverish symptoms returned. They were perhaps attributable to the annoyance and alarm caused by Ferrari’s mysterious disappearance.
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,” 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 Rivar, after inquiry at the consul’s, secured the services of Doctor Bruno, an eminent physician in Venice. The doctor’s own report is attached.
“My medical diary informs me that I first saw the English Lord Montbarry, on November 17. He was suffering from a sharp attack of bronchitis. Some precious time was lost. So he was 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. Then he could only speak a few words at a time, and those in a whisper.
I at once applied the necessary remedies. Copies of my prescriptions (with translation into English) accompany the present statement.
For the next three days I was in constant attendance on my patient. Lady Montbarry was indeed a very devoted wife. She did not allow anybody 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 dabbled in chemistry; and he wanted to show me some of his experiments.
Up to the 20th, then, things went well enough. I was quite unprepared for the disastrous change that showed itself, when I paid Lord Montbarry my morning visit on the 21st. He relapsed, and seriously relapsed. I examined him to discover the cause. I found symptoms of pneumonia. He breathed with difficulty. Lady Montbarry suggested a consultation with another physician. Her ladyship instructed me to get the best medical opinion in Italy. The first and foremost of Italian physicians is Torello of Padua. He arrived on the evening of the 21st, and confirmed my opinion about pneumonia, and that our patient’s life was in danger. He approved of my treatment. He made some valuable suggestions, and he deferred his return to Padua until the following morning.
The disease was steadily advancing. In the morning Doctor Torello left. ‘I can be of no further use,’ he said to me. ‘Nothing can help this – and he must know it.’
Later in the day I warned my lord that his time had come. Lord Montbarry received the news with composure, but with a certain doubt. He whispered faintly, ‘Are you sure?’ It was no time to deceive him; I said, ‘Positively sure.’ He waited a little, 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 audible: ‘Post it yourself.’ I answered, of course, 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. He lingered in a state of insensibility until the 25th, and died on the evening of that day.
As to the cause of his death, it seems simply absurd to ask the question. Bronchitis, terminating in pneumonia. Doctor Torello’s own note is added here to a duplicate of my certificate.”
Doctor Bruno’s evidence ends here.
Lady Montbarry can give us no information on the subject of the letter which the doctor posted at Lord Montbarry’s request. When his lordship wrote it? what it contained? why he kept it a secret from Lady Montbarry (and from the Baron also)? why did he write to the wife of his courier? Application to Mrs. Ferrari may perhaps clear up the mystery.
Anyway, it is impossible to dispute the statement on the certificate that his lordship died a natural death. Therefore, we report that there are no valid grounds for refusing the payment of the sum for which the late Lord Montbarry’s life was assured.
