back with her to her home in Ireland. 'Come and keep me company
while my husband is away. My three little girls will make you
their playfellow, and the only stranger you will meet is the
governess,
whom I answer for your
likingbeforehand. Pack up your things,
and I will call for you to-morrow on my way to the train.'
In those
hearty terms the
invitation was given. Agnes thankfully
accepted it. For three happy months she lived under the roof
of her friend. The girls hung round her in tears at her
departure;
the youngest of them wanted to go back with Agnes to London.
Half in jest, half in
earnest, she said to her old friend at parting,
'If your
governess leaves you, keep the place open for me.'
Mrs. Westwick laughed. The wiser children took it seriously,
and promised to let Agnes know.
On the very day when Miss Lockwood returned to London, she was recalled
to those associations with the past which she was most
anxious to forget.
After the first kissings and greetings were over, the old nurse
(who had been left in
charge at the lodgings) had some
startlinginformation to
communicate, derived from the
courier's wife.
'Here has been little Mrs. Ferrari, my dear, in a
dreadful state
of mind, 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 looked at her in
astonishment. 'Are you sure of what you
are saying?' she asked.
The nurse was quite sure. 'Why, Lord bless you! the news comes
from the
couriers' office in Golden Square--from the secretary,
Miss Agnes, the secretary himself!' Hearing this, Agnes began to feel
alarmed as well as surprised. It was still early in the evening.
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
which it was not easy to control. Her
narrative, when she was at last
able to speak connectedly, entirely confirmed the nurse's report of it.
After
hearing from her husband with tolerable regularity from Paris,
Rome, and Venice, Emily had twice written to him afterwards--
and had received no reply. Feeling
uneasy, she had gone to the office
in Golden Square, to inquire if he had been heard of there.
The post of the morning had brought a letter to the secretary from
a
courier then at Venice. It contained
startling news of Ferrari.
His wife had been allowed to take a copy of it, which she now handed to
Agnes to read.
The
writer stated that he had recently arrived in Venice.
He had
previously heard that Ferrari was with Lord and Lady Montbarry,
at one of the old Venetian palaces which they had hired for a term.
Being a friend of Ferrari, he had gone to pay him a visit.
Ringing at the door that opened on the canal, and failing to make
anyone hear him, he had gone round to a side entrance opening
on one of the narrow lanes of Venice. Here,
standing at the door
(as if she was
waiting for him to try that way next), he found a pale
woman with
magnificent dark eyes, who proved to be no other than Lady
Montbarry herself.
She asked, in Italian, what he wanted. He answered that he wanted
to see the
courier Ferrari, if it was quite convenient.
She at once informed him that Ferrari had left the palace,
without assigning any reason, and without even leaving an address at
which his
monthly salary (then due to him) 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; and I can
positively assure you
that Ferrari was treated with the greatest kindness in this house.
We are as much astonished as you are at his
extraordinary disappearance.
If you should hear of him, pray let us know, so that we may at least
pay him the money which is due.'
After one or two more questions (quite
readily answered) relating to
the date and the time of day at which Ferrari had left the palace,
the
courier took his leave.
He at once entered on the necessary investigations--without the slightest
result so far as Ferrari was
concerned. Nobody had seen him.
Nobody appeared to have been taken into his confidence.
Nobody knew anything (that is to say, anything of the slightest importance)
even about persons so
distinguished as Lord and Lady Montbarry.