You knock several times, and hear a muffled swear in reply. “Yes, yes! Just a second - “
The room the Aristocrat was given is humorously small, almost certainly intentionally. It's also quite spartan, and you realize with some surprise that she has almost no belongings with her. You remember hearing that she was impoverished, but – you don't even see a single suitcase. Merely a tin attache case she is hastily closing.
“Ah, it's you. You know, I still can't figure out why, precisely, you were invited here. We all owe our Host something, you know; and you clearly don't. It's obvious, don't look shocked – we all know it.”
Sighing, the Aristocrat adjusts her tie.
“The problem is that it means you're a wildcard, and that frightens me. Frightens a lot of people, I think.” From nearby, in what you vaguely recall as the Conservatory, you can hear the smashing of what sounds like porcelain and cursing in Deutsche.
“Agh, how aggravating – I can barely think with all this noise. May I offer you an agreement?” The Aristocrat murmurs, holding one hand to her head as if to shut out the shattering sounds coming from a few rooms away.
“If you find a way out of this place, I would like to know. I realize it's probably poor form – but honestly, I doubt I'm alone in saying that I'm glad the old bastard's dead. Let's just let his exit from the world stage be obscured, forgotten, and fortuitus, hmn?” Smiling from behind jagged teeth, she leaves the room – still clutching the case to her side.