The Grimswell Curse (24 page)

I pulled off my shoes, took off my jacket and got under the blankets. It seemed foolish to get undressed if Holmes might wake me soon. I closed my eyes, thinking I might just rest for a moment, and then I was outside walking on the moors in the dark. For some reason, I was not wet, despite the dreadful storm.

The rain ceased, and the moon slowly rose, a cool, dazzling bluish-white. Behind me I saw my shadow cast on the grassy moor. Holmes tried to speak to me, but a desolate howling began. Atop the tor was a figure in black with a strange white and black face. His eyes were yellowish, and his nose changed from human to something lupine, even as his jaw stretched outward into a muzzle. He grinned at me, and made a laughing sound. Frightened, I turned away, but he was in front of me, only ten paces, and he was human again, or his face was, but now he was down on all fours and had an enormous tail and was growling low in his throat.

I ran, trying to find Holmes, trying to find the way back to the hall, but the howling began again. The dream seemed to repeat itself, the creature alternating between man and beast. “What in God’s name are you?” I cried. I could not seem to escape the dream, even though I knew it was not real. Dark clouds had risen over the moor, obscuring the moon, and at last I managed to escape into a deeper sleep.

“Henry?”

I opened my eyes and looked about. For an instant I could not recall where I was, then the cold, dark chamber was depressingly familiar. Holmes had seized my arm. Just behind him was the tall, silent figure of Rose, still in her black dress.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Just past two.”

I blinked dully and sat up. “I was finally fast asleep. What is wrong?”

“It is Rose.”

I realized she was holding his arm loosely at the elbow.

“I need your assistance. She is sleepwalking again.”

“Ah.” I sat up. “She does not seem upset.”

“She was earlier. In her dreams she saw her father and was terrified. I managed to calm her, but now... She thinks we are married.”

I stared at him. “Indeed?”

“Can you help me get her to bed?”

I threw the covers aside and stood. Rose smiled, then took my arm with her free hand. “Come, Rose,” I said.

“You shall have my answer on the morrow, Henry.”

I glanced at Holmes, then started for the door. He picked up a candle which he had set on the table. She let go of him and grasped my arm with her other hand as well. She leaned her pale face closer to mine. “If only I were free of him, and you... It is wretched to love two men, I who thought... And there is my father. He still wants to kill us all.” Reflexively, she brushed a strand of black hair from her face.

I glanced at Holmes and shook my head.

“That is the type of thing I have had to endure. I am at my wits’ end.”

“I can take care of your father,” I said. “You need not worry about him.” We were walking in the hallway.

“You do not know how dangerous he is. A vampire cannot be killed. Moonlight will reanimate his corpse. He wants me to be dead like him. And he has... I think he has killed Sherlock Holmes.” Her voice had an odd quaver.

“No, you are wrong. Holmes is here beside me.”

She glanced at him, then gave her head a quick shake. Her voice was almost a whisper now. “That is not him—that is another vampire. See how pale he is, and his teeth...” She drew closer to me, hiding her face from Holmes.

I led her into her bedroom, then glanced at Holmes. “I see what you mean about her behavior.”

“She has been this way for some time.”

Rose let go of me and stepped back even as her eyes widened. “Oh, you are like him—and you no longer love me. You—you want to kill me, too.”

I took her arm. “No, Rose, that’s not true. I...” She is not awake, she is only dreaming, I told myself. “I do love you. You are safe with me. You are... you are my wife, after all.”

Her eyes grew wider still, but somehow she only half seemed to see me. “Am I?”

“Yes, of course, and now I want you back in bed.”

She squeezed my hand tightly. “Oh, I am so glad. I thought... Never mind what I thought. I love you, too, Henry.”

Holmes drew the covers aside, but she stood staring at me. “Are you sure you are not one of
them
?”

“No, of course not. You know me, don’t you? Please, you must get back to bed. It is very late.”

“I feel so confused and miserable. Nothing makes any sense at all.” Her eyes shifted, and her mouth stiffened. “He is outside the window, you know. I can see him watching us.”

The back of my neck felt cold, and I turned. The curtains were drawn, the window hidden.

“His face is so white. It is because he is dead. Oh, I hope you are not...”

“Rose, you must get into bed. I will not let him hurt you, I promise. You must trust me, and you must rest. Go on now.”

She sat down on the edge of the mattress, then sighed. “My legs are weary. They ache so.”

Again I recalled how I would massage Michelle’s legs and feet before bed, especially on those days when she had been at the volunteer clinic. I was fully awake now, and my head had begun to ache. I also found my role in this drama both confusing and unsettling.

“Get to bed, Rose. No one will hurt you, I promise.”

One large white hand rose and seized her dress below the collar. Half the buttons in front were still undone. “Shouldn’t I take off my dress first?”

“Uh, not just now. First you must warm up a little.”

“All right.” She lay down on her side, and put one hand just before her face. “And you’ll come to bed soon?”

I inhaled through my nostrils. “Yes.” I drew the covers over her.

Her eyes stared past me, her forehead creasing again. “I do not like him in the window. How I wish he would go away and leave me alone.” Her voice was both weary and agitated.

I drew in my breath, then sat on the bed beside her. Sometimes, especially with the very young or the very old, a touch of the hand would comfort patients who would respond to nothing else. I learned that technique from Michelle. I set my hand on her shoulder and squeezed softly.

“You must go to sleep now. There is no one at the window.”

“Yes, there is.”

“But he cannot get in. He dare not enter. Soon the sun will rise, and it will drive him far from here.”

“Will it?”

I began to stroke her shoulder. “Certainly it will. Vampires cannot abide the sun. You are quite safe now. Sherlock and I shall not let anyone harm you.”

“And you do love me?”

I hesitated only an instant. “Of course I do.”

She finally closed her eyes. Briefly her lips formed a smile. “I never thought... Come to bed soon. I...”

I continued to gently massage her shoulder and mumble reassuring words. At last I sighed and looked up at Holmes.

He looked exhausted, the muscles around his eyes strained. “Your bedside manner is most impressive, Henry. Thank you. I did not know what to do. She...” He reached into his jacket and withdrew his cigarette case.

“The lady will never know if you smoke only one cigarette in her bedroom.”

“Very well.” He withdrew a cigarette, then took a candle to light it. His hand shook slightly. He inhaled, raising the other hand in a long stretch.

“I am awake now,” I said. “I can watch her for a while if you wish to sleep.”

I slowly withdrew my hand from her shoulder, and her eyes immediately opened. “What...?” she murmured. I lowered my hand, and she was asleep again at once.

I shook my head. “If Digby comes in, I shall never be able to explain this.”

Holmes smiled, then drew in on the cigarette. “I turned him away around midnight. I doubt he will return. I am almost ready for a nap in the chair here.” After finishing his cigarette, he sat down, closed his eyes, turned sideways, and was asleep in an instant. His head slumped against the padded arm of the wing chair, his mouth opening slightly.

I could hear the rain outside die down, but then the wind increased. My neck and arm were beginning to feel stiff from the awkward way I was twisted. I murmured comforting words as I massaged Rose’s shoulder slower and slower. At last I withdrew my hand. Her breath came out in a long sigh, and she seemed to sink deeper into the pillow.

I stood up and raised both hands, trying to stretch out the stiffness. The heavy silence and preternatural stillness of early morning had settled over the room. The clock showed that it was nearly three. The world of day and light and active, working, talking people had vanished. I did not care for this time. I had watched over too many dying patients in the early morning. I was weary to the bone, but I knew a certain troubled agitation would keep me awake even if I could go back to bed. Besides, the presence of Holmes and Rose was reassuring: I was glad not to be alone.

“You do not understand.” Rose’s voice was troubled, and she turned restlessly.

I touched her hand. “I understand. You are safe, Rose. Sleep.”

She settled again. I went to the fireplace. Holmes must have added coal earlier. I added more to the glowing remnants. The time dragged by. I thought about Michelle. I thought about how strange it was to be in Dartmoor, and I worried about what might happen to Rose, Sherlock and me. If someone had murdered Lord Grimswell, they would not hesitate to kill again and again. A stubborn fear began to settle about my heart. I paced about, soon exhausting myself.

When Holmes awoke around six, it was a relief. The gray of dawn appearing at the windows also helped ease my fears. We talked in quiet voices while the light grew. At last I rose and drew aside a curtain. The sky was shredded with dark clouds, and mists made the trees near the house look ghostly. However, the rains had stopped.

I returned at last to my room, took off my evening clothes and put on a heavy wool nightshirt. I doubted I would sleep, but I wanted to be comfortable. The conversation with Holmes had relaxed me, and I fell asleep at once. A woman was in the dreams, a woman in danger; sometimes she was Michelle, sometimes Rose. At one point the dream took a sensual turn, and the woman continued to change shape and form, even as she slipped in and out of my grasp.

“Oh, Henry.” That was Michelle’s voice. Her hand caressed my cheek with a familiar intimacy that made me long for her. “Oh, my dear.”

I did not want to wake up. It was like swimming to the surface from far underwater. My eyes opened at last, and a face I preferred to all others stared down at me. The past few days had brought too many surprises.

“Is it really you?”

She caressed my cheek again, her pale blue eyes staring down at me. The creases at the corners were becoming permanent. Slowly she leaned over and touched her lips to mine. The kiss was long, slow and passionate—there was no mistaking her.

My arms fumbled out of the covers, and I pulled her down and embraced her. “Oh, thank God you’ve come—thank God.”

She rose up and stared at me, her eyes troubled. “Is anything the matter?”

A smile pulled at my lips, came and went. “Everything is the matter, but now that you are here... nothing is the matter.”

“I should have let you sleep. Sherlock told me how late you were up, but I wanted so badly to see you. Marjorie had her baby, so I asked Nigel to cover for me. I took the night train.”

“Oh Michelle, I don’t think I’ve ever been so glad to see you.”

She stared at me, her eyes worried, touching my cheek just below my eye. “Oh, my darling.” She bent over, and we began another long kiss. Gradually she stretched out on top of me, even as my arms gripped her. “Perhaps I should lock the door,” she said at last.

“Please do.”

My nightshirt and her multitude of garments and undergarments were soon thrown with little care onto the floor. Afterward we both fell asleep for about an hour. We got out of bed around ten, and as we dressed, I told her all that had happened. I did omit the details of Rose’s sleepwalking episodes.

“Sherlock spoke with me briefly, but all this...” She shook her head. “Voices frightening her half to death, then telling her to jump—and drugs in her coffee. Who could dream up such terrible things? I think... I think it must be Lord Frederick, after all, although he seems more insipid than dangerous.”

“Ah, you have met him then?”

She made a face at me. “Yes. I do not care for affected men. He acts as if he is always playing to some unseen audience. Will you lend me your brush? My hair is certainly a mess—not that it wasn’t worth it, you wretch.” She took the wooden handle in her big hand and brushed vigorously at her long reddish-brown tresses.

She had on her shift, but I grasped her bare shoulders from behind. “I really have missed you terribly.”

Before long, I was doing up the tiny hooks at the back of her blue dress. Regarding herself in the mirror, she coiled up her hair neatly, put in some pins, then gave the bun two pats. “That’s better.”

I drew down her collar and kissed her lightly on the white nape of her neck. “You are even more beautiful than I remembered. I wish we were alone on holiday together.”

“Sadly, that is not the case. Let us go see Sherlock. He is probably still in his room. Miss Grimswell was awake; I have already spoken with her.”

“Constance or Rose?”

“Oh, Rose—or actually, both of them. Constance must be the old dragon. What a disagreeable woman. When she heard I was a physician, she wanted to discuss Rose’s health at length, but I would not.”

“She is harmless enough, although tedious to endure.”

“I think we should get Sherlock and Rose and go for a walk on the moors. I believe we may be lucky—Digby was going somewhere. The day has turned sunny, and I am longing to finally go outside. The country is quite splendid, Henry. While we walk, we can discuss our strategy for dealing with these villains, whoever they may be.”

She was so resolute I could not help smiling. “You do not believe in ghosts or vampires, then?”

“Certainly not!”

“We shall see if your resolve lasts the night.”

“You know it will.”

I squeezed her hand. “I believe it. You have always been the brave one.” I put on a heavy tweed jacket and took a woolen cloth cap. “Be prepared, however, for objections from Constance. She believes bed rest is the thing for Rose.”