The Grimswell Curse (26 page)

After a brief silence, Holmes spoke. “Miss Grimswell, I regret having to speak of unpleasant things, but here in the bright sunlight and amid the splendor of nature might be the best place to talk about last night.”

“Oh Sherlock,” Michelle said, “must you?”

“I would like to talk about it,” Rose said. She leaned forward and turned to me. “Doctor Vernier...?” Her voice had a questioning note.

I smiled. “Please, after all we have been through together, you must call me Henry.”

She nodded. “I shall. When you came into the sitting room after dinner and... found Rickie and me together...” Her fair skin was very sensitive to her emotions, and her cheeks had colored. “I was embarrassed, terribly embarrassed, and I only wanted to run away and hide. Rickie was... Earlier I had felt almost intoxicated, but by then I only felt odd and rather sick and... afraid.” She drew in her breath. “I thought I must finally be going mad.”

Holmes had clasped his hands together, his arms round his knees. “Anyone who had been drugged and did not know it might make that assumption.”

“I went to my room and removed my uncomfortable shoes and my stockings. I thought of putting on my nightgown, but my head was still spinning. I collapsed onto the bed and buried my face in a pillow. It was much better with my eyes closed, and I was finally starting to relax when I heard his voice. ‘Rose, Rose,’ he whispered. I knew at once who it was. I was... terrified.”

Michelle abruptly stood, stepped around Holmes and me, and sat beside Rose. She grasped the girl’s hand.

“From where exactly did the voice seem to come?” Holmes asked.

“The fireplace. He even said to come sit by the fire. He was taunting me.”

“Ah, very good! I know exactly how this was done, Miss Grimswell. It must be difficult, but tell me briefly what he said and when he finally appeared.”

“He... he told me I was home at last, and that I must join him. The tainted blood of the Grimswells flowed in our veins, and it was time to end the abomination of our family. I was mad and sick and must join him. Until I did, I would have no peace, neither day nor night.”

“And he told you to go to the tower?”

“Yes, that was the last thing. He said it just after he appeared—he screamed, ‘Go to the tower—jump—jump—or I shall be your companion ever more!’” Her voice had begun to quaver, and I saw Michelle’s hand tighten about hers.

“And he was at the window by the fireplace?”

She nodded.

“Tell me exactly what you saw.”

“A white face—his face—all waxen and dead with glowing lights where his eyes should have been, a kind of black cowl about him.”

“Did you have a good look at him, or only a brief glance?”

She shook her head. “Brief. I could not bear—”

Holmes struck his stick on the granite. “As the villain hoped! Miss Grimswell, you have been duped. I have explained to you how you were drugged, hashish put into your coffee, and you are better today, are you not? Well, I shall explain this apparition, and you must trust me and set all thoughts of madness aside. Your bedroom is on the second floor. You share a chimney with an empty room on the third floor. I was up there last night looking about. Someone spoke to you through the chimney. Perhaps they used some tubing to amplify the voice. Another person was on the roof, dangling down a dummy complete with a white mask and a hidden lamp. The person in the chimney used a cord to communicate with the person on the roof, a simple tug probably being the signal to lower the dummy. The gravel on the roof was disturbed.”

Rose stared at him, her forehead creased. “Could it have been only that, only a... mask?”

“Yes.
Yes.”
Again Holmes struck the rock with his stick, then stood, stepped forward and turned to face us three. “It is monstrously simple.”

“But the voice—the face—were truly his.”

“Someone studied your father’s voice and has a talent for mimicry. As for the face... You said it was dead-looking. We may be dealing with an actual death mask.”

Rose looked horrified. “But he would never have allowed such a thing!”

Holmes’s smile was brief and dreadful. “I doubt he had any choice in the matter.” My head seemed oddly empty, my thoughts sluggish, although I felt vaguely fearful. “While he lay below, dead, someone could have easily taken an impression.” The buzzard was gone, and behind Holmes was only a vast blue sky.

Rose’s head slumped, and she put her hand over her face. “Oh God. They... they... killed him?”

Holmes sighed softly. “Yes.”

“Who are these people!” Michelle exclaimed.

W
hen we returned to the hall, everyone seemed to be waiting for us. Digby exclaimed how much better Rose appeared and begged to be included in our next outing. Rose smiled hesitantly while Michelle struggled to hide her disapproval. Next, a penitent Constance appeared and loudly begged pardon for “a poor, meddling old woman.” Our protestations to the contrary, something in Holmes and Michelle’s eyes told me all was most definitely
not
forgiven.

And finally, after Digby and the ladies had departed, George appeared out of nowhere, actually making me start. Normally the footsteps echoing through the hall announced anyone’s arrival. Holmes and I had been standing before the fire, the reddish light of the sinking sun flooding the chamber and giving everything a bloody hue.

“Is the mistress quite well?” he asked softly.

Holmes stared silently at him.

“She is,” I said at last. “You saved her life, you realize.”

George’s habitual grin was nowhere in sight. “Thank God. Well, I’d best...”

Holmes stroked his chin, then let drop his long, slender hand. “She very nearly jumped from the tower. Have you ever seen the body of someone who has fallen from a great height?”

George paled. “I... have.”

“A very unpleasant sight. The contrast with the living, vibrant young woman would be most striking.”

George appeared as dismayed as I, but he tried to smile. “It is...”

“I shall want to speak with you soon, George. Whenever you are ready.”

“Me? But sir, why should you...?”

“Do not wait too long—for your own sake. The game may be more dangerous than you realize, the stakes far higher.”

George opened his mouth, glanced about, then closed it. Above us in the gallery was the sour-faced maid, Maria.

“Think about what I have said, George. You saved Miss Grimswell’s life, a fact I shall not forget.”

George nodded, then backed away, turned and walked across the hallway to the stairs.

“What was that all about?” I asked.

“Have you not wondered how George knew Miss Grimswell was in danger?”

“He saw her in the hall, and doubtless she appeared dreadful.”

“The lady does not recall seeing him,” Holmes said.

“Surely if she were distressed she might—”

“She was disorientated and upset, not stupefied or intoxicated.” Holmes gave his head a shake. “Really, Henry, can you deduce nothing on your own?”

Annoyed, I did not pursue the topic.

Dinner that evening was actually pleasant. I, of course, was in excellent humor because of Michelle’s arrival. Rose was relieved at feeling better, and she and Michelle already seemed to have become bosom friends. Michelle kept a wary eye on Digby, and her presence had a moderating effect on that young man, rendering him actually bearable. Constance was still penitent and pleasantly subdued. She must have left the menu to Mrs. Fitzwilliams, for we were spared many courses and rich sauces, a delicious roast beef being the sole offering.

Holmes was rather quiet, but I sensed that a problem preoccupied him. However, after dinner, in the sitting room, he made peace with Constance.

“If I have appeared rather gruff, madam, I hope you will forgive me. You must understand that I share your concern for Miss Grimswell, representing as she does the last of your illustrious family.”

Constance dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “No, no, Mr. Holmes. You are too kind. I have already acknowledged that I am at fault.”

“No matter. As we are in accord, there is no reason to dwell on past unpleasantries.” He sipped at his cognac while Michelle gave me a puzzled look. “This is a remarkable elixir. Perhaps you could tell me something of the Grimswells, Constance. I have read the entry in
Burke’s Peerage
about the viscount and had some discussion with Fitzwilliams, but I know little about the rest of the family.”

Constance shook her head sadly. “There’s precious little of us left, I fear. Only Jane and myself.”

“Victor Grimswell’s father, Robert, the prior viscount, had a younger brother. That brother was your father, Phillip. Were there other brothers or sisters?”

Constance sighed. “None living.”

Holmes’s eyebrows sank inward. “Were there some who died?”

“One. Uncle Jonathan was the middle brother, born in 1807. I fear he met a bad end.” She glanced warily across the room at Rose. “There are two unpleasant strains in our family, impurities in our very blood—a melancholy disposition, a dark mood, and a violent temper. Madness is often the result.”

Michelle’s mouth formed a tight smile. “That seems more than two things.”

“What happened to Jonathan?” Holmes asked.

“He quarreled with a disreputable companion in a tavern, cursed and blasphemed. The companion seized a knife and plunged it into his throat. He died almost at once.” She shook her head. “A black business. He was known for his impieties, his cruelty and his drunkenness.”

Holmes nodded thoughtfully. “How old was he at the time of his unfortunate death?”

“Only twenty years old.”

Holmes frowned, his eyes briefly troubled. “As for your generation, the viscount had only a sister, I believe.”

Constance nodded, her expression growing still more mournful. “Yes, poor dear sweet little Agnes. She died of the fevers when she was only eight, the poor sad little angel. I was five years older than her, and we had been great friends. It happened a year after Annabelle, my own dear little sister, passed on.” Constance dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief. Her grief seemed genuine, not the usual bluster, but something about her still grated at me.

Michelle sighed and set down her glass. “Nothing is worse than the death of a child.”

Holmes had kept his eyes fixed on Constance. “So you also lost a sister. But your sister Jane is still living.”

Constance sniffled loudly. “Jane—poor dear, mad Jane.”

“There were only the three girls in your family? So now you two sisters and Rose are all that remain.” He raised his glass, holding it between himself and the fire, then swished the liquid lightly; the brandy had a warm glow. “How regrettable. I take it neither you nor your sister were ever married?”

Constance gave a gruff laugh. “Heavens, no! I always knew I’d be an old maid—big, plain and dark as I was. Now Jane, on the other hand, always had gentlemen coming to court her. She was fair and beautiful, with a tiny waist and tiny hands.” She held up her huge hand with its thick fingers. “Not like this paw! She favored the Spencers, our mother’s family, rather than the Grimswells.”

“Curious then that she never married.”

Constance’s laughter had a harsh quality this time. “Hardly! No money, Mr. Holmes. Beauty is all very well in a young lady, but it is not enough to make a match. Until Victor made his fortune, the Grimswells never had much beyond the hall and the land, certainly not enough for a younger son with a taste for luxury. I’m afraid, too, that my father had a genuine knack for losing money. Every enterprise he came near ended in ruin. My grandfather, then Jonathan, then my uncle Robert, and finally cousin Victor, all had to help him out more than once.”

Holmes finished his brandy and set down the glass. “From what you say, I gather your mother did not come from a wealthy family.”

She nodded. “That is true enough.”

“Yet she managed to find a husband. Your sister was not so lucky, despite her charms. Certainly, however, there must have been some man who was dear to her.”

Constance laughed again. “Oh yes, the poor sweet fool! She was smitten with an earl’s son, Lord Douglas Shamwell, a handsome pup, but a bit of a bounder. He never actually promised to marry her, but she thought they had an understanding. This state of affairs lasted two or three years, but he finally married another, a banker’s daughter. Jane was stricken, poor lamb. In fact...” Her face had grown mournful. “That led to her first nervous collapse. She was never the same after that.”

Michelle had grown sterner and sterner looking, her smooth brow furrowing. She opened her mouth to speak, but Holmes furtively shook his head, putting his forefinger before his mouth, while Constance was not looking. Michelle turned to me, but I only gave a slight shrug. “No man will ever send me to an asylum,” she said softly. Her ferocity made me smile.

Holmes shook his head. “A sad tale, but all too common, I fear. If fortune spared this Lord Shamwell, I trust that someday a Divine Judge will render justice upon him.”

Constance’s dark eyes blinked, and she nodded. “His marriage was a barren one, nary a child born, and he met a bad end, he did, Mr. Holmes. He died early this year of a wasting ailment. His wife is a veritable saint, a kind and generous woman, but he was not the husband he should have been. He had... a wandering eye.”