The Grimswell Curse (3 page)

Holmes finished reading before I did, but he waited until I had turned away before rolling up the parchment. “A singular tale,” he said. He handed it to Lord Frederick. “This document is at least authentic. Miss Grimswell’s ancestor shows a literary flare, which must be a family trait. So you made light of this tale? Marrying into a family descended from werewolves or vampires does not intimidate you?”

Lord Frederick’s laugh was high-pitched. “Not in the least! We Digbys also have some scoundrels in our past, but no one has ever written down their exploits.”

Holmes’s fingers stroked his narrow chin. “I wonder which was meant. The narrative is ambiguous. One could argue either for vampirism or lycanthropy.”

I frowned. “I can see how it might disturb a young woman of a sensitive nature. It is a chilling story. And even if the supernatural element is preposterous, there may be something in the notion of an inherited disposition toward melancholy.” I opened my mouth, then quickly closed it.

Lord Frederick stared hard at me. “What were you about to say, Doctor Vernier? You need not spare my feelings—say it, man!”

“Insanity does seem to run in families. However, one need not presume so far. I am sure it is merely... An impressionable young lady with no brothers or sisters, no mother—she must have had many a sad and lonely hour. One could hardly blame her for being melancholy, and then to read such a thing... Then, too, she is the last of her lineage—its fate, its continuance, rests with her alone.”

Digby nodded eagerly. “Very perceptive, Doctor Vernier—and to think you have never met Rose. It did shake her. She is somewhat prey to those black thoughts mentioned in the story. Sometimes in the midst of a splendid evening—a fine meal and champagne—I can see the dark clouds gather about her brow. I try to tease her out of it.”

Holmes’s upper lip rose briefly as he stared into the fire. “There are those who consider melancholy less an affliction than a rational response to the world in which we live.” A certain bleakness showed about his mouth, and I knew he was thinking again of Violet Wheelwright’s tormented mind. He turned to Digby. “While I would not go that far, I would say that the young lady may have had more than her share of sadness in her brief life. Some unhappy children never outgrow a sense of desolation.”

Digby shrugged, then smiled. “Surely marriage—a husband and children, a family of her own—would alleviate that sense of desolation. I’m certain I could make her happy! Life is great fun, after all, and that’s the way it’s meant to be, isn’t it?”

Holmes and I exchanged a significant glance. I could tell that he too did not see this self-absorbed young man in a green frock coat as the answer to a sad young lady’s prayers.

Holmes gave a faint shrug of his own. “Perhaps, Lord Frederick. I am not an alienist. We must reserve discussions of a philosophical nature for another time. You said Miss Grimswell seemed to have recovered from the shock of this document?”

“She had.”

“And had you any warning before the letter you received today that anything was amiss?”

“None. I thought she had forgotten the wretched thing. I thought she was learning to be happy. But today... she was almost hysterical, scared half to death, but she wouldn’t say why. She did mumble something about the terrible curse... said I was better off without her. I tried to reason with her, but she hardly seemed to hear me. I... I finally got angry and said I would leave. That was when...” His voice trailed away.

Holmes’s gray eyes watched him closely. “What happened?”

Digby’s right forefinger toyed with the green carnation. “That was when my carnation was injured.” He laughed softly and pulled free a loose petal. “Before I could leave, she embraced me, and... she kissed me. She sobbed goodbye and pushed me out the door. I was in a kind of daze.” A faint blush appeared on his cheek. “She is quite strong for a woman. I had kissed her once or twice before, but it was never... I always wondered if she really cared for me, but after that...” He raised his head and stared at Holmes. “I cannot bear to lose her—not to some ghost or vampire or foolish curse. She needs me—I know she does. Someone or something has scared her half to death, and I am terribly worried about her. I wonder... Her health has never been good. I almost wonder if she is ill. Certainly she will make herself ill if—”

“Does she have a regular physician?” I asked.

Digby thought for a moment, then gave an idiotic grin. “Damned if I know!”

So much for the brief sense I had that he might have some redeeming qualities. “My wife is a physician,” I said. “In fact, she is Lady Rupert’s doctor. Perhaps she could examine Miss Grimswell and determine if there are any physical problems. Michelle is a good judge of character and a person in whom women of all ages want to confide. She may be able to discover what is worrying her. It may be something completely unexpected.”

Digby gave me a puzzled look, then turned to Holmes.

Holmes nodded. “You see why my cousin is invaluable to me, Lord Frederick. Feminine psychology is not my strong point. The fair sex remains the great mystery. I shall wish to question Miss Grimswell, but I would like Henry’s wife, Doctor Doudet Vernier, to see her first. She may well uncover something which escapes our masculine natures.”

Digby slapped at his knees with his gloves. “I suppose that makes sense. Worth a try and all that. Well, I shall see if I can convince her to come. It won’t be easy. However, I shall insist. If she will not let me in, I’ll wait on her doorstep till—”

I shook my head. “No, no—you must not make it a matter of your will against hers. Do you know Lady Rupert yourself? You must, if you have been courting Miss Grimswell while she has been staying with them.”

Digby slapped at his knees again with his yellow gloves. “Course I do! And she’s always been willing to put in a good word with Rose for me. Sometimes I think it’s only because she wants to save Susan for some elder son of a duke or earl, but whatever, she has been a partisan on my behalf.”

“You must write to her,” I said, “and tell her you are concerned about Miss Grimswell’s health. You can say someone recommended she see Doctor Doudet Vernier. Ask her to try to arrange for Miss Grimswell to come to our house near Paddington tomorrow at three. On Saturday afternoon we usually do not see patients, and I will have Michelle reserve that time.”

Digby turned to Holmes, who gave a brusque nod. “Very good, Henry. You are indeed lucky, Lord Frederick, that he was present. Watson is nearly as helpless when it comes to women as I am, despite his various wives, who are a source of confusion to me. Let us follow this strategy of Henry’s. I will then talk to Doctor Doudet Vernier and later to Miss Grimswell.”

Digby smiled and pulled on his gloves. “I’m hoping you can get to the bottom of this business, Mr. Holmes. I’d better run if I’m to try to set things up with Lady Rupert for tomorrow.” We all rose to our feet. “Yes, I’m certainly glad I came. And Rose and I shall be at your house tomorrow, Doctor Vernier.” He started for the door.

I gave Holmes a puzzled look. He raised his right hand. “One moment, Lord Frederick. Miss Grimswell is to go alone.”

“But she’s going to be my wife—I want to be with her. She won’t know I’m coming too until it’s too late for her to flee.”

Holmes shook his head. “She will not be likely to share any confidences with Doctor Doudet Vernier should you be nearby.”

Digby smiled, but seemed only partly convinced. “Well, perhaps you are right after all. Anyway, I’d best be getting to that letter to Lady Rupert.” He turned to go.

I reached into my coat pocket. “Wait, Lord Frederick—take this.” I rose and handed him my card. “This has our address on it. That is where Miss Grimswell must present herself at three tomorrow.”

“Of course.” He nodded his head, then put on his green top hat. “Thanks ever so much. Oh, I say, there is one other matter we haven’t discussed—your fee, Mr. Holmes. As you may have gathered, I’m currently a bit short on funds, but once I am married...”

Holmes shook his head and made a gesture of dismissal with his hand. “No matter. We can discuss that later. For now, the case itself will suffice.”

Digby’s relief was obvious. “Very good. Farewell, then.” He nodded and closed the door behind him.

I shook my head. “What an insufferable imbecile.”

Holmes gave a sharp laugh, then walked over to the bow window. “Lord Frederick is a man with a purpose. He walks very quickly. Dark green is actually not an unpleasant color.”

“Perhaps on someone else it might be agreeable.” I sat back down and leaned forward toward the fire.

Holmes turned and sat back against the window ledge. “Life is indeed hard for the younger son of a peer.” His voice was faintly ironic.

“What rubbish!” I exclaimed. “He was born into a life of privilege. Nothing is denied him. He lives better than ninety-nine percent of the population, and he has had the best education money can buy. The result is that he wears a green top hat and frock coat and talks like an absolute scatterbrain.”

“You are very hard on him, Henry. So near to the title of marquess, yet so far. I seem to recall something about Hampsford falling on hard times. Lord Frederick may have to fend for himself. And he is at most twenty-five. Perhaps when you are nearer forty than thirty you will grow more charitable. I recall a young man living in London who grew a goatee, a Van Dyke, and was very proud of it.”

I shuddered. “He, too, was an imbecile.”

“But he became a respectable physician.”

“After he had renounced the goatee.”

Holmes walked back to the mantel and raised the humidor lid. “He does seem fond of the girl, in spite of everything. Did you notice how unaffected his speech became when he told us how she had embraced him?” He lopped off the end of the cigar, then lit it, his gray eyes showing a muted pain which vanished almost at once.

“I grant you he does seem to care for her. Perhaps he is redeemable.”

“But would he care quite so much for her were she not worth four hundred thousand pounds?”

“It is a great deal of money.”

Holmes exhaled a cloud of pungent smoke. “Men—and women—have been murdered for far less. And she is the last of the Grimswells. That is a very interesting fact. But the money...” His lips formed a brief, sardonic smile. “Money has claimed the lives of far more people than have the fangs of werewolves or vampires. I have high hopes for this case, Henry—high hopes.”

T
he next day, right at three o’clock, the buzzer from downstairs sounded. I was dozing, but I sat up. My wife Michelle stood and touched her reddish-brown bound-up hair, making sure all was in place. “That must be her.” She started for the door.

“I should like to have a look at her,” I said, although just then I preferred looking at Michelle, an agreeable sight from behind. She was tall with broad shoulders, a slender waist and womanly hips. Since she did not believe in corsets and layers of petticoats, one could discern her true shape under the blue silk of her dress. I thought with regret of how we often spent lazy Saturday afternoons and wished I had chosen a different time for Miss Grimswell. I took my jacket from a nearby chair, put it on and went downstairs.

Michelle was reading a piece of paper, her brow furrowed. “A telegram from Lady Rupert. Miss Grimswell refuses to come.”

“Well, that’s that.” Perhaps there was hope for the afternoon after all.

“That is most assuredly
not
that,” Michelle said sternly. “I’m going to Lady Rupert’s. This girl may well need our help.”

“But if Lady Rupert could not persuade her...” I helped Michelle into her coat.

“Then I
will.”
Michelle selected a hat with a large brim and took an umbrella from the stand next to the door.

“You are not going to walk all that way? It has been raining much of the day.”

“I shall hail a cab, although I could use the air. It is not terribly far.” She put her hand on the brass knob, glanced at me, looked closer, then touched my cheek and kissed me on the lips. “Your eyes always give you away, Henry. I may be occupied this afternoon, but an entire evening remains. That is the customary time, after all, for respectable married people. I shall be back as soon as I can. Harriet should be home soon, but perhaps we should go out for supper.”

The door was briefly open, gray-white light and cool wet air flooding in. I sighed, then yawned. A mournful yowl broke the silence, and I felt the massive form of our black and white cat glide along my leg. “Well, Victoria, we are left to ourselves.” (Michelle had most irreverently named the cat, who did somehow resemble her celebrated namesake.) “Since I have been sleeping, perhaps I can manage to stay awake while I have a look at Donaldson’s book on the vascular system.”

Nevertheless, I was beginning to nod when the buzzer sounded half an hour later. It could not be Michelle, since she had a key. I went downstairs and opened the door. Lord Frederick stood before me, his frock coat and top hat transformed today to a navy hue, but with a freshly resplendent blue carnation and the same ugly yellow gloves. He smiled warily but proudly.