The Grimswell Curse (5 page)

Holmes’s gray eyes watched her carefully. “But not a total surprise, you seem to suggest.”

“My father was always... melancholy, Mr. Holmes. And his health was not good. He had a bad heart. All the same, he was such a big man. It is hard to believe someone so... so much larger than life could have been struck down.”

“He was melancholy, you say?”

“Yes.”

“How melancholy?”

She raised her head and stared directly into my cousin’s eyes. “I am not sure, Mr. Holmes. There has been speculation that... that he jumped, I know.” Michelle touched her wrist again, but she hardly seemed to notice. “He was never what you could call a happy man. I always remember him being sad, but then I never knew him before my mother’s death. Mrs. Fitzwilliams, our old housekeeper, has told me he was much different then. That was nearly twenty years ago. My mother died when I was only about two years old. She never quite recovered from childbirth. My aunt... I think she thinks father’s death was an accident, but I don’t know. I saw him two weeks before he died, and he seemed somehow happier. When I was growing up I always felt... I think he blamed me for my mother’s death, and he loved her very much. But we had finally become friends of a sort. I showed him some of my writings. I was terrified of what he might say, but he was really very sweet.” She laughed, then abruptly the tears began. She reached for her handbag, but Michelle offered her a handkerchief.

“Thank you,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I had almost forgotten—but I must not forget that—I must remember that—
I must
.” Her voice rose in volume, her face twisting with emotion.

Holmes was surprised and dismayed. “I should have spared you so painful a subject.”

She shook her head. “No, I... I had not remembered how kind he could be, and...” Her mouth pulled back again, and you could see her struggle to master herself. She gave her head a violent shake. “I do not think he jumped.”

Michelle gave Holmes a reproachful look, then stood and poured more tea for Miss Grimswell. “Some tea might make you feel better.”

“Thank you, Miss Grimswell,” Holmes said. “We need not discuss your father any further just now. Tell me about this aunt of yours.”

Miss Grimswell sipped at the tea, her red-rimmed eyes showing above the cup rim. “I have only two living relations. I call them aunts because of their age, but actually we are distant cousins. They are the daughters of my great-uncle Phillip Grimswell, my grandfather’s brother. Phillip had three daughters, one of whom died young. Jane and Constance never married. Jane is...” She hesitated, paling slightly. “Jane is not well, but Constance has always been like an aunt. She was the only relation I ever knew well, except for my grandmother who died when I was a little girl. My father had an older sister, but she died at the age of seven or eight. Anyway, Constance was father’s first cousin, but I always called her aunt. She has been most... considerate since my father’s death.” Her upper lip curled briefly.

Holmes smiled. “Perhaps a trifle too considerate.”

“She is always worrying about my health or well-being. She means well, I know.”

Holmes tapped his fingertips together. “I shall reserve judgment on all matters. I would like to verify what Lord Frederick told me about your relations. You and he were engaged to be married?”

Miss Grimswell’s lips twitched. “Yes.”

“Since approximately the fifteenth of September?”

She nodded.

“But you broke off the engagement yesterday?”

“Yes,” she said. He stared at her but said nothing. “I have been cruel to him.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I must not marry.”

“I felt that way for the longest time,” Michelle said. “It is perfectly normal.”

“Can you tell me why?” Holmes asked.

Her jaw stiffened, and she shook her head. Something in her eyes changed, and I was afraid she was going to become upset all over again.

Holmes raised one hand. “No matter. It can wait. I take it that Miss Susan Rupert is your best friend?”

Miss Grimswell was clearly relieved. She smiled and nodded. “Yes. She has always been such a friend, and ever since father died... She and her mother told me I could stay with them as long as I wished. Susan and I first met at boarding school, Miss Lampert’s near Oxford.”

Michelle sat up abruptly. “Miss Cecily Lampert?”

“Why, yes.”

“I know Miss Lampert. Her school is outstanding. She does not turn out vapid dilettantes. She believes young women should be educated like young men—Latin, the classics, English literature, French or German, natural sciences and mathematics. She also believes in the value of physical exercise and has her girls involved in games and sport. If I had a daughter and could bear to send her away, Miss Lampert’s is the school I would choose.”

Holmes shook his head. “I confess I have not heard of this school, Michelle. You have done me a service. And did you enjoy your time there, Miss Grimswell?”

“Oh, yes.” Her words were spoken with utter sincerity.

“And you must be a young lady of talent. You mentioned your writing. I suspect you have a literary bent.”

The flush reappeared on Miss Grimswell’s cheek. “Yes.” Her face was radiant for the first time. “I was very happy at the school. It was hard at first.” Her smile wavered. “Miss Lampert was always so kind. Some of the girls could be cruel, but Miss Lampert would not tolerate it. And once I met Susan...” She smiled again. “Susan was my defender.”

“From what did she defend you?” Holmes asked.

Miss Grimswell shrugged. “The usual thing. Taunts and jibes.”

Holmes frowned. “Why would they taunt you?”

“Because of... my size. I have always been... large. And because I am... dark and plain.”

“Plain?” Holmes’s surprise was genuine.

“That is nonsense!” Michelle’s eyes were full of righteous fury. “I suppose they were small and blond and vicious—like some tiny poodles! What a shame we were not born men so we could strike them down with a blow of our fist!”

Miss Grimswell was surprised at this outburst, but then she laughed. “I never wanted to hit them. But they did make me cry. My mother was light-haired, but I take after my father.”

I smiled. “Believe me, Miss Grimswell, there are men who prefer women of stature. And you are hardly plain now, as you must know.”

If Michelle had surprised her, I had completely astonished her. She stared at me as if I were mad, her face going scarlet. She glanced at Michelle.

“He is not joking,” she said. “And he has admirable taste in women.” Michelle gave her a curious look. “Has Lord Frederick never told you how beautiful you are?”

Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. She managed to shake her head.

“The lout—I advise you to find another fiancé.”

“We have wandered somewhat far afield,” Holmes said, “but perhaps this talk has helped to convince you that you are among friends.”

Miss Grimswell smiled at him. “You are very kind.” She encompassed Michelle and me in her gaze. “All of you.”

“I shall let you go now, Miss Grimswell. However, before you go, is there anything more you wish to tell me?”

Her eyes grew suddenly weary, the color draining from her face. “I...” She stared at Holmes. He did not move, nor did Michelle or I. “If only... I cannot.”

“A fear is never so bad when you share it with someone else,” Michelle said. “Saying it out loud weakens its power.”

Miss Grimswell said nothing, but I could see strong conflicting feelings gathering like dark clouds.

Holmes stood. “Another time perhaps, Miss Grimswell. This is, after all, our first meeting, and an unexpected one for you. However, you must learn to trust me if I am to help you. Again, I shall defer further questions until our next meeting, but at that time you must tell me the truth. I hope to see you soon—this next week, as a matter of fact. Is there a particular day which would be opportune?”

She would not meet his gaze. “I... I... shall have to check my schedule.”

“Please do so.”

She swallowed once, resolutely, then raised her eyes. “Perhaps Wednesday. Wednesday morning.”

He nodded. “Very good.”

She gave a great sigh. “Oh, thank you again.” She stood, as did Michelle and I.

Holmes stepped toward Miss Grimswell. She was of exactly his height, both of them tall figures in black. “I must make one final request, Miss Grimswell. I am not a superstitious man. I do not believe in ghosts, werewolves or vampires.” Her mouth formed a weak, ghastly smile. “However, I do believe in evil—human evil, and believe me, that is sufficiently black and wicked. You are heir to a large fortune, madam, and that may make you a prey to evil. I fear that you may be in danger. I hope I am wrong, but if I am not, then the danger may be very grave. Will you promise me one thing?”

Their eyes were locked upon each other. “What?” she whispered.

“If you are afraid—if you are at your wits’ end and do not know where to turn—will you send for me immediately? It does not matter what the hour, whether night or day.”

“I...”

“I beg of you, Miss Grimswell. It is for your own protection. It does not matter whether it is a ghost that threatens you or some inner torments—please send for me. Let me be the judge of the danger. Promise only that you will send for me.”

She swayed slightly, and Michelle stepped near her and took her arm. “I promise,” she whispered. “I promise.”

Holmes gave a great sigh. “Thank you. And I promise you will not regret it.”

Miss Grimswell bit at her lip. “You are all so kind, but I really must go.”

She turned and started for the door, stumbling slightly, but Michelle had her arm. “Let me fetch you a cab, my dear. I have a piercing silver whistle.” Holmes and I followed the two women down the stairs. Michelle gave Miss Grimswell her umbrella and her black hat. “Sherlock has already had a promise from you,” Michelle said, “but I hope you will visit me again even if you are not in dire straits.”

“Oh, I shall!” She pulled her black leather glove over her huge hand. I knew they must be made to order; Michelle also had trouble finding ladies’ gloves which would fit her.

On an impulse, I said, “Do you play the piano, Miss Grimswell?”

She was surprised. “Why, yes.”

“Ah.” Holmes gave an appreciative nod. “One gifted with hands like yours should most definitely play the piano.”

Miss Grimswell frowned, but as she stared at Holmes and realized he was not mocking her, her brow smoothed out. “And do you truly play the violin, Mr. Holmes?”

He laughed. “Watson has got that right.”

“A Stradivarius?”

“Yes.”

“But...” She hesitated.

“Ask it, Miss Grimswell.”

“Do you really fire your revolver at the wall? And have you spelled out the Queen’s initials with bullet holes?”

“Although Her Majesty has no more loyal subject, I do not believe in discharging revolvers indoors without cause. The police also frown on such behavior. I am eccentric enough that Watson need not have invented that particular detail. Good afternoon, miss.”

“Good day, Mr. Holmes.”

He withdrew a card from his inner coat pocket. “Do not forget your promise. Here is my card.”

Michelle smiled at Holmes and me. “I shall just make certain she gets a cab.” She closed the front door behind them.

I smiled and shook my head. “Poor girl. What can be bothering her? She is charming. Digby had made me expect the worst. And you think she may be in danger?”

Holmes’s smile was grim. “Most certainly.” He opened the door and stepped outside.

I joined him, stretching my arms overhead and yawning. “A bit of air feels good, damp though it may be.”

Holmes said nothing. He was peering about. Considering how near we were to Paddington Station, ours was a fairly quiet street. Another physician had the house next to ours, and a retired colonel lived across the way. The rain had abated, but it was cool and windy. The leaves of an oak rustled softly, and the signboard with our names on it creaked. Michelle and Miss Grimswell stood before the house. Michelle’s blue silk dress was brilliant and cheerful under the gray autumnal light. Alongside Miss Grimswell, she resembled a bright blue kingfisher next to a crow. Michelle took out her whistle and blew. The piercing sound made me cover my ears.

“Cursed thing.” I glanced at Holmes, but he did not seem to hear me. His eyebrows sank ominously, his mouth a tight line. He was staring at a man across the street. He gripped my arm tightly.

“Do you know that man?”

He was wearing a black mackintosh and a bowler hat, but I only caught a glimpse—a long thin face, black mustache and goatee, dark eyes—before he strolled casually away. He had broad shoulders and was unusually tall. The steel tip of his stick clacked upon the walkway.

“No, I do not believe so. We get many passersby with Paddington so near.”

Holmes said nothing, only stared at the man, his brow still furrowed. A hansom up the street came our way, the groan of the wheels and the clatter of the horse’s iron shoes growing ever louder. Michelle raised her hand and waved. Miss Grimswell hesitated before getting into the coach, then raised her large hand in farewell, an all-too-brief smile lighting up her pale face under the black hat.

Michelle watched the hansom depart, then folded her arms across her bosom and came back to the porch. “Goodness, Sherlock, what are you frowning at?”

He turned and smiled briefly. “Nothing, I hope.”

“She is certainly a sweet girl. However, if she is not deeply in love with Lord Frederick, she is certainly smitten now.”

Holmes was puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Michelle said, “that you made quite an impression on the young lady.”

Holmes drew himself up to his full height, his mouth taut with disapproval. “You exaggerate,” he said.

“I think not,” I said. “She has obviously read all of Watson’s narratives.”

“Blast it.” Holmes shook his head angrily. “Half of London think they know me intimately, but all they know is Watson’s shallow creation.” We turned to go inside. Behind us we heard Holmes mutter, “I am nearly old enough to be the lady’s father.”

Michelle laughed softly. “Men can be so obtuse.” One hand already held my arm, but she slipped her other about Holmes’s arm.