The Grimswell Curse

by Sam Siciliano

  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.”

  Two

  The 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.

  “Whatever are you doing here?” I asked.

  “I have come to see Rose.”

  “Well, you have not only ignored Sherlock’s prohibition, you have wasted your time. She is not here.”

  Digby stared at me. “Come, come, old man—you can do better than that.”

  I felt my face grow hot. “Of all the insolent—” I glanced about, then snatched up the telegram Michelle had set down. “Look at this, and then be off with you.”

  Digby’s ebullience drained away as he read. “Damn,” he murmured. “I say, I wasn’t really calling you a liar. I only—”

  “Please leave now, Lord Frederick.”

  Holmes materialized out of the gray rainy afternoon, a tall figure all in black with a pale face, appearing so abruptly that I gave a start. “Henry’s advice is quite sound, Lord Frederick.”

  Digby appeared equally surprised. “Mr. Holmes! I only—”

  “Lord Frederick, there must be no further misunderstandings.” Beneath the narrow black brim of his top hat his gray eyes were cold, yet intense. “If you wish me to represent you in this case, you must do what we have agreed upon. I cannot have you improvising at your every whim. Do you understand me?”

  “But I only—”

  “Do you understand me?” Holmes did not really raise his voice, but something in its tone was suddenly like iron.

  Digby’s face reddened. “I do.”

  “Then go home. As soon as I have any news, I will contact you.”

  Digby opened his mouth, closed it, gave a weak nod, turned and walked away.

  I eased out my breath. “Where on earth did you come from? You startled me.”

  “I was waiting nearby. I expected Lord Frederick to do something foolish. May I see the telegram?” Holmes raised the sheet of paper. “‘Can do nothing with Rose. She refuses absolutely to see you. She is most obstinate and infuriating. My apologies. Jane Rupert.’ I suspect Miss Grimswell will find it hard to refuse Michelle.”

  I set his top hat and stick beside my own. “Harriet has the afternoon off, but perhaps I could stir up some tea. There is a warm fire going.”

  “There is a damp chill in the air. A fire will suffice.” We started for the stairs when we heard someone at the front door.

  I strode forward. “If that imbecile has returned, I swear...”

  The door swung open, and Michelle said, “Come in, my dear. The house is nearly empty, but—” She stopped speaking when she saw me.

  Michelle is five feet ten inches tall and of robust build for a woman. She has nothing in common with frail and petite damsels of delicate constitutions, nor is she fat—her figure is very feminine. I had never seen a woman who could actually make her appear small, but Miss Rose Grimswell did the trick. She was probably an inch above six feet, almost my height, with broad shoulders and a formidable bosom—one understood at once what had happened to Lord Frederick’s carnation. She wore a black mourning dress and hat which emphasized the pallor of her face. Her hair was also black, her eyebrows thick, but she had eyes which would appear blue or gray depending on the light. Her nose and jaw were long. Her face might not be conventionally beautiful, but she was quite striking. She stared at me, then at Holmes, a flush appearing at her cheeks.

  “That is my husband, Doctor Henry Vernier,” Michelle said. “Pay no attention to him. He is quite harmless.”

  Miss Grimswell hesitated, as if contemplating bolting. She reminded me of a large deer caught by surprise. “And that other person?” Her voice sounded slightly husky.

  Michelle raised her head and saw Holmes standing by the stairs. “That is Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Henry’s cousin. I am surprised to see him here.” She ended on a disapproving note.

  “Michelle,” I began, “he has just chased off—someone you would most definitely not want to meet. We did not know you were returning with Miss Grimswell.”

  The girl’s lips parted slightly, her flush deepening. “You are Mr. Sherlock Holmes—truly?”

  Holmes’s gray eyes regarded her intently. With a shrug he stepped forward. “Yes. You have heard of me?”

  Miss Grimswell gave a nod. “Oh, yes. I have read all of your adventures. Father read them all, too. I... I always thought you would be most interesting to meet, but father said one should avoid meeting famous people or other writers. They always disappoint.”

  Holmes gave a sharp laugh. “That was quite perceptive of your father, madam! I hope you are not too disappointed.”

  Miss Grimswell shook her head. “Oh, no.” Her blush deepened. “I only mean—you do not look like your pictures, but...”

  Michelle put her hand on her arm. “We can talk with the men later. The examination will not take long.”

  Miss Grimswell drew in her breath slowly, and again I thought of large deer contemplating flight. “Are you certain it is really necessary?”

  “Yes, as I told you, I am certain. You have never had a proper examination, and you may have some questions I can answer.” For some reason Miss Grimswell went even more scarlet. “Please, my dear, trust me—I am not that ancient, after all.”

  Miss Grimswell smiled and pulled off her glove. “Very well.” She had one of the largest hands I have ever seen, but the long white fingers were graceful, delicate, despite their great size. I wondered if she played the piano; she would have an incredible reach. She glanced at Holmes, then attempted a smile. “Rickie has been to see you, hasn’t he?—Lord Frederick, I mean.”

  Holmes nodded. “He has. But I am only interested in your wellbeing, Miss Grimswell, not your future relations with Lord Frederick.”

  She swallowed, her throat rippling, and her eyes glistened from sudden tears gathering. “I could use some help.” She turned away quickly. “But it is impossible.”

  “Nonsense,” Michelle said. “It cannot be.” She gently took her by the arm and led her to the door; she turned to me before closing it. “We shan’t be too long.”

  I glanced at Holmes. “Lord Frederick hardly prepared us,” I said. “She is quite striking—and so very tall.”

  We went upstairs, and Holmes sat in the purple armchair, which was his favorite. I prodded the smoldering coal with a poker. “She seems an unlikely match for Digby. I suppose her height and those bushy black eyebrows scare off the suitors. Imbeciles! Delicate flowers are pretty to look at, but not to hold. One good embrace, and they resemble Lord Frederick’s crushed carnation. A big strong woman can give every bit as good as she gets, and...” I realized where my words were leading. “Pardon my babblings.”

  Holmes smiled. “Not at all. I found your reflections most interesting. All the same, four hundred thousand pounds makes any woman attractive. Men will gather like flies about a pot of honey.”

  “Your metaphor is apt.” I set down the poker. “Perhaps I shall make some tea. That much I can manage in the kitchen.” I returned a few minutes later with our best china teapot and cups on a tray. Holmes was staring into the fireplace, his mind obviously far away. A gust of wind drove the rain against the two large windows overlooking the street. His gray eyes shifted, then came into focus.

  “Thank you, Henry.” He took a sip. “Ah yes, you always could make an excellent cup of tea.”

&
nbsp; I sat down. We both sipped our tea quietly. Victoria leaped into my lap and curled about, making herself comfortable. The only sounds were her dull purr, the murmur of the wind, and the tick of our grandfather clock in the corner. At last I said, “I suppose you have made inquiries about the Digbys and Grimswells.”

  Holmes nodded. “Yes, although I have discovered little beyond the obvious. The Marquess of Hampsford has fallen on hard times. His younger son has borrowed heavily all about town, but his credit is again quite good. His marriage to Miss Grimswell may save him from some unpleasantness with his debts.”

  I frowned, then gave my head a shake. “I suppose green frock coats and top hats do not come cheaply.”

  Holmes laughed. “I fear not. Dressing outlandishly can be an expensive proposition.”

  We both grew silent again, and I felt the soporific effects of a lazy cloudy Saturday afternoon before a warm fire weigh upon my eyelids. I was half asleep again when I heard the creak of footsteps on the stairs. Michelle and Miss Grimswell soon appeared. At the sight of a stranger, Victoria silently ran out of the room. Holmes and I stood.

  “Please sit down. You both looked so comfortable. Miss Grimswell wanted to flee, but I told her Sherlock would never forgive me if I let her escape.” Michelle went to the tea tray.

  Miss Grimswell smiled but still appeared uncomfortable. She looked none the worse for her examination, although a strand of black hair had escaped over her white ear. She was so fair that even a slight flush was obvious upon her cheeks.

  “Would you care for some tea?” Michelle asked her.

  She nodded. “Please.”

  “Sugar?”

  “One lump. Thank you very much.”

  Michelle gestured at the settee, then joined her a minute later. Miss Grimswell gave Holmes a brief, furtive glance, then stared silently at the fire. Her cheeks still had a rosy flush.

  Michelle nodded. “Henry, we really should put you in charge of tea. You do a better job than Harriet or I.”

  I turned to Miss Grimswell. “I hope the examination was not too unpleasant?”