The Grimswell Curse

by Sam Siciliano

  She insisted on escorting me to the breakfast room and keeping me company while I ate. Lord Frederick seemed faintly annoyed, a certain jealous haughtiness showing in his pale blue eyes and thin lips, but it vanished almost at once. He chatted amiably with us, as if we were all three old and dear friends. Today he wore the same green frock coat and the black and green trousers as the first time I had met him. His manners were polished, and he demonstrated that he could be agreeable when he wished.

  I had just finished eating when the footman George appeared at the door. “You have a visitor, Miss Rose.”

  She frowned. “Who...?”

  “Doctor Hartwood.”

  “Doctor... Oh, yes.” She stood. “Whatever could he want?”

  George grinned broadly. “I think he has something for you.”

  “Really?” She strode quickly across the room.

  Digby frowned at me. “Who is this fellow?”

  “The local doctor. The one who found... Elaine.”

  “Elaine?”

  “The dog—the dead dog.”

  “Oh—that Elaine.”

  Hartwood had a resolute expression on his face, but at the sight of Digby his eyes widened slightly. He had changed his boots, the battered rubber ones being replaced with polished black leather, and his jacket appeared newer. A large black puppy struggled futilely to break free from the hold of the man’s powerful arms and shoulders.

  “Good morning, ma’am. Gentlemen.” He nodded.

  “Oh, who is this?” Rose reached out her large white hand, and the puppy licked at it eagerly. She laughed.

  “Mind your manners,” Hartwood said severely to the puppy.

  “Oh, he’s beautiful—what is he, a mastiff?”

  “He is. Have a look.” He thrust forward his hands, holding out the puppy, who gladly tumbled into Rose’s arms.

  His paws scrambled about, and his tongue sought her face. “No, no.” She laughed. “He is quite a handful. Let me set him down.” She did so, then knelt down (which showed she was not wearing a real corset and the usual female paraphernalia) and petted him. He calmed down some, but his tail flopped back and forth.

  “I always have a patient or two with a new pup in need of a good home. This is one of Old Crimpton’s, half a mile northwest of Grimpen. He’s always kept mastiffs, and the mother is a fine, good-tempered dog. I thought...” His eyes had wandered all about the room as he spoke; now they settled on her. “Since you lost your wee little dog...”

  Rose stared up at him (she was still kneeling by the dog). “How very kind of you.”

  Hartwood shrugged, but a touch of color showed about his cheekbones. “I like to see an animal in a good home.”

  George seemed to hesitate, then knelt at last and stroked the dog’s head. “Oh, he is a beaut, ma’am, a fine pup. Look at the sheen on his coat and those paws.” He held the dog’s paw briefly in his hand. “Good day, master pup. He’ll be a giant someday, make a good guard dog.”

  Hartwood smiled. “You seem to know mastiffs.”

  “Yes, I have... I mean, I had such a dog. There’s no more loyal friend or companion. I... I miss him, but...”

  Rose gazed at him, her eyes sympathetic. “What happened to him?”

  “I had to give him away. Can’t keep a mastiff about in a job like this. My... my old mother has him, a good companion for her.”

  “You must be the local animal doctor. I don’t believe we’ve met.” Digby’s tone was mocking, his smile disdainful. “Digby’s my name, Lord Frederick Digby. Rose is my fiancée.”

  Hartwood was obviously a man with firm control over his emotions, but this shook him. The signs were subtle, but mostly it was his eyes which gave him away. Rose, on the other hand, was openly horrified. Her jaw dropped in dismay, and she stood up at once, her fists clenching.

  “That’s not true!” she exclaimed.

  “Doctor Hartwood is a medical doctor,” I said, annoyed at Digby’s behavior.

  Digby said nothing, but stared at Rose. Her face went scarlet. Rarely have I seen a woman flush so. It was all the more striking because of her usual pallor. “I only mean... I... I need to think about it, Rickie. I had my reasons for...” She looked at Hartwood and me, then stoped speaking.

  “I’m sure you must have had your reasons for breaking our engagement. No doubt you’ll wish to share all the details with these gentlemen and the rest of the household. Your distaste for me is obvious enough, although what I’ve done to warrant it...”

  “Please don’t. I only meant... You startled me, and—”

  “From now on I shall introduce myself as your possible fiancé or perhaps former fiancé or perhaps—”

  Hartwood took half a step forward. “The lady asked you to stop.”

  Digby was surprised. “Did she? Stop what?”

  Hartwood’s face darkened. “I think you know, sir.”

  “You do? Ah, but I don’t. What is it I am supposed to cease?”

  “Your carrying on.”

  “My carryin’ on? Whatever can you mean by that?—and what business is it of yours anyhows?”

  Hartwood said nothing, but his look had become so threatening that Digby seemed to realize at last that he was baiting a man considerably brawnier than himself, a man who could probably knock him down with a single punch and a man who clearly would tolerate little more.

  Digby had also flushed about the cheeks. “Well, whatever I’m supposed to have done, I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, Rose.”

  She stared at him without speaking, but her eyes were all liquid-looking.

  “I suppose you will want to keep this enormous creature here.” Digby nodded at the puppy, who was still playing with George.

  Rose lowered her gaze. “No.” She raised her eyes and looked at Hartwood, whose disappointment was clear. “Not that I would not like to keep him—it is only that... I have had one dog die. I do not want to be responsible for another animal’s death.”

  “But you were not responsible for the little dog’s death.”

  She shrugged. “Perhaps not, but I... I am bad luck of late, and I could not bear it if this dog...”

  Hartwood inhaled through his nostrils. “Is this that curse nonsense again? Give this pup a few months, and he’ll be a match for any ghost or spook.”

  Rose looked sadly at the puppy. “Thank you, but I cannot... risk it.”

  Hartwood’s chest swelled, and he slapped at his woolen breeches with his cloth cap. “Well, I’ll keep him for you, should you change your mind.”

  “You cannot seem to take no for an answer, Doctor Hartwood.” Digby’s eyes gleamed. “Perhaps the lady is not interested in either that slobbering beast or a rustic champion. A strategic retreat with your dog might be wise, if that loutish footman can tear himself away and resume his duties. Really, Rose, he’s down there on the floor wigglin’ about practically like a dog himself, and—”

  George looked embarrassed, but it was Hartwood who stopped Digby. I truly thought he was going to hit Digby—you could see him considering it and struggling to restrain himself even as Digby’s smile faltered—but then Hartwood put on his hat, scooped up the dog and strode for the door.

  Rose’s face was bright red again. “Wait,” she cried, and Hartwood froze in his tracks. We were all startled by the sudden noise, Rose’s voice echoing through the hall. She glanced at Digby. “If you ever behave that way again before me, I shall... I shall no longer number you among my acquaintances, let alone consider marrying you. Perhaps George... I think it would be best if George helps you pack your things so you can leave.” She walked over to Hartwood. “Doctor, thank you very much for your gift. I... I would like to keep him. He is quite beautiful, but as I said...” She stroked the dog’s head. “Perhaps, after all, you might keep him for me. Should my luck change...”

  Hartwood smiled. “It will.” He nodded at the rest of us, his jaw stiffening at the sight of Digby. “Good day, gentlemen.”

  “Let me get the door for you, s
ir.” George followed him.

  I was frowning, but Rose’s face was still scarlet.

  Digby’s smile was a tenuous thing. “Rose...”

  “How could you behave like that?” It came out as an angry whisper, furiously soft.

  “I... Forgive me, dearest. My behavior was inexcusable. I can only... I apologize. I shan’t be so churlish again.”

  She stared at him, confusion making lines in her forehead. I also found a chastened Digby hard to take at face value.

  “When you said I was not your fiancée, I was rather taken aback, and I said the first things that popped into my head. I behaved poorly, but it was because of my feelings for you. I hope... I would like to stay here, Rose, and resolve things between us. I believe you owe me that much.”

  She straightened up to her full height, squaring her shoulders. Her black dress had none of the style of the widow Neal’s mourning garment. “Very well.”

  Digby turned to me. “And I hope you will also excuse me, Doctor Vernier. Nothing is more disagreeable than being an innocent bystander caught up in a squabble.”

  I nodded. “It is an unpleasant position.”

  He laughed. “Rose, I should like to speak with you alone.”

  She drew in her breath, then nodded. On their way up the stairs, they passed Holmes and exchanged greetings with him. I waited for him to descend. He wore another tweed suit, a gray herringbone, and looked none the worse for wear.

  “How much of that did you see?” I asked softly.

  He smiled. “The entire act. I must say I enjoyed it. I wanted to applaud when Miss Grimswell turned upon Digby and told him to pack his bags. That is a side to the young lady we have not seen before.”

  “The stupid jackass certainly had it coming.”

  Holmes laughed. “I see that you are still not to be counted among Lord Frederick’s admirers.”

  The distant clump of the great door closing sounded dimly through the hall and George soon reappeared. Blond as he was, his cheeks still had a ruddy tint.

  I nodded in his direction. “There is another who is not an admirer.”

  George saw us, raised his hand which contained an envelope, then came toward us. “Mr. Holmes, this telegram has come for you.” His manner was more subdued than usual.

  Holmes nodded, thanked him, then tore open the envelope and read even as George departed. His mouth twitched once, his smile vanishing even as his brow furrowed. At last he lowered the paper and sighed, an irritated rasping sound. “Oh, damnation.”

  “What is it?”

  “You will hear soon enough. I fear we must interrupt our lovers’ tryst.” He started up the stairs. “I expected better of her. This is... sheer stupidity, unadulterated stupidity. Certainly she must have known better.”

  “Who is the ‘she’ you refer to? Miss Grimswell?”

  “Yes.” He rapped at the library door, waited a moment, then rapped more loudly.

  “Come in,” said a woman’s voice.

  Digby was sitting on the edge of the table next to Rose, who occupied one of the large oak armchairs. “Can we not have a moment’s privacy?” he asked imperiously.

  “No,” Holmes snapped. “Not just now. I have received a rather disturbing communication from Miss Grimswell’s solicitor, Mr. James Rigby. It concerns her will.”

  Digby immediately lowered his gaze and licked his lips. Rose’s eyes became evasive.

  “I was unable to arrange a meeting with Mr. Rigby before I left London, but I wrote him a letter inquiring about the estate and expressing my concern that Miss Grimswell might be in great danger. He was kind enough to send me this telegram. He takes his responsibilities most seriously and is worried about his old friend’s daughter.”

  “Has he not heard of confidentiality?” Digby muttered. “I would never have thought—”

  “Obviously not,” Holmes said, “or you would not have given me his name.”

  I looked at the three of them, frowned, and said, “Sherlock, will you please tell me what is in the telegram.”

  “Mr. Rigby reveals that Miss Grimswell has made Lord Frederick the major beneficiary of her will.”

  “What!” I exclaimed.

  “Mr. Rigby tried to persuade her this was not wise. He also appealed, unsuccessfully, to Lord Frederick.”

  Digby straightened up. “He was positively insolent! It was Rose’s decision, after all, and who was I to contradict her wishes? I certainly did not ask to be made her beneficiary.”

  Holmes’s eyes were fixed on him. “You did not?”

  “No.”

  Holmes turned to Rose. Her cheeks had reddened again, and her eyes appeared weary. “Is he telling the truth?”

  “I say, Mr. Holmes—you needn’t be quite so insulting.”

  Holmes kept staring at Rose. She touched her fingertips to her forehead. “Yes. I think so.”

  “You think so!” I said.

  She bit at her lip. “I... Who else was I to leave it to? I knew Rickie needed money, and I had no one else to...” She smiled grimly. “I wasn’t really planning on dying soon, anyway.”

  “We were engaged, Mr. Holmes,” Digby said.

  “But Mr. Rigby tells me he changed the will before any engagement. Moreover, he explains that a betrothal is never the time to alter a will. It is always done concurrently with the marriage.”

  Digby shrugged. “Well, I mightn’t have popped the old question, but it was certainly on my mind. Besides, as Rose pointed out, what does it matter? She’s in excellent health and’ll probably outlive a wastrel like me by ten or twenty years.”

  Holmes stared at him, opened his mouth, then closed it. He turned again to Rose. “Had you no idea how colossally... unwise this was?”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “I...” She covered her eyes with her large white hand.

  “You needn’t bully her,” Digby said.

  Holmes stared at him. His mouth twitched, then his hand crumpled up the telegram. He inhaled through his nostrils, then turned to me. “Am I being unreasonable, Henry?”

  “Not at all. I too am mystified as to how an intelligent young lady like Miss Grimswell could ignore the advice of her solicitor and...”

  Rose lowered her hand. “I never even wanted all the cursed money! I wish I could just give it away. And I knew Rickie needed money. He was always...”

  Holmes smiled—a withering expression. “I’m sure he was. And how much money have you already given him, Miss Grimswell?”

  Digby stood. “No, now this is really too much! My financial affairs do not concern you, sir.”

  I stared dumbly at Rose. “You gave him money?” She did not speak, but the answer was obvious.

  “It was a loan!” Digby exclaimed.

  Rose rubbed at her eyes. “It was not.” She looked at Holmes and me. “I have so very much. What did a few hundred pounds matter? He didn’t ask for money.”

  “Certainly not!”

  Holmes’s mouth again formed the scathing smile. “Oh no, he merely whined and whimpered until you took pity upon him in his destitution.”

  Digby had grown quite red. “Mr. Holmes, there are limits to the abuse I shall tolerate from you.”

  Holmes’s nostrils flared, then he uncrumpled the telegram, folded it and thrust it into his pocket. He went to the nearest window, put his left hand in his trouser pocket and smoothed back his oily black hair with the other hand.

  “Lord Frederick, I can tell it would be futile to try to convince you that your conduct has been less than exemplary. However, you have kept vital information from me. As for you, Miss Grimswell, you... you disappoint me.”

  Tears started down her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I—I meant well.”

  “I am sure you did.”

  Digby whirled and started for the door. “I’ve had enough of this.” He seized the brass knob, then turned. “Rose, if you had any real pride, you would ask Mr. Holmes to pack up and leave!” He slammed the door loudly behind him.

  Holmes scowled, the
n began to pace. Rose had covered her eyes with her hand again. I hesitated, then put my hand on her shoulder. She started, then looked up at me. “I am sure you did mean well, Miss Grimswell. It was most generous, but it put you and Lord Frederick in... a compromising position. A real gentleman would never have allowed such a thing.”

  Holmes was staring out the window at the distant moor. “It also gives Lord Frederick an excellent motive for murder.”

  Rose’s lips parted, her eyes widening. “Surely not.”

  Holmes turned to her, and she seemed to shrink back. He eased his breath out of his nostrils. “Madam, you must understand that you are heir to a great fortune. Men have killed for far less. You must not... you must not give a man like Digby a good reason to murder you.”

  Her face began to go very pale. “Not Rickie,” she said. “No, I won’t...”

  “He is a bit of a bounder,” I said, “but I don’t think he’s really capable of...” Rose could not see my face, but Holmes could. I shook my head silently twice.

  “Perhaps not, but I would like to remove...” He smiled. “‘Lead us not unto temptation.’ Miss Grimswell, I would like you to change the terms of your will. I am not... comfortable with the current situation. It is, of course, your inheritance to do with as you choose, but Mr. Rigby’s advice was sound. Should you marry Lord Frederick, an eventuality which is somewhat in question, your fortune will largely become his, but until then... It will not do, madam, it will not.”

  “But what am I supposed to do with such a fortune! I really do not want it—I do not.”

  “Perhaps not, but does Lord Frederick deserve all your money should anything happen to you? There are those who have a genuine need.” He looked at me.

  “The hospitals in the poorer parts of London never have enough medicine or staff to treat the throngs of patients. You could specify that you wanted your money left to London’s charity hospitals and clinics.”

  Miss Grimswell stared at me, then nodded.

  “An excellent suggestion, Henry—excellent. Miss Grimswell, if you would write me a note expressing the desire to change your will, Henry and I could witness it, making it legally binding until Mr. Rigby can actually update the will.”

  Rose sat up and drew in her breath. She smiled sadly, then gave a gentle laugh. “Perhaps I too am selfish, or I might have thought of such a thing. Must I do it now?”