Rose was also in her room. She looked somewhat pale and tired, but remarkably well, considering. The suggestion of a walk made her smile. “What a splendid idea! I shall just change my clothes and join you.”
“You look more yourself today,” I said. “I take it the feeling of strangeness is gone?”
Her smile wavered. “Yes, for the most part. It really is such a relief. I felt so very odd. And my dreams were unsettled all last night, although I did sleep.” She stared at me, and a faint flush appeared in her cheeks. “I have not thanked you both properly.” Her gaze took in both Holmes and me. “You saved my life. Had you not come, I would have jumped. I would be dead now.” Her face went paler still, and she bit at her lower lip.
Michelle touched her arm, startling her, and she flinched wildly. Michelle drew back. “Oh, pardon me.”
Rose shook her head, her lip still between her teeth. “I’m sorry. I... I... It’s only...” Her mouth contorted, moving as if it had a will of its own. Her breath came out in a shudder, and tears filled her eyes. “Forgive me—I... I don’t know what’s the matter.”
Michelle stepped forward, carefully put her arm around Rose and grasped her shoulder. “Oh hush, my dear—it’s perfectly all right to feel dreadful.”
“Is it?” Rose had begun to cry.
“After all that you have endured—yes.” She looked at Holmes and me. “Give us a few minutes, and we shall join you downstairs. I also need to change into something less fashionable and more practical.”
Holmes’s gray eyes showed his concern, and he nodded. Rose turned away from us, letting Michelle shelter her in her arms. Again I reflected how odd it was to see a woman who could make Michelle actually look small. Rose was some three inches taller and even more broad-shouldered. The two were a contrast: Rose with her black dress and black hair, her face so pale, while the light from the big windows made Michelle’s electric-blue dress glow and shone on her light brown hair.
Holmes and I went silently down the hallway to the gallery, and traversed it to the stairs. In the great hall, our footsteps echoed faintly overhead. A shaft of sunlight slanted down from a window, a great yellow diagonal before us, the tiny dust motes dancing like gnats. Even on a sunny day, the black granite of the walls gave the vast chamber a funereal air. Constance stood up from a chair, turned and smiled at us. I suddenly realized that Michelle was the only woman I had ever seen at Grimswell Hall wearing a bit of color—Rose, Constance, Mrs. Fitzwilliams and all the maids were always in black.
“Going for a stroll? The day is very fine. Lord Frederick has already gone out. I shall gladly keep an eye on Rose while you are walking.”
My hand shot out to grasp Holmes’s arm, but I was too late. “She will be joining us shortly,” he said.
Constance’s face somehow expanded from horror. “Not Rose?”
Holmes nodded. “Yes, Rose.”
She turned to me, just as I had feared. “But, doctor—you agreed she needed rest—absolute rest. You cannot—you cannot—oh, she must not go out! With her nerves, the least strain...! Oh, I forbid it!”
I forced a nervous smile. “Please, Constance, the exercise will do her good.”
“When she has been up half the night?—when her nerves are at breaking point?—when she suffers from... brain fever? When she sees phantoms like the ghost of her father? Oh dear God, no!”
“She may be slightly tired, but—”
“Then she must rest, mustn’t she? A nap is the very thing, not trekking about the moors. And what if it should rain? The sun is out now, but for how long? The weather can change in an instant. If she should be soaked to the skin in her frail and weakened condition, what then? Pneumonia or worse!”
“I hardly think—”
“Then you must agree with me! Please, doctor, her very life may be at stake! I have stood by quietly, but I really must insist—I am her guardian, after all. She’s all I have left, the last of our poor family! I cannot...”
Holmes had a look of weary disgust. I tried twice to interrupt her, but she cut me off each time. My head had begun to ache, and I realized exactly how tired I really was.
Constance suddenly paused, raised her eyes and folded her arms resolutely. Coming down the stairs were Michelle and Rose, both wearing sturdy brown woolen jackets and skirts. Michelle had a stern expression, and she had hold of Rose’s arm. The younger woman had washed her face, but her eyes were red—and wary of her aunt.
“What is going on?” Michelle asked. “What is this din?”
“Constance is concerned that walking may not be good for Rose’s health,” I said.
Constance nodded fiercely. “Certainly not! Absolute rest is what the poor girl needs! I will not have it.”
Michelle let go of Rose and stepped forward. She and Constance were almost exactly the same height. “Have you ever studied medicine, Miss Grimswell?”
“No, but—”
“Then I suggest you leave Rose’s treatment to those who have.”
“But her nerves, madam, and she is so frail! Surely—”
Michelle gave a sharp laugh. “Frail? Look at her!”
“She is tall, yes, but weak and ill and—”
“Nonsense! She is a strong, healthy young woman who has had more than her share of fears and worries. Fresh air and activity are exactly what she needs.”
“How can you say such a thing? Oh, old Doctor Herbert knew better. And how—how can a woman be a doctor, anyway? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
Michelle’s jaw stiffened. For a second or two, I wondered if she might actually strike Constance. “By studying for years and working much harder than any man!”
“I may be an ignorant old woman, but I’m her family—her only family—and I only want what’s best for her. I forbid it—I forbid it! Rose, surely you must know that you are not up to this. Don’t you feel weary and agitated, poor lamb? You must go back to your room. Let me tuck you into bed and get—” She tried to touch Rose, but Michelle stepped between them.
“Miss Grimswell, my husband and I are physicians, and it is our professional opinion that the young lady would benefit from a walk.”
Constance stared at me in horror. “Not you, too, Doctor Vernier—not you! I thought we had an agreement, I thought—”
“Miss Grimswell—Miss Grimswell...” Michelle was almost shouting to get a word in. “Please stand aside, and do stop bullying your niece!”
“Bullying her!” Constance’s voice was a wounded bellow.
“Yes!”
Constance’s eyes grew all teary. “Rose,” she said softly. “Dear Rose.”
Rose put her large white hand over her forehead. “Oh, auntie...”
“See—see! She is—”
Michelle resolutely grasped Rose’s hand, then led her past her aunt toward the doorway.
“Rose, you cannot be leaving! Rose—”
“Silence, madam!” Holmes’s voice thundered even as he struck the granite floor with the iron ferrule of his stick. The hall immediately grew silent. Holmes glared, letting it linger a while. “That is quite enough. You have had your say. If you were truly concerned about your niece’s well-being, then you would not so needlessly upset her.”
Constance glared back. Her jaw moved sideways in a characteristic gesture, her teeth grinding slightly. She opened her mouth, then turned and stalked away.
I let out a tremendous sigh. “Oh well done, Sherlock—well done! I thought nothing could ever quieten her.”
We quickly fled the hall and went outside. A path constructed of granite slabs came up to the main entrance of the hall. We paused to savor the sunshine on our faces and the quiet of an autumn day. The wind could be heard in the muted rustling of the yew and oak leaves.
Michelle took a deep breath and smiled. “The air is divine, so different from London. And I, too, thank you, Sherlock. You quite vanquished her.” She turned to Rose. “I hope you understand, my dear, that Henry and I would do nothing to risk your health.�
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Rose smiled; she too was clearly relieved. “Oh, I know that. I only wish... It is so hard to disagree with her.”
Michelle laughed. “So I see! Well, where shall we go?”
Holmes raised his stick and set it on his shoulder. “Miss Grimswell, would a walk to the tor—to Demon Tor—be too difficult for you?”
“No, not at all. It is not far, and there are only one or two steep parts. The view is spectacular.”
Holmes nodded. “Very well. You may lead the way.”
We went around the house through the yews, and then some great silent oaks, their gnarled limbs nearly black, their leaves shades of bronze or russet. The half-rotted smell of fallen leaves and crushed acorns was dank and rich. From one of the trees came the hoarse caw of a rook. The trees ended abruptly, and the rising ground of brownish faded heather and green grass led to a jumble of boulders, which the locals called “clitter,” and then the black granite slabs of the tor. A path of sorts, one worn into the reddish earth by centuries of footsteps, led upward.
We all savored the warmth and silence, so welcome after the long, cold night and Constance’s outburst, and before long, we were all breathing too hard to speak much. After rising briefly, the path vanished, but Rose led us up through the boulders. At the top a cold wind from the north cut into our faces.
“Oh, how beautiful!” Michelle gave my hand a squeeze. “I am so happy to be here.”
Rose was smiling, but her gray-blue eyes, so luminous in the light, were troubled. She was staring down at the edge of the massive rock before us. The ragged face of black granite was blotched with lichens of yellow and green, but some twenty feet away must be a precipitous drop. It struck me abruptly—that must be the very place from which Lord Grimswell had fallen to his death. I was standing well back, but it would take only seconds to run forward and hurtle off to my death. I felt cold, sick and very dizzy. I reached out and seized Michelle’s arm.
“Do not go any closer.”
She was smiling, but then saw the expression on my face. “Henry, are you ill?”
“I feel... dizzy.” In truth, black spots had begun to dance about before my eyes.
“Sit down,” she said sharply.
I did so, closing my eyes tightly. A surge of nausea made me gasp, then swallow hard, forcing down a foul burning substance. Michelle had knelt beside me, and I sagged against her, my hand grasping for hers. “It is... too high,” I muttered.
“We should not have brought him up here,” Michelle said. “I should have known.”
“What is it?” Rose asked, obviously worried.
“He suffers from vertigo, and he is probably exhausted as well.”
I took a deep breath and eased open my eyes. We were facing away from the precipice. “I only need a moment’s rest. It was... the surprise. The rise was so gradual, I didn’t realize how high we were climbing.”
Holmes also knelt beside me. The brim of his hat cast a shadow over his eyes. “I too should have known better. I’m sorry, Henry. The site is also an unpleasant one for Miss Grimswell.”
“But why?” Michelle asked. “It is so beautiful.”
“Because of what happened to her father.”
Michelle scowled. “Oh, I am an imbecile. Perhaps we should go back.”
Rose’s sigh was barely audible over the murmur of the wind. “I have not been here since his death, but it was time. This was perhaps his favorite spot in Dartmoor. We came here together many times. He would never want me to consider it out of bounds.”
Holmes sat down beside me on the uneven rock, setting his walking stick alongside us, then removed his hat and raised his face to the sun. “We could all do with a breather.”
Rose and Michelle also sat, so we were all in a row atop that granite, our legs before us where the rock sloped downward slightly. Michelle was to my right, still holding my arm, while Holmes and Rose were to my left. High above a large bird soared silently, probably a lone buzzard seeking prey. Grimswell Hall must have been behind us, but to the southwest and north were two companion tors, and across a long brown patch of moor was a wooded area.
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.
Eleven
When 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.”
The Grimswell Curse Page 20