Rose’s big white hands closed about the ends of the chair arm. “Oh dear God—who was it? Which one?”
Holmes sighed. “I do not recall a name. Also...” He stared at the fire, his mouth tightening.
Rose swallowed, the motion rippling across her long white throat. “Also?”
Holmes took a draw on the pipe, then let out the smoke. “As you realized on Demon Tor, this same person was responsible for your father’s death.”
Rose’s lips parted. She too had gained some color under the Dartmoor sun, but now she went pale. “God help me,” she said softly. Her eyes began to tear up. “But why...?” Michelle leaned over and gave her hand a squeeze.
“For the same reason he wants you out of the way—your family fortune. With your father gone, you are the only remaining obstacle.”
Rose gave a savage laugh. “Can we not...? Oh, they can have the blasted money, if only they will leave me in peace!”
“That would never be possible, and even if it were, such creatures should not remain in human society. There is also the matter of the many crimes they have committed.”
Rose sighed. “Oh, I know that. I only...”
Holmes held the pipe in his left hand, but the long fingers of his right tapped restlessly on the dark woolen tweed over his knee. “We have reached a stalemate. Our adversary is leery of making another move in the hall because he knows I am fully on guard. If Miss Grimswell were to venture out on the moors alone, either during the day—or especially at night—her life would be forfeit at once. As I indicated, we might try to set a trap using her as bait, but the risk would be far too great. I could not live with myself, should this villain be taken at the cost of your life.” He stared at Rose as he said this.
Michelle’s forehead briefly crunched in thought. “Why not use me as bait?”
“What!” I exclaimed.
Holmes gazed at Michelle with a certain weary amazement.
“You could put me in a black-haired wig. I am nearly the same height and build as Rose. Did you not say she sleepwalks? I could wander out on the moor with my arms outstretched, my eyes half closed, but beneath my gown would be a revolver. I do know how to use one, and—”
“Michelle, this is madness!” I shook my head repeatedly. “Absolutely not! Have you gone completely insane?”
“You need not lose your temper at my even suggesting it, Henry— you need not take that tone of voice. It is a plan which should be considered.”
Holmes shook his head. “No.”
“And why not? You cannot simply—”
Rose grabbed Michelle’s arm and shook her head wildly. “No, never—do you think I could allow another—a—a friend to take such a terrible risk for me? No, Michelle. No.”
Holmes’s lips formed a brief, grim smile. “You are outvoted, Michelle. Such a plan would be far too dangerous, especially at night.”
Michelle kept her lips clamped tightly shut and inhaled through her nostrils.
“However, your courage is admirable, all the same.”
Rose stared at him, her eyes confused. “Have I been sleepwalking again?”
“Yes,” Holmes said.
“How odd. I have not done so since my first year away at school.”
Michelle bit at the tip of one finger as she frowned in thought, then she lowered her hand. “Perhaps if Rose and I went out alone together, we might draw this monster out. We could depart by ourselves during the day, and you men could follow. I would have a revolver.”
“Michelle, stop it!” I cried. “Please leave yourself out of these ridiculous schemes!”
“Don’t you shout at me!” she exclaimed.
“I’m sorry, but you did not see... you did not see...” My voice caught in my throat, my eyes filling with tears, and my face twisted in an odd, uncontrollable way. I was remembering again Mrs. Neal’s lifeless body in a heap, Holmes turning her over, all that ripped flesh and red blood... I staggered to my feet and turned away from them before I completely broke down.
I would have fled, but Michelle had grasped my wrist. “Oh, Henry. Please...”
“If anything were to happen to you...” I could barely get the words out.
“All right, I’m sorry. Come on now.” She drew my arm round and looked at me, then reached up and touched my face with her hand. I could not speak, but a laugh slipped out. “I did not mean to upset you.”
“It has been... such a terrible day.”
“Please sit down.” I let her guide me back to my chair. She sat as well.
Holmes shook his head. “We are getting nowhere. I am beginning to regret calling us together. Perhaps some time alone before the fire with a pipe would have been more productive. Henry was right, Michelle. I could no more accept using you as bait, than I could Miss Grimswell.”
Michelle’s jaw stiffened. She glanced at me, then at Holmes. “Yet if you could use yourself as bait and trap this monster, you would do so in an instant.”
Holmes smiled, genuinely amused. “Indeed I would.”
“Sherlock, you can be absolutely infuriating at times!”
“Michelle, will you acknowledge no difference in the treatment of the sexes? Women are not to be used as bait. Besides, you are married and a physician. You have a husband, friends and patients who would suffer greatly from your loss. I am a solitary sort, as you know. My absence would not be much missed.”
Michelle’s cheeks were still flushed. “That is more infuriating still. You are Sherlock Holmes! England could never bear your loss—you are a great force for good and a foe of evil. You are unique and irreplaceable, while I am—”
My head was throbbing. “Oh please, that is quite enough. Every human life has value, and no one is to be offered as bait. If it is any consolation to you, Michelle, I would not volunteer myself as bait—I am too cowardly. Now let us drop the damned subject.”
Holmes gave an emphatic nod. “Yes.”
Michelle sighed. “Very well. Perhaps I was...” She seized my arm again. “I am glad you do not want to be rid of me. I only wish...” She sank back into the chair and shook her head. “It is so hard to just sit by and let these monsters... I only wish I could do something!”
Rose’s eyes had gone back and forth, watching us all during our debate. Now she stared incredulously at Michelle, and it was difficult to know what she was feeling—puzzlement, awe, fear?
Holmes set down his pipe. “If we remain here, Miss Grimswell, you are in grave danger, but our adversary may possibly show himself in desperation and be apprehended. He may try something again in the house. If we return to London, I shall see you established safely, your whereabouts known only to us. Perhaps that might be best. Retreat does seem cowardly and goes against my nature, but... You have said little, but you will have the final say in the matter. Which would you prefer?”
Rose stared at the fire, her chin raised high. Her long white fingers clutched again at the ends of the chair arms. The huge pupils of her eyes turned to us from under her black thick eyebrows. A single strand of hair had come loose and fallen across her forehead.
“Let us stay one more day. Let us go back the day after tomorrow, Thursday.”
Holmes smiled. “A compromise of sorts. Very well, that is what we shall announce tomorrow.”
Michelle glanced at me, troubled. Rose smiled faintly, but I thought I saw the fear in her eyes and in the stiffness of her mouth. Michelle stood, yawned, then extended her hand to me. I took it and rose wearily. My legs still ached from the mad dash to the farm.
“Wait.” Rose raised one hand, palm up, her fingers curving slightly. “Before you go, I must... I must thank you all. You have all been so good to me. You have willingly entered into this dreadful business and tried to help me—and you have saved my life. I would be dead by now if not for you. And if all that were not enough...” She swallowed once. “You have... you have offered me something so very precious—your friendship.”
“Oh, my dear.” Michelle took her hand, drew her
up out of the chair and embraced her. “You are quite welcome.”
“Yes.” My voice shook.
Holmes did not speak, but when Rose looked at him, he gave a brusque nod. He picked up the pipe, noticed it was empty, and reached for the container of tobacco. His thoughts seemed to be elsewhere. “Tell no one anything except that we are leaving on Thursday morning. If anyone asks, the decision was mine. I shall handle Digby, Constance and the Fitzwilliamses.” A quicksilver smile pulled at his lips. “And do not pay attention to any nonsense I concoct for them.”
That night, despite my fatigue, I could not sleep. Michelle tried to stay awake and keep me company, but she was tired too and fell asleep around midnight. I went down the hallway and looked in Holmes’s room. Through the slight fog of smoke, I saw him seated before the fire, obviously lost in thought, the pipe stem clamped between his lips. I went back to our room and stared out of the wavery, ancient glass panes. The moon was nearly full, dazzling, and lit up the rolling expanse of the moors. As always, the wind moaned incessantly.
I realized our opponent might well be out there staring at the hall. I felt suddenly cold and went back to bed. Visions of George’s or Grace Neal’s corpse came to me again and again, and when I slept my dreams were so terrible that wakefulness was preferable. I sat up and tried to remain awake, but slumped over instead and sank into the mire of dreams. They were indistinct, but filled with dead-white faces, torn flesh and blood. Lurking nearby was the man in black. At one point I realized he was in the room with Michelle and me. My efforts to scream or run were futile, and he slowly advanced toward us. His jaw had an odd shape, his teeth long and sharp.
Michelle woke me at last, but the terror would not leave me. I clung to her, felt the familiar curves of her body and slipped one hand under her nightshirt and onto her bare thigh. “Poor darling.” Her hand closed about mine. I slept then, but when I woke shortly after eight, I felt almost wearier than the night before. Michelle, an inveterate early riser, was gone, but when I went down to the breakfast room, I found only Holmes there.
The day had begun gray and cold, a heavy mist enshrouding the dark trunks and leaves of the trees. The yellow wallpaper with its tiny flowers and the lace curtains were still cheerful, but the room seemed muted and despondent in the dim light. Holmes was drinking coffee from a blue and white china cup. His thin face was clean, his cheeks freshly shaven (I had not dared touch a razor yet), and his shirt and collar were dazzling white. He had dressed formally in a black frock coat and waistcoat. He gave me a brief, pained smile.
“Do I look so bad?” I asked.
“Yes.”
My laughter was feeble. “I shall not be sorry to leave Dartmoor.”
“I regret you had to visit Dartmoor under such unpleasant circumstances.”
I went to the sideboard and began raising silver lids. Something about the kippers, their color or smell, reminded me of dead flesh. Nausea rose in my throat, and I slammed down the lid. In the end only some scrambled eggs and a dry piece of toast were on my plate, but I hardly had an appetite for even so little. I ate silently while Holmes sipped his coffee and stared out at the misty woods.
“If we were to stay much longer,” he said at last, “we would risk being snowed in. Blizzards are not uncommon in late November, although likelier in December. The cold and the wind on the moors are hard to imagine. The temperature can fall well below freezing.”
I shuddered. “I can imagine it all too well.”
The door swung open and Constance approached us, her pink face under the lacy cap obscenely and impossibly cheerful. She was the last person I wanted to see.
“Good morning, Doctor Vernier, Mr. Holmes,” she boomed. “Is it true what I hear? That you are leaving tomorrow?”
Holmes sipped his coffee, then dabbed at his lips with the napkin. “Yes, I believe so.”
Constance shook her head, her smile gone. “No wonder, with all these terrible goings-on. I don’t mind telling you, Mr. Holmes, that I am frightened.”
“Justifiably so.”
“I am not by nature superstitious, but after all that has happened— especially to Victor—I... I do not truly think this man on the moor is him, but I am sure he cannot be... well, quite normal. Oh yes, I too am ready to leave.”
Holmes nodded. “Again, that is quite understandable.”
“Besides, Rose does need someone to look after her.”
My fork slipped from my hand and clattered on the plate, even as I grimaced. Constance turned to me, but by then I had recovered.
“If she is leaving, there is no reason for me to stay behind, and of course, a young lady must be chaperoned. She cannot live alone in London.”
It was because I had come to know and like Rose so well that I was so utterly dismayed. I managed to hold my tongue and glanced down at my plate to hide my face. The thought of that lovely young woman saddled in London with this suffocating old woman...
The door swung open again, and another person of a cheerful countenance entered. I had thought Constance was the last person I wanted to see, but here was serious competition. Lord Frederick had resurrected the green frock coat, although no carnation had been found for the lapel. He was actually whistling, some tune from Pinafore or Pirates of Penzance.
“Good morning, old chaps, madam.” Still whistling, he began lifting lids and piling food onto his plate.
Constance’s brown eyes focused on him, her glance sullen. “As I was just saying, Rose cannot be alone in London. She must have someone to look after her, and after all, she is the only family I have.”
Holmes gave a slight nod. “Your claim cannot be denied.”
Digby pulled out the chair next to me. “Thinkin’ of departin’ the old pile, are we? Back to the seat of the empire, jolly old London, Big Ben and Westminster? It’s about time. I still don’t believe in ghosts and spooks, but whatever is going on, there’s too many bodies lyin’ about. I’m ready to leave. Besides, all this fresh air and desolate landscape get tiresome. I’m ready for a good dinner at Simpson’s and a night at the club. One misses male companionship after a while.”
“We plan on leaving tomorrow morning,” Holmes said.
“Oh, excellent!” Digby’s smile was enthusiastic. He paused his fork midway between plate and mouth, a piece of kipper impaled with silver. His plate was loaded—bacon, sausages, fried tomatoes, beans, eggs and potatoes, stewed prunes and more—something of everything.
“And I, of course, shall go along to look after Rose.” Constance gave a nod of emphasis.
“Nonsense,” Digby said, even while chewing and swallowing.
“Nonsense? What do you mean?” Constance’s brow furrowed ominously.
“No need for that if she’s going to marry me, and I’ve nearly brought her round. You needn’t worry, Constance. I shall look after her.”
This was a fate worse than being chaperoned, and I could not restrain myself. “Rose has said nothing...” Holmes’s eyes narrowed, he gave his head an almost imperceptible shake, and I let my words trail away.
Constance sat up in her seat. “Lord Frederick, isn’t it about time you discussed your intentions with me? After all, I am her only living relation.”
Digby paused, fork poised before his mouth, then laughed. “Oh, really now, Constance—you’re hardly related at all. You’re not an auntie, just some very distant cousin. I’d think, too, that you’d be happy to see the girl married off to an upright scion of one of England’s oldest families. Pardon the blowing the old horn, but after all, they aren’t exactly knocking down the door to get in line, are they? Unless... Surely you wouldn’t want Hartwood in the family? Besides, it’s not really your business after all, is it, old dear?”
Constance seemed to swell before our eyes. “How dare you speak to me that way, young man? My family is as old and distinguished as yours—and my father was Lord Grimswell’s brother—just as you will be a marquess’s brother someday. Both situations are equally worthless. You have no title, no
lands, no money, nothing to offer Rose—you will only be taking from her, and I have always suspected... You only want her money, don’t you? You have never loved her.”
Digby kept smiling and eating, but his cheeks reddened. “Of course I love her.”
“It’s her money, isn’t it? Can you deny you want the money?”
“No, but I want Rose most of all. The money is like... frosting on the cake.”
Oh Lord, I thought, he is hopeless.
Constance had also grown quite red. She was so large and formidable a woman that she gave the impression she could easily devour the slight, thin Digby. “So you say, young man, but I have my doubts about you.”
“You are welcome to them, but they won’t matter to Rose.”
She set her big, swollen-looking hand on the linen tablecloth. “Rose did not have all these troubles before she met you. She did not hear dead men talking to her and see ghosts. It makes a body wonder.”
Digby slammed his hand onto the table. “Don’t be an utter idiot, Constance—you are talking nonsense, silly nonsense!”
“Am I? You said you wanted her money. What would you do to get it?”
“Nothing dishonorable—is that clear enough for you? No one likes an old meddler, especially when they are being particularly foolish. If I marry Rose—as I trust I shall—I shall not forget this conversation. Besides, I have my own suspicions about who the man on the moor is.”
Constance was scowling but looked puzzled. Holmes put his knuckles under his chin. “Do you now?”
Digby had picked up his fork and resumed eating. “Yes.”
“Pray tell us whom you suspect.”
“Who has a bad habit of stumbling upon corpses and then appearing here?”
I frowned, unable to think whom he meant, but Holmes smiled. “Ah. Doctor Hartwood.”
“Doctor Hartwood!” I exclaimed. “But he—”
Digby nodded. “First the dog, then George. And he was Lord Grimswell’s doctor. For all we know he gave him some medicine that killed him, made him so dizzy he fell off the tor. And now he’s after Rose.”
The Grimswell Curse Page 26