The Grimswell Curse

by Sam Siciliano

  Her eyes opened wide, white showing about the blue-gray irises. “Oh, no—not at all. I do so dread visiting physicians, but your wife is not like them at all.” She abruptly seemed to realize my profession. “Not that all doctors are that way, but it is only that...” Her face grew redder still.

  Michelle laughed. “I know what you are saying, my dear. If most of our male colleagues had to be poked and prodded by female doctors, they might be more understanding and more willing to open up the profession. However, I mustn’t get up on my soap box.” She looked at me. “Miss Grimswell is in good health. Her heart sounds vigorous; her lungs are absolutely clear; her ears, nose and throat show no signs of infection. However, I fear she suffers from a common malady of young ladies.”

  Miss Grimswell looked alarmed. “But you said—”

  “The malady is ennui.”

  “Ah,” Holmes exclaimed.

  “It is a bad companion for sadness and grieving. As I said, a vigorous walk in the park every day would do you good. You must also keep your mind occupied.” She set her hand on the girl’s wrist. Michelle’s big hand appeared almost white against the black silk of the dress sleeve. Her hand was large, but Miss Grimswell’s larger still, the fingers much longer, so that their length rather than the thickness was striking. “You will not forget your father, even if you are busy. You will remember him all the time, but it is not good to have nothing to think about, nothing to do.” Michelle’s eyes grew sad, and I knew she was thinking of her own father, who had died a few years ago.

  Miss Grimswell gave her an anguished glance. “It is not ennui... not now. Nor sadness exactly. Oh, how I wish...” Her mouth stiffened, and abruptly it became obvious that she was afraid.

  Michelle frowned, her hand tightening. “Will you not tell me what troubles you? It is true we hardly know you, but we would like to help you.”

  Miss Grimswell’s lips parted, but she would not look away from the fire. “No one can help me. No one. Not now.”

  Michelle frowned again. “That cannot be true. I hope it does not have to do with that foolish curse Henry told me about. It is not... madness or...?”

  Miss Grimswell drew in her breath and raised her large blue-gray eyes. Her jaw dropped, her mouth twisted. I think if Michelle had not had hold of her, she might truly have fled. Instead she swallowed and stared again at the fire.

  “Tainted blood and hereditary doom are overrated, my dear. Much of their power comes about only because we give it them. Families change with each generation. The Grimswells are not the same family they were four hundred years ago. You yourself are only half a Grimswell. Your mother had her own ancestors, and we are all of us new and different. We are all greater than the sum of our inheritance. Besides, I can see that you are quite sane.”

  Miss Grimswell stared at her warily. “How can you be so sure?”

  Michelle laughed. “Because I have seen the real thing. Madness is not so splendid as in literature and drama. Few resemble Lear in the storm. And people are not such frail creatures in the end. They are not easily driven mad.”

  “No?”

  “No. They do not suddenly hear voices or see imaginary creatures, not unless there is an organic disorder like a brain tumor. You are far too young to have such a disorder, and it is accompanied by other obvious physical symptoms. No, other than in plays, novels and operas, people do not suddenly go mad.”

  Miss Grimswell stared intently at Michelle, her face still very pale. “You say that, but the alternative is hardly...” She glanced at me and Holmes, suddenly becoming aware of our presence. Her smile was forced and hollow. “I shall be fine, doctor. I only... It is late and I must be going.”

  “First you must at least drink your tea.”

  “Oh. Yes.” She took a sip, glad to have something to do. “It is very good,” she said to me. “All the same, I must leave soon.”

  Holmes had been silent, but I knew he had been watching closely, taking in their every word, every gesture. He leaned forward. “Before you go, might I ask you a few questions, Miss Grimswell? I shall try not to detain you too long.”

  A certain awe showed in her eyes. It won out over her desire to flee. “Very well, Mr. Holmes.”

  “First, you must know that your well-being is my main concern. Lord Frederick’s interests are...” He smiled ironically and flicked his right hand. “They are not necessarily my interests.”

  An unexpected smile briefly appeared, transforming her long, sorrowful face. “I understand.”

  “Good. Let us begin with a subject which may yet be painful. I would like to ask about the circumstances of your father’s death, Miss Grimswell, but if you would prefer, we could defer this to another time.”

  Miss Grimswell drew in her breath slowly. She did have remarkable lung capacity. “No. What do you wish to know?”

  “Were you at Grimswell Hall when the accident happened?”

  “No, I was with Susan at Lady Rupert’s.”

  “It must have been a dreadful shock.”

  Her mouth formed a wistful smile. “Yes. I suppose.”

  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 sin
ce 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.”