We left the following Monday morning. The ride to the village revealed a different Dartmoor than I remembered. Gone was the dark, somber moor; the snowy plain was vast and white, only a few black or brown leaves or shoots showing, and the streams had frozen solid, blue ice gripping the lichen-stained boulders. The wind on our faces was glacial. The sun came out, blinding on the snow. Overhead buzzards still soared, and once we saw a fox break into a trot and hide behind a slab of granite.
In Grimpen we waited silently for the train, pacing about to keep warm. Rose looked grave. Even Digby appeared uncharacteristically thoughtful. We three men all wore heavy black overcoats and gloves. Holmes had on his silk top hat, a sign he was ready to return to proper London society. Rose also wore black, but Michelle had on her mauve coat with the sable collar and cuffs.
We heard the train before we saw it, the plume of smoke appearing in the distance, and soon the locomotive pulled into the station, the ancient engine clanging and banging. The porter stepped down, and Holmes and I handed him our suitcases.
Michelle smiled at Rose. “It is time to say goodbye, but we shall see you soon.”
Rose managed a smile. Her face looked pale in the bright sunlight, the blue in her eyes overpowering the gray. Her black hair was bound up and hidden under a hat. She seemed ready to cry. She sighed, white vapor appearing before her mouth. “I do want to stay here by myself for a while, but even so... We have been through so much together. I shall miss you all very much.”
Michelle kissed her on the cheek. “You will always be welcome in our home. Remember that. I expect you quite soon—no more than a month.”
“Thank you, Michelle—for everything.”
I set my hand on Rose’s shoulder, then embraced her. “We truly have been through a great deal together, Rose.”
“Oh, Henry—we have.” She stared at me, her eyes hesitant, then her mouth stiffened, and she leaned forward to kiss me, a little awkwardly, her lips only half touching mine. She drew back and stared at me. “You are the kindest man I have ever known.” She swallowed once, let go of me and stepped back. She turned to Michelle. “You are a very fortunate woman.”
Michelle smiled at her, then her eyes shifted to mine. “I know.”
Digby’s smile was weary. “Goodbye, Rosie.”
“Goodbye, Rickie.” She kissed him on the cheek, the kind of kiss a sister would bestow upon her brother.
Holmes drew in his breath, turned and looked at Rose. She extended her hand, the big white fingers hidden in the black leather of her glove. Holmes took her hand with both of his. “Goodbye,” he said. They stared at one another.
“Thank you again. For... for giving me back my life.”
The corner of Holmes’s mouth moved upward briefly. “I am certain you will do something remarkable with it.” He let one of his hands fall, but she kept hold of the other and looked at him with her large, serious eyes under the thick black eyebrows.
“Wait!” someone cried.
There, the picturesque village of Grimpen with its stone buildings and church spire behind him, was Doctor Hartwood, his right hand raised high, his face flushed, and something under his left arm—a dog, a puppy—the mastiff which he had brought to the hall. The dog began to squirm, and Hartwood had to hold him with both hands.
“I had to say goodbye, but I was delayed by a patient. Glad to catch you in time.” Hartwood’s face was all red, and his mustache had ice on it. He wore an oiled canvas jacket and tall leather boots. He shook our hands, his grip crushingly strong, the puppy pinned to his chest and staring up at us. “How is the arm?” Michelle asked.
“Nearly healed. My surgery professor at Edinburgh was no better at stitching. I must admit... most male doctors could not do half so well.”
Michelle beamed, delighted with the compliment.
“Miss Grimswell, I hope you bear mastiffs no grudge.” His smile was suddenly wary. “That beast on the moor was no relation to this wee fellow, and...”
Rose smiled. “Of course not.” She took the dog with both hands and held him up. “He’s as beautiful as ever.” The puppy wiggled its paws, its head lolling as it tried to lick her face. She laughed.
“You’ll take him, then?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“He’ll make a good guard dog.”
“I don’t think I shall need a guard dog, but I would like a pet.”
Michelle stroked the puppy. “When he is fully grown, you can put him on a leash and walk through Hyde Park. I shall help you select the right dress—definitely not black. You will need to fight off the men with a stick.”
Rose smiled while Hartwood looked dismayed. “I shall not need a stick—the mastiff will do,” she said.
Hartwood and Digby had shaken hands without a word. We stepped aboard the train. Rose was still smiling at us, the puppy in her arms, but her eyes had an odd sheen. They glistened and shined in the brilliant sunlight as she stared at Holmes and me. I could see that she did not trust herself to speak.
Soon we were seated in our first-class compartment, the barren, snowy moor rushing past us, even the distant tor all covered with white. Digby shook his head. “So Hartwood triumphs with a mutt while noble Digby, vanquished utterly, departs in ignominious defeat. Ah, well...” He sighed, then smiled a tight, deprecatory smile. “I suppose it is fitting, although...”
“Although...?” I asked.
“Well, Rosie and I had a chat, and we are to be just friends. That was how she put it—she wants to be my friend. Nothing is more infuriating, I tell you, no fate sorrier, than to be reduced to a mere friend. For God’s sake—what young red-blooded man wishes to be friends with a woman?” He said this with such comical loathing that both Michelle and I laughed, and even Holmes smiled.
“Can’t blame her, though. I behaved like... Curious how I could have missed what she was worth until it was too late. I suppose I saw her as the ugly duckling for so long, that I didn’t notice when she finally became a swan. I say, that’s rather clever, isn’t it? Oh well, you all saw it at once, while I... No character, I suppose. I think I’ve learned a lesson or two. Maybe I can still reform, turn over a new leaf, rise from the ashes, that sort of thing.” He looked at Michelle. “Tell me, Doctor Doudet Vernier, you do not find me totally repelling, do you? Perhaps you could give me a candid, impartial opinion.”
Michelle smiled wickedly. “Not totally.”
Digby shook his head. “I asked for that.”
“If it is any consolation to you,” Michelle said, “I did tell her that I thought she should marry no one for a few more years. I know many do not share my opinion, but twenty is much too young to be married. I told her to write, play the piano and toy with the affections of many eligible, handsome young men. Besides, it is always good to make a man sweat a bit before yielding.”
She was smiling at me. “Oh, so that explains it,” I said.
“Perhaps all is not lost.” Digby nodded. “Yes, hope springs eternal in the breast and all that rot. Still, the dog worries me. Every time she looks at the slobbering canine, there’s another reminder of old Hartwood. No, I am bested. She will marry him, bear a dozen enormous children, male and female, six of each, with hands and shoulders worthy of the village smithy.”
Michelle’s eyes grew stern. “What is wrong with large hands and shoulders?”
Digby grinned. “Why, nothing at all. I find ’em charmin’ in a woman, quite irresistible.”
Michelle laughed. “No, you are not totally repellant after all.”
Holmes took out a pipe and began to pack it with tobacco. His eyes stared out the window at the snowy moor.
“I say,” Digby said, “that’s a beauty of a pipe—isn’t it from the hall?”
Holmes glanced down. “Yes. It was a gift from Rose.”
Digby looked mournful. “Well, you have more to show than... I hope she paid you a goodly sum as well. I’m afraid I haven’t a penny, but she can afford to be generous.”
Holmes on
ly shrugged.
“She did pay you, didn’t she?”
Holmes sighed, then gave Digby a withering glance. “She did offer to pay me an extravagant sum of money, but I declined.”
Digby was truly amazed. “You did? Why?”
“Because I did not feel I could take her money.”
Digby stroked the end of his reddish-brown mustache. “Imagine that? But I still don’t understand...”
“I do not take money from friends, and she did reward me. She rewarded me...” His eyes came back into focus, and he smiled at Digby. “She rewarded me with a pipe.”
Digby gave Michelle and me a quick glance. “Uh, quite so.”
Digby was quiet after that, and while Michelle leaned against me, the compartment filled with the odor of a very expensive tobacco, one which would be forever linked in my mind with the bleak landscape of Dartmoor, a lurking sense of dread, and a beautiful young woman in a white gown standing in the shadowy darkness of Grimswell Hall.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The websites on the Regency period or the peerage set up by Laura Wallace, Allison Lane and C. Allyn Pierson were very helpful to me in resolving issues with peers, titles, proper forms of address, marriage, inheritance—and especially the entail! Buried in Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice are also many useful facts about the entail. Ms. Pierson was also kind enough to engage in a lengthy e-mail exchange on the entail. As usual, these women must get credit for what is right in the novel, while any errors must go to the author.
The Grimswell Curse Page 31
