The Grimswell Curse (21 page)

Holmes shook the woman. “That is quite enough.” He turned her and steered her out into the kitchen. “Hysteria will not help matters.” He gazed at me. “Please get her some brandy, Henry.”

I was only too happy to leave the pantry. The entire house seemed to have joined us—Fitzwilliams, Digby, Rose, and, lurking in the kitchen doorway, Constance.

“What on earth is it?” asked Digby.

“A dead rat,” Holmes said. “There is no need for panic.”

“Ughh!” Constance exclaimed loudly. “I cannot bear a rat!”

“Then I suggest you return to the table, madam.” Holmes went back into the pantry.

I turned to Digby. “Could you fetch some brandy for the cook? I need to see to the poor girl on the floor there.”

Digby nodded, and Rose took the cook’s arm. “Come, Annie—you are safe now.”

The elderly cook bit at her lip and struggled to swallow. The volume of her screams had been truly astounding; already it seemed calmer with her quiet. “I hate them. How could it have got in there?”

I knelt beside the girl on the floor. Her eyes opened and fluttered briefly.

“Will she die?” sobbed her companion.

“Certainly not,” I said, “and if she hears you crying she will be frightened. Get me a wet cloth, please.”

“Come along with me, Janie.” George stood beside us, a tall figure in his black formal attire. “We’ll see to it, sir.”

I got the girl to a chair and managed to keep her calm. The brandy Digby returned with was a great help. Although I am squeamish myself about rats, I had determined to enter the pantry, but Holmes stepped out and resolutely closed the door.

His black brows came together in a crease over his hawk’s nose, his eyes puzzled, his mouth a thin, tight line. “The dead rat in the pantry will need to be disposed of, but no one is to touch anything for now.”

Fitzwilliams shook his head sadly. “I’ll have to put some traps out. We’ve had nary a rat in the past two or three months.”

“I think you should all return to the table,” George said. “You’ve your coffee, and Janie and I’ll round up some sweets. A shame to waste the cake, but no one will want it now.”

I shuddered slightly. “No.”

Back at the table we were all subdued. Constance wiped her brow with a large white hanky. “Merciful heavens,” she muttered, “merciful heavens.”

Digby grinned enthusiastically. “That’s more excitement than I’ve had in months!” Rose gave him an incredulous stare, her fingers trembling slightly as she drank her coffee. “Not that I don’t feel for the poor girls. No one likes a rat, dirty repulsive beasts that they are. They can carry plague, you know.”

“God save us all!” Constance exclaimed.

“I suggest you drop such a repugnant topic,” I said angrily.

Digby gave a brief laugh. “Sorry—it was a bit thick of me, wasn’t it? Well, nothing coffee, chocolates and a few brandies won’t fix.”

Rose had a peculiar expression on her face, and her broad white forehead was creased. “Do you feel well, Miss Grimswell?” I asked.

“What? Oh, yes, my coffee tastes a little... peculiar.”

Digby laughed. “How could you even tell, with all the cream and sugar you put in it? There’s very little coffee there.”

She smiled. “It is the only way I can abide the taste.”

Constance lowered her handkerchief. “I believe the cook said something about trying a new brand of coffee. It is very dear, something served only at the best tables.”

Rose shrugged. “Oh.” She took a big swallow and set down the empty cup. “Well, I can’t say I much care for it. My tastes must be more plebeian.”

“It’s certainly time for brandy, anyway,” Digby said. “Never could understand why you’d want to drink coffee at suppertime, Rosie.”

I stared at my cousin. He appeared grim and preoccupied, his eyes faintly uneasy. He soon rose and excused himself, saying he had further business to attend to in the kitchen.

The rest of us adjourned to a comfortable sitting room where Fitzwilliams offered us brandy or port. Constance took a large brandy, but Rose said she did not care for anything.

“Come now,” Digby said, “after all that hullabaloo, a little drop would do you good. Don’t you agree, doctor?”

Reluctantly I nodded, and Digby handed her a small glass of port. The brandy was quite extraordinary; Lord Grimswell had been very particular about his cognac.

The room was mostly silent for a few minutes, a melancholy time, the loudly ticking clock on the mantel dominant. It was quite warm, and I removed my jacket.

Digby gave a contented sigh and rose to pour another brandy. “Nothing like a dead rat to give a man a thirst.”

I stared at him in disbelief. Rose shook her head. “Oh, Rickie, how can you say such a silly thing?”

“Well, it’s true, ain’t it?”

Constance looked very stern. “I do not find dead rodents amusing in the least. What a fright it gave me.”

A white face with a halo of white hair appeared in the black square of the doorway, the eyes dark and angry. It hovered briefly, and then Mrs. Fitzwilliams slowly came through the doorway, supporting herself on her cane. The black dress had made her appear disembodied.

“Are you all right, child?”

Rose smiled. “Yes. Did you not hear? It was only a dead rat. It had nothing to do with me.”

The old woman scowled. “Don’t be stupid—it had everything to do with you.”

Rose’s smile vanished. “What do you mean?”

The old woman blinked. Her cataracts were worse now that it was dark; she could not quite see. “The dark one—the dark one is playing games with us.”

Rose sighed, raised her head and closed her eyes. “Oh, Lord,” she whispered. Perhaps it was the fire, but her cheeks seemed to have a rosy glow. “Oh, don’t, nanna—please don’t.”

Digby smiled ironically. “So you’re dragging Beelzebub into this business, are you? Surely the Devil has better things to do than leave dead rats lyin’ about? I can just see the old horned fellow with a big rat in each hand, danglin’ by the tail.”

The old woman’s smile was equally withering. “A buffoon can’t help you now, Rose. This one couldn’t protect you from even a mouse.”

Digby’s smile vanished. “I do find it wearisome that everyone seems to feel free to insult me. I—”

Rose let out a burst of air from her lips, gasped, then out came another rush of breath. I stood up, then realized she was only laughing. She tried to set down her glass, but knocked over the remnants of the port. She had only drunk a quarter of a small glass, hence her sudden amusement puzzled me. Just then I noticed Holmes standing in the doorway, another pale face hovering in the darkness.

“I say, Rose—what is it?” Digby asked.

She fought to control her breathing, her lips twitching. “I’m sorry. It only... What you said about the Devil... and rats...” That started her off again. The strain of the past few days must have been too much for her.

Mrs. Fitzwilliams shook her head angrily. “Laugh while you can, girl—laugh while you can.” She turned to leave even as Holmes stepped into the room.

Constance was frowning. “I just don’t see what is so amusing.”

Digby smiled. “It must be the notion of old Scratch, Lucifer himself, the Prince of Darkness, the Arch-fiend, traipsin’ about with a big rat in each hand.”

Rose shook her head, covering her mouth with her hand, but spluttering sounds escaped. “Stop it!” she managed to say, then laughed uncontrollably, her head falling back, then lolling to the side. Her cheeks were flushed, and I had never seen her so animated. I wondered if this were a form of hysteria, but she seemed genuinely amused.

“Keep the stupid joke to yourself.” Constance rose and angrily strode to the door.

“Oh, wait, auntie!” Rose struggled to appear serious, but failed even as Constance hesitated at the door. The older woman’s stern expression before she left started Digby laughing, and soon both he and Rose were at it.

Nothing is more annoying than to be surrounded by laughing hyenas when you feel tired, quite sober, and thoughtful. Thus I also stood up to leave. Holmes was staring at them, his eyes confused.

“Oh, don’t leave, Doctor Vernier.” Rose’s mouth was twisted, but the appeal in her eyes was clear enough.

“I, too, fail to see any humor in dead rats and the Devil.”

Digby roared, and after a brief struggle, Rose also laughed. I shrugged and went to the doorway. Holmes followed me into the great hall. Its cold, shadowy vastness was a stark contrast to the cozy sitting room. A few lamps cast their feeble rays in that cavernous chamber.

“How much did they have to drink?” Holmes asked.

“Digby was well into his second brandy, while Rose had only a few swallows before she spilled her port. She drank nothing with dinner. She certainly cannot be inebriated, even though it may appear that way. What were you doing in the kitchen?”

“Examining the rat and talking with the servants. I have discovered something rather disturbing. The rat was poisoned, most likely some time ago because the body was no longer stiff. The blood about its mouth, the lack of wounds, left little doubt as to the cause of death.”

“What is disturbing about a poisoned rat? That is often their fate.”

He took out his cigarette case, withdrew a cigarette and lighted it on a wavering candle flame. “They have had no rats in recent months, and no one in the household has set out any poisons or traps.”

I scratched at my chin. “Odd, but surely...”

Holmes exhaled a cloud of smoke and began to pace. “A dead rat hardly compares with a cake full of spiders, but I suspect a similar malevolent intent.”

I felt an icy sensation low in my belly. He was not speaking hypothetically, but referred to an actual event we had both witnessed, along with many other people. I had never seen so many spiders in my life, and I had been terrified. Michelle had needed to reason with me to bring me to my senses.

“There can be no similarity—surely not.”

“Ah, but I am certain there is. Someone placed the dead rat next to the cake knowing full well the cook would discover it. As yet, the reason eludes me.”

“Perhaps it was only a prank.”

“Blast it, Henry—do not speak nonsense!” I stared at him in disbelief, and his sudden fury vanished. “Forgive me, but we are dealing with a shrewd, calculating mind, not with mere pranks. Would you care to join me in my room? I am ready for a pipe of the viscount’s superior tobacco, and I wish to speak with you.”

“Gladly. Although...” I realized I was feeling cold because my jacket was back on the chair in the sitting room. “Let me just fetch my jacket.”

He nodded, then flicked the ash from his cigarette into a large potted plant. I turned and quickly walked back to the sitting room. Rose had her head against the back of the chair, and Digby was bent over her, one hand on her large bosom. It took me a second to realize they were kissing passionately. Her large white hand clutched at his arm, and I could see the raised tendons extending to each knuckle. I froze, unsure whether I could retreat before they noticed me.

It was too late. Rose pushed Digby away, gasped for air, then saw me. She seemed to have trouble focusing her eyes, but her dismay was evident. “Oh, Lord,” she whispered, turning away.

Digby still had hold of her arm. “Here now, my dear, you can’t just...” Something made him turn. When he saw me, he leaped back. “You might have knocked!”

“The door was open.” My voice was glacial.

“Well, even so...”

“I merely wanted to fetch my coat, and then I shall be going.” I picked it up.

Rose’s face was quite red. Her eyelids fluttered. She bit at her lip, then brushed a strand of black hair from her face. “Doctor Vernier...” It was almost a moan.

“Yes?”

“I...” She put her hand over her forehead. “Oh, I... I don’t feel well.” She stood up, stumbling slightly. Her eyes would not meet mine; they appeared wild and darker, the pupils enormous in the dim room. “I want to go... lie down.” She strode past me and out the door, almost running.

I stared at Digby. He laughed. “Come now, old boy, it was only a kiss after all. Did you never kiss your wife that way before your marriage?”

I drew in my breath. “So help me, if you... if you call me ‘old boy’ again, I shall knock your teeth down your throat.”

This amused him, but I could no longer bear his presence. I walked into the great hall. Holmes was waiting, a stern expression on his face. “What has happened?”

I glanced behind me, then walked across the room toward the fireplace. I tried to tell myself there was no reason to feel quite so indignant. After all, Digby was correct—I had kissed Michelle that way before our marriage. All the same, I had never been so gleeful or cavalier as that leering... “Bounder,” I muttered.

“Tell me what you saw.”

I stared down at a piece of smoldering coal. “Nothing.”

Holmes’s laughter had a grating, savage quality. “Male and female behavior is so predictable, especially that of the female.”

“That is not true!” My outrage surprised me.

“No?” He withdrew another cigarette. “Miss Grimswell swept by me and would not meet my gaze, her hair and dress in slight disarray. I gather she and Lord Frederick were engaged in some amorous activity. From your expression, I take it this was not the mere virginal touching of lips but something more extreme.”

I turned and raised my head stiffly. “I will not tolerate your cynicism—not now. What you say is true, but... After all, she is only a twenty-year-old girl, a very lonely twenty-year-old with normal feelings and desires, one who has had little kindness or attention from—the male of the species, as you might say. I am disappointed in her, but I shall not assign blame. Digby is experienced and insistent. Little wonder...”

Holmes’s cheeks had reddened, and he lowered his gaze. “Perhaps you are correct, but I had hoped for better from her. Perhaps neither of us is quite rational about Digby. I, too, find him quite distasteful.”

“I told him if he called me ‘old boy’ again I would knock his teeth down his throat.”

Holmes’s short, sharp laugh filled the hall. “Oh, bravo, Henry— bravo!”

I smiled. Holmes’s eyes swept past me, then rose. I turned. Across the hallway, up on the gallery floor, stood George. The shadow hid his formal coat, but his white shirt front and pale face were visible.