The Grimswell Curse Read Free

lady difficult to persuade?”
    “Damned difficult! She kept saying she wasn’t sure she wanted to marry or that she was ready even if she wanted to, but I kept at it. Told her...” For the first time he hesitated. “Well, I told her I loved her, and by God it was the truth! I said I loved her and that she needed someone to look out for her now that she’s alone in the world. I know I’m not perfect, and I can be a silly ass at times, but all the same, I swear I’d care for her.”
    Holmes and I exchanged a glance. Digby had begun to grate upon me, but this declaration of love did seem genuine.
    “And you seem to have convinced Miss Grimswell of your sincerity. That was some six weeks ago. When did she first mention any doubts?”
    Digby sighed. “When her fool of an aunt Constance sent her this abominable balderdash about the family curse. Said if she were going to marry, she and her future husband should know about this dark episode in the family past. If she’d had any sense at all, she’d never have shown anything like that to a sensitive girl like Rose. Of course, it’s all complete and utter rubbish, but Rose is high-strung and—”
    “How long ago did her aunt send this information?”
    “Two weeks ago, and I can tell you it shook Rose. I told her it was all foolishness and meant absolutely nothing to me. By the time she left she was laughing at it too, and I thought we were past it, but then this morning I received a letter saying we must never see each other again, that she must never marry, and of course, I went to her at once. I confronted her shortly before I came to you, Mr. Holmes, and she behaved very strangely. Something had badly frightened her, and I’m most worried about her. I...”
    Holmes tapped lightly at the chair arm with his long fingers. “Pardon me, Lord Frederick, but I wish to proceed more methodically. Do you know exactly what her aunt wrote to her?”
    Digby nodded, then withdrew a rolled-up parchment from his coat. “I have brought the very document she sent Rose.”
    Holmes smiled. “Excellent, Lord Frederick—excellent! And how does it come to be in your possession?”
    “I took it from Rose when she showed it to me two weeks ago—with her permission, of course. I wanted to burn it, but she would not hear of it. I promised I would care for it, but I did not want to leave it with her. I knew she would re-read it and brood upon it in an unhealthy way. That is why I took it.”
    Holmes stood and eagerly extended a hand. “May I have a look? Thank you.” He sniffed twice at the paper, then unrolled it upon a small table. “Late seventeenth century. Care to have a look, Henry?”
    I stood, then put one hand on the table and leaned forward to read. The black-inked script had an archaic look, but I soon grew accustomed to it.
T HE G RIMSWELL C URSE
My children, you have no doubt heard rumors of the Grimswell Curse. Some of our kin have wished to deny this affliction and its origin, a black episode in our family history, but I have no doubt as to its truth. I have, therefore, resolved to set the story down, once and for all, that it may instruct our descendants as to the power of Evil once it gains entrance to a man’s soul.
    Before the reign of Elizabeth, over two hundred years ago, the Viscount Reginald Grimswell built the first Grimswell Hall. He was a very learned man, interested in all the arts and sciences, but despite his cleverness and wealth, he had a melancholy disposition. He was always prey to dark and desperate thoughts. Perhaps that is why he abandoned himself to drink and lechery. His wife, Lady Catherine, was wondrously beautiful and possessed a kind and pious disposition, but Lord Reginald preferred the company of harlots and drunken gamesters. The hall became notorious for its wanton debauchery, much to the dismay of its mistress.
    His lady bore Reginald four sons, then died of a wasting illness before her fortieth year. Rather than reflecting upon her