"I knew your grandfather," he said whimsically. Horace let out a hoarse meow as if in response. With a final caress, Holmes straightened. "Lady Annabelle, I hope all is well with you."
Annabelle nodded. "It is. But… but -"
"I know." Holmes nodded gravely. "I came only for that."
He crossed the room, moving with the grace Marianne had heard described. The Duchess sat upright in her chair, her eyes wide open, her hands resting on the arms of her chair. Her lips were curved in a faint smile.
Holmes passed his hand over her brow, closing her eyes. Then he knelt by her chair, crossed himself and bent his head.
Not until after the funeral was Marianne in a fit state to untangle the final riddles. There had been much to do, for Lady Annabelle had retired with her cats and refused to come out, and Lady Violet, though she tried to help, was too obsessed with the latest evidence of the Devenbrook curse to be very useful. To Marianne, with Carlton's full assent and cooperation, went the mournful task of dealing with the Duchess's personal possessions.
When she left the church with Carlton after the simple service, they turned in silent accord away from the ducal carriage and walked slowly along the road. It was a mild winter day; the sunlight was muted by mist; the air was still.
"I thought he would be here today," Marianne said, after a long silence.
"He returned to Rome yesterday. He had already said goodbye to her, you know."
"I am still bewildered," Marianne said. "That he should be alive after all…"
"Did you think he was a ghost when he made that theatrical appearance?" Carlton asked with a smile.
"No. No, strangely enough, I never thought that. He does not convey an aura of ghostly terror. But it was cruel of him to leave her to grieve all those years."
"The saints are often cruel," Carlton said quite seriously. "Having their minds on higher things, they care little for the transitory agonies of this life. But do the man justice, Marianne. He must have suffered greatly. And, with all respect to a good, kind woman…"
"I know. She would never have let him go."
"You don't blame her?"
"Oh, no! Nor can I truly grieve for her. She had what few people have – the attainment of her fondest wish." Marianne was silent, remembering that desperate and oddly prophetic prayer: "David's hand… guiding me over the threshold."
Then she said, with a sudden change of mood from melancholy to vindictive, "It is the doctor I cannot forgive. How could he? And how in heaven's name did you come to suspect the truth? That was what you meant, was it not – to accuse him, with your melodramatic groans about vengeance and murder?"
Carlton looked somewhat sheepish. "It was not a good performance," he admitted. "But I had to act fast, before Gruffstone could begin his playacting, and I counted on the atmosphere supplying any deficiencies in my talent. Yes, I suspected Gruffstone – not of murder, in the beginning, but of being responsible for the tricks at the seances. I should have seen it long before I did; for if you will think back over all that happened, Marianne, you will realize that he was the only one who could have engineered everything."
"Yes, I see it now. In London, when the thing began, there were only the four of us. For a time I suspected the Duchess of tricking herself."
"So did I. But during the last seance but one Gruffstone became overconfident. I was seated next to the Duchess and I knew she never left her chair. The doctor, on the other hand, made sure he sat at some distance from us."
"I had an advantage you did not," Marianne said slyly. "I knew I was innocent."
"You were certainly the most obvious suspect," Carlton said. Then, as if to keep her from asking the question that came next to mind, he hastened on with his explanation. "I could see how the doctor might have engineered the majority of the tricks; remember he actually boasted of having studied the devices those 'charlatans' used in their seances. Phosphorescent paint on gloves and other objects, a chemical that became visible only after heat was applied – the lamp under the 'mysterious' writing was one of the largest, if you recall, and he could count on your wishing to brighten that dismal room; even the bust of Holmes, which he took from its place as he was closing the draperies and flipped dexterously onto the table while I was staring suspiciously at you. That made his task all the easier, the fact that no one thought of watching him. But the biggest stumbling block was your astonishing trance state."
"I cannot recall that, even now."
"No wonder. You were mesmerized."
"What?" Marianne stared in disbelief.
"Or hypnotized, if you prefer that term; it was coined by Dr. Braid of Edinburgh, who experimented with the procedure in the early forties. You may thank Mr. MacGregor, who will be joining our establishment tomorrow, for giving me that vital clue. I was so desperate by that time that I tried to pump him about drugs or other substances that could cause a person to fall into a seeming trance. He mentioned Braid, and Charcot, and a lot of other fellows I had never heard of, and it was like a light in a dark room. I saw how it might have been done. I interrogated Gruffstone and, sure enough, he had studied in Edinburgh when Braid was there. The technique is considered questionable by most physicians, so he never used it openly, but I have no doubt that many of his patients benefited by his experiments along those lines."
"I was very stupid," Marianne said. "But he seemed so kind, so strong -"
"That is why he was such a successful hypnotist. Especially," Carlton added, with a sidelong glance, "with a young, orphaned, impressionable, frightened -"
"Ninny."
"Not really," Carlton said tolerantly.
"You had a great deal on your mind. I don't believe I have ever met a young woman who has crowded so many adventures into such a short period of time."
"But why did he do it?" Marianne asked. "He was the last person I would have suspected of wanting to harm her."
"He didn't want to. He knew she was mortally ill and doomed to die soon, so… Really, his motives are too complicated for a simple person like myself to understand. Hatred and jealousy of Holmes were part of it. After all his years of devotion, to see himself supplanted in her affections by an upstart like that…
"The night Holmes disappeared he was half mad with jealousy. Remember, Holmes's supposed psychic talents had been quiescent for a year and they were due to return soon. Gruffstone saw him gaining more and more of the lady's confidence; she had already spoken of making him her heir. The doctor did not know that Holmes was fighting a profound mental and emotional battle of his own. He believed in his powers and felt they were for good; but his church condemned him for using them. He was in an impossible dilemma.
"Gruffstone had no idea of this. He followed Holmes that night and demanded that he end his relationship with the Duchess. Holmes refused, saying he must follow his own conscience. In a fit of fury Gruffstone struck him and pushed him into the stream. He survived by a miracle – he uses that word quite literally, I assure you – and found, when he dragged himself from the water, that his path lay clear before him. He entered the priesthood and has served ever since.
"I did not begin to suspect Gruffstone of murder until quite late in the proceedings, when I was desperately seeking a means of forcing him to confess his antics in the seance room. The idea was so dreadful I could scarcely believe it; yet if the rest of my theory was correct, Gruffstone had every reason to wish Holmes dead. You see, his basic motive was the common shabby one of greed. You were there when I read the will."