'You mean Clara cut them off from her entirely?'
'Yes. I think she was determined to keep them completely under her thumb and didn't want anybody else to have influence over them. Wasn't that it, Lavinia?'
'I'm sure it was. She loves to control people. Even when the girls had reached their teens and we invited them here in the summer once or twice Clara made it virtually impossible for us not to include her - instead of just enjoying the break and going off for a holiday on her own.'
There was a pause, which Merryweather, who was still standing impassively by, was quick to utilise. 'Will there be a reply, my lord?'
'Oh. Yes, suppose so. Let me see. Say "Very sorry to hear sad news." No, that sounds as though somebody's cat has died, or something. "Deeply saddened by tragic occurrence." No, dammit, that's what you'd say about a shipwreck. Oh, you decide, Merryweather, you're so good with words.'
'Thank you, my lord. I will endeavour to compose a suitable missive.' Merryweather glided from the room.
As the door closed behind him, Lady Burford said: 'Really, George, you leave too much to Merryweather these days. Surely you can compose your own telegrams.'
'He enjoys doin' things like that, so why not let him?'
'An excellent excuse for mental laziness.'
Gerry said hurriedly: 'So I've met Agatha and Dorothy, have I?'
'When you were little,' the Countess said, 'but they were eight or ten years older than you, so you wouldn't have had a lot to do with them.'
'I seem to remember the stepmother. A bony sort of person. Long, pointed nose. Rather like a witch. But very gushing.'
Lord Burford chuckled. 'Yes, that's Clara, to a tee: a gushing witch.'
'You've got to hand it to her in a way, though, haven't you?' Gerry said. 'I mean, you marry a widower with two kiddies, and then he kicks the bucket and you're left to bring them up on your own. It's quite a responsibility.'
'They were very polite, well-behaved children,' said the Countess. 'I will at least say that for Clara. Though I believe it was achieved more by fear than kindness. I'm quite certain they were afraid of her.'
'Is that why you dislike her so? I mean, it can't be just the long nose and the gushing manner.'
'I did not say I dislike her.'
'Oh, Mummy, it's as clear as daylight.'
Lady Burford hesitated, before saying reluctantly: 'Well, there are certain things. Things she's done.'
'What things?'
'Things that I - we - people think, well, dishonourable.'
Gerry's eyes were round. 'Crikey, this is fascinating. Spill the beans.'
The Countess hesitated. Lord Burford drained his coffee cup. 'We might as well tell her, Lavinia. Fact is, Clara has a big circle of friends, or at least acquaintances. People she's cultivated. She can be very winning, when she remembers not to overdo it. She's a very good listener and she's got a highly sympathetic manner. She gets people to tell her things. Things they wouldn't want known. And then she uses the information for her own ends - financial ends.'
'You don't mean blackmail?' Gerry said incredulously.
'No, no, no. At least, I don't think so. No, she sells it to the papers: the gossip columnists and the gutter press. Must have made quite a useful additional income, over the years.'
'Oh, is that all?' Gerry sounded quite disappointed. 'Well, I think that's rather enterprising of her.'
Her mother looked aghast. 'I hope you don't mean that, Geraldine.'
'Well, if a person's going to be so stupid as talk about their affairs to anybody they don't know they can trust, they've got only themselves to blame if it gets out. Of course, if it's something she's actually been told in confidence, I agree that is not quite-quite. But you don't know she's done that, do you?'
'Well, one thing I do know she's done is bribe servants for information about their employers.'
'Really? Mm, that I agree is going too far.' She gave a start. 'Golly, you don't mean - surely she didn't try to bribe Merry, did she?'
The nickname was one only ever used by Gerry, and went back to when, as a very little girl, she had been unable to pronounce 'Merryweather.' During one stage she had driven everyone nearly to distraction by wandering round the house chanting 'Merry'n'Gerry, Merry'n'Gerry' over and over again.
'I don't think even Clara would have had the nerve to try that,' said the Earl dryly.
'Would be lovely to see his reaction, though. Did Florrie know about what Clara was doing?'
'I'm pretty sure she did, aren't you, Lavinia?'
'Yes. From Agatha, I imagine. She didn't refer to it precisely, but she did mention something about Clara's 'activities' in a very grim voice the last time we were there.'
'I suppose the girls will do pretty well from Florrie's will, won't they?'
'I doubt Florrie'll leave much,' said the Earl. 'Great Uncle Bertie was never very practical and I remember being told made some pretty unwise investments. Florrie's had to live quite modestly. I mean, she only kept about three servants. There's the house, of course. Good area, but it's not all that big and a bit dilapidated. I'm not sure, though, that Clara would be too happy if the girls came into a lot of money. She still likes to keep 'em under her thumb, Dorothy especially, who didn't used to be much more than Clara's dogsbody. 'Course, we haven't had anything to do with them for years.'
'I doubt if things have changed,' said the Countess.
'Well, no doubt we'll see them at the funeral and maybe get some idea then.'
* * *
Late that afternoon the Earl was going over some accounts in his study when the telephone rang. He lifted the receiver.
'Burford.'
'Ah, my lord, I'm so glad to have caught you,' said a deep and somewhat fruity voice. 'My name is Bradley, Charles Bradley. I am the late Mrs Florence Saunders' solicitor and executor.'
'Indeed? How d'you do? And what can I do for you, Mr Bradley?'
'Firstly, I want to inform you that I have been told by Miss Mackenzie, Mrs Saunders' companion, that shortly before her death my client expressed a wish to be buried in the family plot at Alderley parish church.'
'Really? That's surprisin'. Always thought of her as very much a townee. Never showed much interest in Alderley that I can recall. It's not as though her husband's buried here; he was cremated, I seem to remember.'
'Yes, indeed, and I suppose his not having a grave elsewhere made her feel that somehow she would be closer to him there. You have no objection, I trust?'
'Good gad, no. She has a perfect right to be buried here. And at least it'll save me and my family a trip to town.'
'Of course, though it will not be so convenient for the other mourners. However, I understand there are frequent trains to Alderley Halt.'
'Yes, and they stop here if requested. That's an old right we have, going back to the days when the first railway company got permission to run the line through our land. And the church is only a hundred yards or two from the station. D'you expect many to come?'
'Impossible to say at this stage, but I should imagine a fair number. Although most of her contemporaries have passed on, she was held in high esteem. I imagine, however, that they will be mostly personal friends and relations, and it may perhaps be possible, at some later date, to arrange a memorial service in London, which members of Society and representatives of the various organisations and charitable institutions that she and her late husband, and indeed your family generally, have been associated with, might attend in order to pay their respects.'
Managing, with some difficulty, to hack his way through the dense undergrowth of this sentence, Lord Burford nodded absently, then, remembering that Bradley could not see him, said hastily: 'Yes, yes indeed.'
'There is one other thing, my lord. I have to inform you that you, Lady Burford and Lady Geraldine are beneficiaries under Mrs Saunders' will.'
'Oh, that was kind of her.'
'Now I have a great favour to ask you. To the best of my knowledge, the other major benef
iciaries - nine in total - will be attending the funeral, and as it might present some difficulties for them all to be gathered at the same place at any other time, I am wondering if it would be convenient, after the funeral, for the reading of the will to be held, er—' Bradley hesitated.
The Earl came to his rescue. 'To be held here, you mean, at Alderley?'
'Precisely, my lord. I realise it is a great imposition.'
'Not at all. I see no problem.'
'That is a great relief to me, my lord. I do appreciate it.'
'Not at all. Glad to help. Nine other beneficiaries, you say? Possible to know who they are?'
'Of course. I have a list here, somewhere. Bear with me for a moment, if you please.' There was a few seconds' silence, punctuated by the sound of rustling paper, before Bradley came back. 'Here we are. Apart from yourselves, the principal beneficiaries, in alphabetical order, are Mr Gregory Carstairs, MP, Mr Thomas Lambert, Miss Jean Mackenzie, Miss Agatha Saunders, Mrs Clara Saunders, Miss Dorothy Saunders, Miss Penelope Saunders, Mr Timothy Saunders, KC, and Miss Stella Simmons.'
The Earl, well aware that his wife and daughter would be interested in this information, was scribbling furiously.
'I see. Well, thank you, Bradley. We'll look forward to seeing them and you on - oh, I suppose the date hasn't been fixed yet?'
'Unfortunately not, my lord. I will, if I may, telephone you again as soon as I have finalised the details with your rector and the undertakers.'
The Earl said good-bye, rang off and went to find the Countess.
* * *
'Of course, we are going to have to invite them all back here.'
'All of them, Lavinia? Not just the beneficiaries?'
'No, all the mourners — all who come to the funeral.'
'But d'you think that's really necessary? There might be dozens of 'em.'
'It can't be helped, George. Most of these people will be coming from London, I imagine, though perhaps some from even farther afield. There's no decent restaurant or hotel for miles. The village has Miss Clatworthy's tea shop, which seats about a dozen, and The Rose & Crown, which is just a small public house. And we can't expect people to travel all this distance and then afterwards just to traipse back to the station and catch the first up train, without some proper refreshment. After all, she was your relative, and many of them will be coming as a mark of respect to the family.'
'Yes, of course, my dear, you're quite right. It's the least we can do. I'd better get Hawkins to have a word with Jenkins at the village garage about laying on some transport. Some taxis from Westchester - or perhaps a charabanc.'
'This will not be a factory outing, George.'
'Maybe you're right: not very suitable. Taxis, then. How many, I wonder . . .'
Gerry was scanning the list of beneficiaries. 'I've never heard of most of these people. Who are they? I mean, what relations are they to Aunt Florrie - and to us?'
'Well, actually, I'm not quite sure myself, offhand. I'm familiar with some of the names, and I know Timothy and Gregory slightly. But I can't place Thomas or Penelope or Stella. I'll try and work it out - go back through some old papers and photo albums and Debrett.'
'Don't bother on my account,' Gerry said. 'It's not all that important.'
'No, no, I want to do it. We're all going to be sittin' round a table together, and it could be embarrassing if I don't know who they are. Now, what was I going to do?'
'Taxis,' said the Countess.
'Ah yes. I was just tryin' to work out how many . . .' And the Earl wandered out, counting on his fingers.
* * *
The following morning there was a telegram from Bradley informing them that the funeral had been fixed for twelve noon on the Wednesday of the following week. 'That's really very convenient,' said Lord Burford. 'The last train to town from the Halt goes at four twenty-five. So if the service takes an hour, they can all come back here and have a bite at a civilised hour, then wander round the house and grounds for a bit, while those of us who're involved can listen to the will being read. Then we can have tea and get 'em back to the station in plenty of time.'
However, in the afternoon, there was another phone call from Bradley. 'Disaster, my lord,' he began dramatically.
'My word, that sounds serious. What's the trouble?'
'I spoke to your rector and then to the undertakers first thing this morning, sent the announcement to The Times and then wired or telephoned the legatees. No sooner had I completed everything, when I received notification that a very important court case, in which I am deeply involved, has been called for the morning of the day of the funeral. There is no way of obtaining a postponement and I simply have to be there.'
'I see. That's bad luck. So it means you won't be able to make it to the funeral.'
'Unfortunately, no.'
'Or be here for the reading of the will.'
'Well, I do not anticipate this case going on well into the afternoon. It is important, but not unduly complicated. So I am virtually certain that I could be there by 5 p.m. Unfortunately, as you are aware, by then it would be too late for the legatees to get back to London that night. It is really most unfortunate.'
'Yes, it is.' The Earl hesitated. 'No offence at all, my dear fellow, we would be delighted to meet you, and all that, but is it strictly necessary for you to be here in person? Is there nobody you could send in your place?'
'I'm afraid not. It really has to be a lawyer, as there are always legal questions asked. But my partner, whom I could in theory ask to do it, will be on holiday next week. Then again, I am the executor of the will. There are numerous things which I can explain. People are frequently hurt or disappointed by the provisions of a will, and the executor can often smooth ruffled feathers, as it were, or explain and elaborate any conditions which might be attached to a bequest. It's really not satisfactory if the executor is not present.'
'Yes, I can see that. Well, I really don't know what to suggest.'
'Of course, and I hardly like to mention this, but if it were possible for the other beneficiaries to stay at Alderley overnight . . .' Bradley tailed away in a series of tentative little throat clearings.
Lord Burford did not reply for a moment. Eventually he said: 'Don't think that'll be possible, actually.'
'Oh. Then I'll just have to try and make other arrangements for some later date.'
They spoke for a few more seconds, then the Earl went to find the Countess.
* * *
'So naturally, Lavinia, I told him it wouldn't be possible. You agree, of course.'
'No, George, I do not. I think you should telephone Mr Bradley and tell him they are welcome to stay overnight.'
'But Lavinia, I don't want to have people staying here. After the last two house parties, we both agreed no more.'
'This wouldn't be a house party, George, it's nine guests for one night. By ten o'clock on Thursday morning they'll probably all be gone.'
'But the last two times we've had people here it's been disastrous.'
'This is quite different. These people are family, not spies and jewel thieves and blackmailers and film stars,' the Countess said, blithely grouping the four occupations in the same category. 'And when one occupies an historic house such as Alderley, where some of the most eminent men and women in the world have stayed, one cannot just shut its doors, because of a few unfortunate incidents.'
'I know you enjoy entertaining, Lavinia. And you do it jolly well.'
'I see it more as an obligation. And this will be a very good way of breaking the ice and getting back to normal again. After all, we do need to put an end to this stupid nonsense about a curse once and for all.'
'Yes, you're quite right, my dear, as usual. I'll telephone Bradley back and tell him we'll give 'em all a bed for the night.'
'I think perhaps you'd better make that nine beds, George, not just one.' It was unusual for the Countess to attempt a joke, however mild, and she looked quite pleased with herself.
'Oh, very good, Lavinia. Of course. Though it'll be ten, as I suppose Bradley himself will be staying as well. I'll go and put the call through now.'
'Ask Mr Bradley to tell them not to bring evening clothes. We will not dress for dinner that night. We do not want them all to have the bother of bringing large suitcases with them. This way most people should be able to manage with a small overnight bag. I'll have a word with Merryweather. I expect he'll be pleased. I'm sure he's missed all the organising.'
'Well, of course,' said Lord Burford, 'if I'd realised that I'd've arranged a house party months ago.'
He went out. Lady Burford considered. Ten people, most of whom she did not know. No couples, so ten bedrooms. Where would she put them? Ten very different people . . .
Chapter Eleven
The phone rang in Tommy's flat. He answered it in his usual way. 'What-ho.'
'Tommy, it's Penny.'
'Oh, hello, old girl. Nice to hear you. How's tricks?'
'OK. Tommy, did you hear about Great Aunt Florrie?'
'Yes. That's the one thing that's been helping me keep my pecker up.'
'Tommy!' The voice was reproachful.
'Oh, I don't mean her dying. I'm sorry she's gone, and all that, but, after all, she was about a hundred and fifty. It's just that apparently I'm remembered in her will.'
'Are you? So am I.'
'Really? You don't know what for, I suppose?'
'No.'
'Nor me. It's maddening. I mean, it might be only some old family heirloom, or something, but there's just a possibility it might be cash. Just a hundred smackers would be jolly useful.'
'Same here,' said Penny wistfully.
'Or even forty-seven,' he added unguardedly.
'Forty-seven? What a funny amount.'
'Oh, I meant fifty. Just saw forty-seven on - on a bus going past.'
3 The Affair of the Thirty-Nine Cufflinks Page 5
