3 The Affair of the Thirty-Nine Cufflinks

by James Anderson

  'I suppose with her living in Walton-on-Thames, and not getting out very often in recent years, and you living in — north London, is it?'

  'Yes, Hampstead.'

  'Then it can't have been easy. I'm sure Florrie understood. She was terribly fond of you and Agatha, you know. I last saw her about three weeks ago and she was talking about you all the time.'

  This was a considerable exaggeration but, Gerry thought, a justifiable one under the circumstances.

  Dorothy cast a somewhat furtive glance towards her stepmother, who was still being kept under tight rein by the Countess. Unnecessarily, in view of the babble in the room, she lowered her voice. 'Aggie saw her more than I did.'

  'Did she?' Gerry was fascinated - not by the less- than-enthralling information that one sister had seen her grandmother more than the other, but by the fact that this had obviously to be kept from Clara.

  'Yes, she used to go and see her every month or so. Usually on her motor bike.'

  'Aggie has a motor bike? What make?'

  'A Norton, 500 cc.'

  'Gosh, I do envy her. I've always wanted a motor bike. I begged Mummy and Daddy for one years ago, but even Daddy put his foot down about that. I could get one now, of course, but I wouldn't want to worry them.'

  'Aggie took me for a ride on the pillion of hers once. It was really exciting. Mother had gone to the dentist,' she added by way of explanation.

  Gerry felt a surge of anger, but suppressed it. 'I'd like to meet Aggie,' she said. 'Sounds as though we might get on.'

  'Oh, it would be lovely if we could all get together sometime!' But then she glanced again at Clara and added wistfully: 'Though I don't suppose it will be possible.'

  'I don't see why not. Let's have a chat about it later and see if we can arrange something.'

  'Oh, can we really?'

  'What?'

  'Have a chat tonight.'

  'Certainly.'

  'It'll have to be after Mother's gone to bed. She always retires early. I'll have to go up with her, but I'll sneak back down. If - if it won't be keeping you up.'

  Gerry grinned. 'Far from it. I am definitely not one who always retires early.'

  'No, that's what I thought - from what I've read.' Dorothy was by the moment becoming more animated and talking more easily. 'It's such a thrill for me to meet you, La— er, Gerry. I've wanted to for years. I've been such an admirer of yours. And even more since those murders, which you helped to solve.'

  Gerry endeavoured to look modest. 'Oh, I didn't do much, really,' she said, not thinking it necessary to mention the fact that until the very end she had been as baffled as everybody else.

  'But you were nearly killed!'

  Gerry raised her chin and squared her shoulders. 'You have to be prepared for that sort of risk if you decide to get involved in murder investigations,' she said nobly.

  'And your fiancé - though he wasn't your fiancé then - saved your life.'

  Gerry's eyes went dreamy. 'Yes, he was incredible.'

  'Perhaps you'd tell me all about it tonight, would you? There was so much that wasn't in the papers that I wanted to know.'

  'Yes, of course.'

  'Oh, I'll really look forward to it.'

  Gerry said: 'And now I really must mingle for a bit. Have you had any lunch, yet?'

  'No.'

  'Well, go and get something now. You really look as though—' She broke off, about to say, eyeing Dorothy's figure, 'as though you need it.' But she amended it to: 'I'm sure you're hungry.'

  She took Dorothy by the arm and led her across to the buffet. 'Now help yourself, and I'll see you later.'

  She moved away to talk to somebody else. For once she really felt she'd made a hit. It was nice to have a fan.

  * * *

  Stella saw that Gregory, who was standing alone, moodily munching a sausage roll, was eyeing her. She strolled over to him. He brightened visibly as she approached. 'Hello, Gregory,' she said warmly. 'How nice to see you again.'

  'Er, very nice to see you, too.'

  'You haven't a clue who I am, have you?'

  'I'm afraid not. But I'd very much like to.' He eyed her appreciatively from head to foot.

  'I'm Stella.'

  'Really. That's a lovely name.'

  It was as if he were talking to a small girl, she thought. 'Which doesn't mean any more to you, I know. Stella Simmons, Henrietta's daughter.'

  'Ah, of course! You're the girl who went to America.'

  'And has come back again.'

  'How splendid. I'm sure America's loss is England's gain.'

  'Probably the other way round.'

  'I'm certain that's not true. In fact, I was wondering at the service who the exceptionally attractive and smart young woman was.'

  'And who was she?' Stella asked innocently.

  'Why—' He broke off, with a chuckle. 'I didn't realise that she was my - what, second cousin?'

  'I believe so.'

  'Is that what the Americans call kissing cousins?'

  'That depends on the cousins.'

  'Well, it's delightful to meet you at last.'

  'We did meet many years ago. At a wedding or a funeral, I can't quite remember which; I used to enjoy them both equally. I was only in my teens, then, and you'd just won your first election. I was thrilled to meet a famous Member of Parliament.'

  'What a charming thing to say. But surely a teenage girl couldn't have really been excited to meet a boring politician? Not a patch on a crooner or film star, eh?'

  'Oh, better for me. I've always been fascinated by politics.'

  'Really? How very refreshing.' Gregory was becoming more and more interested and edging ever so gradually towards her.

  'Of course, I'm rather out of touch with the British political scene.'

  'You must be. So, whereabouts in America were you?'

  'New York, for the past ten to eleven years.'

  'Indeed? That must have been very interesting. And doing what, precisely?'

  'Oh, I couldn't possibly tell you precisely what I've been doing. But I earned a fairly honest crust as a journalist.'

  'And now?'

  'Still a hack.'

  'Oh.' An expression of wariness suddenly appeared in his eyes.

  'On a fashion magazine,' Stella added quickly. 'I'm with London Fashion Weekly now.'

  'I see.' He relaxed again. 'Not a subject I know a lot about. Know what I like to look at, mind. Pity hem lines are so low at the moment, I must say.'

  Stella smiled. 'I'm sure a lot of men agree with you.'

  'Then why don't you use your influence to get 'em raised a few inches, eh?'

  'Oh, I've got no influence at all, Gregory. I just report. And I may not be doing that much longer.'

  'And why would that be?'

  'I'm hoping to spread my wings a bit.'

  'I'd love to help you spread your wings, my dear.' The hand not holding the sausage roll started to stray in the direction of her waist. Then he obviously thought better of it and let his arm drop to his side again.

  'And I'm sure you've had lots of experience at doing that.'

  'I wouldn't put it quite that way.'

  'Well, my aim is to move into another branch of journalism. Politics, say. I want to meet the people who really matter.'

  'Indeed? Not many women political journalists around. In fact, I don't think there are any.'

  'There has to be a first, doesn't there?'

  'Now that's an attitude I like. You know, Stella, I think you and I are going to get on.'

  'You know, Gregory, I was just thinking the very same thing.'

  'So, if there's any way at all I can help you . . .'

  'That's so kind of you. I would really be very grateful.' She looked at him from under half-closed lids. 'And I might well take you up on that offer. Perhaps we could get together sometime and have a proper chat.'

  'I'd like nothing better.'

  'I'll really look forward to it.'

  She sensed it wou
ld be wise not to push her luck any further. 'I must talk to some other people now. And I'm sure there are dozens who want to speak to you. I'm so glad to have gotten to know you properly.'

  'Likewise, likewise.'

  She touched his hand briefly and moved away. Would he be any use at all? She had met many types like him in New York. Probably all talk and no action. Still, you never knew. It was another contact, anyway. And in one respect she strongly hoped he would be all talk and no action.

  One down. Later, Timothy . . .

  * * *

  Gradually the dining-room emptied. Lady Burford had let everyone know that they were free to explore Alderley's public rooms and most did so, a few preferring to stroll in the gardens, now at their best. Gerry showed some people the secret passage, which had been much featured in the papers at the time of the two murder cases. It was like one of the old open days, which they had not held this year. After his previous misgivings, Lord Burford was now clearly enjoying being the genial host and the Countess congratulated herself on her idea. A number of ghosts should have been laid today.

  She was not, though, entirely happy at having had a funeral turned into what had become quite a festive occasion, and said as much to Miss Mackenzie.

  'Oh, Lady Burford, please don't think that. I assure you, this is just what she would have wanted.'

  'Really?'

  'Yes indeed. Shortly before she died she said to me that she didn't want any long faces at her funeral. "Let people enjoy themselves." Those were her very words.'

  'Thank you, Miss Mackenzie. That certainly makes me feel better. And I think most people are.'

  'I venture to say I believe Florrie is, too.'

  'We must hope you're right. In a way, it is pleasant to be commemorating a peaceful, contented death, after all those terrible violent ones.'

  Jean Mackenzie cleared her throat nervously. 'Forgive my asking, but have you, or anybody else, witnessed any kind of phenomena since they occurred?'

  'I'm sorry?

  'Well, those who die violently, particularly those who have been murdered, frequently do not rest easily. Quite often they, er, walk, as the saying is.'

  'You mean ghosts? Thankfully, no, nothing of that kind.'

  'Oh.'

  She seemed, the Countess thought, rather disappointed.

  Chapter Fifteen

  At three forty-five tea was served and shortly afterwards the taxis began taking those who were returning to town back to the station. By ten past four the last of them had departed, leaving just the eight beneficiaries remaining. With the reading of the will now imminent, these were all feeling various degrees of nervousness or expectation. Clara, Dorothy, Gregory, Timothy and Miss Mackenzie retired to their rooms; Penny, who had absolutely no interest in art, made Tommy, who had just as little, take her to look at the paintings in the gallery; and Gerry had a long chat with Stella, with whom she had struck up an immediate rapport. Later, they were joined by Tommy and Penny; the latter, seeming to have quite got over her initial distrust of Stella, questioned her eagerly about both life in New York and her opinions of the latest fashion trends.

  At four forty Hawkins departed for the station to meet Mr Bradley. The train was on time, and it was shortly before five that Merryweather showed the solicitor into the drawing-room, where the Earl and Countess were waiting.

  He did not look at all as the Earl had expected, being a shortish man, nearly bald, with thick horn-rimmed glasses, and given to quick, rather bird-like movements. Lady Burford offered him tea, but he refused. 'Perhaps after the reading, if you would be so kind.'

  'You'd like to start straight away?' the Earl asked.

  'Whatever is convenient to you, my lord, but there seems little point in delaying. I expect the legatees will be anxious to hear their fates. And as it will be a somewhat unusual occasion in several respects, I admit I am anxious to get it over with.'

  'Hm, that sounds interesting. Very well. I thought we'd go to the library. There's a table there we can sit around. If we did it in here, people would be scattered all over the room. You'd practically have to shout.'

  'Splendid.'

  Lord Burford rang the bell and when Merryweather answered, told him to ask the others to join them in the library. The Earl, the Countess and Bradley made their way there themselves. Lord Burford sat Bradley at the head of the table, and the solicitor opened his briefcase and extracted a sheaf of papers. Gerry and Stella were the first to arrive, followed quickly by Clara and Dorothy, Jean Mackenzie, Gregory, Timothy and finally Tommy and Penny. When they were all seated, Bradley looked round the ring of expectant faces and cleared his throat nervously. He seemed a little unhappy. 'Before I read the will, there is something quite unusual that must be done. My client made a specific request that the proceedings be opened in a particular manner - a highly, er, unconventional manner, but one she was very insistent upon. I had better read the actual words of her request.' He glanced down at the papers in front of him. ' "I fear that there will have been much gloom and misery at my funeral and that at this moment everyone present is looking especially sombre. I wish to dispel that mood. So I request that before my will is read, everybody joins in singing She'll Be Coming Round The Mountain. I ask this because I have a firm hope that I may be doing that very thing - the mountain in question being Zion - just about then." '

  Mr Bradley looked up at faces wearing expressions ranging from the blank to the aghast - and one face which bore a look of sheer delight.

  'How absolutely topping!' Gerry exclaimed. 'Good for Aunt Florrie! That's what I want at my funeral. I shall put it in my will, too. In a few generations it'll become a family tradition.'

  'I'm delighted you approve, Lady Geraldine. I don't know if anyone here feels capable of starting the piece in question. I have a made a note of the words.' He held up a sheet of writing paper. 'They are extremely simple, and I could make an effort, but if anybody else . . .' He petered out and looked hopefully around.

  Now, much to her mother's disappointment, Gerry was not musical. As a little girl, she had gone through several piano teachers, who had left saddened and with their self-confidence badly shaken. There was, however, one good thing to be said of her singing voice: it was powerful. A friend of hers had once likened it to that of Ethel Merman. Greatly flattered by this comparison, Gerry had set about - mostly when driving her beloved Hispano-Suiza - perfecting what she believed was a first-rate impersonation of the young Broadway star. This she needed no encouragement to perform at parties, though she could not help noticing, and being rather hurt by the fact, that she was rarely asked to do an encore. Now, though, she suddenly realised that her big moment had come. 'Gladly,' she said happily. She took a deep breath, opened her mouth, and let them have it at the top of her voice.

  'SHE'LL BE COMING ROUND THE MOUNTAIN, WHEN SHE COMES.'

  She could not have hoped to make a greater impact. Everyone round the table gave a noticeable jump, Clara adding a startled 'Oh, my.'

  'She'll be coming round the mountain, when she comes,' Gerry continued solo, then stopped. 'Come on. What's the matter with you? Can't you accede to an old lady's dying wish? Now let's start again. Follow me.' She raised her hands and began conducting as she recommenced.

  Tommy, with a broad grin on his face, was the first to join in, followed quickly by Penny, and after a few seconds by Stella. The others opened and closed their mouths slowly, making vague humming and moaning noises.

  The verse ended - after what to Lady Burford, at least, seemed an extremely long time. There was a sudden hush, which was broken by Mr Bradley. 'Well, thank you very much, Lady Ger—'

  'SINGING EYE-YAI-YIPPEE-YIPPE-YAI, YIPPE-YAI,' Gerry bellowed. Lord Burford closed his eyes, as her supporting trio took up the refrain.

  As the final 'yippe-yai' faded, Mr Bradley spoke hastily and firmly. 'That was most spirited and I'm sure would have pleased my client immensely. She would not, though, have expected more than one verse and one chorus,' (a murmured, 'Hear, hear'
from the Earl) 'so I will now proceed with the reading of the will.' With a decided air of disdain, he dropped his copy of the lyrics into a nearby waste paper basket and immediately became more businesslike.

  'We are here for the reading of the last will and testament of my late client, the Honourable Mrs Florence Saunders. If everyone is agreeable, I will omit the preamble, containing the various legal technicalities and provisos, appointment of and instructions to her executor, et cetera, and get straight to the bequests.'

  Timothy looked slightly disapproving, but didn't speak. 'Jolly good idea,' said the Earl.

  'The will is dated just five weeks before her death, but I perhaps should anticipate any questions by saying that only a few minor alterations to her earlier will were made at that time, and they were mostly in the nature of comments, rather than actual changes in the provisions. Very well, to proceed. There are very adequate bequests to her servants, of which she informed them some time before her death, and to various charities: The Variety Artistes' Benevolent Association, The National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children and the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. I have, of course, copies of the will, for anyone wishing to see the full details.

  'I should explain at the outset that most of the wording of this will is my client's own. Now to the principal bequests.' He began to read. ' "To my dear great nephew, George, Twelfth Earl of Burford, I regret I am unable to leave the revolver with which Jesse James shot Billy the Kid or vice versa, which is no doubt what he would really like. But failing this, I give and bequeath the portrait of the Sixth Earl, painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds, given to my husband and me by his brother, the later Tenth Earl, on the occasion of our wedding, in the belief that Alderley is its proper home and where it will complement the portrait of the Fifth Earl by the same artist, which already hangs there." '

  Lord Burford raised his eyebrows. 'My word, that is kind of her. I remember being told the story of that, but I had no idea she still had it.'