3 The Affair of the Thirty-Nine Cufflinks

by James Anderson

  'Yes, my lady. And will you be requiring coffee?'

  'Well, I for one only finished breakfast about twenty minutes ago,' said the Earl. 'And I imagine you'll be wanting to make a start straight away with your investigations, eh, Wilkins?'

  'Actually, my lord, a cup of coffee would be most welcome.'

  'Oh, then, of course. I suppose we'll all have some. Help to get us back to the normal timetable, I suppose, at least.'

  Merryweather and Leather went out. 'Better take the weight off your feet, Wilkins,' said the Earl.

  'Thank you, my lord.' He sat down in a deep leather easy chair and gave a sigh.

  'Tell me,' Gerry said, 'why do you rule out any of the servants being involved?'

  'I asked Mr Merryweather when I arrived whether any of them were new, and he said no, that they'd all been with you for at least three or four years, many much longer. They're all local people. I just cannot imagine one of them suddenly deciding to murder one of your guests. In fact, I have never come across a country house case in which any of the servants was guilty. It's true that some years ago there did seem to be a spate of cases all over the country, and in the United States, too, I believe, in which the butler turned out to be the villain, but that trend is long past.'

  'Oh, talking of butlers, Merryweather was telling me he did a piece of detection this morning.' She narrated the story of the locked door.

  Wilkins nodded. 'Interesting,' he said, not sounding remotely interested.

  'Why would somebody do that, do you suppose?'

  'Someone having a private conversation and didn't want to be interrupted, I imagine. Probably didn't hear somebody trying the door, finished their call and went back up to their room via the back staircase.'

  'Oh,' Gerry said, feeling rather crushed. 'Is that all?'

  Just then William, the footman, entered with the coffee. When they were all sipping from steaming cups, Wilkins said: 'Oh, by the way, my lord, you may be interested to know that there were thirty-nine of your cufflinks in the room.'

  'Good lord, never knew I had that many. Still, quite an evocative number, what?'

  'Ah yes, your lordship is doubtless referring to the Church of England's Thirty-Nine Articles of Religion.'

  The Earl looked a little awkward. 'No, actually, I was thinking of The Thirty-nine Steps. You know, John Buchan.'

  'Oh, of course. I'm afraid I read very little crime fiction or thrillers.'

  'Too much of a busman's holiday?' Gerry asked.

  'That's about it, Lady Geraldine.'

  'So, what do you like to read?'

  Wilkins leaned back. 'Well, I have very catholic tastes, but if I had to choose one author, I suppose it would be Dostoevsky - even though his perhaps greatest work is called Crime and Punishment.'

  Gerry looked impressed. 'Golly. I'm afraid I've never read anything of his.'

  'Oh, you should, Lady Geraldine. Amazing man: such insight, such power. I've read everything he wrote, I believe.'

  'In translation, I suppose?' she said dryly, feeling a little irritated.

  Wilkins smiled. 'I'm afraid so. I do try it in the original from time to time, but every other page I come across a word I don't know and have to stop and look it up, which does slow you down.'

  They all stared at him in amazement. The Earl said: 'You read Russian?'

  'Not very well, my lord.'

  'So you speak it, too, then?'

  'After a fashion. Enough to get by.'

  ' 'Pon my soul. You show me up. I only speak a little French.'

  'I certainly found French easier to master,' Wilkins said.

  'Well, I must say, you're full of surprises, Wilkins.' Lord Burford took out his pocket watch and glanced at it meaningfully. 'Expect you'll be wanting to get on with your enquiries.'

  'I'm in no hurry, my lord.'

  'Oh, I was just thinkin' the guests will be gettin' a bit anxious.'

  'That's just it, Daddy, don't you see?' Gerry said. 'Mr Wilkins is deliberately keeping them waiting, simply to get them nervous.'

  'Oh.' Lord Burford's jaw dropped a little. 'I see. Is that really it, Wilkins?'

  'I'm afraid Lady Geraldine is wise to me, my lord. The longer you keep people waiting, the more on edge they get, and the more on edge they are, the more likely they are to slip up, let something out they didn't mean to.'

  'But they may not all have anything to let slip out.'

  'Oh, my lord . . .' Wilkins shook his head reproachfully.

  'Everyone's got something to hide, isn't that so, Mr Wilkins?' Gerry said.

  'Almost invariably, Lady Geraldine. And there is something I want to ask you.'

  'Oh dear. I'm petrified now.'

  'No cause to be. It's just that from what his lordship was telling me last night, you were with Miss Dorothy for an hour before the discovery of the body.'

  'More than an hour.'

  'And she didn't leave you even for five minutes?'

  'Not for five seconds. I know what you're getting at, but it's out of the question. Mummy came down from talking to Clara. Dorothy was there then and she remained in the drawing-room until we heard the crash and rushed up to see what it was. I was at her shoulder the moment she first saw the body. She's absolutely in the clear. Anybody else might have killed Clara: Mummy, Daddy—'

  'Really, Geraldine!' This from the Countess.

  'She's right, my dear,' said the Earl.

  Gerry continued. 'Even Merryweather might have gone against the trend and done it. Dorothy definitely didn't. Of course, I realise you can't take my word for that.'

  'Oh, I think I can, Lady Geraldine.'

  'But she and I might have conspired to do the murder together. After all, Clara did at first claim to know some appalling secret about everybody in the room. Perhaps I held her down, while Dorry killed her.'

  'Oh no.'

  'Why not?'

  'Two against one? Wouldn't be sporting.'

  'Ah yes, the code of the Burfords.' Gerry leaned back and lit a cigarette. 'So, tell me, how would I murder someone?'

  Wilkins considered. 'With a gun: quick, clean and totally unambiguous. Probably in front of a number of witnesses. And not at Alderley, unless it was absolutely unavoidable.'

  'Yes, I think you're right. Though not even in Westshire. I wouldn't want to be in your jurisdiction.'

  'I appreciate that, Lady Geraldine.'

  He turned to the Countess. 'Now, your ladyship, I wonder if you could kindly tell me just what was said between you and Mrs Saunders when you visited her in her room?'

  Lady Burford thought for a moment, and, without adding any significant details, gave a slightly fuller account of the scene than the one she had given to Dorothy the previous evening.

  'Thank you, your ladyship,' Wilkins said, when she had finished. 'And did you get the impression that she'd been speaking the truth when she claimed to know discreditable secrets about all the other beneficiaries?'

  'I really wouldn't like to say, Mr Wilkins. She sounded convincing and she did make a point of finding out things about people.' She shot a meaningful glance at the Earl.

  He gave a sigh. 'Yes, you'll have to know, Wilkins, that for some years Clara had been supplementing her income in a rather unsavoury fashion.' He briefly explained about Clara's dealings with newspapers.

  Wilkins nodded thoughtfully. 'I see. Yes, quite unpleasant. Apart from that, I take it there is nothing any of you can tell me that might throw some light on this affair?'

  The Earl shook his head. The Countess said: 'I honestly don't think so. And naturally I have thought about it a great deal last night and this morning.'

  'Lady Geraldine?'

  'You don't know how I'd love to say yes, Mr Wilkins.'

  'Now, there's just one more thing.' He reached into his inside pocket and brought out a somewhat grubby-looking piece of paper. 'I've still got the little sketch map I made at the time of the egg cosy affair, showing which bedrooms were occupied by each person. The next time I rubbed
out the names and filled the new ones in. Now I've rubbed those out, and I would be grateful if you could fill them in with the present names.' He held it out.

  'You do it, my dear,' said Lord Burford.

  'Certainly.' She took it. 'Does someone have a pencil?'

  Wilkins handed her one and she started to write.

  'It's a very rough plan,' Wilkins said. 'I'm sure the proportions are wrong and I haven't bothered with all the windows, and so on. But it's adequate for my purpose.'

  Lady Burford finished writing and handed it and the pencil back. Wilkins perused the plan. 'Might I ask if there is any sort of order of precedence, as it were, in the allocation of rooms on occasions such as this?'

  'Not really. Normally we will put members of the same family in adjoining rooms, but I decided to abandon the tradition in the case of Mrs Saunders and her stepdaughters - a small symbolic act. The only other factor is that as it is slightly more convenient to be near the centre, we tend to put the older people there, and the younger ones towards the ends of the corridors. I made an exception this time in the case of Agatha and Dorothy. It somehow seemed more fitting that, as principal mourners, they should be closer to the centre.'

  Wilkins nodded. 'I see, though, that Mr Gregory Carstairs was given a room half way along the east corridor.'

  The Countess gave a sigh. 'There was a slight problem. Mr Carstairs and Mr Timothy Saunders are not on good terms, so it was thought advisable to keep them as far apart as possible. Originally, in order to be more even-handed and not to give rise to suspicions of favouritism, I had intended to put Timothy in a corresponding room in the west corridor - the first one on the right, beyond the bathroom - with Miss Penelope in the room beyond, and Miss Agatha in the slightly larger corner bedroom, next to our suite. But when Miss Agatha did not turn up, it seemed rather absurd to leave that room empty, and I told the footman to put Timothy in there. That left the room originally allocated to him empty. I could have moved Miss Penelope into it. But I decided to leave her opposite Miss Simmons, as it occurred to me that two young women, spending a night in a room towards the end of a long corridor in a house which has recently acquired a somewhat notorious reputation, might both feel slightly more comfortable knowing that the room directly opposite was occupied.' The Countess looked rather pleased with herself for this involved explanation.

  Wilkins made a sympathetic clucking sound. 'Who would have thought it would be so complicated? Rather like the allocation of beats to constables, which I had to deal with when I was in the uniformed branch. Certain routes are very much more popular than others, and some of the lads can get quite disgruntled if they're put on the less favoured ones too often. It requires a fair amount of diplomacy. Police constables can be as touchy as prima donnas sometimes.'

  'So can barristers and Members of Parliament, believe me, Wilkins,' said Lord Burford.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Wilkins got to his feet. 'Better get a move on, I suppose. And if I could kindly be informed when Miss Dorothy wakes, or her sister arrives . . .'

  'I'll let you know,' said Gerry.

  'Thank you. Now, is there a room where I could interview the witnesses? We used the small music room last time, if that would be convenient.'

  'By all means,' said the Earl. 'Can't imagine anyone's goin' to want to play the piano today.'

  'I'll take you,' Gerry said.

  They went out. 'I remember where it is, Lady Geraldine,' Wilkins said, 'but if you could lend me one of your servants to fetch each of the witnesses when I'm ready for them.'

  'I'll do it.'

  'Are you sure?'

  'Yes, I'd like to. Who do you want to see first?'

  'Miss Mackenzie, please.'

  'Really? Why her? In my book, she's the least likely - sorry. Nothing to do with me.'

  'Miss Mackenzie has something she badly wants to tell me. She nearly came out with it twice last night, in the drawing- room, but couldn't quite bring herself to. I think she will this morning.'

  'OK, I'll fetch her.'

  She hurried away, meeting Sergeant Leather in the great hall. 'He's in the music room,' she said, pointing.

  'Well?' Wilkins asked when Leather entered.

  'I've spoken to all the servants, sir. Started with Janet, but, as you thought, she couldn't tell me anything. She took Mrs Saunders cocoa and biscuits in her room at around quarter to eleven. The lady was sitting in a chair, reading. Looked quite normal, no sign of fright or agitation. Janet just put down the tray, said goodnight and left. She wasn't in the room fifteen seconds. And none of the others saw or heard anything. Most of them were in bed by then, and all were by the time the body was discovered. Albert, the footman, says he and young Lambert both went right into the gallery and had a good look round. He's willing to swear that then there was nobody hidden behind the sofa or anywhere else.'

  'Well done, Jack. Did they give you coffee?'

  'Yes, and a very nice slice of rich fruit cake.'

  'Oh, I didn't get any of that.'

  'Something to be said for life below stairs. Oh, and Smithy's arrived. He's started fingerprinting the servants.'

  The door opened and Gerry entered. 'I've brought Miss Mackenzie.'

  Jean Mackenzie, looking even more anxious than usual, came in, her eyes darting around the room, as if expecting to see some assailant waiting to pounce.

  'And she says she would like me to sit in, if that's all right with you,' Gerry added.

  'Certainly, Lady Geraldine. Please sit down, Miss Mackenzie.'

  'Oh, thank you.'

  As she was doing so, Wilkins looked at Gerry, put his finger to his lips and then pointed at her. Gerry grinned and gave a nod.

  The others sat down, Leather taking out a shorthand notebook and pencil.

  'So, Miss Mackenzie, what do you want to tell me?' Wilkins asked.

  She gave a gulp. 'I have a confession to make.'

  'I see. Confession to what, exactly?'

  'I have done something terrible. Really wicked.'

  'Really? So, why did you kill Mrs Saunders?'

  She gave a shriek of horror. 'Kill? I didn't kill her.'

  'Oh, I do beg your pardon, miss. When you said you'd done something really wicked, I assumed it had to be murder.'

  'Well, it wasn't quite as bad as that, but the fact is I told a lie. And Mr Bradley passed it on - in all good faith, I must emphasise - to Lord and Lady Burford. I do not think Florrie would have minded. She had no strong feelings either way. And I have been worrying in case she had said as much to Agatha, and that Agatha passed it on to Clara, so she would know I had lied. But I only did it because it did seem to be the Great Opportunity that I had been promised. Marion had said I would recognise it when it came. Well, of course, I had been wishing so strongly for just such a chance, and it seemed quite amazing that the opportunity should have presented itself in this way. I had thought at first that it was something quite different that was being suggested, but I soon decided that that would have involved spying in a quite underhand way, so it couldn't be that. I should, though, have realised that when it actually came it would never involve telling a lie, either. And the terrible thing is that if I had not sinned in this way, Mrs Saunders - Mrs Clara Saunders, that is, not Mrs Florence Saunders - would be alive today.'

  All of this was said at a breathless pace and Leather's pencil had been flying across the paper. Wilkins waited for a moment for him to catch up, before asking: 'But what precisely was this lie?'

  'Oh, didn't I mention that? It's this. I told Mr Bradley that Florrie had expressed a wish to be buried at Alderley. She hadn't. She hadn't said anything about where she wanted to be buried.'

  'And you said that because you believed this was the great opportunity you'd been told about? Why were you so sure of that?'

  'Don't you see that even before last night there had been three murders here in the past twelve months? It is a well- known fact that souls who are murdered are often restless - unquiet. They are u
nable to Pass On. They remain confined to the site of their murder. They sometimes Walk. Of course, one would need to be a Sensitive actually to be aware of them. I'm sure, for instance, that were Mr Hawthorne here, he would experience a Manifestation. I, to my great sadness, am not a Sensitive, but for so long I had been desperately wishing for a chance to come here and try an experiment, though it seemed totally impossible. Then Marion told me I was going to be given a great opportunity. A chance that is vouchsafed to few. "You must seize the moment when it comes," she said. "Be resolute. Do not be afraid." '

  Wilkins broke in. 'Just for the sergeant's record, could you tell us Marion's surname?'

  'The same as mine, Mackenzie. She never married.'

  'So how did your - ' he paused momentarily before guessing ' - sister know about this great opportunity?'

  'Well, they do, don't they? Know things, I mean, that we don't.'

  'Who do?'

  'Yes, I'm afraid that may well be true.'

  Wilkins took a deep breath. 'What may be true?'

  'That there was a hoodoo on my whole enterprise.'

  'No, I mean who know things that we don't?'

  'Those who are no longer in the body.'

  Light dawned in Wilkins' eyes. He nodded sapiently. 'Yes, I suppose they do. When did your sister die, Miss Mackenzie?'

  'We prefer not to use that word, Mr Wilkins. My sister passed on nearly eight years ago. And in all that time she has never communicated before, which was what made it so exciting.'

  'And this was at a séance with Mr Hawthorne, the medium?'

  'A public meeting, really. He's truly wonderful. And the message was so direct: from Marion, for Jean. I couldn't think what it could mean, though I puzzled about it for days. Then Florrie passed on and that of course put it out of my head. But when I was talking to Mr Bradley, he actually asked me if Florrie had ever said anything about where she wanted to be buried. And it suddenly hit me. If the funeral were held at Alderley, I felt sure, knowing how kind and hospitable they are, that the Earl and Countess would invite the mourners back to the house, and there just might be a chance, even if we were only here for an hour or so. So that's when I told my lie. Then we were actually invited to stay here overnight. It seemed to be working out so wonderfully and I honestly believed that I would be able to achieve a really important Communication with the Unquiet Spirits - or at least one of them.'