The Affair of the Thirty-Nine Cufflinks

by James Anderson

  'And that's when you knew Agatha was guilty.'

  'Not knew. She was now obviously a very strong suspect, but so were Timothy and Gregory. That's why I needed them all present when we went through the events of the night, as that might show up some blatant discrepancies in someone's story which would clearly point to his guilt. But actually it didn't. When I finally got Timothy and Gregory, as well as Tommy, to tell the whole truth, their accounts dovetailed remarkably well. And that was when I knew.'

  'Marvellous,' Gerry said. 'But you say you didn't work out how Agatha could have done it until you were actually on your way to work yesterday morning. What time was that?'

  'Oh, around eight-fifteen, I suppose. Why do you ask?'

  Gerry looked smug. 'Because that means I beat you to it, by about four hours.'

  'Really? Congratulations, Lady Geraldine.'

  'You see, Aggie made one other mistake. I didn't spot it at the time, though I knew there was something. About four o'clock, I woke up and remembered what it was. When she first arrived, Aggie spent about a quarter of an hour with us. Then she said she'd like to go up to her room and asked which one it was. Mummy told her. She said that after she'd freshened up she'd go and see Dorry. But she didn't ask which was Dorry's room. Of course, she could have asked one of the servants, but the natural thing would have been to ask the location of both rooms at the same time. I wondered if Dorry could have told her when they spoke on the phone. But it was inconceivable to me that, with everything else on her mind, she would have mentioned that. Can you imagine it? "Oh, Aggie, Mother's been murdered, and we've come into sixty-five thousand pounds, and I've got a nice room, almost opposite the top of the stairs"? I thought to myself that the obvious explanation for Aggie's not asking where Dorry's room was, was that she already knew. And then, just like you, everything came to me in a flash. All those unidentified ladies in black veils at the funeral, free to roam the house during the afternoon. So easy just to stay behind when everyone else had left. Only where I was stupid was at first it didn't occur to me that Dorry had been in it from the start. I imagined she'd only discovered afterwards what Aggie had done, and had simply been covering up for her. I just had to go and see Dorry at once and confront her. But before I'd got out more than a few words - wham. After that, as they say, I knew no more.'

  'Well, you did very well, Lady Geraldine. You've got the natural makings of a detective. I'm just sorry you weren't in at the dénouement.'

  'No, no, it was horrible seeing people being arrested the other times and I would have hated to see it happen to Aggie and Dorry. You know, for a while earlier today I found myself feeling quite sorry for Dorothy and worrying about her.'

  'Oh, I shouldn't worry too much about that young woman.'

  Something about his tone made Gerry glance at him sharply. 'Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Mr Wilkins?'

  'What would that be, Lady Geraldine?'

  'Well, she seems such a natural victim, a pushover for anyone who wants to use her or manipulate her. And apparently being virtually blackmailed by Clara over this guilty secret - and I suppose we've all got a pretty good idea of what that must have been. But I can't help remembering that hour or two when she and I were together downstairs. She seemed really happy, and totally engrossed by all I had to tell her about the other cases. And yet she knew that at that very time her sister was murdering their stepmother.'

  'She says she never believed Aggie would go through with it.'

  'But she knew Aggie was planning it, and at the very least there was a chance she'd do it. Even when we first met here, after the funeral, she virtually arranged that she and I should stay down and have a chat after everyone else had gone to bed. And when the time came, she made sure she was with me every second. Yet, she didn't seem even slightly anxious. And later, going on about how she would always be grateful to Clara. Aggie at least wasn't a hypocrite. But Dorry could have stopped the murder, as soon as she knew about the inheritance, which was obviously going to change everything - just told Agatha it was off, and Agatha could have walked out of the house, pretending to be one of the funeral guests, who had lost count of the time. Again, when I knocked on Dorry's door and called out that I had to speak to her about the murder, Aggie must have got an inkling I was on to something and gone behind the door immediately. Didn't Dorry wonder why? Didn't she see her pick up the statuette? No, I'm sure she knew just what Aggie was going to do. Then, helping Agatha carry me in here, putting me to bed and leaving me, without attempting to let anybody know. I could have died in those four hours before Marie found me unconscious.'

  Wilkins nodded. 'And then she let Agatha take all the blame, and after she's killed she's only really concerned about what's going to happen to her, and she wouldn't get a long sentence, would she? No doubt within a few months she'll have a cell to herself, she'll be a trusty with all sorts of privileges, and all the wardresses will be saying what a pity it is that such a nice, ladylike, gentle person should have to be there.'

  'And I suppose in a year or two she'll be out. With sixty-five thousand pounds in the bank - plus interest.'

  'Oh, I wouldn't be so sure of that. When it comes to trial, I'll emphasise all the points we've just made, as I'm sure the prosecutor will. Miss Dorry could be in for quite a shock. She won't do life, of course. I don't say she deserves to. I don't believe she planned the murder - that was sister Aggie's work. But she's not the used innocent she pretends. I reckon about eight years would be satisfactory, from my point of view.'

  'I just hope you're right,' Gerry said, fingering the back of her head.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  'Well, Wilkins, we have to thank you yet again,' said Lord Burford, when the Chief Inspector was saying his good-byes.

  'We are greatly in your debt,' added the Countess.

  'Not at all, your ladyship. Very pleased to have been of service. A complex case. But its occurrence here not such a coincidence as your lordship at first assumed.'

  'How d'you mean?'

  'Agatha had decided to kill her stepmother whenever the opportunity arose. The funeral provided the first such opportunity. And the funeral would not have taken place here had it not been for the earlier crimes. It was those murders that made Miss Mackenzie so eager to conduct her experiment here and tell her little fib about your great aunt's wishes. So the location of this crime resulted directly from the earlier ones. It was a simple matter of cause and effect.'

  The Earl nodded. 'Yes, I see. Good point.'

  'And I have to say that in one respect this was the most satisfying case I have ever handled.'

  'Really? What respect was that?'

  'For the first time in my life I was able to tell both a Member of Parliament and a King's Counsel to shut up.' A quite dreamy expression came over his face. 'It was a moment I shall long remember and cherish.'

  Lord Burford chuckled. 'So shall I, Wilkins, so shall I.'

  * * *

  When Wilkins had left, the Countess said: 'George, it's wonderful about Geraldine, but it's almost as good that you seem quite your old self, too. I was so worried about you.'

  'Worried about me? Why?'

  'Well, you were behaving extremely oddly: picking bunches of nettles, carrying spare socks around with you, making purple ink, burying things outside.'

  'Oh. That. Yes. I see.' He looked decidedly embarrassed.

  'What were you up, to, George?'

  He coughed. 'Well, suppose I can tell you now. Fact is, I was trying to break the curse.'

  'What curse?'

  'That old gypsy's curse. Thought perhaps all these dreadful things happenin' here, might be something in it, after all. Found this old book about folklore in the library. Lots in it about black magic. Full of ways you can undo or nullify curses and hexes. Some of 'em quite disgustin', actually. But some of the others didn't seem it would do any harm to try. One of them was to take a lot of nettles, cut them up into small pieces and stuff them into things they call poppets - sort of effigie
s, made of cloth. Best I could do was a pair of old socks. Then you bury them one each side of the porch. Another was to put a lot of bent pins or nails into glass jars and bury them as well. Then there was one where you take a purple candle, write "All blocks are now removed" in reverse on a strip of paper, fold it round the candle and then let it burn out. Only I didn't have a purple candle, so I dipped an ordinary one in purple ink. Then some say you've got to rub oil of rosemary on it, and I didn't have any of that, either.'

  Lady Burford gave a slight start. 'Rosemary?'

  'Yes. Why?'

  'Nothing. Go on.' She gave an almost imperceptible sigh of relief.

  'So all in all I wasn't too sure of that one. The last one was simpler: you just tie a length of twine in dozens of knots and say, "Tie and bind, tie and bind, No harm comes to me or mine" and bury that. Anyway, I buried two of each, a poppet of nettles, a jar of bent pins and a length of knotted twine, one each side of the porch. Then, of course, Gerry was attacked, so it didn't seem any of it had worked and I thought it was because I hadn't done it properly. But then she got better, so perhaps there was something in it, after all. What do you think?'

  'What do I think? George, it's pagan!'

  'But a curse is pagan, isn't it? So why not fight fire with fire?'

  'Well, you worried Gerry and you worried me. And you had young Tommy thinking you were out of your mind. We must make sure he learns what was really going on. And Miss Mackenzie saw some of the things you were doing, and guessed what it was about. She seems to be something of an expert. I told her that you'd said it should have been a real purple candle and she said to tell you that you were quite right, but it probably wouldn't have made any difference.'

  'Really? Well, glad of that, anyway.'

  'She suggested we have a word with the rector. I didn't know what she meant at the time, but I do now. If you really believe Alderley is cursed, we could ask him to come and perform, well, not an exorcism, it's not haunted, after all, but a blessing or a service of cleansing. But I'm sure he'll be willing to arrange something. That will be the Christian thing to do.'

  'Yes, fine idea, Lavinia. Will you speak to him? More in your line than mine.'

  'Yes, I'll see him after church tomorrow. Now something else. That armour is still scattered all over the picture gallery.'

  'Oh, I know. There just hasn't been time to clear it up so far.' He looked at his watch. 'I'll go up and make a start on it now.'

  'You'll do it yourself? Isn't it quite a complicated job?'

  'I'm sure there's nobody else here who can do it. And I'm darned if I'm going to call in somebody from a museum, or something. No, I know a bit about armour. I think I can manage all right.' He went out.

  The Countess leaned back in her chair and gave a sigh. So all was explained. But what had George been thinking of? Nettles, bent pins, purple candles. Really, if it wasn't so ridiculous, it would be quite funny. In fact . . .

  The Countess smiled. Her lips twitched. She gave a little chuckle. The chuckle turned into a laugh. The laugh became louder. Lady Burford laughed as she had not done for years.

  * * *

  In the gallery, the Earl stared at the various components of the suit of armour, trying to recall just what would be the best way to set about putting them together. Doing it on his own could take quite a time. He was going to need some help. He went out and made his way back along the corridor, towards the main staircase. But before he reached it, he saw his butler coming towards him, stopped and waited until Merryweather reached him.

  'I've just been looking at that armour,' the Earl said. 'I'm going to start puttin' it back together.'

  'Strangely enough, my lord, I was looking at it only ten minutes ago, and was intending to remind your lordship of the situation.'

  'I'll need a hand, though. So if William or Benjamin aren't doin' anything vital at the moment, send one of them along to the gallery, will you?'

  'I shall be very happy to assist your lordship.'

  'Really? It'll mean some crawlin' about the floor, you know.'

  'Quite within my capabilities, my lord.'

  'Well, if you're sure, come along then.'

  He turned and began to retrace his steps towards the gallery, Merryweather accompanying him. A thought struck the Earl. 'You know, we never did find out what caused it to fall over. That young scallywag Tommy confessed to it. But seems he didn't, after all. So, who did?'

  The merest ghost of a smile appeared momentarily on the butler's august features. 'Perhaps Miss Mackenzie's original belief was correct after all and it was indeed a poltergeist, my lord.'

  The Earl chuckled. 'Don't believe in 'em.'

  They had reached the double doors of the gallery. About to go in, Lord Burford suddenly stopped dead, causing Merryweather very nearly to bump into him. Both men stared into the room. In a strangled whisper the Earl uttered just two words. 'Good gad.'

  The suit of armour was standing on its plinth, intact and perfectly reassembled.

  Long seconds passed. At last, Lord Burford gulped. He seemed to have difficulty in speaking. 'Not - not two minutes ago that was all over the floor. There was an hour's work to put it back . . .'

  His normally pink complexion had become very pale. He turned and gazed at Merryweather uncomprehendingly.

  The butler's face, by way of contrast to his employer's, had gone a dingy grey. He stared at the suit of armour. 'There - there seems to be a piece of paper stuck under the visor, my lord.'

  'What? Oh, so there is.' The Earl looked around, then, somewhat hesitantly, crossed the gallery, lifted the visor and gingerly extracted a sheet of crumpled note paper bearing a dozen or so lines of writing. He stared down at it and his eyes bulged. Merryweather gazed at him expectantly. Lord Burford looked up at him, his face a blank mask. 'It's the words of Comin' Round The Mountain. Bradley's notes. He threw this away. How the deuce . . . ?'

  Merryweather gulped. 'You think possibly the Honourable Mrs Florence Saunders, my lord . . . ?' His voice, too, tailed away.

  'Great Aunt Florrie? You think Florrie knocked the armour over - just for Miss Mackenzie's benefit? And put it back again? But, good gad, she's dead. It's not possible. Is it? Is it possible?'

  With a sharp click, that sounded like a gunshot in the stillness, the visor of the suit of armour fell shut.

  The Earl gave a convulsive start, Merryweather a slightly more controlled one. For a full ten seconds neither of them spoke. It was the butler who found his voice first. 'My lord, may I suggest we retire downstairs immediately and that you allow me to fetch you a stiff whisky and soda?'

  At last the Earl pulled himself together. 'Merryweather, you may indeed. And for once, you're going to join me.'

  'Thank you, my lord,' said Merryweather.

  ******