The Affair of the Thirty-Nine Cufflinks
CONTENTS
Author's Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Author's Note
Money values
At the period in which this story is set, money in Britain was worth approximately fifty-three times its value in the early 21st Century. So to get an idea of their present day equivalents, all sums mentioned should be multiplied by fifty-three. For example, £1,000 then would have had the purchasing power of £53,000 in the year 2001.
Those wishing to get an idea of the value of a sum in another currency, such as US dollars, have two choices:
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They can convert using the rate of exchange as it was at the time of the events in the book. This will turn £1,000 into just under $5,000, and £53,000 into about $260,000.
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Alternatively, they convert at the rate of exchange at a more recent time. In 2001, for instance, this would have made £53,000 the equivalent of only about $78,000.
The matter is further complicated by the fact that the inflation rate has been lower in the USA than in Britain, so that $5,000 then would have had the purchasing power of about $63,750 in 2001.
Readers who find all this as confusing as the author does should seek help from their friendly neighbourhood economist, or any good international currency dealer.
(Figures from Economic History Services website: http://eh.net/hmit)
Chapter One
'I want to make one thing absolutely plain,' said the Honourable Mrs Florence Saunders. 'After I'm dead, I will not come back.'
Jean Mackenzie, her companion, blinked. 'I don't quite . . .'
'You know perfectly well what I mean. I don't want you trying to get in touch with me at one of your séances. I'll have far more interesting things to do than potter around down here, spouting a lot of platitudes about peace and love. Understand?'
'Now, dear, you mustn't talk like this. It'll be many years yet—'
'Jean, don't talk nonsense. I'm ninety-six. It cannot possibly be many years. And I don't mind at all. My husband's dead. My only son is dead. I've had enough of this world now. I've repented of my sins and I'm ready to meet my Maker. So I want it made clear that there must be no long faces at my funeral. Let people enjoy themselves. I've taken one step in that direction already. Charlie Bradley has it in hand.' She chuckled richly.
Jean looked doubtful. She was a thin, nondescript woman of about fifty, invariably clad in a tweed skirt and twin-set. Mostly her face wore an expression of doubt, or sometimes of anxiety. Doubt was now dominant as she didn't know whether to take Florrie seriously. How could her solicitor ensure people enjoyed themselves at her funeral?
But then, Florrie had never been serious. Even the name. She should be called Florence, a properly dignified name for the widow of an Earl's son.
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