'It must be lovely at Alderley now. I wonder what they're all doing at this moment. Keeping very busy I'm sure.'

 

* * *

 

The August sun beat upon the half-drawn curtains of the mellow, oak-panelled room. Through the open French windows wafted the smell of roses and the faint hum of bees. In a large, well-worn black leather easy chair an untidy-looking man with wispy grey hair, a pink complexion and a straggly moustache whistled softly and not unmusically as his chest rose and fell rhythmically. The Times crossword puzzle, half finished, was open on his lap. George Henry Aylwin Saunders, twelfth Earl of Burford, was enjoying his usual post-prandial snooze. It was a peaceful scene.

It did not long remain so, as the double doors were thrown open and a girl breezed into the room. She was in her mid-twenties, petite, red-haired, with a tip-tilted nose and deceptively innocent large hazel eyes. She seemed to ooze energy. 'Hello, Daddy,' she said loudly.

Lord Burford awoke suddenly and blinked pale blue eyes several times before focusing on the speaker. He gave a grunt. 'Oh. You've arrived.'

Lady Geraldine Saunders looked hurt. 'What happened to "My darling daughter! You're home at last! It's been so long!" '

'It seems about three hours. How's London?'

'Big. Noisy. But fun.'

'It's the noisiness - and the smelliness - that always strikes me most these days. Which is why I go up as little as possible. Is that Peepshow?' He pointed incredulously to a garishly coloured magazine she was holding.

'Yes. A little present for you.'

She held it out to him. Lord Burford took it gingerly and gazed at it with distaste. 'Why the deuce did you bring me this? It's an appallin' rag.'

'There's something in it that will interest you.'

The Earl read the caption to the picture on the cover: ' "Shirley Temple: America's Little Sweetheart." You surely don't— ?'

'No, no - page twelve.'

The Earl reluctantly flicked through the pages and opened the magazine out. Then his eyes bulged. 'Good gad!'

A banner headline, across two pages, read:

IS ALDERLEY CURSED?

The rest of the pages consisted mainly of photographs, but there was a small block of text. The Earl read it.

 

Twelve months ago this week two sensational murders were committed at Alderley, the 17th-Century Westshire home of the Earl and Countess of Burford. Amazingly, less than six months later, another, completely unconnected murder took place. Involving, among others, a government minister, film stars, American millionaires, European aristocracy, foreign diplomats and an Olympic athlete, with the murder weapons valuable firearms from Lord Burford's world-famous collection, these crimes have led many people to ask if an ancient gypsy's curse is still exerting its malign influence over the beautiful, stately home, and if this could lead to further tragedies. See the following pages for the full astounding story.

 

The Earl looked up. 'This - this is preposterous!'

'I know.'

'It's absolute nonsense! It's ridiculous! It's - it's—' He groped for words.

'How about balderdash? That's a good strong word.'

'Claptrap,' said the Earl defiantly.

'Yes, claptrap's good, too.'

'This business about a curse, I mean.