Sidney Chambers and The Forgiveness of Sins (27 page)

Sidney opened the cake tin. There was half a loaf of fruitcake left (not one of his favourites). He went in search of digestive biscuits. They would do perfectly well, but it was not the same as when Malcolm had returned from one of his forays round the parish.

He poured out the tea and heard Hildegard issuing her final instructions. He tried to imagine what it would be like to be her pupil. Frightening but rewarding, he thought. One would not want to let her down.

She was touched by the tea and began to talk about Adam Barnes, the pupil who had just left. ‘He’s the first student I’ve had who understands Bach. I think I’m going to put him in for Grade Eight.’

‘Whatever you think best . . .’

‘I don’t want to push him. He’s quite a shy boy; but he understands how to be elegant and light without being . . . what is the word?’

‘Superficial?’

‘I think that’s it. It’s what you have,
mein Lieber
. You are much more serious than people think.’

‘I hope so.’

‘You know there are home-made chocolate biscuits?’

‘What?’

‘I’ve hidden them.’

‘Why? Malcolm doesn’t live with us any more.’

‘We need to finish the fruitcake first. If I produce the biscuits then the fruitcake will be abandoned.’

‘So why are you telling me?’

‘I don’t know. I’m tired.’

‘Perhaps Anna would like a chocolate biscuit. Where is she?’

‘Playing with her farm. I thought you were keeping an eye on her.’

‘I saw her a few minutes ago.’

‘Minutes?’

‘Half an hour.’

‘Honestly, Sidney, you know that you are supposed to look after her when I’m teaching. Anna!’

‘I’m sure she’s all right.’

‘I’ll go and see.’

He took the tea upstairs with some juice for Anna and a chocolate biscuit. His daughter responded first with suspicion, then curiosity. After a first lick, a look of amazement and then hurt came across her features as she wondered how something so delicious had been denied her so long. Why had she not been introduced to this nectar before?

‘You know she will never recover from this?’ Hildegard warned from the doorway. ‘She will ask for it all the time?’

‘Chocklick,’ said Anna. ‘More.’

Sidney produced an extra biscuit. It disappeared immediately. ‘Gone,’ said Anna. ‘More.’

Because there was no more, Hildegard sang her daughter a distracting song:

‘
Ringel, Ringel, Rosen,

schöne Aprikosen,

Veilchen und Vergissmeinnicht,

alle Kinder setzen sich.
’

The three of them then began to play with the toy farm. Sidney crouched down and made animal noises, and together they made up a musical nonsense song about all the creatures waking up in the morning and how they greeted each other through the day.

It was a rare respite, broken only by the sound of the telephone. By the time they had heard, it was too late to answer.

Hildegard worried that it might have been Amanda.

Sidney tried to return to their game but the mood had been dispelled. He gathered up the tea things. ‘I hope you are not going to get anxious about all this.’

‘But who has taught me to be so?’ his wife asked. ‘This happens all the time. At least you can stop it before it gets worse.’

‘We have to worry, I suppose, about precisely what is starting up.’

‘Threats, secrecy, lies.’

‘I don’t think there have been lies, Hildegard, at least not as far as I can see . . .’

‘And potential murder. Is that not enough? She should go to the police. You must tell Inspector Keating what is going on.’

The most important thing Sidney had to do, Geordie told him, was to find a decent pub in Ely; somewhere they could be discreet. People were beginning to cotton on to the fact that their meetings were no longer social. It had to be a place with proper beer, a warm ambience and not too many riff-raff. He didn’t want to have to start breaking up fights or making arrests.

‘I don’t think you’ll find too much of that in Ely,’ Sidney replied.

‘You find it everywhere if you know where to look. But at least the poor are honest about their crime. They slug it out. Not like your posh people.’

‘They are not “my” posh people.’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘Alas, I do. But they are all my people. No one is excluded: the saint and the sinner, the entertainer and the bore. I must spend time with them all and show no favouritism.’

‘I don’t think you’ll be so good at that. Even I can tell when you’re fed up.’

They had chosen the Prince Albert pub in Silver Street. It was conveniently central, served good beer and the landlord promised to make sure they weren’t disturbed. Sidney bought the first round, and settled down to receive his friend’s initial enquiries.

‘I suppose I should ask you how the new job’s going?’

‘You’re not that interested, Geordie, are you?’

‘Not really, but I’ll hear you out if you make it snappy.’

Sidney explained that he was now one of the bishop’s senior officers, with responsibility for the care of the clergy and church communities in his designated area. He was to oversee the induction of churchwardens. He had legal powers to give permission, via the Church’s own planning system, for work on the repair and ordering of church buildings; he had to check parish records and church valuables . . .’

‘Make sure they aren’t stolen, you mean?’

‘That kind of thing. I also have responsibility for the practical and legal issues relating to the appointment of clergy and work with others in pastoral reorganisation, clergy housing and occasionally with disciplinary matters.’

‘Clergy who aren’t up to the mark kind of thing? Those who stray?’

‘Exactly.’

‘That’s why they must have appointed you. I can’t imagine you’re much good at any of the other stuff.’

‘I am grateful for your encouragement, Geordie.’

‘I was expecting to wait a lot longer before seeing you. I thought you might be busy.’

‘I am.’

‘But something must have come up.’

‘It’s all rather sensitive.’

‘Out with it, man.’

Sidney explained Amanda’s predicament and the need for secrecy and discretion. She was a resourceful woman who had been through a lot, but he didn’t want to do anything to undermine her confidence. Her success rate with men was, it had to be said, appalling.

Inspector Keating defended her. ‘We all know why that is . . .’

‘My friendship with her has nothing to do with it.’

‘I’ll let that pass. But she’ll have to make a statement if she’s worried.’

‘She won’t do that, Geordie.’

‘Then how am I supposed to do anything?’

‘You are meant to help her as a friend.’

‘She has to ask.’

‘You know what she’s like.’

Geordie emptied his pint and stood up to get another. ‘I suppose you are suggesting that I do a bit of speculative investigation in a geographical area outside my jurisdiction, with no evidence as yet supplied to me, in the spare time that I don’t have.’

‘That’s correct.’

‘Let me get the pints and think about it.’

When he returned, Geordie cut to the chase. ‘Tell me what you’ve got.’

Sidney talked about the letters and the phone call, and added that Amanda had told him that some of the messages were in a different script. Someone was either trying to disguise their hand, pretend there were more letter-writers than there were, or there really were several people all threatening Amanda at the same time.

‘I can understand one man or woman but not several,’ Keating replied. ‘Can you get hold of any of them?’

‘I should think so.’

‘There’s a lot we can do with graphology and forensic linguistics; if the person uses unusual words, that kind of thing. It’s not an exact science but they can tell man or woman, left-handed or right-handed and things like whether the writer is a dog-lover or not . . .’

‘Really?’

‘I’m exaggerating but you get the idea. A friend of mine was on a case in 1958 where a woman got a month in prison for sending out this kind of thing. They are often mad fantasies but it’s hard to tell when people get ideas into their head. That’s what love does, I suppose. I’ve been married so long I can hardly remember.’

‘I am sure you have had your fair share of passion . . .’

Geordie was not listening, but thinking. ‘I also have to ask, Sidney, and I know this is hard, if Amanda could be making all this up?’

‘You can’t mean that, can you?’

‘To get out of the match. Could it be an elaborate plan? Perhaps she doesn’t
want
to get married.’

‘I think she’s perfectly capable of telling Henry to his face. She’s a plain speaker. We both know that.’

‘Fair point. I wouldn’t suggest such a thing in her presence.’

Sidney thought about the possibility and dismissed it. ‘Can you imagine her doing that? It’s too much effort for a start. It would be ridiculous.’

‘But is it any more absurd than what is happening already? Tell me about this future husband of hers.’

‘I don’t think he’s behind it, if that’s what you mean. He’s a decent enough bloke.’

‘So you think it’s someone else? What about an ex-lover? A former wife?’

‘She’s dead.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Well, I didn’t see the body, Geordie.’

‘And you like this Henry Richmond, you say?’

‘I wouldn’t put it as strongly as that.’

‘But you approve?’

‘She is my best friend. I’m not sure I’d approve of anyone.’

‘But who would want to hurt her?’

‘I think it’s about him rather than her. Someone who is so in love with Henry that she wants to kill anyone who stands in her way.’

‘A woman, then. Perhaps she did away with the first wife. How did she die?’

‘Heart failure.’

‘That covers a multitude of sins. Do you want me to take a look?’

‘I think it happened when they were abroad.’

‘That’s no good. We could have used Jarvis. Your man would still have to register the death. At least I can check that.’

‘Henry doesn’t know about the threats.’

‘What?’

‘Amanda wants to keep him in the dark.’

‘You’ve got to be bold about this kind of thing, Sidney.’

‘Nothing has happened yet. There has been no crime.’

‘Apart from harassment and what might be considered a practical joke. There’s nothing we can do if Miss Kendall won’t show us any evidence. But there is, of course, plenty that you can start to work on, discreetly, as you always do, pretending to be one thing when you are not . . .’

‘Yes,’ Sidney replied glumly, ‘I was afraid you were going to say that.’

‘I’ll get the boys on to it as soon as you ask. You’re not too worried, are you?’

‘Of course I am.’

‘I’m afraid I can’t reassure you. These things have a nasty habit of getting out of control. But someone will know the person that’s doing this. We just have to find out who.’

A few days later Amanda summoned Sidney to an early supper at Mon Plaisir in London. She told him that there had been further telephone calls and more notes, including references to various paintings in the National Gallery that featured harlots and adulterers who had met a fatal end. The perpetrator was therefore someone who knew where her victim worked and also her particular field of interest, since most of her references were to the sixteenth-century painters of the Northern Renaissance.

It was frightening, Amanda said when they met. Henry had gone away for a few days. She still hadn’t told him.

‘And it is impossible that he could be the one writing the letters?’ Sidney asked over the pâté.

‘The person who telephoned your home was a woman. If that suggestion had been made by anyone other than you then I might have slapped their face, but I have known you for so long that I have even started to think like you and so I have to tell you that
I have already thought of that
. But it can’t be Henry or one of his friends, can it? Why would anyone be so cruel? What do they want? It’s too horrible.’

‘I suppose they’re trying to make you break it off.’

‘It makes me all the more determined to keep going. I think Henry knows that if he wanted to end it he’d just have to tell me. I
know him
, Sidney. I’ve spent such a lot of time with him because I am terrified of making a mistake. The only thing that’s wrong with him is that he’s a bit weak. So weak, I am sure he couldn’t possibly do this. Oh, God. Now I am crying and we both hate that. I’m embarrassed. The waiter will think there’s a scene. What are we going to do? How did we end up in a situation like this?’