Sidney Chambers and the Shadow of Death (43 page)

‘It’s hard to find a genuine motive, I must admit.’

‘Ben has asked me to come and stay. He said that it would be a comfort. Then I can see you at the same time. Are you all right?’

‘I think the correct word would be “preoccupied”.’

‘I was thinking of the five o’clock train. Would you like to come to Locket Hall for drinks? I just need to see you, Sidney. For both of our sakes.’

Sidney thought how good it would be to see Amanda once more, but worried about exposing her to the darker side of life once again. He tidied his desk, took Dickens for what was now becoming yet another brief walk across the Meadows and returned to his neglected paperwork. As soon as he did so, Mrs Maguire seized the opportunity to remind him about the peeling wallpaper in the bathroom.

‘I do have more important things to think about than wallpaper,’ Sidney snapped.

‘If you weren’t so involved in all that crime then you would have plenty of time.’

‘I am aware of that.’

Mrs Maguire continued to grumble. ‘They should never have put a bathroom and toilet next to the kitchen. That sort of thing belongs outside.’

‘It is 1954, Mrs Maguire. Times change.’

‘Some things never change,’ the housekeeper replied, ominously. ‘Just like people.’

Sidney was not going to rise to the challenge of yet another gnomic remark. He pretended that he was writing a sermon.

‘You’re busy, then?’

‘I’m always busy, Mrs Maguire.’

‘Then I suppose I’ll have to let you get on. I’ve left you a steak and kidney pudding,’ she added. ‘I hope you don’t burn it.’

‘Very good, Mrs Maguire.’

When she had finally left him alone, Sidney picked up his pen and wrote out the list of principal suspects.

Simon Hackford: he and Lord Teversham had been former business partners; there had clearly been a row of some sort, and there were rumours of intimacy. But he seemed an unlikely murderer.

Clive Morton: Sidney would need to check the will. There could be a financial motive.

Michel Morel: unlikely, Sidney thought, but he did have considerable expertise in knives.

Frank Blackwood: it was hard to know what he was doing in the production in the first place. It was out of character, Sidney thought ruefully. But if he had joined the cast for the explicit purpose of murdering Lord Teversham, then what was his motive?

Ben Blackwood: despite not being a conspirator, Sidney had to admit that, however unlikely, it was not impossible. Perhaps he stood to inherit the art collection? He could have had a concealed weapon when he was crouched over the body and committed the crime while pretending to weep. But his behaviour on the night in question, and his grief after the death, were surely genuine? If Sidney were to pursue this line he would have to be careful.

Later that day he put down his pen, fetched his hat and coat and set off on the half-hour bicycle ride to Locket Hall. After he had ridden through Trumpington and carried on for a few miles he realised that, rather than burning Mrs Maguire’s steak and kidney pudding, he had completely forgotten about it. No wonder he felt hungry. But it was too late to go back. Perhaps Leonard Graham would help himself and finish it off? Sidney certainly hoped so, because if Mrs Maguire discovered that it had not been touched when she returned the next morning with her welsh rarebit, then there would be hell to pay.

But how was he supposed to remember everything? Sidney thought to himself. The things he had to keep in his head . . .

On arrival at Locket Hall, Forbes Mackay took his hat and coat and offered him ‘a wee sharpener’ to steady himself ‘in these coal-black times’. He warned his guest that the mood upstairs was more sombre than he had ever known.

The butler gestured to the staircase and Sidney climbed it to find Ben and Amanda sitting together on the sofa.

‘Forgive me for borrowing your friend but I’ve been in a funk,’ Ben began. ‘Cicely has taken to her bed, the staff have been stunned into silence and I don’t know how what to do. I keep thinking of Dominic and wandering about the house. I forget why I have come into a room. I’m unable to listen to anything people are saying or make any reply. Nothing has any point any more.’

‘You need to rest,’ said Sidney. ‘And sleep.’

‘I try, but then, just before I fall asleep I remember what has happened and all I can think about is that appalling crime.’

‘The police have been to see you?’

‘They wanted a lot of personal information. I suppose it is understandable. Is Mackay getting you a drink?’

‘He is . . .’

Amanda turned to Sidney and asked, ‘Why do such terrible things have to happen? Surely it shakes your faith?’

‘Not in God. It shakes my faith in people.’

‘Have the police finished with their interviews?’ Ben asked.

‘They will probably have to go round again. Do you know who benefits from the will?’

‘Most people get something. I think Clive Morton has handed it over.’

‘Yourself?’

‘I have been bequeathed some of the lesser paintings. A Palmer landscape that I always admired, a charming Landseer and a beautiful set of Bewick engravings. It was incredibly thoughtful of Dominic but I’d rather he was still alive. The works don’t mean anything without him.’

‘Anyone else?’

‘Cicely inherits the whole collection but there are a few other bequests: Simon Hackford, for example. I think Dominic changed the will recently to cut his inheritance down. At one point he was going to give Simon a Turner. That would have raised a few eyebrows.’

‘I think they were already raised. Did Simon Hackford and Lord Teversham work together?’

‘I thought you knew that?’

Sidney smiled. ‘I don’t always admit to what I know, Ben.’

‘They were the greatest of friends. They went to auctions together. In fact, Simon is responsible for many of the items in the collection. He would spot the painting, Lord Teversham would buy it and then they would either keep it or sell it on. Simon’s really an expert on silver, but he knows his eighteenth century, although he did manage to miss out on an unattributed Gainsborough . . .’

‘He failed to spot what you might call a “sleeper”?’

‘Very good, Canon Chambers, you’re catching up on the lingo.’

‘Why did Simon Hackford stop working here?’

‘Dominic told me that he began to doubt his abilities. He didn’t feel that he could quite trust him any more and then, after I came along, they saw rather less of each other. I don’t think there was any great falling out: just a drifting apart. Sometimes friendships fade away, don’t they?’

‘You’re a bit young to know that.’

‘I saw it at university, Canon Chambers. People develop sudden likings for each other and then, when they get to know each other better, that knowledge isn’t as exciting as the initial promise . . .’

Amanda sighed. ‘It happens in London all the time. It’s so hard to know whether people are genuine or not. Don’t you agree, Sidney?’

‘I have to give people the benefit of the doubt, of course.’

‘But not when you are investigating a murder, surely?’

‘No,’ Sidney agreed. His thoughts were becoming alarmingly familiar. ‘Then, it seems, I can’t think like a priest at all.’

The next day Sidney and Amanda met for an early lunch at Bleu Blanc Rouge. Sidney had not been inside the restaurant before and was unsurprised to discover that it lived up to its name. With its white walls, red gingham tablecloths and blue napkins, everything about it suggested the tricolour. Enlarged photographs and framed copies of old newspapers celebrating the 1945 liberation of Paris covered the walls and the menu offered unremittingly French fare: pâté, onion tart, omelettes and
potage parmentier
;
boeuf bourguignon
,
coq au vin
, rabbit and turbot.

‘Would you like a glass of champagne?’ Michel Morel asked as he took their coats.

‘It’s a bit early, isn’t it?’ Sidney asked, wondering how his host could afford to make such an extravagant gesture.

The chef ignored him. ‘Where I was trained the
cuisinier
began each day with champagne. He is the greatest chef in France, Fernand Point.’

‘I think I’ve heard of him,’ Sidney replied. ‘Some friends of mine went to his restaurant after the war. La Pyramide . . .’

‘Exactly so. He shares a bottle with the barber who shaves him each morning.’

Amanda smiled. ‘He must be drunk before he starts work.’

‘Not at all. He is always
de bonne humeur
.
Gardez le sourire
,
mes amis!
he says. Sometimes I think all the meals he has ever eaten are still in his stomach. I will bring you the menus.’

Once they had sat down at their table Amanda told Sidney that she was nervous. ‘I hope we don’t put people off . . .’

‘Why would we do that?’

‘People will think we are discussing the murder.’

‘The whole of Cambridge is discussing the murder.’

Amanda took a sip of champagne and then put her glass down. She was not in the mood for it. ‘I’m worried about Ben, Sidney.’

‘I’m sure.’

‘Yesterday he told me something that’s rather haunted me.’

‘What is it?’

‘He was almost talking to himself. I think that he had almost forgotten I was in the room. He was speaking out of grief, as it were, and then he suddenly said something that struck me as incredibly moving.’

‘What was it?’

‘ “Dom gave me the love my father never did.” ’

‘Did he explain what he meant?’

‘Not entirely. But he had rather a brutal upbringing. His mother died when he was away at school and he was not allowed to come home for the funeral. He was bullied for being small and effete and he lost himself in his work. He was the first member of his family to get into Oxford but his father resented him for reading history and wanted him to study engineering and join the family firm. When Ben refused, his father kicked him out and cut him off. Ben’s very frightened of him.’

‘Then why were they both in the play? It does seem very odd.’

‘Perhaps you should go and see Frank Blackwood?’

‘I do have a few questions.’

Amanda continued. ‘Fortunately, Ben made some friends at Oxford and one of them arranged the job with Lord Teversham. Then, just when he was happy and had prospects, this happens.’

‘How well do you think he knew Lord Teversham?’

‘Is that a leading question, Sidney?’

‘Only if you take it to be one.’

‘I don’t think there was anything funny going on, if that’s what you are getting at.’

‘But perhaps other people did? The love that dare not speak its name . . .’

Amanda leaned forward. ‘Do you mean someone like Simon Hackford?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘You’re suggesting that Ben might have been considered some kind of replacement for Simon Hackford in Lord Teversham’s affections?’

‘It is possible.’

‘You think Simon Hackford and Lord Teversham were more than friends?’ Amanda asked.

The waiter came to take their order but they asked him to wait. Sidney continued. ‘You know how deeply such a secret has to be kept.’

‘In the art world, half the people I meet are pansies. People pretend that they are not, their true friends understand that they are and everyone knows not to ask too many questions.’

‘Not everyone, of course. And in a small town, or with a reputation to keep up, you can imagine how frightened they might be of exposure.’

Amanda put down her menu. ‘But why would either of them betray the other? I don’t think blackmail works with homosexuals. If you are an adulterer and you go to the police and complain that you have been threatened then you can put them on to the blackmailer without any fear that you will be punished yourself. All you have to worry about is a scandal. But if you are homosexual and you complain that you are being blackmailed then the police can start with your arrest and you can be put in prison whether they deal with the blackmailer or not.’

‘So you don’t think Simon Hackford was doing any such thing?’

‘If he was, then he would be the one that was killed. I suppose he might have felt murderous after being replaced by Ben. He had a good thing going with Dominic, financially at the very least . . .’

‘He says he is happier now, with his wife.’

‘A lavender marriage, perhaps,’ Amanda replied. ‘He must have found the sight of Ben unbearable. But do you think that’s sufficient motive for murder? It seems a bit desperate.’

‘Perhaps that’s often what murder is,’ Sidney replied. ‘People are desperate.’

Bleu Blanc Rouge was situated in the same street as the Blackwood works, and after Amanda had taken a train back to London Sidney decided to pay Ben’s father a visit.

‘Dom gave me the love my father never did.’