Sidney Chambers and The Forgiveness of Sins (24 page)

‘No one’s going to believe all that.’

‘It will be for a court to decide.’

‘It was an accident. I didn’t know what I was doing. I lost control . . .’

‘There’s no need to say anything now, Lennie. You got the wrong man. That’s all.’

‘I did the right thing.’

The inquisition was at an end. Now Sidney spoke. ‘What you did would never have been the “right thing”, no matter how much you loved your uncle or wanted to protect him, or save his house and his business. No excuse justifies murder.’

‘Except in wartime.’

‘This was not a war.’

‘I was fighting for my family, Canon Chambers.’

After the arrest had been made Sidney paid the bursar a visit and negotiated an extension on the Gaunt family’s credit. It would at least give Dennis the time to sell his mother’s house if he could be persuaded to do so. The case would come to court by the end of the year. In the meantime, Inspector Keating had launched an inquiry into whether the Gaunts were involved in any shadow companies, how much of their income was undeclared, and if they were guilty of money laundering. While the murder investigation might come to a swift conclusion, it was clear that the outstanding matters might not.

Sidney knew that he would have to give evidence at the trial, Keating would force a fuller confession, and the sentence, if Lennie was found guilty, was likely to be long after a third and more serious offence. Twenty years, possibly.

On 27th August Helena Randall joined Sidney and Geordie for their regular Thursday evening drink at the Eagle. The two men had been discussing how ironic it was that Lennie Gaunt had done more financial damage to his uncle’s company by staging the accident than if he had done nothing; an example, Sidney was suggesting, that you can never anticipate the consequences of your actions. It would have been better to talk to all those involved, to have come to a resolution with the bursar rather than act violently.

‘Although the end result has turned out well for me,’ said Helena.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ve got a new job.’

‘Where?’

‘On the
Daily Mirror
. I’m going to be their crime correspondent.’

‘Blimey . . .’ said Keating.

‘And nearly all on the strength of this investigation and my attitude to class and privilege. They said I was “spiky”.’

‘We could have told them that,’ Keating answered. ‘So now you are profiting from this too. Making money out of it.’

‘That’s different.’

‘Is it?’

Sidney asked how she had got the job.

‘Two weeks ago. I went to London. Malcolm knows. Hasn’t he told you?’

Keating leant back in his chair. ‘And will “Malcolm” be going to the capital too?’

‘Not yet. But do you think you can arrange it, Sidney? After all, you’re going to be an archdeacon. Doesn’t that mean you’re in charge of recruitment?’

‘Only in the Ely diocese. Malcolm will have to stay in Grantchester to show my successor the ropes.’

‘As long as he doesn’t hang himself with them,’ said Keating. ‘I didn’t realise you were seeing so much of the man.’

‘Malcolm and I are
extremely close
.’

‘Are you indeed?’

‘It’s not long on the train. And I’ll come back at weekends if I’m not too busy. I know it will be difficult for Malcolm to come on a Sunday.’

‘It certainly will,’ said Sidney.

‘So this isn’t goodbye then?’ Keating asked.

‘I hope not. I’m relying on you two. I’m sure I got the job after I told them all about our escapades. I’ll need you for tips.’

‘Sources,’ said Keating. ‘Inside knowledge.’

‘We have all helped each other, don’t you see? And I am going to be a better journalist as a result.’

‘That’s good to hear.’

‘Just as you, Sidney, are going to be a better detective because of me.’

‘I am glad you think so. Although not a better priest.’

‘I work in this world, Sidney. There is enough trouble in it without wondering what is going to happen in the next.’

‘I have always thought that we should be prepared for any eventuality.’

‘One world at a time, that’s my motto.’

Keating looked down into his empty glass and was glum. ‘So you’re both leaving me. One’s off to Ely; the other to London. What am I supposed to do? Who can I complain about when I get home?’

‘You’re going to have an easier life,’ said Sidney.

‘I suppose you want me to buy the next round?’

Helena patted his hand. ‘Don’t worry. Here’s Malcolm. He’ll pay.’

‘Hello everyone.’ The curate appeared slightly nervous.

‘What could be nicer than all of us together?’ Helena continued, breezily. ‘Thank you so much, darling. The men always have pints. As I do when I’m with them.’

‘I’ll get them, sweetie.’

Helena smiled. ‘You see how easy we make things for you, Geordie . . .’

The inspector could only manage one word in response. ‘
Sweetie
?’

In his head, Sidney tried to rationalise his investigations, and therefore his absence from home, as an opportunity for Hildegard to prepare for her concert. This attempt at justification was flawed, not least because Anna was not yet two and an au  pair girl had so far failed to materialise.

‘Where have you been?’ his wife asked as soon as his first foot was in the doorway.

‘Completing our inquiry.’

‘But where?’

‘I was with Geordie, and Helena and Malcolm.’

‘You haven’t answered my question. Where did this conversation take place?’

‘In the Eagle.’

‘The pub.’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘So it wasn’t really work at all, was it?’

‘Well it was, in a manner of speaking, Hildegard.’

‘Would you have been able to look after a child while you were in the pub?’

‘Children aren’t allowed in pubs.’

‘Do you think you would be able to look after a child while you were practising for a concert?’

‘Probably not.’

‘And if you had to decide between looking after a child and going to the pub, which would it be?’

‘It’s not quite as simple as that.’

‘I think it is, Sidney. Do you think your career is more important than mine?’

‘No, of course not. That’s not the issue.’

‘Isn’t it?’

‘My hours are unpredictable . . .’

‘But you
prefer
to be out investigating rather than at home with Anna and me.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘Why do you go out then?’

‘Because things happen, Hildegard.’

‘Things that are more important than us?’

‘Not “more important”. No. Things that shout louder.’

‘So if I shouted more loudly would you stay at home? Do you want a wife like that? Am I supposed to become one of those women who nag their husbands all the time? I don’t want to have to do that. I don’t want to become that kind of woman. Instead, I’d like you to
want
to come home. Is that too much to ask?’

‘No, of course not.’

Hildegard turned on the oven, ready to heat up some supper. ‘Anna’s upstairs. I think she’s asleep. She fell over today and cut her knee. There was a lot of blood. Although probably not enough to interest you.’

‘That’s unfair, Hildegard.’

‘Don’t “Hildegard” me. You could go and see that she is sleeping while I try and get some practice done. Not that it will be any good. I’m in such a bad mood I’m going to play very badly. You should avoid me until this concert is over.’

‘I can’t do that.’

‘Leave me alone and let me get on with it – as you do when you pursue your investigations. Then you don’t worry about anything at home. Now it’s your turn to stay at home, and my turn to work. This family has to be your priority. If it isn’t, I’ll take Anna back to Germany with me and start again.’

‘There’s no need to be that dramatic.’

‘How “dramatic” do I have to be, Sidney, to make you change your behaviour?’

‘Really . . .’

‘There’s nothing more to say, Sidney. If you don’t do what I say I’ll leave you. It’s very simple.’

‘What?’

‘I mean it.’

Bloody hell, Sidney thought to himself.

She’s going to
leave me?

He felt sick.

He hardly left the house for the next five days.

It drove them all crazy.

The concert was held on Saturday 5th September in the chapel of Corpus Christi and it was dedicated to the memory of Orlando Richards. Hildegard played the Bach fugues, with the final movement of Mozart’s last sonata as an encore, linking the two great composers’ final pieces, one in D minor, the other in D major.

As she played, Sidney could not quite believe that the performer was his wife. He thought he was watching a different person, in another world. Her fingers were confident, muscular and yet also capable of great delicacy. Her hands and forearms were stronger than he had ever realised, both commanding the music and, simultaneously, letting it come to her, so that there were moments when he wasn’t sure if Hildegard was playing the music or it was playing her.

When it was over, Cecilia Richards’s voice broke as she thanked her friend. The concert had been a blessing. The music was outside time.

‘It has its own world,’ Hildegard replied. ‘It is secret and yet it is shared. It only asks for attention.’

‘It’s the first concert I’ve come to since my husband died. I hope he was watching.’

Hildegard took her hand. ‘I’m sure he was.’

‘I think you may just be saying that. But I can imagine him looking down on us all. That’s what matters; and it has been easier than going to any choral music. That would be harder.’

Her son was leaning over the candles at the back of the chapel. He was wearing the false moustache again, and it seemed he was about to set it on fire.

‘I must go and fetch Charlie before he does any damage. Please thank Sidney for what he has done. I can’t see him.’

‘He must be with the fellows.’

‘I didn’t want a fuss about Orlando’s death. Knowing what has happened makes it worse. I will try not to hate the bursar who should have died in his place or the journalist who wrote that story. It’s difficult, but the music makes it a little easier. It understands sorrow.’

‘There is nothing I can say to comfort you,’ Hildegard replied. ‘But I played for him and for you.’

‘And that is more than anyone else has done.’

Sidney rejoined his wife. ‘I have been showing off about you,’ he smiled. ‘I’m proud.’

‘I didn’t let you down?’

‘Never, Hildegard. You are the making of me. You played so beautifully. We must make sure you have even more time to practise.’

‘Yes,’ his wife agreed. ‘
We
must.’

When they arrived home, Sidney prepared a little salad which they had with cold ham, new potatoes, and a couple of bottles of beer. Hildegard was tired and asked for further reassurance. ‘Did I do well? Really? All of it? I wasn’t sure about the Mozart. I wanted to play at my best.’

‘For Orlando.’

‘Yes, for Orlando, for Cecilia, for everyone; but most of all for you.’

Sidney looked at his wife. ‘I don’t deserve you, my darling.’

Hildegard tilted her head to one side. ‘No, sometimes you don’t. But we have to make the best of things.’ She picked up one of Sidney’s new jazz recordings from the sideboard. ‘What is this? Have you been saving it?’

‘Chet Baker,’ her husband answered. ‘He’s a very fine trumpeter. Part of the American West Coast “cool school”.’

She read the record sleeve. ‘Can you dance to it?’

‘I think so.’

‘Slowly?’

‘Yes, there’s one number that’s rather fine: “Soultrane”. I think it’s the first on the album. I heard it on the wireless. Nice and mellow.’

Hildegard handed the record to her husband. ‘There’s a scrape of moon outside. The summer will be over soon. Play it, Sidney.’

‘What do you have in mind?’

‘Let’s dance.’

They went into the sitting-room and opened the windows to let in the breeze. The sky was darkest blue. There were no stars. Sidney bent down, put the record on to the turntable, lifted the arm, lowered the needle on to the vinyl and checked the volume. Then, as the music began, he walked over to his wife’s outstretched arms.