Sidney Chambers and the Perils of the Night (17 page)

Charlie Crawford was in his early fifties. A small man, of five foot six, who wore his regulation overalls by day, he often transformed himself into a snappy dresser by night, slapping on so much Brylcreem he looked as if he was Elvis Presley’s dad. He was an impatient enthusiast with a short concentration span, a dedicated union member and a committed socialist. He was currently in dispute with the junior bursar about the overtime required for the work he was doing on the rewiring; an amount that would almost double his weekly wage. ‘Dr Cade owes me for four weeks and he’s always late to pay. I’m going to have to sort it out.’

‘It’s very kind of you to take me,’ said Hildegard as she climbed into his works van.

‘It’s no trouble. I should go to church myself but there’s too much work to be done.’

‘Even on a Sunday?’

‘The married fellows are at home. I can get on and do their rooms while they’re out. But it’s impossible for one man,’ he complained. ‘And that’s typical of the college. They want everything on the cheap. Even then, they try and cheat you on the overtime. The junior bursar’s the one that’s the trouble.’

‘Is it dangerous work?’ Hildegard asked.

Rain struck the misted windscreen. Charlie leaned forward to wipe away the steam. ‘Electricity is always dangerous, Mrs Staunton. People take it for granted but they don’t know what it can do.’ He turned on his wipers. ‘I’m worried about this weather. I don’t want lightning.’

Hildegard thanked him for the lift and stepped into the dark simplicity of the church at Grantchester. The statuary was covered in cloth and there was little light through the windows. The last time she had been here had been at her husband’s funeral.

Orlando Richards had come over from Corpus to rehearse the choir and at the service they sang ‘
Jesu, deine Passion ist mir lauter Freude
’, the chorale from Bach’s Cantata 130 for Palm Sunday ‘
Himmelskönig, sei willkommen
’. Hildegard was so touched that she went over to thank him after the service.

‘I thought it might make a nice surprise. I am a great admirer of German music; although, of course, the national character gives me pause.’

‘I can understand, after the war, but I hope you will make an exception in my case.’

‘Of course,’ Orlando replied. ‘Although it is a complicated matter, is it not? Character is music. You cannot have one without the other.’

‘I agree but great music is not always produced by great men.’

‘You mean men of morality? They may be wonderful musicians but their lives do not live up to their creations.’

Hildegard smiled. ‘We must work hard at everything. That is why we need to practise. I was hoping that you might be able to help me.’

‘In what way?’

‘I do not have a piano.’

‘Why didn’t you say? You can use my room if you can stand all the banging,’ the Professor of Music offered gallantly. ‘I have taken to using a room in Peterhouse in the daytime. The noise of the rewiring has almost polished me off.’

‘I wouldn’t want to be any trouble.’

‘There is a perfectly decent Bechstein if it makes you feel at home. What are you playing at the moment?’

‘Bach, of course. Some Mozart. Late Beethoven.’

‘That’s getting dangerously late for me, I am afraid.’

Sidney stepped in and tried to explain. ‘Orlando is our Early Music specialist. Anything after 1800 is decidedly avant-garde.’

‘As for Sidney’s jazz,’ the Professor of Music shuddered, ‘I don’t know how anyone goes near it. Such a racket.’

‘Do you think so?’ Hildegard smiled. ‘Sometimes I find Bach is like jazz. The Concerto in D perhaps . . .’

‘Yes, I can see that: but there is a difference, is there not, between Bach or Buxtehude and the music of Bix Beiderbecke, don’t you think?’

‘Of course, but the similarities are often as interesting as the differences.’

Sidney thought it best to stop this dangerous line of conversation. ‘Careful, Hildegard, or you will lose Professor Richards’ goodwill.’

‘Then perhaps I will confine my practice to music no later than the eighteenth century. Do you have a harpsichord?’

‘Of course. There is a harpsichord and a piano. You could practise as Wanda Landowska does. You know how she has started to perform the Goldberg Variations twice in one concert: once on the harpsichord, then again on the piano?’

‘I found it amusing when she told people that they could play Bach in any way they chose but that she thought it better to play it in his.’

‘It’s fascinating to hear the contrast,’ Orlando agreed.

‘The difference in technique is critical.’

‘I look forward to discussing it. Where have you been hiding this magnificent woman, Sidney?’

‘Ah well,’ said Sidney, momentarily jealous. ‘That is quite a story.’ He began to usher Hildegard away. He did not want some upstart music professor monopolising his guest. There would be little enough time for Hildegard as it was.

Sidney spent the Monday morning of Holy Week giving Hildegard a tour of the college so that she would know where everything was when she practised in Orlando’s rooms.

He had chosen to enter via St Bene’t’s Church rather than the Porter’s Lodge as he thought it best to start on the site where the college had been founded. He then ushered Hildegard into the formal nineteenth-century elegance of New Court with its prominent chapel. To its right and left there were the library and the hall. This triangular arrangement of buildings reflected the balance between academic, spiritual and social life in the college community.

Sidney’s careful explanation of this fact was marred, however, by an argument in front of the library. Charlie Crawford, carrying a large roll of copper wiring, had been heading towards G staircase where Adam Cade, the junior bursar, stopped him. It was clear that Dr Cade had some form of protest, either about the nature of the rewiring or its ever-increasing cost, and Charlie was seen to drop the copper and fold his arms. He then made off, in haste, to the Porter’s Lodge where, Sidney felt sure, a complaint would be issued.

‘Oh dear,’ he observed. ‘I think that’s best avoided.’

Hildegard kept peering into the narrow openings that separated the more formal buildings. She remarked that nothing was quite what it seemed: behind the bright spacious courtyards lay dark corners, eerie passages and narrow stairs. ‘It’s like living in a monastery,’ she said.

‘I think that was the founders’ idea. A secluded world of scholarship, without distraction.’

‘With women offering the greatest danger of distraction, I suppose. What happens when a fellow wants to get married?’ she asked.

‘They move out; although they keep their rooms for tutorials. And they still dine in college.’

‘It must be lonely for the wives.’

Adam Cade crossed the court to say hello and Sidney made the necessary introduction, pointing out that Hildegard was staying with Charlie Crawford’s sister.

‘Well I hope he doesn’t display the temper at home that I’ve just experienced here.’

‘I have not seen it,’ Hildegard assured him. ‘Is something the matter?’

‘Something is always the matter with Crawford. That man would start a fight in an empty room. If he stopped complaining and got on with the rewiring it would have been done by now. He’s left stuff all over the place, even though I have told him repeatedly about my need for tidiness and cleanliness so that I can concentrate on my work. I’ve had to ask him to leave it and clear it all up over the weekend. I’m late to deliver a book to my publisher and I can’t lose any more time.’

‘He is worried about money, I think.’

‘So he’s complained to you as well, Mrs Staunton? That’s not very discreet. I’ve warned him that he needs to be much more meticulous about his overtime sheets. He can’t make rough approximations and charge what he likes. The figures don’t add up and I don’t believe that he has done as much work as he says he has. But then I’m no electrician. College administration can be such a bore. You’re lucky to be able to swan in and out, Canon Chambers. I think it must be fun being a clergyman.’

‘I do have my cares as well,’ Sidney replied firmly. ‘But I admit that there are benefits to the priesthood.’

‘Not least, the companionship of your charming guest, I should imagine.’

Sidney thought it time to explain. ‘Mrs Staunton is a pianist and Professor Richards has kindly lent her his rooms in which to practise.’

‘I hear he keeps clearing off to Peterhouse. I wish I could do the same.’

Hildegard was concerned. ‘I hope I will not disturb you.’

‘I do not think you will. Professor Richards and I have had many a discussion about the relationship between music and mathematics.’

‘It is close,’ Hildegard observed.

Dr Cade appeared grateful for her interest. ‘We talk about mutual codes, repeated patterns and numerological similarities. But you probably don’t want me to bang on about all that. I look forward to hearing you play.’

‘I am sure I am not as able as Professor Richards.’

‘That may be the case, although I suspect that you are being modest. If it is true, then I do not doubt that you more than make up for any lesser ability with charm.’ Cade lifted his hat.

Sidney took Hildegard to the Porter’s Lodge and explained the arrangement with Orlando Richards. Hildegard would practise for two hours every morning and afternoon for the next few days and Sidney would collect her every lunchtime. The head porter, Bill Beagrie, took a dim view of letting a woman have such a free run of the college, particularly one that was German, but once Hildegard had spoken to him his fears were allayed. Sidney assured him that he might even enjoy the sound of preludes and fugues wafting their way from an upper room in the south-easterly corner of New Court.

Sidney was happy that her piano practice left him time to perform his duties without losing out on the pleasure of lunch and dinner in her company. He felt sure that her presence could ease the penitential pattern of Lent.

Such hopes, however, were forlorn and short-lived. The following morning, Hildegard’s practice session was interrupted by a scream from Doris Arnold, the bed-maker who had been cleaning the room opposite.

Inside lay the figure of Adam Cade, junior bursar and Research Fellow of Mathematics, dead in his bath.

On being informed of this untimely demise, Sidney felt not only immense sorrow for the unexpected loss of so young a life but anxiety about the effect of the news on Hildegard. He prayed that there was nothing suspicious about it. He did not want any investigations to take place while she was staying.

Dr Michael Robinson pronounced the cause of death as heart failure, which was somewhat strange as Dr Cade had only just celebrated his thirty-fifth birthday. ‘He’s a bit young for that, don’t you think?’ Sidney asked.

‘He was very highly strung. And I’m told he tended to work through the night. He had a set routine. Having a bath very early in the morning was his way of taking a break.’

‘And there is nothing unusual about his demise?’

‘No, Canon Chambers, nothing at all. It is unfortunate that he had the attack and then appears subsequently to have drowned in the bath but this is not, in itself, unusual. Death comes to us all and there are times when people are unlucky. He had a weak heart. He was alone. He could not summon help.’

‘You mean that, had he not been in his bath, he might have survived?’

‘That is possible.’

‘But he was looking so well . . .’ Hildegard observed.

‘Sometimes that makes very little difference,’ the doctor replied.

Hildegard was in no state to continue with her piano practice and Sidney suggested that it might be best if she went back to her lodgings for a lie-down. There, however, she was met by Charlie Crawford.

He was ranting.

Professor Todd had insinuated that Dr Cade’s heart attack could have been caused by his inability to work as normal. The stress induced by the rewiring of the college, the costs involved and the difficulties in finding time to fit his academic commitments around his duties had proved fatal. Ceaseless complaint from certain college workers, and Crawford in particular, could only have added to the pressures upon him as junior bursar, and a review of the events leading up to the death was therefore in order.

‘They’re going to try to pin the whole thing on me, I can tell. But it was a heart attack, plain and simple. Then the man drowned. I’ve done nothing wrong.’

‘They will try and find something,’ his sister warned. ‘I’m sure they’ve been looking for an excuse to get rid of you.’

‘The head porter will back me up.’

‘That may not be enough.’

‘I can ask Sidney,’ Hildegard offered. ‘I am sure he would say something.’

‘I don’t think they take much notice of clergymen. All I do know is that Todd’s got it in for me.’

‘But why?’

‘They’re cooking the books.’

Hildegard was bemused. ‘I do not understand that phrase.’

‘They’ve both got their hands in the college till. They stint on the workers and help themselves to whatever money they can. It’s one law for them and another for the rest of us.’