Sidney Chambers and the Perils of the Night (26 page)

‘It’s a complicated situation.’

Sidney looked anxious. ‘Does your family have someone in mind?’

‘There are expectations, yes.’

‘But you would rather decide for yourself?’

‘As I said, there are complications. And in more than one family.’

‘Well, if you ever need to talk about it, you know where to find me.’

‘Do you know the Redmond family, Canon Chambers?’

‘Not well, but I often pass by the family shop. Do they supply your restaurant?’

‘Annie delivers our vegetables and household supplies.’

‘And is she, perhaps, the complication?’

‘You are perceptive, Canon Chambers.’

‘I saw the manner in which she greeted you and the way her father slapped her down. I am afraid you will have to make it a little less obvious if you wish to keep it a secret.’

‘That is the problem. We do not want it to be a secret at all.’

‘I could have a word with the family; if you think it might help?’

‘I need to talk to Annie first. Her parents and her uncles are always polite, but I can tell they want to keep me at a distance. I am their customer, nothing more. I know they are not happy.’

‘And you are?’

‘Not at the moment, Canon Chambers. I think none of us are very cheerful. But perhaps, with God’s help, things will come good.’

‘I certainly hope so. I will pray for you, Zafar, if you think that would be helpful.’

‘I need all of God’s help.’

‘Then that is what you shall have,’ Sidney replied, as kindly as he could, and looked for Dickens to take him home.

His Labrador seemed unusually sluggish. Sidney wondered whether the heat had exhausted him, or if he had eaten too much of the cricketers’ tea. Cheese never agreed with him, and the egg sandwiches had possibly been left out on a warming day for too long. In fact, Dickens became lethargic all evening, sleeping more than he usually did; so much so that Sidney thought that something must be wrong. He decided to telephone Agatha Redmond, who had provided the Labrador in the first place and whose brother Andrew, Grantchester’s captain, was, after all, a vet.

‘It is odd that you should telephone as Dickens is not alone in feeling a little under the weather. The men in the family are ill too and I don’t think it’s the drink. They seem to have come down with some kind of food poisoning, Canon Chambers. We can’t think what it could be. I hope it wasn’t Mrs Maguire’s lardy cake.’

‘I very much doubt that.’

‘Has Dickens been sick?’

‘Not as far as I know.’

‘And what about you?’

‘I am well. But I didn’t really eat very much.’

‘Make sure Dickens has plenty of water. I can look in after church tomorrow.’

‘I am sure that will be fine,’ Sidney replied, although after looking at his exhausted dog, he was not sure that it was.

The following morning Dickens seemed to have returned to his usual self, and the Sunday was taken up with Sidney’s regular activities. It did seem strange that so many of the cricketers had suffered from upset stomachs as well as sore heads but there was nothing to cause any real anxiety, and in the days that followed Sidney was more interested to hear about Colin Cowdrey’s 176 not out for Kent against Lancashire, an exhilarating century for D.W. Richardson for Worcestershire against Gloucestershire at Stroud, and Miss Truman reaching the Lawn Tennis singles final in Paris. In fact he had put the weekend’s cricket out of his mind until Inspector Keating raised the subject at their regular backgammon contest on the Thursday evening.

The conversation began innocently enough. ‘I heard about the game,’ Keating noted after he had thrown a double three. ‘I was wondering about the origin of the word hat trick. Where does it come from? Cricket doesn’t have much to do with hats, does it?’

‘I think it was at Sheffield’s Hyde Park ground in 1858. An All-England cricket team was engaged in a cricket match against the Hallam XI. During the match, H.H. Stephenson of the All-England XI took three wickets in three balls. As was customary at the time for rewarding outstanding sporting feats, a collection was made. The proceeds were used to buy a white hat, which was duly presented to the bowler.’

‘And was Stephenson grateful?’

‘History is, I fear, silent on this important subject, Geordie. But Mr Ali’s hat trick certainly made our own little contribution to cricketing statistics.’

‘Although many of them drank so much afterwards I am surprised they are able to remember anything about it.’

‘Yes, I heard there was quite a celebration. There were plenty of sore heads and upset stomachs.’

‘Although that Indian chappie doesn’t drink alcohol, I’m told.’

‘And he was the hero of the hour.’

The inspector gave Sidney what was becoming one of his all-too-familiar steady looks. ‘You know he’s not well?’

‘I did not.’

‘Mr Ali has even had to close his restaurant. I am surprised you hadn’t heard anything. Mrs Maguire must have been keeping it quiet.’

‘What’s she got to do with it?’

‘Well it could have been one of her famous lardy cakes, couldn’t it?’

‘I doubt very much that Mrs Maguire’s cooking is to blame.’ Sidney was annoyed that he had to keep defending his housekeeper. ‘Baking is her absolute forte.’

‘The doctor’s been but I’ve also sent one of Jarvis’s men round to ask a few questions.’

‘That seems rather zealous.’

‘You can’t be too careful. Mr Ali has said that there might have been something wrong with the lemonade.’

‘Surely not?’

‘You would have thought not, but back in Newcastle there was a bit of an incident twenty-odd years ago. I was a small boy, mind, but there was something about the fruit crystals in the drink. They dissolved some of the coating of the pail it was in. Seventy people were poisoned.’

‘And that coating contained?’

‘Antimony.’

‘Isn’t that what Mozart died from?’

‘I wouldn’t know that, Sidney.’

Although Keating was exasperated by his friend’s flight of fancy his impatience did nothing to stem Sidney’s impromptu peroration. ‘I think it may have been in a pork chop. Trichinosis, I think it’s called. It’s ironic because Mozart’s last opera
La Clemenza di Tito
contains the poisoning of the Emperor Titus.’

‘I am sure it does.’

‘And so if you were correct then those who drank the lemonade would be the most affected: men such as Zafar Ali?’

‘Indeed, that would be the case. He may have been bowled without scoring,’ Keating observed, ‘but he’s certainly getting the runs now.’

Sidney wondered whether his friend had brought up the entire conversation in order to deliver his joke. He was certainly pleased with it. ‘You know he’s sweet on Annie Thomas, the grocer’s daughter? That’s not going down too well with the rest of the Redmond family, I am afraid.’

‘On the grounds of his race?’

‘And his religion. We can’t all be as broad-minded as you are, Sidney.’

‘I am not always tolerant. Poor Zafar. Such a nice man.’ Sidney finished his beer. ‘You’re not too worried about all this, are you?’

‘No, of course not. Although I wouldn’t like to think we had a poisoner in our midst. It can sometimes take a heck of a long time to rumble them. You know the case of George Chapman?’

‘The Arsenal manager?’

‘No, Sidney, that is Herbert Chapman; the man who had the idea of putting numbers on the backs of players’ shirts. I wish you knew as much about football as you did about everything else. George Chapman was a pub landlord, although his real name was Severin Klosowski. He polished off three of his wives by lacing their drinks over a sustained period of time and then blamed their delicate constitutions. I wouldn’t want the same thing to happen here.’

‘I am sure the Eagle is perfectly safe,’ Sidney replied as he took their two empty glasses over to the bar. There was no point looking for trouble, he thought to himself, and stomach bugs were common enough in Grantchester. He certainly wasn’t going to worry about such things now.

The barmaid leaned forward, and Sidney tried not to look too obviously at her cleavage. ‘What’s your poison?’ she asked.

The following Saturday was the day of Grantchester’s annual fête. Witnessing everyone going about their daily business, during a weekend when they were no longer defined by their professions, Sidney saw his parishioners with their guards down. This was when they were most themselves; more committed to their hobbies, perhaps, than their jobs. They were doing their best, as their ancestors had done before them, and he felt humbled by their quiet acts of goodness. Of course there were difficult people who were determined to make things awkward for everyone else, but they were in the minority, and as the day progressed Sidney felt a growing sense of pride for the people he served.

Amanda had been summoned from London, and she arrived with her friend Martita, an actress who was beginning to make her name in the film business and who had been prevailed upon to open proceedings by cutting the ribbon.

Sidney was cheered to show both girls off, and Amanda was looking spectacular, dressed in a silk French summer dress, based on a champagne ground and white spots, with a full knee-length skirt and a fichu top.

‘Martita keeps me on my toes,’ she whispered to Sidney after he had complimented her on her appearance. ‘And I don’t want to let you down.’

‘You are the most glamorous woman here,’ he replied.

‘Well, that is as it should be. I like to make a bit of a splash. It’s also good to give them a bit of gossip. I’m sure they were expecting Hildegard. When is she coming back?’

‘I’m off to Germany next week.’

‘Then do send her my love.’

‘Your love?’

‘Yes, Sidney, “my love”. I do like the woman.’

The vicar’s only duty at the fête was to judge the most beautiful baby competition. This event, like so many in Sidney’s life, may have seemed trivial but it was, in fact, a social minefield. It required a level of tact and diplomacy that would have tested the highest Foreign Office official, never mind a clergyman. He had learned that the best response to the presentation of a particularly ugly child was simply to say, ‘What a baby!’

The next most important thing was to select Mrs Maguire’s offering at the bring and buy stall and prevent the humiliation of the previous year in which her Victoria sponge, of which she was so proud, had been the last cake to sell.

Sidney knew what he had to do. On scouring the stall he saw a coffee and walnut loaf that he had to purchase if he was to retain the affections of his housekeeper. It cost him one and six; a small price to pay for a clean house and regular meals. He made sure that Mrs Maguire was aware he had bought it.

‘Oh, Canon Chambers, how did you guess?’ she laughed nervously.

‘It was the first cake to be sold. I had to fight other women off,’ Sidney lied.

‘It’s a pity you didn’t make two,’ Amanda joined in.

‘Oh but I did,’ Mrs Maguire replied. ‘There’s a Victoria sponge as well. I like to think of it as my trademark recipe. You can buy it now, if you like, Miss Kendall. It’s only a shilling.’

‘Of course,’ Amanda smiled. ‘I’ll be delighted. You must be relieved the stall is so popular.’

‘Relieved?’

‘I heard there were a few mutterings after the cricket last weekend?’

‘It was nothing to do with my baking, I can assure you.’

‘I am not suggesting any such thing.’

‘I think you were, Miss Kendall.’ Mrs Maguire was on her dignity. ‘I’ll have you know that everything I prepared for the cricket was made in hygienic conditions. No members of my family have ever had any food poisoning in their lives. And if you have any doubts,’ and here Mrs Maguire produced a moment of impromptu triumph, ‘look at Dickens.’

Sidney turned to his dog. ‘What has he got to do with it?’

‘He ate all the food, as well you know, Canon Chambers. He couldn’t get enough of it. And he’s been as right as rain ever since. So it can’t have been any of my food.’

‘Then, perhaps for the first time, you are grateful to him.’

‘I wouldn’t go as far as that. But he is the proof. If you ask me all those stomach upsets are caused by one thing and one thing only.’

‘The demon drink?’ Amanda asked.

‘Exactly, Miss Kendall. My father never touched a drop and he lived until he was ninety-seven.’

‘What a life he must have had,’ Amanda smiled, as sweetly as she could. ‘I’ll take the Victoria sponge, if you don’t mind.’

‘I don’t mind at all. Just so long as you enjoy it.’

‘I am sure I will.’

Amanda took out her purse and paid for the cake. Once they had left the stall she turned to Sidney and told him that at least her cats would like it.

‘Don’t be beastly,’ Sidney said. ‘She means well and she’s had a tough life.’

‘I’m sorry, Sidney. I’m just not a cake person.’