Sidney Chambers and The Forgiveness of Sins (10 page)

‘I am sure no one needs to worry about that,’ Shouty Meynell laughed. ‘You always do.’ Then, perhaps thinking that this was a joke everyone had missed, he repeated the phrase: ‘I say, YOU ALWAYS DO.’

‘Now we have a doctor and a priest with us we should be well catered for should we have any mishaps,’ Sir Mark added.

‘We also have a detective,’ Amanda pointed out.

‘Oh I don’t know about that . . .’ said Sidney quickly.

‘Ah yes, I have been hearing about your exploits, Canon Chambers,’ Sir Mark replied. ‘It appears that the clergy are just as capable of murdering each other as everyone else.’

Sidney knew he was referring to a rejected ordinand who had taken revenge on his former tutors. ‘I think that was an exceptional case.’

‘I should hope it was.’

Dr Robinson intervened quickly. ‘Canon Chambers has something of a reputation for his powers of observation. We shall have to be on our toes . . .’

Serena Stein reclaimed her previous intimacy. ‘I’ve just been privy to his acute sensibility.’

Sidney smiled. ‘A clear conscience is the safest way to a happy life.’

‘BUT WHO’S GOT ONE OF THEM, CANON CHAMBERS?’ Shouty Meynell asked. ‘We’re all guilty of some misdeed or other.’

‘That’s why people go to church,’ said Elizabeth quietly, rising from her chair in order to take the ladies out of the room. She made a slight adjustment to her hair as she did so, revealing a large red burn at the back of her neck.

‘Oh, gosh . . .’ said Amanda.

‘What is it?’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .’

‘What?’

‘Your neck.’

Sir Mark cut in swiftly. ‘That’s a very personal remark, Amanda.’

‘I do apologise. I shouldn’t have said anything.’

Lady Elizabeth was flustered. ‘I think I must have sat under a dryer at the hairdresser’s for too long.’ Everyone was staring at her. ‘It’s nothing to worry about.’

‘Elizabeth’s always having little accidents’, Sir Mark explained. ‘Aren’t you, darling? She has to learn to take better care of herself.’

‘I try my best, but it’s not always easy.’

‘Then perhaps you just have to try a little harder. Port, chaps?’

It was well after eleven before Sidney and Hildegard were alone. They had been given a spacious bedroom that included a sofa and a couple of armchairs on either side of an occasional table stacked with back issues of
Country Life
and three or four contemporary novels that had never been read. Hildegard had brought a copy of
Jane Eyre
. She had made it her mission to get to grips with some of the English classics and was already wondering if Witchford Hall was similar to Mr Rochester’s Thornfield. So far, however, there had been no sign of any Grace Poole, no hidden flight of stairs and no dark laughter from the attic.

As they prepared for bed (grateful that the maid had provided them with a hot-water bottle) and worried about Anna (would she really be all right without them?), Hildegard teased her husband about his dining companion. ‘Serena Stein was very attentive. Had you met her before?’

Sidney knew that any questioning on the subject of how much he had enjoyed the company of a woman who had asked so directly about the nature of his marriage would not end well.

‘I heard her tell you that she looked forward to being better acquainted. Were you flirting, Sidney?’

‘Of course not.’

‘I don’t mind if you were.’

‘I was not. And you do.’

‘Would you care if I behaved in a similar way with a man?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Liar.’

Sidney decided to change the subject as quickly as he could and was aided by a knock on the door. It was Amanda.

‘Let me in, darlings. I’ve forgotten my toothpaste.’

‘You could have asked the maid,’ said Sidney, rather ungraciously.

‘It’s
an excuse
, you stupid man.’

Sidney opened the door. ‘Are you coming for a midnight feast?’

Amanda flopped on to one of the chairs. ‘We could do with one after that dinner. Those pheasant had no meat on them at all. And as for the potatoes . . .’

‘Stone cold.’

‘I liked the pudding,’ Hildegard remarked, sitting down on the edge of the bed. ‘But not what happened afterwards.’

‘Have you come for a debrief on Henry?’ Sidney asked. ‘He seems a very agreeable chap.’

‘He certainly knows how to tell a story. He likes being popular. A bit like you, Sidney . . .’

‘I don’t court popularity.’

‘But you don’t mind it when it comes.’

‘I was just teasing him about that,’ said Hildegard.

‘I think I can make up my own mind about Henry,’ Amanda continued. ‘He’s a bit too eager to please but there are worse faults. Did either of you get another look at Elizabeth’s burn?’

‘I did,’ said Hildegard.

‘And what do you think?’

‘It was not an accident at the hairdresser’s.’

‘Exactly. I think Mark’s responsible. And not for the first time.’

Sidney could see that his friend was about to embark on a theory. ‘But do you have any other evidence?’

‘There was another one a few months ago, on her forearm. She explained it away by saying that women with an Aga often burn themselves. You can also tell from their children’s jumpers. They always have scorch marks when they’ve been left too long to dry. The only thing is . . .’

‘She doesn’t do the cooking,’ Hildegard replied.

‘And they lost their child.’ Amanda turned to Sidney. ‘I don’t know if I ever told you about that.’

‘I would have remembered if you had.’

‘A little boy. Peter. He drowned. I don’t think either of them have ever recovered.’

‘Do they blame each other?’ Hildegard asked.

‘Of course. And themselves. They don’t talk about it. But Elizabeth’s become very withdrawn in the last few years. And you saw how scared she was of her husband? It’s horrible.’

‘Has she said anything about this?’

‘No.’

‘Nothing at all?’

‘I can tell she’s hiding something.’

‘But she hasn’t said anything specific?’ Sidney checked.

‘Sometimes women don’t need to tell each other things . . .’ Amanda continued.

Hildegard agreed. ‘We just
know
.’

‘And she couldn’t be harming herself?’

‘I hadn’t thought of that.’

‘She doesn’t seem happy at all . . .’ said Hildegard. ‘But perhaps it is grief. That would be enough.’

‘Grief doesn’t make you burn yourself on purpose.’

‘Have you ever seen Sir Mark lose his temper?’ Sidney enquired.

‘No.’

‘Have you asked Henry about this?’

‘I know he’s Mark’s oldest friend but he’s not the type of man to rock the boat. I don’t think I can put a dampener on things at this stage. That’s why I’m so glad you’re here.’

‘What have you actually said to Elizabeth?’

‘I tried to ask but she stopped me. She doesn’t want anyone to think there’s anything wrong.’

‘How long have they been married?’ Hildegard asked.

‘About fifteen years. She was very young when they became engaged; it was just after her twenty-first birthday . . .’

‘Many people think that’s a good time . . .’

‘You can tell she’s terrified of her husband. I am not imagining it.’

‘It’s always hard to know what goes on in a marriage,’ Sidney replied. ‘There’s never a single story. People tell you different things. They leave out what they don’t want you to know; anything that might make you less compassionate.’

‘But what could be more sympathetic than to tell a friend that your husband is hitting you?’

‘Unless you fear that, by doing so, he will find out that other people know and punish you for the revelation.’

Sidney thought for a moment about the nature of intervention in friendship; whether it was advising someone to leave his or her job, avoid an affair, give up alcohol or escape an abusive marriage. A friend had to be sure of his or her facts. The timing had to be right.

‘Whatever’s going on’, Amanda continued, ‘Elizabeth is desperately unhappy. It’s more than grief.’

‘She
was
nervous tonight,’ Hildegard agreed. ‘But if her husband is hitting her why do you think he’s doing it?’

‘Blame, perhaps. Frustration. Lack of success. Failure to keep a son and heir. It could be all these things.’

‘Did you notice the maid?’ Sidney asked.

‘Which one?’

‘The small girl with the bob. Big dark eyes. Looked a bit sullen.’

‘Like the act of service was beneath her?’

‘That’s the one. I think she’s called Nancy.’

‘What about her?’

‘She was avoiding Sir Mark all evening.’

‘What do you think is going on?’ Hildegard asked.

Amanda stood up. ‘I’ll try and get something more out of Elizabeth. For once we could stop something before it starts . . .’

‘I fear it’s already begun.’

Hildegard turned to her husband. ‘Perhaps you could talk with the doctor tomorrow. He may be able to help you. He has done so before.’

‘You would like me to ask some unofficial questions?’

‘I would like you to ask as many questions as you can,’ said Amanda.

There was a light frost in the night and the Saturday morning was dark, threatening snow without ever producing a flurry. The sky looked as if it had been shaded in charcoal, given a light wash of pale blue and left for the day. Sidney stood at the bedroom window and wondered what on earth he was doing in this gloomy country house when he could have been back in Grantchester with his beloved daughter, his parishioners and his enthusiastic Labrador. He had thought of bringing Byron but he had only just reached his first birthday and he would have proved too unreliable a companion, intimidated by the other dogs, possibly to the same degree that Sidney was by the other guests.

He went down for a breakfast of lukewarm hard-boiled eggs and cold toast. At least the tea was hot. Despite an obvious hangover, Sir Mark read out the news he felt might be of interest from that morning’s copy of
The Times
. Decca had released a twelve-disc recording of Winston Churchill’s speeches in honour of his ninetieth birthday. Someone had complained that the Oxford and Cambridge boat race was a waste of money; and the four-year-old granddaughter of the Canadian prime minister had discovered a hotline to the White House and pretended that war had been declared.

‘We’ve come to a pretty pass if the next world war is started by a four-year-old girl,’ Shouty remarked to everyone in earshot.

Hildegard asked if she could use the telephone in order to check that all was well with Anna at home. Sidney went upstairs to complete his ablutions and change into his Norfolk jacket for the shoot.

His wife was impressed by his easy style. ‘I sometimes think you can wear anything, Sidney.’

‘That is one of the benefits of being a clergyman, my darling. We are so used to dressing up in all manner of clothing that we learn not to be self-conscious.’

‘You will be careful?’

‘I will try my best.’

‘With the guns, I mean. You know how I hate them. We don’t want an accident.’

It was not often that Hildegard, even obliquely, reminded Sidney of the death of her first husband (murdered by gunshot) and he realised it was perhaps insensitive to bring her to such an occasion. Perhaps she would have been better off at home? ‘Will
you
be all right?’ he asked.

‘I like Amanda very much, as you know. And we can keep an eye on Elizabeth. I might even ask her one of your questions.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘The innocent enquiry that isn’t what it seems. I know what you’re like.’

Through the high windows Sidney watched his shooting companions assembling for the morning briefing. ‘I should go.’

His wife kissed him goodbye. ‘Be very careful. I’d rather have a husband than a hare. I’ll see you at lunch.’

Sir Mark called the party together, checking that there were no stragglers and calling, ‘Anyone not here, speak out!’

‘ALL PRESENT AND CORRECT,’ Shouty Meynell responded.

Musket, Sir Mark’s black Labrador, circled round him as his master explained that there would be two drives followed by elevenses and a quick sharpener; then two more drives before lunch at Denny Abbey; followed by a fifth and possible sixth drive after lunch. The day would end just before four o’clock. He was hoping for over a hundred birds: mainly pheasant, partridge, mallard and duck.

‘Please,’ Elizabeth said quietly to her husband before kissing him goodbye, ‘don’t shoot the woodcock. You know how I love them.’