Sidney Chambers and The Forgiveness of Sins (20 page)

‘Orlando was a nervous man too. Did any of you know him well?’

‘We just did the job. We don’t spend much time with college types. Town and gown. You know how it is.’

Sidney checked. ‘So there were no problems?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘No arguments about money; or about the way to do things?’

‘What are you getting at?’

Sidney needed to backtrack and yet secure information at the same time. ‘I know Orlando didn’t have very much money. I was surprised he could afford the piano in the first place.’

‘I think the bursar paid for the move. Uncle Dennis heard that he took Wednesday afternoons off and didn’t want him to slip out without paying. Money’s a bit tight in our family. The secret, Dad says, is to be quick to invoice and slow to pay; but Uncle Dennis says we’re always on the edge of bankruptcy. It gets to him sometimes.’

‘But he wasn’t desperate, was he?’

‘It’s a family firm, Canon Chambers. It’s like a ship. If it sinks we all go down with it. That’s why I’ve got to get back to work.’

‘I imagine it’ll be a while yet.’

‘Then I’ll have to hope that something comes up. A bit of luck on the horses to make up for my leg.’

‘Did your firm have insurance?’

‘For the piano, yes. Not for my leg. In any case, those bastards never pay up.’

‘You’ve tried before?’

‘Dad has. Says you can’t trust them. You have to find other ways to cover yourself.’

‘And what do you think he meant by that?’

‘I haven’t the foggiest, Canon Chambers.’

The funeral took place on Thursday 5th August. As he robed for the service, Sidney remembered, once more, how Orlando had first welcomed his wife to Cambridge and made an arrangement of Hildegard of Bingen’s music in her honour. His bright, thoughtful, attractive personality was so far from the silence of death, he couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to kill him. Surely this was all a horrible accident and he should just speak about fate and beauty, time and chance?

Hildegard played the opening aria of
The Goldberg Variations
in memory and tribute, and then the choir of Corpus Christi was joined by professional singers from across the country to perform the most glorious Early English church music: the Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis from
The Eton Choirbook
; the arrangements by Thomas Tallis of the Ordinal from Archbishop Parker’s Psalter (the manuscript of which was held in Corpus) and the perfect seven-part miniature:
Miserere nostri
.

Sidney preached a sermon based on the late-fifteenth-century anthem ‘
Jesus autem transiens’
by Robert Wylkynson. Scored for thirteen male singers, representing the twelve apostles and Christ, the work was a canon in twelve sections. One by one the apostles said their name when their turn came, proclaiming the
cantus firmus
– ‘Jesus passed through their midst’ – and a line from the Apostles’ Creed. The anthem moved from left to right across a line of singers, like light across a hillside, building to a moment when all thirteen voices were sounding: Christ surrounded by his disciples, before each one fell away until only one man was left singing on the extreme right before the piece ended.

Sidney began by affirming that ‘Jesus passed through their midst’ and then developed his theme: that Jesus is not static but moving. He passes through, as he must through all our lives, and as we must travel through life itself. His revelation will always be for a limited time, just as our lives have their allotted span: and even though that span might be cut short, the passing moment of revelation through faith, beauty or music was no less bright, no less defining. They were moments of definition; Orlando’s decision to become a musician, to concentrate on early music, to come to Corpus and, perhaps most importantly, to marry his wife Cecilia. We carry the memory of those events as they pass among us, Sidney concluded, hoping we notice what matters and that we take the opportunity, however fleeting, of appreciating life in all its fullness.

The service ended with Mozart’s ‘
Soave Sia il Vento
’ from
Così fan Tutte
. It was the celebratory piece that had been sung at Orlando and Cecilia’s wedding. This was as good as funerals got, Sidney thought, the music enhancing the structure and beauty of the language of the prayer book; a grateful ending to a life.

Sidney walked forward to give the blessing. As he did so, he noticed a man standing at the back. He was sure that he had not been there for long. It was Dennis Gaunt, the foreman, muttering and crying. He left before Sidney could speak to him.

At the wake, Cecilia Richards was appreciative of all that Sidney had said. She repeated that she couldn’t believe what had happened. Sometimes she thought it was so unusual, so freakish an occurrence, that there must be an explanation. It couldn’t have been a random accident. Had Sidney thought that too? Was he doing any investigating?

Rather than lie, Sidney evaded the question. He talked about the exemplary nature of her marriage.

She smiled sadly. ‘No one really believes two people could be as happy as we were but there was no pretence about anything we did. We loved each other. I remember laughing that we were young enough to get up to a golden wedding anniversary and that I couldn’t imagine ever being with anyone else. Perhaps I’ve been punished for expecting too much, for ignoring fate, for being happy.’

Her son was running around wearing a stick-on moustache and holding up a silver-framed photo of his father. Cecilia called to him, and held him close.

Sidney noticed Helena Randall and expressed his surprise that she was there. ‘You’re not a family friend?’

‘But the funeral was a public event. Orlando Richards was a well-known and much-loved figure in Cambridge. I expressed my condolences. The widow asked me back to the wake.’

‘She was being polite. These things are supposed to be private.’

‘Don’t worry, Sidney, I won’t do anything to embarrass you.’

‘Are you going to write any more about what happened?’

‘As you say, it was “an accident”. I am just getting a bit of colour for my report on the funeral. “When the music had to stop”, that kind of thing. It’s good that his wife’s named after the patron saint of music. I’ve even found a poem by Alexander Pope: the
Ode on St Cecilia’s Day
. I think I might use it at the end; although it might sound like one of your show-off sermons. What do you think?

‘In broken air, trembling, the wild music floats;

Till, by degrees, remote and small,

The strains decay,

And melt away,

In a dying, dying fall.’

‘I’m not sure that would be a good idea, Helena. Too close to the bone, perhaps.’

‘Or even the ivory? Did you see the piano remover crying at the back of the church?’

‘Dennis Gaunt? Only briefly.’

‘Aha, Sidney, I knew you’d spotted him. He was blubbing.’

‘You spoke to him as well?’

‘I did, as a matter of fact.’

‘I thought you told me he had disappeared?’

‘There’s a special house he goes to when it all gets too much. Didn’t they tell you?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘Used to belong to his mum,’ Helena explained. ‘She died last year. He had it all cleaned out and redecorated ready to sell but now he won’t put it on the market. He likes to go and sit there. Says he feels safer.’

‘He told you all this?’

‘I have other sources.’

‘And you’re not going to reveal them?’

‘You never do, Sidney.’

‘That’s nonsense. But I’m impressed that you’ve found out so much so soon.’

‘It’s either my sharp investigative skills, my astonishing charm or my incredible beauty.’

‘Probably a combination of all three. So it’s a kind of safe house?’

‘I don’t think it’s illegal or anything. But Dennis Gaunt doesn’t want to let it go; which is a problem as his brothers and sisters want the money from the sale. They’re accusing Dennis of dragging his feet.’

‘And there’s nothing else that’s odd about his wanting to be there on his own? No secret assignations?’

‘That’s what I’m trying to find out.’

‘And what would this have to do with the death of the husband of our hostess?’ (Sidney did not say his name for fear of being overheard.)

‘Perhaps nothing at all. I hardly think they could be having an affair. But if they’re not connected then I can file two stories for the price of one.’

‘And if your investigations prove fruitless?’

‘There’s always a story somewhere, Sidney.’

‘Even if you have to make one up?’

‘I never do that. I might engage in a bit of embroidery but I need a piece of cloth in the first place.’

‘No matter how small?’

‘The merest handkerchief will do.’

‘That was enough for Iago. Can you tell me where the mother’s house is?’

‘It’s completely empty, by the way. It looks like the removal men have just been, which is appropriate when you think about it.’

‘Does Geordie know?’

‘Why does he need to? The man has done nothing wrong. Dennis was only a spectator at the time of the accident . . .’

‘It’s his firm.’

‘And he’s not breaking the law. At least as far as I can see. All he is doing is sitting in an empty house and talking to himself. When he talks, that is. Otherwise he speaks to me.’

‘What does he say?’

‘You’ll have to read the paper.’

‘Are you keeping evidence from the police?’

‘Nothing criminal. It’s a human-interest story. Dennis Gaunt wants to get away from it all. He’s Cambridge’s answer to Robinson Crusoe, living without possessions, a man who says no to the madness of our modern world. It’s almost religious, his desire for solitude and silence. In fact he’s thinking of becoming a secular hermit.’

‘Which, presumably, is rather difficult given the fact that he has a wife and family and a business to run?’

‘Then you see why this is a story?’

‘The next thing you’ll be telling me is that he listens to Orlando Richards’s recordings.’

‘Now that would be something.’

‘I was being facetious.’

They were interrupted by Cecilia Richards. She wanted a word with Sidney. She was relieved, she said. The bursar had told her that she could stay on in her house for as long as she needed. Her husband had been a wonderful man and the college would put no pressure on her to leave. He knew how difficult it all must be.

‘It was kind of him. I should be glad. And, in a way, I am.’

Sidney put his arm around her shoulder. ‘It must be hard to take anything in.’

Cecilia Richards took her time to reply. ‘Grief is like an endless fugue,’ she said.

Sidney decided that the most straightforward excuse for seeing Dennis Gaunt was to ask for a quotation for his removal to Ely, including Hildegard’s piano.

His brother, Vic, was surprised by the visit. ‘We could have spoken about all this at the fête.’

‘This seemed more businesslike. And I was hoping that I might be able to help your company in what must be a time of need.’

Sidney thought ruefully that he wasn’t lying exactly. What he was saying was partly true, even if there were what might be termed other considerations.

‘I heard you’d been to see our Lennie in hospital. I hope you weren’t stirring anything up?’

‘Not at all, I can assure you . . .’ (But why would Victor Gaunt be so suspicious if he had a clear conscience? Sidney thought.)

‘Just ask us to do the job and we’ll do it, vicar. Best price. Cheaper if you can pay in cash.’

‘I thought a cheque might suit . . .’

‘No. Cash is better. Dennis is the one that gives out the estimates. Do it verbally. Gentlemen’s agreement. That’s the best way.’

‘I gather he’s not here at the moment.’

‘He’s taken a few days off to try and recover.’

‘And when will he be back?’

‘No way of telling.’

‘He’s in your mother’s house?’

‘You must have been talking to that journalist. Is she a friend of yours?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘Dennis says she understands him.’

‘I’m sure she does.’

‘Nonsense. We both know she’s just getting a story. Dennis is too soft.’

‘Does he like to have visitors?’

‘Do you want to see him as well? I can give you the address but he won’t let you in. Normally you have to chat on the doorstep.’

‘I think I can manage that.’

‘Try not to upset him, that’s all I ask. Thoughts keep going round and round in his head. The firm’s never had an accident like it and no one will go near us. We’re finished. You’ll probably be our last ever job.’