Sidney Chambers and The Problem of Evil (The Grantchester Mysteries) (34 page)

It did not take him long to climb the stairs but, as he did so, his stomach cramped with anxiety. What if all was not well? What if he had to choose between saving the life of his wife and that of his child? What were the chances of disaster as well as joy?

Sister Bland emerged from the maternity ward and let the door swing behind her. ‘You can’t go in. She’s not there. You’ll have to sit in the waiting-room.’

‘Where is she?’ he asked. ‘Is anything the matter?’

‘It’s been trickier than we thought, Canon Chambers, and that’s quite a large baby you’ve got there, but I am sure that mother and baby will both pull through.’

‘I need to know everything,’ he pressed, leaning close to Sister Bland and catching yet another sight of the dreaded moustache. ‘What on earth is going on?’

‘The doctor thought a Caesarean section would be safest.’

Sidney felt his insides turn over. ‘I thought they were dangerous. Hildegard wanted to give birth herself.’

‘She will still give birth and she has agreed to the procedure. This way, we can control what happens and keep the baby safe.’

‘Are they in any danger? What’s wrong?’

‘The baby is in breech. So we can’t wait any longer.’

‘Is Hildegard’s mother in there with her?’

‘We can’t have anyone watching, Canon Chambers. Frau Leber is in the waiting-room. I’ll show you where to go.’

Sidney thought he should ring his father. As a doctor, he could tell him the right questions to ask. It was, however, too late for that now. He should have seen him earlier. He could have sought out his advice and prepared for all eventualities instead of roaming round Cambridge in search of missing children. ‘Oh, damn my stupidity,’ he muttered. ‘Damn, damn, damn.’

Sister Bland, in an unexpectedly kindly fashion, put her arm around him and tried to reassure him while still retaining her brisk manner. ‘We are quite used to this kind of thing happening. The operation takes time and patience but it is best for everyone concerned. I’ll ask someone to fetch you a cup of tea.’

Sidney had never felt so useless. He could not discern whether he was being told the truth, even though he had no reason to believe the nurse would mislead him. That would be unlikely, he thought, before wondering if perhaps Sister Bland had known anything at all about the theft of baby John, or suspected that anything was amiss with her colleague, Grace Carrington. Perhaps she had covered up for her, or turned a blind eye?

He stopped himself.
Concentrate on this moment, Sidney. This is your wife and child. Nothing else matters.

He tried to control his fears but still they ran on. What if this all went horribly wrong? What if it was punishment for life going well, for all their happiness, an ultimate test of faith? Hadn’t Hildegard gone through enough suffering? What about the loss of her father, the war, the murder of her first husband? Surely that was enough pain for one life?

He walked into the waiting-room to see Frau Leber knitting a red blanket. ‘If I do this, I do not think,’ she said.

She was sitting next to an elderly woman who told them that her husband was recovering from a heart attack. ‘I’m wearing my lucky coat,’ she said. ‘I can’t take it off or something will go wrong.’

A young mother was trying to keep her three-year-old daughter from playing with the fake Christmas tree. Its lights had already broken. ‘My sister’s in the same ward as your wife,’ she said. ‘I just hope no one steals any more babies.’

Sidney had forgotten that the news of baby John’s return had not broken and that he had failed to inform Inspector Keating of this essential fact. He was not sure that the Redmond family would think to do it for him but he could hardly pop out and make a telephone call now. He tried to concentrate only on what lay ahead of him. ‘I think I might pray,’ he said to Hildegard’s mother.

‘Then I will pray with you.’

Sidney remembered an old American song in which a man offered to die in place of his wife and child, and then was immediately furious for thinking only of himself and for the idea that he might make any kind of bargain with his creator.

‘Peace be to this house, and to all that dwell in it,’ he began. ‘O Lord, look down from heaven, behold, visit and relieve this Thy servant. Look upon her with the eyes of Thy mercy, give her comfort and sure confidence in Thee, defend her from the dangers of the enemy, and keep her in perpetual peace and safety, through Jesus Christ our Lord.’

They waited several hours. Between them they drank six cups of tea, started on a second packet of digestive biscuits and paced over a mile of hospital flooring. After Sidney had, at last, managed to telephone Keating and tell him that baby John was safe, they were joined by a father who chain-smoked in the waiting-room as he held on to find out if his son who had come off his motorbike would live or die; a woman whose husband had poked himself in the eye while doing the Christmas decorations; and a restaurant owner whose chef had burned himself with goose fat.

At last, just after three in the morning, Sidney and his mother-in-law were allowed into the ward. There were four beds and the lights were bright. An exhausted Hildegard lay with a drip in her arm and a child beside her.

‘Meet Anna,’ she said.

Sidney’s eyes filled with tears as he could not decide which he loved the most: his brave, beautiful, indomitable wife or the frail miracle of creation that was his baby daughter.

On Christmas morning, Sidney preached a sermon on the advantages of recognising fragility in ourselves and all those we love and care for. He had not had time to prepare properly and so he spoke off the cuff in front of his parishioners, his family and his friends. Hildegard and her mother were in attendance with his parents Alec and Iris Chambers and their new grandchild. He could look out from the pulpit to see his sister Jennifer and her fiancé Johnny Johnson, members of the Redmond family, nurses from the hospital, Geordie and Cathy Keating and their three children sitting in front of Helena Randall who was with a beleaguered-looking man whom Sidney took to be the director of the pantomime. Amanda Kendall was late, of course, but she had promised to bring plenty of champagne to wet the newborn baby’s head.

He began by talking about the Christ child as the representative of all children and what it was to be childlike. He was arguing in favour of the need for times of weakness and vulnerability in our lives. An always invincible, strong, resistant humanity would have no room for growth or learning. It would have nothing to do. There would be no test because there could be no failure. Humanity needed its failings in order to understand itself. This was more than a matter of learning from mistakes. It was about acknowledging weakness, denying pride, and beginning any task from a position of openness, aware of the possibility that we often fall short. We must learn from the appearance of the Christ child in the world, as ready for companionship as tribulation, a blank canvas on whose surface life was painted and where depths contained mysteries yet to be understood.

‘The fragility of a baby is a reminder of our own responsibility,’ Sidney continued. ‘He, or she, is at our mercy, as we are at God’s. A child can either be crushed to death or fed, nurtured, cradled and allowed to grow. We see ourselves in each new birth and remember our own childhood. A society is judged by how it treats its children and its old people. Do we offer a favourable climate for a flower to grow, or do we provide impossible soil, harsh rains, and constant darkness? Christ tells us that it is we who must provide the light to see and warm the child in the cold black nights of the soul. The candles of Christmas represent the hope of our own flickering humanity against death and despair, and no matter how frail the flame, we must trust in its ability to illuminate our fragile state. For the light entered the darkness, and the darkness comprehended it not.

‘This is the message of Christmas,’ Sidney concluded. ‘Light against darkness, vulnerability against brutality, life against death. We pray that under the inspiration of the child of Bethlehem, we may shine in a way that will lead others to the true source of peace and joy. May God bless you this Christmas time – you and all those whom you love.’

‘Not bad,’ said Amanda after the service. ‘You got through it even if everyone could tell you were pole-axed.’

‘A good night’s sleep would be a help.’

‘I’ve brought the promised champagne to revive you.’

‘It’s more likely to send me to sleep.’

Sidney greeted the last of his parishioners as they left. Among them was Dr Michael Robinson, the punning doctor. ‘Happy Christmas on this “miss-ty” morning,’ Sidney smiled at him knowingly. ‘I am so grateful to you for your advice.’

‘I don’t recall providing any assistance?’

‘You helped to solve a miss-tery.’

Dr Robinson shook his hand before moving away sharply. ‘I’m only glad the miss-ing child was found.’

Amanda had made sure that there were enough drinks for everyone and she invited the Keating family to come to the vicarage. ‘We haven’t been asked,’ the Inspector worried.

‘But I’m inviting you now.’

‘Just as long as you don’t let in that journalist,’ Cathy Keating muttered to Amanda.

‘Don’t worry,’ Amanda replied. ‘I think her boyfriend is punishment enough.’

Her chilled champagne was a sparkling challenge to the hot punch made by Hildegard’s mother but the extra guests meant that there were sufficient numbers to prevent any embarrassment about choice. There were a few raised eyebrows when Frau Leber offered pickled herring on cocktail sticks, the English contingent preferring the current craze for the similarly skewered cubes of ham and pineapple, but after the drinks guests had departed there were plenty of takers when it came to the roast turkey, potatoes, red cabbage and Brussels sprouts with Frau Leber’s Germanic addition of bacon and chestnuts. This was followed by a choice of Christmas pudding or stollen and then coffee with a selection of chocolates Amanda had brought from Fortnum and Mason. She had quietly replaced Inspector Keating’s gift of After Eight mints.

After the meal and, as they washed up and waited for the Queen’s speech, the Chambers family listened to the news. The Soviet Union was conducting rocket tests in the Pacific, British troops were leaving for Cyprus, and the Scots Vigilante Association had threatened a revolt if Dr Beeching’s proposals for the reorganisation of the railways were allowed to proceed. One of its spokespeople complained that the country was now being run by ‘Cockney leatherbottoms’. Sibilla Leber asked what a ‘leatherbottom’ was and Sidney explained, unconvincingly, that although it was not widely known, several members of the British Cabinet had taken to wearing lederhosen. His wife did not think that this was funny.

The National Anthem played and everyone, including Hildegard’s mother, stood up. The Queen talked of her campaign to free the world from hunger, and said that the only ambition that mattered was to be good and honourable. The message of Christmas, peace on earth and goodwill to all men could not be achieved without determination and concerted effort.

Sidney remembered that his sovereign was pregnant with her fourth child and wondered if she felt the same anxieties as he did about the future of the world. Those born into this nuclear age would form the first generation to live with the possibility of its own annihilation. What was the human capacity for good, for evil?

The end of the speech became the cue for present giving, as bottles of wine, boxes of chocolates, fiendishly complicated jigsaws and games of Scrabble were distributed amongst the family. Sidney’s father gave him the traditional copy of Wisden, his sister furnished him with a pair of cufflinks, and his mother had knitted him an Aran jumper which had, she told him, ‘taken simply ages’. The puppy scampered amidst the detritus of unwrapped parcel and loose ribbon as Hildegard excused herself to give Anna a feed.

‘You know that Byron is your present,’ Amanda told Sidney, ‘but I thought that I should give you something to open on the day.’

‘It’s too much,’ said Sidney.

‘Nothing is too much,’ Amanda replied, handing over a set of spoons. ‘I’d like to be able to say that Anna was born with a silver spoon in her mouth. There are advantages to that, you know.’

‘That’s too kind.’

‘I trust I will be her godmother?’

‘You didn’t have to ask.’

‘And I assume Leonard will be a godfather?’

‘And Geordie, I hope. With Hildegard’s sister that will make up the four.’

‘I always think having a family member as a godparent is such a waste. You might as well ask that journalist girl.’

‘Now, that would be controversial
.
.
.’ Sidney smiled.

There was no evensong on Christmas Day but after all the presents had been opened Amanda said that she should be getting back. Although she had seen her parents the previous evening there was a little soirée in Mayfair that she had promised to visit, if only for the chance of meeting a few rich bachelors who had abandoned their dutiful attendance at family Christmas.

Hildegard returned from the kitchen and turned off the radio to bid Amanda a proper goodbye. A critic had been discussing the way the Beatles had translated African blues and American western idioms into ‘tough, sensitive Merseyside’ in ‘Baby It’s You’ while using a Magyar 8/8 metre.