Sidney Chambers and the Shadow of Death

by James Runcie

  ‘I knew that I might miss you,’ Leonard began ‘but I went in search of shortbread as we didn’t want to welcome you with tea alone. Unfortunately, the shops are closed.’

  ‘As you know, Sidney has very kindly agreed to talk to you about your future prospects,’ Daphne announced.

  ‘And I am very grateful.’

  ‘Would you like me to leave the room?’ she asked.

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ Sidney replied. ‘I think it might be more convenient altogether if I took Mr Graham to a nearby pub. It is half past five and I believe that one of them, at least, will be open.’

  Leonard Graham looked alarmed. ‘Isn’t it a bit early?’ he enquired.

  ‘It may appear so,’ Sidney replied. ‘But I believe I have earned a pint. You are, of course, welcome to join us, Miss Young.’

  ‘That is polite to the point of being amusing. You ask knowing that I must refuse. I have a train to catch. My father awaits in Brighton.’

  ‘Then I will not keep you.’ Sidney stood up.

  ‘That would be kind,’ Daphne Young answered. ‘Although I hope you will not lead my lodger astray, Canon Chambers.’

  ‘I will keep him on the straight and narrow, Miss Young, don’t you worry,’ Sidney replied. ‘And I will bear your observations in mind.’

  ‘You would do better to act on them, Canon Chambers.’

  ‘I may well do, but, in the meantime, I will keep my own counsel. Non liquet. The case is not proven.’

  ‘Then, Canon Chambers, you will need to keep an even mind amidst your difficulties. Mens aequa rebus in arduis.’

  The Hereford Arms was a delightful pub on the southerly end of Gloucester Road. The two men settled down by the fire and enjoyed the reassuring nature of each other’s company. Leonard had only recently completed his theological training. He had been ordained into a parish where he had spent most of his time at a private school for girls, and he now considered himself ready for a proper parochial curacy. What he had not anticipated, however, was the circuitous route that would lead him to Sidney, or the rather loose interpretation of ‘pastoral duties’ that his new companion seemed to follow.

  Leonard had been taught that a clergyman should draw his community to God through leadership, example and self-sacrifice. It was a serious and sacred role that required a full commitment to the church and the community around it. He had never seen a priest extend his sense of social responsibility so far as to play an active role in the investigation of crime in an area that was miles away from his own parish.

  Leonard therefore found himself in a curious situation. He had hoped to seize this opportunity of meeting a well-connected country parson to talk both about the latest developments in theology and his own future prospects, while Sidney was keen only to discuss the complexities of his latest case.

  After a brief ‘Cheers’ and a polite ‘Happy New Year’, and with their pints of beer on the table, the inquiry resumed. Sidney was on the offensive. ‘How long have you been Miss Young’s paying guest?’ he asked.

  ‘Four or five months.’

  ‘And do you know her well?’

  ‘As well as opportunity allows. She is out every night and every weekend.’

  ‘Does she have any particular friend?’

  ‘She is unattached as far as I can ascertain. There are a few regulars. One of them sends her a sonnet every day.’

  ‘Good heavens.’

  ‘There have been so many that she’s stopped reading them. There are at least thirty on the mantelpiece in a pile.’

  ‘Are they any good?’

  ‘No. They are dreadful. Although the name Daphne is difficult to rhyme, I suppose.’

  Sidney thought for a moment. ‘Didn’t Swift write a poem to a Daphne?’ he asked. ‘I seem to remember he referred to her as “An Agreeable Young Lady, but Extremely Lean”.’

  Leonard Graham smiled somewhat mischievously and his moustache followed the curvature of his upper lip. He really should shave that off, thought Sidney.

  ‘That would be appropriate,’ Leonard answered. ‘Daphne Young reminds me of a whippet. She hardly eats a thing.’

  Sidney remembered the poem:

  ‘What Pride a Female Heart enflames!

  How endless are Ambition’s Aims!

  Cease haughty Nymph; the Fates decree

  Death must not be a Spouse for thee . . .’

  He drank his beer. ‘Someone should write a book about the dedicatees of the great poets.’

  Leonard Graham smiled. ‘Or their demise.’

  Sidney considered the matter. ‘Death of the poets. A valediction.’

  ‘I’ve always found it strange that so many of them meet their Maker in unusual circumstances. Matthew Arnold, for example, died while leaping over a hedge . . .’

  ‘I suppose he did,’ Sidney replied. ‘And didn’t the Chinese poet Li Po drown while trying to kiss the reflection of the moon in water?’

  ‘Pushkin and Lermontov were both killed in duels . . .’

  Sidney began to recall his classical education, ‘Aeschylus was felled by a falling tortoise.’

  ‘Euripides was mauled by a pack of wild dogs . . .’

  ‘Neither of them strictly poets, of course . . .’ Sidney cautioned.

  ‘Although if the criteria was broadened to writers in general then we could have a field day,’ Leonard Graham continued. ‘Edgar Allan Poe was found in another person’s clothes.’

  ‘And Sherwood Anderson swallowed a toothpick. But we are getting distracted, my good friend. Tell me about your landlady’s father. I gather she is on her way to see him.’

  ‘He lives in Brighton, as she has informed you. Miss Young is very solicitous in her visits. I think she organises his finances and gives him pocket money; a reversal of roles at the end of a life.’

  ‘It is interesting that he was once a jeweller.’

  ‘You are surely not suspecting my landlady of theft? She is quite a well-known psychologist.’

  ‘I find it uncomfortable when people are keen to pin the blame on others. But I agree that it is unlikely. Furthermore Daphne Young was seated at the wrong end of the dinner table. She has told you what happened last night?’

  ‘Not in detail.’

  ‘Then I will, if I may, go through it all with you.’

  ‘It seems strange for a priest to be so involved.’

  ‘Indeed it is, but I would find it helpful to talk it over with someone who might have an objective view.’

  ‘I am no detective, Canon Chambers.’

  ‘Neither am I, Leonard, but, under the circs, I have to make the best of things. Let me begin . . .’

  After he had described the events of the previous evening Sidney returned to the subject of Daphne Young’s keenness to implicate Johnny Johnson. ‘There was quite a commotion after the champagne bottle had been dropped. I think almost any of the guests could have snaffled the ring at the time as very few people were sober, apart, of course, from Johnny Johnson . . .’

  ‘Why, of course?’

  ‘He does not drink. Which, curiously, puts him at a disadvantage. He was sitting next to Juliette Thompson and she had the ring. Her husband dropped the champagne bottle next to them. It would be quite simple for Johnson to act coldly and clearly amidst the confusion.’

  ‘Unless, of course, the bottle was dropped deliberately?’

  ‘It’s a possibility.’

  ‘The wife could have taken the ring?’

  ‘She could indeed . . .’

  ‘Knowing Johnny Johnson would be our chief suspect?’

  ‘That would be too calculated, I feel. I think this was an opportunistic crime.’

  ‘You are convinced it took place amidst the confusion of the champagne bottle?’

  Sidney tried to clear his head but ending up thinking aloud. ‘Unless of course Nigel Thompson dropped the bottle to warn his wife? It was a distraction to stop her taking the ring; an attempt to wake her up, as it were; and then unbeknownst
to them both, Johnny Johnson took advantage of the situation. It’s a difficult business. Someone took the ring and hid it. But where? I am at a loss, I must admit.’

  ‘Is there anything I can do, Canon Chambers?’

  Sidney finished his pint of beer and an idea came at last. ‘There is perhaps, one thing . . .’ he began.

  South Kensington was abnormally quiet. The gas lamps of London were aflame, the smog had descended, and the last of the dog-walkers were returning home from the parks. Sidney made his way to the Underground and took the Piccadilly Line to Leicester Square. From there he planned to go into Soho and fulfil his assignation with Johnny Johnson. He would then take the late train back to Cambridge.

  He looked at his fellow passengers on the Tube. There was an elderly lady in a fur coat with a Pekinese dog on her lap; two young men, despite the vacant seats, standing and smoking roll-up cigarettes; a man in a battered trilby reading a copy of The Times: ‘Russian Date for Berlin Conference Accepted’ was the headline. None of them looked as though they had to worry about theft or betrayal, but doubtless they had their own demons. Sidney looked at the elderly lady’s hands. They were covered in rings.

  Emerging from the lift at Leicester Square, and crossing Chinatown, Sidney noticed the streets were filling up. This was where everyone had gone: skifflers, jazzers and rock’n’ rollers: political dissidents, free spirits, philosophers, ranters and rebels. All was noise, bustle, shout and song: street salesmen, market vendors, milk bars and music booths.

  Sidney believed that time flowed more easily in Soho. Life here was no longer broken up into a series of worldly meetings, appointments and assignations that had to take place between certain hours. Instead one event merged into another. People took their own time. It didn’t matter if they were early or late. They came and went as if the events they were going to had no beginning and no end. It was, perhaps, a secular incarnation of what the Church Fathers had referred to as a ‘glimpse of the infinite’.

  He remembered that his brother Matt was performing with his new band ‘The Bottlemen’ that night. He had half-promised to put in an appearance but Jennifer told him that Johnny would be at The Flamingo if he wanted a chat and Sidney thought it best to get the whole sorry business of the stolen ring out of the way as soon as he could.

  He found Johnny at the far end of the bar smoking a cigarette and drinking a Coca-Cola. He was dressed in the black suit with thin lapels that Sidney had appreciated on New Year’s Eve, and he wore a narrow tie. ‘What are you drinking?’ he asked.

  ‘I think I had better have something soft. I have had two pints of beer already this evening,’ Sidney apologised. ‘A bitter lemon?’

  ‘Have some gin in it.’

  ‘I don’t think that would be wise.’

  Johnny gestured to the barman for the drinks. ‘What are you doing getting involved in all this, Sidney? Couldn’t you just leave them be?’

  ‘I think it’s to stop the police becoming a part of it.’

  ‘Well, that’s one good thing. I assume someone’s told you about my Dad?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘No need to apologise. It was bound to come up. This is Dad’s place, in fact, but I lead a different life. I work in property. Flats mainly. I buy them up then rent them out. We charge too much but it’s more legal than what my father used to do. Although even he’s seen the error of his ways these days.’

  ‘You are a realist, I think, Mr Johnson, about business and about crime.’

  ‘No point lying to you, Sidney. If the ring is still missing then I am sure they all think I did it.’

  ‘It would have taken some nerve.’

  ‘Believe me, I’m not so daft as to go out with your sister and steal from her best friend the first time I meet her.’

  ‘I never imagined you did it. Unfortunately, I appear to be the only one who thinks this.’

  ‘As well as Jennifer.’

  ‘Yes, Jenny does too. So the only way in which I can keep the police away and deflect the blame from you is to find out exactly what happened. I am asking what you think as you were almost certainly the most sober person in the room and the theft probably took place under your very eyes.’

  ‘Well, unfortunately I did not see anything. It obviously wasn’t planned in any way as no one could have known for sure that the ring was going to be produced in the first place.’

  ‘How do you think it was stolen?’

  Johnny smiled enigmatically. ‘You’d have to ask my Dad that.’

  ‘You must have ideas of your own?’

  Johnny took a sip of his Coca-Cola. ‘It would have to be taken quickly. And then hidden – perhaps in a place that could be explained if it was discovered later. A place of safe-keeping.’

  ‘And who are you suggesting?’

  ‘No one, Sidney. I don’t make accusations. Let’s just say it might be someone who knew the room well.’

  ‘But it would have to have been done by sleight of hand.’

  ‘The port glass and the handkerchief, I suppose. You drop the ring in your glass of port. Drain the glass, dab your lips with a handkerchief, spit the ring into it, and put the two back together in your pocket.’

  ‘And why do you think someone took it?’

  ‘There’s the need for money, of course. But if you ask me about last night I’d say it might also be about getting one over on people. Amanda Kendall has everything, doesn’t she? Good looks, a career, plenty of boyfriends, I imagine – although the one she is with now is a disgrace – and so I’d say, since you’re asking, that the person who stole her ring wanted to take her down a peg or two. It wasn’t so much about stealing, it was about the satisfaction of the taking.’

  ‘Intriguing.’

  ‘I might be completely wrong. But I’d also say it was a woman. Guy’s the fiancé, the MP’s the host, you are a priest, and the publisher was drunk. Would you like another drink?’

  ‘No thank you. I should leave. But go on.’

  ‘Stay if you like. We’ve got a great quartet later and Johnny Dankworth’s looking in. Your sister will be here in a minute.’

  ‘To tell you the truth I’m rather anxious to get back to my job, the one I was called to do.’

  ‘I can tell that they’ve bullied you into this, Sidney. I suppose it’s because they think you can get more out of people. People will sometimes say more to a priest whereas if any of that lot asked me anything I’d keep my mouth shut. I only hope they’re not using you.’

  ‘Can I buy you a drink before I go?’ Sidney offered.

  ‘You don’t need to worry about that.’

  Sidney waited and met Johnny’s eye. ‘I would just like to say that I really don’t think you had anything to do with this. I do want you to know that.’

  ‘I appreciate it, Sidney.’ Johnny smiled as he stubbed out his cigarette. ‘I was just thinking that it would be quite funny if you found out that you were better at being a detective than you were at being a priest.’

  ‘I like to think I have a sense of humour but I can tell you that I wouldn’t find that amusing at all.’

  ‘Jen and I might.’

  Sidney was swept by a wave of insecurity. ‘To tell you the truth, Johnny, at this precise moment, I can honestly say that I don’t think I am very good at anything at all.’

  ‘Nonsense. You are very good at being a decent human being.’ He held out his hand. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you. Any time you want to come to the club, or need a flat, or require a bit of female company, I can arrange it.’

  ‘Thank you, but I rather feel that it’s time for me to take charge of my own life. It’s been getting out of hand recently. God bless you, Johnny.’

  ‘And God bless you, Sidney.’

  As he spoke Sidney realised that Johnny was the first person, since his ordination, ever to have given him that reply.

  It was after midnight by the time he returned to Grantchester. Although he had sketched out his sermon before he had left f
or London, Sidney knew that he would have to rise at six in the morning in order to finish it. It was ironic that the need to preach on the subject of Epiphany, the revelation of Christ to the Wise Men, should leave him so short of wisdom on the subject himself.

  He knelt down by the side of his bed and said his prayers, ending with a plea that he knew that neither he, nor his Maker, would ever be able to fulfil.

  ‘Grant Lord, that I may not, for one moment, admit willingly into my soul any thought contrary to thy love.’

  He was hopelessly restless and, after a night broken by insomnia and uneasy dreams, most of which involved a crime of some kind, Sidney made himself a pot of tea and began to think on what he might say later that morning. He would talk about Christmas presents, he decided, comparing the gifts brought by the Wise Men and the tokens exchanged by friends and family. He would improvise a few thoughts on the spirit of giving, and he would use the carol ‘In the Bleak Mid-Winter’ with the line: ‘What can I give him, poor as I am?’ He would speak about the importance of giving with your heart, something he remembered, involuntarily, and with a sinking feeling, that Guy Hopkins had singularly failed to do.

  He lost himself for a moment in the memory of New Year’s Eve, and then felt annoyed by his inability to concentrate. He wished he could stop mulling over the crime and meditate on the meaning of Christ’s incarnation. It was so much more important than the theft of a ring at a dinner party.

  It was an appropriately bleak morning and Sidney was further dispirited by the fact that his congregation was half the size that it had been on Christmas Day. This, however, was no excuse for putting in a performance that was below par, particularly as, to Sidney’s surprise, Inspector Keating had brought his family.

  ‘We never got to church on Christmas Day because our youngest had chickenpox,’ he explained afterwards. ‘And we felt like a change. Our own vicar can go on too long and we wanted to see if you lived up to expectations.’