Sidney Chambers and the Perils of the Night

by James Runcie

  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.’

  ‘And what kind of a person are you, Amanda?’

  ‘Oh, you know, more cocktails and canapés.’

  Once the tug of war had ended and Martita had driven off to stay with friends in the country, Sidney found himself alone with Amanda. They walked down to the river to see the light fade on the water and amongst the willows. It was a glorious evening and Sidney was looking forward to dinner at the Red Lion before Amanda caught the last train back to London. It would be the culmination of a long and happy day, he felt; a day on which she had seen him at his best, as a generous host, loved by his parishioners and in control of the fluctuating organisation of the fête.

  The shadows lengthened across the meadows as the river flowed lazily away from them. The church tower glowed in the evening light.

  ‘It’s idyllic in the summer, isn’t it?’ Amanda said, taking Sidney’s arm. ‘I wish I could spend more time here.’

  ‘You can spend as long as you like. You know that, Amanda.’

  ‘I’m not sure Hildegard would approve.’

  ‘You’d be surprised. She’s not a jealous woman.’

  ‘Is there anything about her that is not good?’

  ‘Nothing, I think, Amanda. But, like you, she may be too good for me.’

  ‘What rot. You do talk nonsense sometimes, Sidney . . .’

  Their conversation was interrupted by the sight of Inspector Keating walking briskly towards them. ‘I am glad I’ve caught up with you. I’m afraid there’s some bad news.’

  ‘Oh no,’ Amanda replied.

  ‘Mr Ali is dead. He failed to recover from the food poisoning and we’ve called in Jarvis. The only problem is that the family are Muslims and they want a quick burial. You’ve got to talk to them, Sidney, and hold it off for as long as possible.’

  ‘I am sure they have their own imam.’

  ‘Not here. You’ll have to talk to the cemetery too. You’ll need to make up something appropriate probably. Get Leonard to help. Don’t worry if you take your time as long as it is all explained. They are upset and confused. Annie Thomas is with them. You’ll have your work cut out but we have to get to the bottom of this.’

  ‘And you suspect foul play?’

  ‘I’ll need you to think over everything that happened last Saturday, Sidney. Did you notice anything? Who else had the lemonade? And was Zafar singled out or was his constitution more delicate than everyone else’s? If he was singled out then who on earth would want to kill him?’

  The Ali family lived in a small flat above the Curry Garden in Mill Road, a restaurant that offered delicacies including a classic Bengali Sea Bream Paturi, Murgh Nizami, Nihari Lamb and Kashmiri Rogan Josh. Looking at the menu, it occurred to Sidney that it would be extremely unlikely for someone so familiar with these dishes to have their insides troubled by an innocent lemonade or a slice of Mrs Maguire’s lardy cake.

  Sidney took off his shoes and expressed his condolences to Zafar’s parents, Wasim and Shaksi, as their three surviving children, Aaqil, Munir and Nuha, watched uncertainly. They did not speak but followed their parents as they showed Sidney into a small dark room that contained a low sofa and a few wooden chairs. The curtains were drawn and a candle had been lit. A framed passage from the Koran was the only decoration on the anaglypta-covered wall. Life had come to a stop and was now as empty and forlorn as a swimming pool drained at the end of summer.

  Wasim asked Sidney to sit down but the family remained standing, uncertain why he had come and how long he might stay. The children hovered in the doorway. There was nothing else for them to do.

  Shaksi offered refreshments, but her heart wasn’t in it. Sidney asked for a glass of water. He did not want to put the family to any trouble, he said. He assumed that most of their time was spent remembering Zafar. If they hadn’t come to Britain, he imagined them thinking, then their son would still be alive. The thought remained unspoken in the air.

  Sidney asked if there had been anything unusual in the days leading up to the death, recognising, as soon as he had uttered the words, that Zafar’s illness must have sent everything out of kilter. Wasim said that his son had complained of a metallic taste in his mouth. There had been a swelling in his hands and feet, and he had suffered from nausea, vomiting, stomach cramps and fainting. The only thing he had found to alleviate these symptoms was the Earl Grey tea that Rosie Thomas had provided from the grocer’s shop. The rest of the family all took Darjeeling, but Zafar preferred the more delicately scented China tea and had joked that he hoped such a preference could not be seen as a betrayal of his country.

  ‘It is such a terrible turn of events,’ Sidney said as he prepared to take his leave. ‘And after such a triumph. I have never seen a hat trick before. It’s very unusual, and he did it with such agility and style. His final appeal was admirably, enquiringly civilised and bore no sign of any excitement even though he must have felt triumphant inside. Did he bring the match ball home with him?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Normally, in a game of cricket, if a bowler takes a hat trick he gets to keep the ball.’

  ‘I don’t think he brought a ball home. But he was in bad shape. He could hardly walk.’

  ‘It’s very odd if the ball had disappeared entirely. It doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Nothing about what has happened makes any sense, Canon Chambers. All we can do is pray.’

  ‘We could pray now. In silence.’

  ‘Yes. Let us do that, Canon Chambers. I would be grateful. Peace be on you and the mercy of Allah.’

  Sidney decided that he had to see Annie Thomas to talk about the funeral and, at the same time, ask a few discreet questions in order to discover if there was anything unusual about Zafar’s last days.

  Her mother said that she was not yet ready to speak to anyone. In fact she preferred not to talk at all, and had hardly uttered a word since the death, shutting herself in her room, rejecting her food, drinking only water. She would not even get dressed, moving only to the bathroom and kitchen, wearing a pair of pyjamas, her face pale and swollen. Dr Robinson had come and said that it was too dangerous to give her anything that might help her sleep for fear of an overdose. She needed the time and rest for grief.

  Sidney insisted that he at least try to see her, and although Annie’s mother was doubtful, he was shown up to the bedroom door. He knocked carefully and explained who he was and why he had come. There was nothing he could do to change what had happened but he wanted to help her be a recognised part of the funeral and for her love for Zafar to be publicly acknowledged. People should know, he told her, and he would help them know.

  It took some time for the door to open and when it did he saw a young girl whose eyes had had the light taken out of them. She looked down at the floor, at Sidney’s shoes, and stepped b
ack. She held a crumpled handkerchief in her hand, said nothing, and returned to her bed, pulling the sheets and blankets over her, turning her face away from her visitor and back towards the wall.

  Sidney sat at the foot of the bed. He acknowledged that it was hard, almost impossible, for her to speak and that it was quite all right if she said nothing. He could not imagine what it was like for her. He would pray if she liked or not.

  She did not.

  It was only that he wanted her wishes, whatever they were, to come first.

  ‘I wish that he was alive again. That’s all. And you can’t give me that.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘If I close my eyes, if no one comes, if I am alone, then perhaps I can wake up and find it hasn’t happened.’

  ‘You’ve had a terrible loss.’ Sidney did not know what to say. It was too soon to touch her or take her hand. All he could do was wait until she was ready to speak.

  It took a long time.

  ‘He was such a gentle man,’ Annie continued at last. ‘And he would never harm anyone. He was going to be a doctor.’

  ‘What did he think it was?’

  Annie still had her back to Sidney but now turned and sat up in her bed, looking not at him but at her own knees. ‘He didn’t like to blame anyone, but he thought it was the lemonade. Only he can’t understand why he didn’t get any better. I know the jug will have been washed out by now, so there isn’t any evidence and we can’t prove anything.’

  ‘It’s a very unfortunate turn of events. How much did your parents know about your relationship?’

  ‘They knew we were friendly.’

  ‘But they didn’t know that you were planning to marry?’

  ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘Zafar told me as much himself.’

  ‘I don’t know why he would have done that.’

  ‘You would need your parents’ approval. I offered to help.’

  ‘You would have been prepared to do that? I am only nineteen.’

  ‘I would have needed to talk to you both properly first. I would have wanted to see that the relationship was genuine, and that it was founded on mutual respect. Then I would have spoken with your parents.’

  ‘I don’t think they would ever have agreed.’

  ‘I suppose parents think that their children are too young to know what to do with their lives.’

  Annie’s face livened with anger. ‘Do you know that I am a year older than my mother when she had me? They like to cover it up and say that I was a bit premature, but I know that she only got married because she was pregnant. And now they want to take control of my life.’

  ‘Perhaps she doesn’t want you to make the same mistake.’

  ‘Zafar’s family is very hardworking. They are all ambitious; far more than other families round here. Unlike us, they don’t expect an easy life just because they have had the privilege to be English.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ Sidney replied. ‘The idea that you have won first prize in the lottery of life simply by being born here. I have always thought that to be a very dangerous assumption.’

  ‘We don’t have to do what is expected of us all the time, do we? Sometimes the unexpected can be better. You have to take a few risks, and trust that the person you love is right for you, don’t you think?’

  ‘I do. Although I haven’t always acted on that idea. Perhaps you have more courage when you are younger.’

  Annie smiled. ‘You’re not old, Canon Chambers.’

  ‘I am thirty-eight.’

  ‘You’d better get a move-on.’

  ‘People do keep telling me.’

  ‘But you won’t act on their advice,’ Annie replied. ‘A bit like me. I’m always doing the opposite of what people tell me. But now look where it’s got me.’

  She turned abruptly away, her face to the wall once more as if, like a child, she imagined that if she could not see Sidney he would no longer be there. She had strayed too far from her grief and now wanted only to return to it, filling her heart with its exclusive sorrow.

  On Monday morning, Sidney tried to cheer himself up by reading the latest cricketing news. The Times reported that England were going to be represented at Lord’s by the same eleven that had beaten India by an innings at Trent Bridge and that there were predictions of a good batting surface. The correspondent thought that the home side needed to think about the options for their spin bowlers and hoped that Taylor and Barrington would be able to improve their leg-breaks.

  The concentration on spin made Sidney return once again to the fact of Zafar Ali’s death and reminded him that he needed to see the coroner. When he arrived he found that Derek Jarvis was already expecting him and the post-mortem report had been typed up.

  ‘ ‘‘The mucous membrane over the fore border of the epiglottis and adjacent part of the pharynx has been destroyed by sloughing,’’ Jarvis began. ‘‘The ulceration extends into the upper part of the oesophagus. About an inch below its commencement, the mucous membrane has been entirely removed by sloughing and ulceration, the circular muscular fibres being exposed. Above the upper limit of this ulcer, the mucous membrane presents several oval, elongated and ulcerated areas, occupied by slips of mucous membrane which have sloughed. There is redness, swelling and general inflammation in the stomach, there are ulcers and pustules in the lining membrane of the mouth, and the lungs of the deceased are hepatised and gorged with blood.

  ‘ ‘‘There are traces of thallium in both the kidneys and intestines, but insufficient to be the cause of death. More significant is the presence of antimony potassium nitrate in the stomach (0.000282 oz), kidneys (0.000705 oz), liver (0.01464 oz) and intestines (0.017636 oz).’’ ’

  Jarvis was in no doubt. ‘There’s rather too much antimony for this to be an accident.’

  ‘So you are suggesting . . .’

  ‘Indeed I am . . .’

  ‘What does antimony look like?’ Sidney asked.

  ‘They are faint yellow crystals.’

  ‘Lemon yellow? As in lemonade?’

  ‘They can also be mistaken for Epsom salts. And so if a patient is given that for an upset stomach, for example . . .’

  ‘He could be given antimony instead.’

  ‘It would be interesting if the grocer’s sold both lemonade crystals and Epsom salts. And who was administering any medicine the patient was taking?’

  ‘I think we can rule out Annie Thomas.’

  ‘Do you, Sidney?’

  ‘We can’t suspect everyone, can we?’

  ‘We need to know who made up the lemonade on the day of the cricket match, exactly who drank it, and who washed up the jug afterwards. My suspicion is that there wouldn’t have been enough antimony in the drink to kill a man outright . . .’

  ‘Which leads you to conclude?’

  ‘Nothing at this point. Only it may not just be the lemonade. There could be other possibilities.’

  ‘You mean that the poison could have been applied to a number of different foodstuffs? I think Zafar had an egg sandwich and that was about it.’

  ‘We must find out everything he ate and drank and touched. I’m worried where the trace of thallium has come from. He could have been taking different poisons at different times.’

  ‘Are you also implying that there could be more than one murderer on the loose?’

  ‘We can’t rule anything out, Sidney. You could start by talking to the suppliers. But you will need to be careful not to reveal your role in all this. I don’t want you falling victim to anything untoward. If you feel at all unwell, then you must see your doctor immediately and inform me. In fact, it would be a good idea to keep a diary of everything you eat and drink, where it has come from and who has provided it.’

  ‘Do you really think that’s necessary?’

  ‘I do. You are building quite a reputation in these parts. If you let anyone know that you are suspicious of them then you will be putting yourself at risk.’

  ‘That seems a bit fearf
ul.’

  ‘You can’t be too careful, Sidney.’

  ‘What on earth is the matter with these people?’

  ‘Perhaps they do not spend enough time in church?’

  ‘I know I certainly don’t,’ Sidney replied.

  He had not joined the priesthood to investigate murders and antagonise grocers, and yet here he was, planning to do just that.

  Annie’s mother, Rosie Thomas, was a forthright blonde woman with a reddish face, a thin mouth and an upturned nose. Cruel observers would remark that her salad days were over and that she had let herself go, but Sidney could tell that with a proper hairdresser and some instruction from Amanda, she could easily be transformed into a stylish and handsome figure about town should she so wish. However, it was the desire to do this, the need for time, patience and, above all, confidence, that was clearly lacking. She had made a niche for herself as the efficient manageress of the grocery stores and this, she had clearly decided, was her lot in life. Sidney had never seen her without an apron.

  Rosie revealed that she did indeed supply the Indian restaurant, and that her daughter Annie made her deliveries every Thursday, although she was unlikely to be resuming her duties soon as she was still confined to her bedroom.

  ‘They don’t like them on a Friday because they go to prayers all day. Still, it suits us. We can get them out of the way. Although Annie takes long enough about it.’

  ‘She and Mr Ali were friends, I hear.’

  ‘I am not sure how much you have heard, Canon Chambers, but it won’t do to listen to gossip. You wouldn’t catch my girl going off with a foreigner, I can tell you that for nothing.’

  ‘I wasn’t making that suggestion. I was only asking if they were friends.’

  ‘We are friends with all our customers.’

  ‘You treat them all equally, I am sure.’

  ‘We try to. Once you start having favourites they ask for discounts. It never works.’