by James Runcie
He began a frantic clown impersonation. He could hardly postpone his news any longer but he wanted his wife to be cheerful. Besides, he liked her laugh.
Hildegard clapped her hands. ‘You are doing your best, my darling, but it doesn’t sound so amusing.’
‘It’s very English,’ Sidney explained. ‘Although they have it in Scotland too. I suppose it’s something of an acquired taste.’
‘Like cricket.’
‘Or bread and butter pudding. A boy, played by a girl, falls in love with a real girl and is either helped, distracted or obstructed by a man playing a woman, the Dame. Then there are the talking animals. Traditionally it’s a horse with one man at the front and another at the back, but in Jack and the Beanstalk it’s a cow, and in Dick Whittington it’s a cat.’
‘And it is for children?’
‘Yes. But there are adult jokes and a singalong.’
‘The audience have to join in?’
‘They do, Hildegard. That’s the bit I don’t like.’
‘You are used to being in charge. You want to be the star of the show, not its victim.’
‘I’ll let that pass. But I suppose it’s all part of my duty to support such a venture. Many of our parishioners are in it and a lot of the schoolchildren are the rats.’
‘I look forward to it.’
‘Really?’
‘I do, Sidney. It is you who are being anxious.’
‘I’m not,’ her husband replied grumpily. He really would have to get on with it and tell her about Abigail and her baby.
‘It’s Christmas, meine Liebe. We should be happy. What is wrong with you?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You do. Tell me.’
Sidney looked at his wife. ‘Well, Hildegard, there is something . . .’
And so, at last, he broke the news of the stolen child.
The Arts was packed with an expectant crowd who cheered as the lights came down, the music began and Dick Whittington introduced his cat Tommy and explained how he was going to London to seek his fortune. The stage cloth lifted to reveal a busy scene that was soon entered by an enormous pantomime dame weighed down with carrier bags.
‘I’ve just been Christmas shopping in Market Square. It’s terrible out there. It was so crowded. Men were rubbing up against me and touching me in all the places they shouldn’t. I’m going back again tomorrow. Anyway, boys and girls, mums and dads, ARE YOU HAVING A NICE TIME? We’ll have a bit of a sing in a minute. I’ve asked the orchestra to check their parts. They’re a lovely lot of men down there. I like the one with the horn. Anyway, I’m here to see Dick – it’s been a long time – and I do love playing with his Tommy. Are you looking forward to Christmas? We’re having an extra large turkey this year so everyone gets a good bit of leg and a nice bit of breast. I just need to make sure I get plenty of stuffing.’
The audience laughed and the Dame feigned shocked surprise. ‘What? Oh stop it. You are awful. At least I’ve done my shopping. The only thing is that I don’t think I need all these sweets. I’m sweet enough already. Would you like some, boys and girls?’
The children in the audience screamed out that they did.
Blimey, Sidney thought, once our own child is born there’s going to be years of this.
As the Dame opened her shopping bags and started to throw sweets to the audience, Hildegard asked if Sidney was enjoying himself.
‘You have not been laughing,’ she observed.
‘No, I have been too worried.’
‘About what?’
‘The thing that is going to happen next. Right now, in fact. Saints preserve us!’
Sidney was in an aisle seat near the front of the stalls and the Dame was already advancing towards him. He was going to be singled out for audience participation; he could tell.
The actor waggled his bottom, plumped up his false breasts and sat on the edge of Sidney’s seat. The follow-spot was already on them.
‘Hello, sweetheart, what do you do for a living?’
‘I’m a vicar.’
‘You’re not wearing any knickers? That’s not a very nice thing to say. A man in your position? What’s your name?’
‘Sidney.’
‘If you were called “Kidney”, I could put you in one of my puddings. I’ve got a very hot oven.’
There was no escape. Even Sidney’s friend Fergus Maclean, the usually morose undertaker, was laughing.
‘Will you marry me, Sidney?’ the Dame continued. ‘I’ve already had three husbands. The first one died of mushroom poisoning, the second one died of mushroom poisoning; the third one jumped in the River Cam. He wouldn’t eat the mushrooms! Anyway . . .’
She moved on to taunt a man with no hair. It was always the men she picked on, and one of them complained that he hadn’t come to be insulted.
‘Where do you usually go then, darling?’
As the show rolled on to a rousing chorus of ‘Oh! What a Wopper’, Hildegard enjoyed Sidney’s discomfort. ‘At least she didn’t make any jokes about the holy roast or shepherds washing their socks by night.’
‘Well it’ll soon be over for another year. Then I can get on with the next thing.’
‘There’s always a next thing, Sidney. Perhaps we should enjoy the present without concerning ourselves over the future.’ Hildegard touched her stomach. ‘We have more important things to worry about.’
After Dick had been blamed for stealing all the Alderman’s money and was leaving London for good, Fairy Bowbells, in the guise of Helena Randall, called him back.
‘I didn’t know she was in it,’ said Hildegard. ‘Is that why we’ve come?’
‘Of course not.’
‘She sings very nicely. A thin voice but at least it is in tune.’
By the interval, Sidney had become quite agitated about the time he was spending in the theatre, away from news of the case of the stolen baby. Hildegard put his restlessness down to hurt pride after his humiliation at the hands of the Dame and told him that she needed to get out fast so that she could join the queue for the Ladies’ while Sidney bought the ice creams. As he did so, he was interrupted by Inspector Keating.
‘I didn’t know you were at the show,’ he said.
‘I’m not. I’ve come to see you, Sidney.’
‘Then you’ve timed it well.’
Geordie was in no mood for small talk. ‘A witness has reported someone behaving suspiciously.’
‘Who?’
‘A woman in a headscarf wearing a long camel coat and high heels. Have you been to see Miss Redmond?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Well, get on with it, man. She’s not keen on talking to the police and you can get things out of her that I can’t.’
‘I’m not sure that’s true.’
‘You have your ways, Sidney. I want to know how long she thinks she was asleep for at the time her baby was taken; and if she has friends who want children and can’t have them or who have had miscarriages recently. This inquiry needs your gentle touch. I’m relying on you.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
Hildegard emerged from the Ladies’ and was surprised to bump into the detective. ‘Surely you’re not off duty?’ she teased.
‘No, Hildegard; even here, I am vigilant. I was just passing and saw Sidney in the foyer. There’s nothing to worry about. Good evening to you both.’
The couple returned to the auditorium. The actors were on board the Saucy Sally on its way to Morocco. The Dame was mopping the decks before the drill routine and complained that she was used to rubbing down with something bigger. ‘Is she impersonating Mrs Maguire?’ Hildegard asked.
‘The Dame is her brother-in-law.’
‘She has a sister? You mean there are two of them?’
‘I am afraid so.’
At last Dick Whittington reached the shores of Morocco to be met with a chorus of dancing gorillas. Dick went into the palace of the Sultan where the Dame had already joined the ladies of the har
em.
‘Sidney?’ Hildegard asked.
‘What is it?’
‘You seem distracted. What did Inspector Keating want?’
‘Nothing much.’
‘He wasn’t “just passing”, was he?’
‘No.’
‘So how involved are you in the case of the stolen baby?’
Sidney pretended to be concentrating on the pantomime. ‘I’m just helping out. It won’t take up much of my time.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘It will be well. All manner of thing shall be well, my darling.’
‘I am not so sure. You are up to something.’
‘Not at all. I am doing my duty . . .’
‘Which takes you away from me.’
The show neared its conclusion as Alice the heroine walked on stage hoping for the return of her beloved. ‘Christmas Eve, and still no sign of Dick.’
Hildegard nudged Sidney in the ribs. ‘Now I understand the humour! I know how she feels.’
Her husband was appalled.
The Redmond farm was a twenty-minute bicycle ride from Grantchester and Sidney had already made sure that Hildegard had the telephone number of every place he intended visiting should there be any sudden developments during the late stages of her pregnancy. Dr Michael Robinson was just leaving as he arrived.
‘I’ve given Abigail something to settle her down,’ he said. ‘Try not to ask too many of your direct questions. I know what you are like.’
‘It is a pastoral visit.’
‘Then it’s just as well you are in the countryside.’
Sidney smiled wearily. Dr Robinson was always partial to puns.
On entering the kitchen, he discovered that Agatha Redmond was in no mood to shilly-shally. ‘I don’t know whether you’ve come to collect your new puppy or ask some questions about my missing grandchild?’
‘I have a sense of priority in these matters,’ Sidney replied, ‘and I was hoping I might have a word with Abigail.’
‘She’s sleeping. The doctor has just given her something to help her do so. No doubt he told you. It’s been like Piccadilly Circus round here. However, I know she wants to see you so you’d better get up there before she’s out like a light.’
Sidney was shown upstairs and knocked quietly on the door. Before he said who it was he was told to ‘go away’ but then, on revealing his identity, he was allowed in. He sat on the edge of the bed. Abigail Redmond lay on her side with her face pale and blotchy. She was already drowsy. ‘I know I look ugly,’ she said. ‘But I don’t care. I just want my baby back.’
‘The police are doing all they can.’
‘But are you, Canon Chambers? You’re the one I trust. You know things.’
‘But I don’t understand enough about this case yet, Abigail. I need to ask you a few questions. I won’t be long.’
‘I don’t know if I can tell you anything. I was so tired. I didn’t know what was going on. It’s all my fault. I should have stayed awake.’
‘You’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘I have. I lost my baby.’
‘He’ll come back.’
‘Do you think so? How will he do that? He can’t walk. He’s so little. I love him so much and I need him to be here.’
‘I understand and we will find him for you. Try to remember. When exactly do you think it happened?’
‘I’d had something to eat, so it was after six thirty and I was just off to sleep. Like now. Mum was leaving. She said goodbye, but there was so much coming and going and I was so tired it was hard to know what was happening.’
‘Could it have been around eight o’clock at night?’
‘Yes, I suppose so. Why do you ask?’
‘That’s when the nurses change shift. So if no one knows quite who’s in charge around then . . .’
‘I’m sure they have a system. I remember there was always at least one nurse there all the time,’ Abigail said.
‘Of course we must remember there are the porters to consider.’
‘I don’t think it can be a man . . .’ Abigail had thought through all the possibilities. ‘Although it might be a couple working together.’
‘We need to pin down exactly who was there at the time of John’s disappearance; when your mother left and who was on duty. I’ll have to have a word with the ward sister. I am sure we will find him soon.’ Sidney was determined to remain positive.
‘There were three of them looking after me in all. There were Sisters Bland and Foster. I didn’t like either of them very much. They were a bit creepy, to tell you the truth. Sister Bland took over from another one called Sister Carrington. I remember getting confused and not being sure which one was which.’ Abigail slid down in the bed and turned away.
‘I’ll need to speak to all of them.’
‘Sister Bland’s got a moustache. The other one’s got fat legs. Sister Carrington was all right. She was kind.’
‘I am sure they are good at what they do.’
‘Will I get my baby back safe?’ Abigail asked.
Sidney tried to reassure her. ‘I am sure you will.’
‘Do you think if I close my eyes and sleep now then it will all go away? Then when I wake the cot will be back by my side with John sleeping in it?’
‘We will find him,’ said Sidney quietly.
He gave her hand a little squeeze and, as he left, he remembered holding her baby’s. ‘“There was a man sent from God whose name was John,”’ he said to himself. ‘“The same came for a witness, to bear witness of the Light, that all men through him might believe.”’
Sidney hoped and prayed for a witness, as well as a little more light.
He headed for Trumpington Street, worried about returning to the hospital and treading on the toes of a chaplain who regarded Addenbrooke’s as his personal fiefdom. The Reverend ‘Call me Stephen’ Drabble always made it clear that he was far more practised in the diurnal rounds of birth, sickness, recovery and death than any fly-by-night clergyman who popped in and out of the hospital as he pleased. It was yet another area which required tact, and Sidney was determined to give his visit, as well as his investigation, as low a profile as possible. He also knew that people were not going to take kindly to yet more questioning when their main priority was the care of patients. He would have to wait for the tea breaks and hope for the best.
Sister Samantha Bland was a large Leicestershire woman with strong forearms that made her look as if she could have been as successful a blacksmith as a nurse. As she sat down opposite him in the staff canteen, Sidney remembered what Abigail had told him and realised that he had made his first mistake before opening his mouth.
He had promised himself that he would not look too closely at Sister Bland’s upper lip but found that as soon as he had clapped eyes on her moustache he could not avert his gaze. It was amazing that she had done nothing about it. She had dark hair, too. It reminded him of the one Leonard Graham was attempting to grow the first time he had met him. They were such ridiculous things, Sidney thought to himself; but at least it would be something to tell Hildegard when he got home. He remembered the myth of the great female Saint Uncumber who had sprouted both beard and moustache in order to get out of, or ‘unencumber’ herself from, a betrothal she hated.
The nurse spoke with an unexpectedly high voice (Sidney had been anticipating something deeper) that drew power away from the firmness of her opinion. She told her inquisitor that the reason he hadn’t seen her in church was that she was, in fact, a Roman Catholic and she wasn’t about to have a change of heart now. She had taken over from Sister Carrington at eight o’clock on the night of the abduction and was praying for the return of the baby in her every waking moment.
‘And it was you who discovered the child was missing?’ Sidney asked.
‘Around half past eight. I’ve told the police this.’
‘I think you said that you saw a figure disappearing.’
‘Yes, I did. Have they br
iefed you then?’
‘I have read your witness statement.’
‘Then why are you here?’
Sidney evaded the question. ‘Could you describe the person you saw?’
‘I can’t be sure. She had her back to me and was hurrying to the end of the corridor but I thought she was carrying something. She was wearing high heels, I can say that, and she didn’t have a handbag which was strange. She wore a smart coat. It was camel-coloured. You don’t often see members of the public moving that quickly in the hospital. She must have been keen to get away.’
‘So she looked like she knew where she was going?’
‘I suppose so. Although there are signposts to all the exits.’
‘That’s true but I have noticed that people are often confused when they come to Addenbrooke’s. They can never quite find what they’re looking for.’
‘They can always ask.’
‘I think that they worry that everyone is too busy.’
‘That’s because we are.’
Sidney pressed. ‘But do you think the confidence and speed of her movements suggested a familiarity with the hospital layout?’
‘I couldn’t say. So many people come and go. I just noticed the haste and the high heels.’
‘But you didn’t see an actual baby?’
‘No.’
‘It would be dangerous to move at speed and in high heels while carrying a baby down a hospital corridor.’
‘Yes, I suppose it would.’
‘And you’re quite sure you saw this woman?’ Sidney persisted.
‘Of course. Are you accusing me of lying, Canon Chambers?’
‘Not at all, Sister Bland. Only some people might imagine that the sight of a mysterious woman disappearing down a corridor could be a case of wishful thinking.’
‘I saw what I saw. I don’t need to feel bad about that. I only feel guilty about the child disappearing on my watch. Obviously I feel responsible and upset. In fact you are distressing me.’
‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to. I only have a few more questions.’
‘I don’t see why I should answer them.’
‘You have been very kind, Sister. Could I just ask at what time you arrived for work on the night in question?’
