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

by James Runcie

‘I prefer it that way. Although it is expensive.’

  ‘And children are costly too, I imagine.’

  ‘I imagine they are. Now will that be all, Canon Chambers?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I am sorry to have kept you. I apologise. I’m rather nervous. Such a pity about the Redmond boy. It makes for a very uneasy atmosphere at the hospital. All the mothers are worried the same thing might happen to them.’

  ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t.’

  ‘Or, on a more positive note, let us pray that the child is returned.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Grace replied. ‘We all want that.’

  ‘It would be a shame if things turned out unpleasantly,’ Sidney continued.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘If the child was harmed in any way . . .’

  ‘I don’t think that’s likely . . .’

  ‘Or if the perpetrator was found and apprehended.’

  ‘What do you think would happen to him?’

  ‘You think it’s a man?’ Sidney asked.

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ Grace said, her face expressionless as she opened the door, letting the December wind sweep into the hallway.

  ‘I imagine that if the culprit is caught then a prison sentence is likely. But if the baby is returned, perhaps even anonymously, then the intensity of the search might be called off. If the baby is safe after all then perhaps the person who took it might even get away with it . . .’

  ‘That’s not something, I imagine, that you would countenance.’

  ‘Allowances might be made. People might have sympathy for the person who took the child.’ Sidney was careful not to say the word ‘thief’. ‘They might feel if, for example, they were acting out of desperation or distress, or he or she couldn’t understand what they were doing at the time, that they had suffered enough. The best thing for everyone concerned would be the safe return of the baby, whatever the circumstances. But I am sure you know all this, Sister Carrington. You don’t need me to tell you either about morality or the sorrows of the world. Might I see you in church at Christmas?’

  ‘I find it a bit difficult at this time of year. All those carols about a little tiny child.’

  ‘In the new year, perhaps. But I do hope you can find peace this Christmas, Miss Carrington. It can be a difficult season for so many people. I’d like you to know that I am always available should you ever need me. You can pop in unannounced at any time, just as I have dropped in on you.’

  ‘I am sorry I wasn’t more hospitable. And now I really must close the door. I don’t want the house to become too chilly.’

  ‘Indeed we must all keep ourselves warm on these bitter nights,’ Sidney agreed. ‘You have been very kind; and I am only sorry that you have clearly suffered so much in your marriage. There can be an end to those sorrows, I promise.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘A new life does not always begin with a birth, Sister Carrington. There are other ways of starting again.’ Sidney took her hand. ‘God bless you.’

  The following morning Hildegard’s mother arrived. Sibilla Leber had once had the same short blonde hair as her daughter but it had turned grey as it curled down to the level of her dark green eyes. Her nose was slightly more upturned, her face thinner and gaunter, and her mouth had gathered lines around it; the result of smoking. She had produced both her children when she was very young, been widowed at the age of twenty-seven, and had just celebrated her sixty-seventh birthday. She was not a woman of doubt, combining folk tradition, communist extremism and Protestant Christianity in a unique stream of opinion. Her English was as erratic as Sidney’s German. Her son-in-law met her at the station and said that Hildegard was doing well.

  ‘I see her myself. Men do not know things. She eat?’

  ‘Like a horse.’

  ‘My daughter is not horse.’

  ‘It is a form of expression.’

  ‘I do not understand. You cannot say my daughter is like animal. Perhaps better we speak German?’

  ‘Ich tue mein Bestes.’

  Sidney made sure Frau Leber’s two weighty suitcases were stowed in the back and that his guest took the front seat of the taxi. She was wearing so many layers of clothing that she appeared to have doubled in size since he had last seen her.

  By the time they arrived back at the vicarage Sidney was ready for the return to his study and a bit of peace while mother and daughter unpacked, caught up on their news and prepared the lunch. It was Frau Leber’s opinion that her duty was to make sure that her son-in-law was well fed and kept out of the way. His only function was to eat and then, as soon as he had finished, keep a low profile.

  He was doing just that, and settling down to concentrate on his sermon after their first lunch together, when Hildegard popped her head round the door. ‘I forgot to tell you that Mrs Redmond stopped by.’

  ‘Any news?’

  ‘Our new puppy is ready. She hoped you could pick it up today.’

  ‘Gosh. A puppy and your mother at the same time.’

  Hildegard touched her stomach and grimaced. ‘I know. I hope they like each other.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘A little kick, that’s all. It won’t be long now.’

  ‘Are you all right, my darling?’

  ‘Don’t worry about me. I have my mother.’

  ‘I know. But I still don’t like leaving you on your own. She’s not familiar with Cambridge.’

  ‘But I am. Go and fetch the dog.’

  ‘Are you sure you want me to?’

  ‘I agree that the timing is not ideal. But Mrs Redmond was insistent, Amanda has arranged it all, and you know I think it’s good for children to be brought up with pets.’

  Sidney wondered what on earth they were doing. Surely they were bonkers to think about a replacement for Dickens at Christmas when there was so much else going on? Amanda promised that she had organised the whole thing but that had not included delivery; and so Sidney found himself bicycling out to the Redmond farm on a day of drizzle and depression that marked the depth of winter.

  Although her grandchild was still missing, Agatha Redmond was practical. ‘I’m sorry not to have been able to bring your dog in person, Canon Chambers, but I don’t like to leave our Abi.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘I could have let you have him earlier, but I wanted him checked over, wormed and vaccinated. Normally my brother-in-law would have done the necessary but, as you are aware, he is indisposed.’ This was a euphemism for prison if ever there was one. ‘Fortunately, the new vet has given all the puppies the thumbs-up. I know that in the past you haven’t been, what shall we say, diligent, about a Labrador’s daily requirements, and with a new baby on the way I wanted to set everything up for you in case you forgot anything. You will remember what to do, won’t you? It’s a long time since Dickens was your puppy.’

  ‘Believe me, Mrs Redmond, I remember it all too well. I am looking forward to the stage when the little chap can fend for himself and has developed a bit of character.’

  ‘Oh, little Byron has got quite a lot of that already. Even Miss Kendall noticed. That’s how she picked him out.’

  ‘It is very kind of her.’

  ‘He’s been properly socialised and she’s paid all the bills so you don’t need to worry. All you have to do, Canon Chambers, is concentrate on looking after him. Do you think you can manage?’

  ‘I do have quite a bit of help. My mother-in-law is staying with us.’

  ‘And does she know about dogs?’

  ‘I haven’t asked her yet.’

  ‘Haven’t you even mentioned it? Most people are beside themselves with excitement when they bring a puppy home.’

  ‘Perhaps I’m too old for that.’

  ‘Nonsense, Canon Chambers. A new Labrador and a longed-for baby: what could be more thrilling? I’ll just get him for you.’

  ‘I should have a word with Abigail . . ..’

  ‘She’s resting now, but I doubt sh
e’s asleep. She still blames herself, Canon Chambers, that’s the trouble. She thinks that if she had kept an eye and hadn’t fallen asleep then baby John would still be with us. Why don’t you go upstairs and see her and provide a little reassurance? I won’t be a jiffy.’

  As Agatha Redmond made her way to a little room off the kitchen, the telephone rang. Sidney heard her complain, ‘Well if it’s not one thing it’s another. I suppose I’d best answer.’

  He wondered if it could be Hildegard but dismissed the thought. She was perfectly fine when he had left and he was hardly far away. He started to climb the stairs when there was the sound of the doorbell. Agatha Redmond called out from the back. ‘Do you mind letting in whoever’s at the door, Canon Chambers? Unless it’s the carol singers . . .’

  Sidney went through the carpeted hallway and was surprised to see no shadow behind the frosted glass. He opened the door. There was no one there, but on the step, in his Moses basket, lay the tiny figure of baby John.

  He picked him up and held him against his chest.

  ‘There,’ Sidney said.

  A note fluttered to the ground. It contained one word. ‘Sorry.’

  Sidney lifted up the basket and placed it in the hall. He closed the front door, and made his way up the stairs to Abigail Redmond’s bedroom. When he was halfway up, Agatha Redmond walked into the hall with Byron under one arm.

  ‘Good heavens, what’s that?’ she exclaimed.

  Sidney looked down at the child and replied as simply as he could. ‘It’s baby John.’

  Agatha Redmond took in the moment and then managed to burst into tears and fluster at the same time. ‘Oh, Abi, Abi. Here, Canon Chambers. Give me the baby. You hold the dog. On second thoughts, don’t. Just let him scamper. He’ll be perfectly all right. Oh, Canon Chambers. This is my grandson back at last. My beloved little boy.’

  She took the baby from his arms. ‘Hello, little John! Hello, little baby!’ Then she hared up the stairs. ‘Abigail, Abigail, baby John is back at last!’

  Sidney followed and watched as mother and baby were reunited. The two women inspected baby John again and again to see that he was all right. They marvelled at his toes and fingernails and noticed that his hair had grown and the mark under his left eye had faded. Then they asked questions that the poor baby could not possibly answer: had he been fed and was he warm enough and did he want to put on the new clothes waiting for him? Was he excited to see his mummy again? Did he know it was her? And did he understand that from now on she would never let him out of her sight, not ever?

  Abigail rocked him in her arms and sang him a little hush-a-bye song while Sidney said a quiet prayer of thankfulness. Some things really did turn out for the best, he thought, as he sat calmly with mother and daughter, enjoying the peace and the respite of the reunion.

  What a day it had been.

  After about twenty minutes, and just as Sidney was thinking that it was probably time to go, Abigail asked her mother in a dreamy fashion, ‘By the way, who was that on the telephone? Was it Colin? We should tell him.’

  Mrs Redmond’s face paled instantaneously. ‘Oh my! I’m so sorry. I clean forgot in all the excitement. It was the hospital, Canon Chambers. Your wife’s there with her mother. You’d better get a move on. She’s in labour. You don’t want to be late for the birth of your own son.’

  Sidney looked at the sleeping child in Abigail’s arms and realised that he was going to have to move very fast indeed.

  The roads into Cambridge were busy with last-minute shoppers. Christmas trees protruded from car boots that would not close, couples with tired children waited at bus stops and an ambulance sped past. For a moment Sidney panicked that it was Hildegard inside but then reassured himself that he had been told that she was already at the hospital. As he parked his bicycle outside he was grateful that he was familiar with the location of the maternity ward and he hurried past reception, fully aware that his life was soon to be changed irreversibly. You cannot ever stop being a parent once you have begun, he told himself.

  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 Ameri
can 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.