by James Runcie
‘No, of course not.’
Hildegard turned on the oven, ready to heat up some supper. ‘Anna’s upstairs. I think she’s asleep. She fell over today and cut her knee. There was a lot of blood. Although probably not enough to interest you.’
‘That’s unfair, Hildegard.’
‘Don’t “Hildegard” me. You could go and see that she is sleeping while I try and get some practice done. Not that it will be any good. I’m in such a bad mood I’m going to play very badly. You should avoid me until this concert is over.’
‘I can’t do that.’
‘Leave me alone and let me get on with it – as you do when you pursue your investigations. Then you don’t worry about anything at home. Now it’s your turn to stay at home, and my turn to work. This family has to be your priority. If it isn’t, I’ll take Anna back to Germany with me and start again.’
‘There’s no need to be that dramatic.’
‘How “dramatic” do I have to be, Sidney, to make you change your behaviour?’
‘Really . . .’
‘There’s nothing more to say, Sidney. If you don’t do what I say I’ll leave you. It’s very simple.’
‘What?’
‘I mean it.’
Bloody hell, Sidney thought to himself.
She’s going to leave me?
He felt sick.
He hardly left the house for the next five days.
It drove them all crazy.
The concert was held on Saturday 5th September in the chapel of Corpus Christi and it was dedicated to the memory of Orlando Richards. Hildegard played the Bach fugues, with the final movement of Mozart’s last sonata as an encore, linking the two great composers’ final pieces, one in D minor, the other in D major.
As she played, Sidney could not quite believe that the performer was his wife. He thought he was watching a different person, in another world. Her fingers were confident, muscular and yet also capable of great delicacy. Her hands and forearms were stronger than he had ever realised, both commanding the music and, simultaneously, letting it come to her, so that there were moments when he wasn’t sure if Hildegard was playing the music or it was playing her.
When it was over, Cecilia Richards’s voice broke as she thanked her friend. The concert had been a blessing. The music was outside time.
‘It has its own world,’ Hildegard replied. ‘It is secret and yet it is shared. It only asks for attention.’
‘It’s the first concert I’ve come to since my husband died. I hope he was watching.’
Hildegard took her hand. ‘I’m sure he was.’
‘I think you may just be saying that. But I can imagine him looking down on us all. That’s what matters; and it has been easier than going to any choral music. That would be harder.’
Her son was leaning over the candles at the back of the chapel. He was wearing the false moustache again, and it seemed he was about to set it on fire.
‘I must go and fetch Charlie before he does any damage. Please thank Sidney for what he has done. I can’t see him.’
‘He must be with the fellows.’
‘I didn’t want a fuss about Orlando’s death. Knowing what has happened makes it worse. I will try not to hate the bursar who should have died in his place or the journalist who wrote that story. It’s difficult, but the music makes it a little easier. It understands sorrow.’
‘There is nothing I can say to comfort you,’ Hildegard replied. ‘But I played for him and for you.’
‘And that is more than anyone else has done.’
Sidney rejoined his wife. ‘I have been showing off about you,’ he smiled. ‘I’m proud.’
‘I didn’t let you down?’
‘Never, Hildegard. You are the making of me. You played so beautifully. We must make sure you have even more time to practise.’
‘Yes,’ his wife agreed. ‘We must.’
When they arrived home, Sidney prepared a little salad which they had with cold ham, new potatoes, and a couple of bottles of beer. Hildegard was tired and asked for further reassurance. ‘Did I do well? Really? All of it? I wasn’t sure about the Mozart. I wanted to play at my best.’
‘For Orlando.’
‘Yes, for Orlando, for Cecilia, for everyone; but most of all for you.’
Sidney looked at his wife. ‘I don’t deserve you, my darling.’
Hildegard tilted her head to one side. ‘No, sometimes you don’t. But we have to make the best of things.’ She picked up one of Sidney’s new jazz recordings from the sideboard. ‘What is this? Have you been saving it?’
‘Chet Baker,’ her husband answered. ‘He’s a very fine trumpeter. Part of the American West Coast “cool school”.’
She read the record sleeve. ‘Can you dance to it?’
‘I think so.’
‘Slowly?’
‘Yes, there’s one number that’s rather fine: “Soultrane”. I think it’s the first on the album. I heard it on the wireless. Nice and mellow.’
Hildegard handed the record to her husband. ‘There’s a scrape of moon outside. The summer will be over soon. Play it, Sidney.’
‘What do you have in mind?’
‘Let’s dance.’
They went into the sitting-room and opened the windows to let in the breeze. The sky was darkest blue. There were no stars. Sidney bent down, put the record on to the turntable, lifted the arm, lowered the needle on to the vinyl and checked the volume. Then, as the music began, he walked over to his wife’s outstretched arms.
A Following
The Fens were as uncertain as memory. Sidney could not fully trust this land that had been reclaimed from the sea. The silt built and eroded simultaneously, caught in an indecisive cycle of accumulation and decay. Tufts of solid ground rose above shallow water pools and mires that could flood at will. The remains of great trees from ancient forests that had fallen in long-forgotten storms had become semi-fossilised ‘bog oaks’ amid the alder thickets and reed beds. In the winter plain of day (not that there ever really was such a thing) a person should have been able to look out for miles but the fog made it hard to see beyond an outstretched arm. The locals spoke of strange apparitions, Jack-o’-lanterns, lost souls, untimely death and unsettling hauntings. Ely Cathedral, ‘the Ship of the Fens’, appeared to float over the flat landscape, attempting to provide solidity over the low-lying marshes, but sometimes it seemed that it, too, could have been a mirage.
Canonry House in Firmary Lane had become the Chambers family home. Having begun life in the twelfth century as the cellarer’s hall for the monastery, it was a large, rackety old place, hard to furnish and impossible to heat, but it had a gracious drawing-room big enough for Hildegard’s piano, a spacious study and an upper floor that could easily accommodate an au pair girl should they ever get one.
Felix Carpenter, the Dean of Ely, came for tea with his wife Cordelia. She brought a present for Anna: the beginnings of a model farm that she and Hildegard laid out on the green carpet of the girl’s bedroom as the men talked shop.
The dean had already updated Sidney on many of his responsibilities and assigned his services on the rota. Nothing had been hidden, he was quick to point out, and the cathedral finances were in not too bad a shape. His only concern was the behaviour of another member of the Chapter, Canon Christopher Clough. There had been rumours about him, unsavoury gossip concerning the attention he had been paying to certain female members of the congregation; some vulnerable and new to the area, others recently widowed or heartbroken. The dean was not sure that anything could be proved, but he had a feeling that all was not as it might be. Their clerical colleague, it was alleged, may have been somewhat ‘over-enthusiastic’ in his attentions. If the new Archdeacon could keep a discreet eye on things then the dean would be grateful. ‘That’s one of the main attractions of your appointment, Sidney. You will be my eyes and ears.’
‘I thought it was a condition of my employment that I was to cease all extra-curricular activity
of that nature?’
‘Oh, you don’t need to worry about that. Besides, this is all directly relevant. We’re relying on you to set us right when people stray.’
This was odd. Sidney had spent the last ten years playing down his investigative activities. Now the dean was asking him to make the most of whatever talent he had. ‘As long as you don’t bring in that inspector of yours,’ he continued. ‘We can sort things out for ourselves in the Church of England.’
‘As they do in the University of Cambridge?’
‘I am aware that you may have had the odd difficulty in the past, but clerical behaviour is a different matter.’
‘Unfortunately, Felix, I have found that no matter the profession, there is no escaping the common flaws of humanity.’
‘And Canon Clough is, perhaps, more prone to weakness than many. We don’t want a scandal. It’s best to nip these things in the bud.’ The dean sighed. ‘I find the winter very gloomy, don’t you? And Lent hardly makes things better. I presume you will be abstaining from the troublesome grape?’
‘Actually, I thought I might not this year. My wife tells me that every time I give up alcohol I become exceedingly grumpy.’
‘Have you thought of an alternative? I hope you are not going to give up your investigations?’
‘That has been suggested.’
‘I myself am trying to give up anxiety. Only I’m worried about how to do it. A paradox . . .’
‘That can only be answered by prayer.’
‘You are more spiritual than people think, Sidney.’
‘I am going to try very hard not to let you down, Felix.’
‘Have you settled in all right?’
‘I am suitably daunted,’ Sidney replied. ‘But that is better than being complacent.’
The two men left for evensong. Then Sidney had a quiet evening at home with his family, sorting through their possessions and, most importantly, his books. There were crates and boxes to be opened, but he was enthusiastic about the process, having the largest study he had ever known and plenty of spare shelving. In a few years’ time, he hoped it would be the envy of many a Cambridge don.
The master bedroom was on the first floor. It too was large and draughty, with a new carpet, a beamed ceiling on which Sidney was sure that he would hit his head, and a second-hand brass bed acquired from an antique dealer whom Sidney had once saved from a murder charge. He had not yet told Hildegard that this same man had revealed their new home was haunted and that a barefoot angelic apparition had been seen in the upper rooms on moonlit nights.
Hildegard was sitting at a dressing table and applying cold cream to her face. ‘The dean’s wife was anxious that you two men should have some time alone together. She mentioned that there had been a bit of trouble.’
‘Did she indeed?’ Sidney took off the cufflinks Hildegard had given him at Christmas. He liked them very much.
‘Yes, mein Lieber, she did. What did she mean?’
‘Nothing for you to worry about.’
‘I hope there are going to be no secrets between us in this new community?’
Sidney put on his pyjamas. ‘Well, my darling, once again we are faced with the problem of intervention. A fellow cleric has been rather too “enthusiastic”, shall we say, with certain lady members of the congregation. But is it any of our business? Canon Clough, for that is the man, is unmarried. These people are consenting adults.’
‘Have I met him?’
‘I don’t think so. Tall, blond, ruddy and mustachioed.’
‘Don Juan with whiskers! Has he been abusing his position?’
Sidney tucked himself into bed. ‘I can see that he could be accused of preying on the vulnerable. Although some of the women with whom he has allegedly been involved are more than capable of looking after themselves.’
‘I don’t think people will like being questioned on these subjects. For example, I don’t like it when people ask me about you.’
‘Why has anyone got a reason to do that?’ Sidney questioned.
‘They want to know how I put up with it all.’
‘And what do you say?’
‘I tell them I cope with you very well.’
‘Cope?’
‘I think that’s the correct word.’
‘I don’t know why people ask about other people’s marriages. No one ever tells the whole truth, and we can’t ever know what goes on behind the bedroom door. Relationships that seem loving in public may be dreadful in private, and those that are argumentative and fractious can be rather wonderful, like in Noël Coward’s Private Lives. You remember? We went to see it at the Arts. I am reminded of the wife of our beloved archbishop who was once asked whether she had ever been tempted by the idea of adultery.’
‘And had she?’
‘“Never,” she replied. “But murder, often.”’
‘I’ll remember that,’ said Hildegard, joining her husband in bed. ‘It gives me comfort.’
‘Comfort?’
‘To know that I am not alone.’
The next day was cold, clear and unusually crisp. The lack of wintry dampness put Sidney in a cheerful mood that was further improved by the fact that Amanda was taking him out to lunch at the Lamb Hotel. She wanted to discuss the practicalities of her forthcoming wedding to Henry Richmond.
She arrived at the railway station looking stylish in a maroon coat and produced an envelope from her bag which she handed over at once ‘before I forget’. It was a late birthday present, an opportunity that she was sure would change his life. Sidney was about to have his first pair of handmade shoes.
‘I thought it appropriate, don’t you see? This will help you keep your feet elegantly on the ground as you go up in the world.’
‘That is exceptionally generous of you. I have been a bit down at heel lately.’
Amanda insisted on the indulgence of a taxi and positively cooed when they passed the cathedral. ‘Every day you get a step closer to heaven, Sidney.’
‘The place from which you came.’
Amanda cut short this easy flirtation. ‘Although I think I’m unlikely to return. My place in the fiery pit was booked a long time ago.’
‘Faith can always get you out again. How is Henry?’
‘Well: but frightened. To continue with our pedestrian conversation, I think it’s best to keep him on his toes.’
‘So you’ve decided to accept him?’
‘Since I can’t marry you, Sidney, I’ve had to settle for second best.’
‘Don’t joke about these things.’
‘You are secretly pleased to have escaped me.’
‘I am very happy with my lot in life, it is true.’
‘Then you need to be teased more often.’
The taxi pulled up at the hotel and they were shown to a discreet corner table in the dining-room. Amanda hoped that no one thought they were having an affair. ‘I don’t want to ruin your reputation before you’ve begun.’
‘I think they will be giving me the benefit of the doubt. Besides, people have their own lives to lead. This is a town. It isn’t like Grantchester. There is no Mrs Maguire to collect and disseminate information at will.’
‘Oh, I think you’ll find a new version. It won’t be long before you’ll have your usual collection of Pats and Margarets.’
‘There’s no need to be dismissive. It’s not very Christian of you.’
‘Well perhaps I am not in a “very Christian” mood, Sidney.’
The waitress arrived and Amanda scanned the menu. ‘You probably aren’t either, now that it’s Lent,’ she added.
‘I’m taking this one off.’
‘So you’ve left the wagon in Grantchester?’
‘It makes me too grumpy.’
‘You’ve noticed at last.’
‘I thought I might try August instead.’
‘When everyone’s on holiday? That’s not a bad idea. Anyway, I’m glad. Don’t think I’ll let up on the teasing, though. It’s my job
to stop you becoming a middle-aged bore. We don’t want you turning into one of those complacent priests with a singsong voice. Are you going to have the lamb?’
‘I don’t have a singsong voice.’
‘Touchy. I don’t think I fancy the eel pie.’
‘I think that’s what you’re supposed to have. Or the eel stew. You need to think of it as your initiation into the area.’
‘I am not sure that I want that. I’m going for the chicken breast and some green beans. No potatoes.’
‘You are cutting down?’
‘I’ve gone off them. Someone told me they’re poisonous when they’re green beneath the skin.’
‘Oh, Amanda. That can’t be right.’
‘One can’t be too careful. You of all people should know that. Cherry seeds produce prussic acid. Bitter almonds are full of cyanide . . .’
‘If you think in that way then most food leads to death. How do you know all this?’
‘One of my admirers.’
‘I thought you’d given them up?’
‘Every girl needs insurance.’
Sidney looked at the menu. He could not remember what he was due to have at supper and knew Hildegard would ask what he had had at lunchtime. She didn’t like him to have meat twice in one day so he avoided the lamb and plumped for the plaice.
Once they had settled they began to discuss the forthcoming nuptials. Henry had said that he would prefer a registry office wedding (he thought it best, having been married before, even though his wife was dead), but Amanda wanted a little bit of beauty, and since Sidney had Ely Cathedral at his disposal perhaps he could oblige with a service of blessing?
‘It’s not exactly “at my disposal”, Amanda. I would have to ask the dean. I presume you would want to have it in our Lady Chapel?’
‘They are hardly going to turn down a request from the new boy, are they? Besides, you owe me a favour.’
‘For what, may I ask?’
