Sidney Chambers and The Dangers of Temptation (30 page)

‘Why?’

‘I’m doing you a favour, Sidney, a chance to help Leonard before the whole thing blows up – possibly literally, if the arson is anything to go by.’

‘Oh dear . . .’

‘It’s the same man, as you and Geordie must have realised. He talks about fire often enough. Here’s one: “the abominable, and murderers, and whoremongers, and sorcerers, and idolaters, and all liars, shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone: which is the second death”. Charming. He lives in Albert Street, St Albans. That should be easy enough to find. I’ll give you the address.’

Despite all this knowledge, Sidney was cautious. He wanted to do what was best for Leonard and he wasn’t quite sure that his friend would want him to go in all guns blazing. He needed to check on his mood and attitude. How easy it was to threaten someone’s happiness and derail a life.

He was unsurprised to find that Simon Hackford was with Leonard. The two friends were having a light lunch: omelettes, bread, cheese, water. It was all very Lenten.

Sidney offered to confront the blackmailer.

‘Do you mean you know who he or she is?’ Leonard asked.

‘Helena told me.’

‘What? You mean it’s at the newspapers already?’

‘She’s not going to do anything about it.’

Simon Hackford was aghast. ‘But if she does, we’re ruined.’

‘How is that so? You are the victim of arson, Simon. There is nothing to link Leonard to the case. And you can always deny your relationship.’

‘What if we don’t want to?’

‘I don’t mean that you shouldn’t acknowledge your friendship. You can simply insist on your privacy.’

‘To the newspapers?’

‘I think you can trust Helena.’

‘But not other journalists.’

‘And I will deal with the blackmailer.’

‘Don’t you think we can sort this out for ourselves?’

‘No, I don’t,’ said Sidney. ‘Besides, Geordie is involved too.’

‘You haven’t told him about the letters?’

‘I haven’t spelled it out.’

‘But you have hinted.’

‘Please, Leonard. Let me meet the blackmailer for you.’

‘You’ve spoken to Amanda about it all?’

‘We are
all your friends, Leonard
. Of course we have spoken. We care about you. Now what are your instructions? Will you let me act on your behalf?’

Nicholas Trent’s home in Albert Street was a stone’s throw from St Albans Abbey and Leonard’s house in Sumpter Yard. Sidney scheduled his visit for a weekday afternoon after the shops had closed. His plan was to pretend to be a new member of the abbey clergy, visiting the congregation in order to introduce himself.

Not only was Trent at home, it was his day off. He was a large shambling man, unaccustomed to exercise, and was wearing old clothes: baggy trousers over loosely laced boots, a frayed cream shirt that was not tucked in and a racing-green cardigan that carried the battle scars of breakfast, lunch and, most likely, the dinners of the previous week. He had spent most of the day pottering about and listening to music. It was so hard to imagine him working in a department store, and dressed in a suit and tie, that initially Sidney thought he must have made a mistake, but a further glance around the room convinced him he had not.

The house was filthy. There were newspapers, plastic bags, glue, scissors, unwashed plates and discarded mugs of tea all over the front room, together with empty liquid bottles, sponges, half-burned candles, batteries, pliers and bits of wiring, and a pair of gardening gloves next to a bowl of sugar. LPs were scattered on the floor round an old record player scratching out a bit of Wagner. Aside from the mess, every available seat was occupied by a cat: there must have been eight, nine or even ten of them on the sofa, chairs, in the hall and kitchen or coming in and out of the garden at the back.

‘Waifs and strays,’ said Trent, turning off the music. ‘I try to give them a good home. No thanks to the RSPCA.’

‘I would have thought they’d be all too happy.’

‘On the contrary. They keep threatening to take my darlings away. Someone must have reported me.’

‘You suspect a neighbour?’

‘I’m afraid so. People don’t know how to leave well alone these days, do they? Can I make you a cup of tea?’

This was a bit rich for a blackmailer, Sidney thought while assessing how much of a health hazard the proffered refreshment might be. ‘That would be kind.’

‘Have a seat then. I’ll just move Edgar.’

‘An unusual name . . .’

‘I call them after English kings and queens. It helps me remember. I hadn’t heard you were coming to the abbey, Mr Archdeacon. It wasn’t in the parish magazine.’

‘I don’t start until July. After the sub-dean has moved on.’

Trent was at the tap and about to fill the kettle when he stopped. ‘I wasn’t aware he was leaving.’

‘He’s going to be a bishop,’ said Sidney boldly, wondering whether it was too soon to get on to all this, ‘although it hasn’t been announced yet.’

‘Leonard Graham?’

‘Yes,’ Sidney replied. ‘Is there anything wrong?’

‘I should think so.’ Trent resumed his tea-making activities. Sidney remained silent, fending away a cat that was about to leap on to his shoulder. Another made for his lap.

‘A bishop? Are you sure?’

‘Yes,’ said Sidney.

‘And does the Church of England think that the man has the right qualities for the episcopate?’

‘I imagine it does,’ Sidney replied. ‘Otherwise it wouldn’t have appointed him.’

‘Unless it wasn’t in full possession of the facts. Here’s your tea.’ It came in a cup and saucer that were not as clean as they might have been. ‘I’m not sure where I’ve put the sugar.’

‘It’s over there,’ said Sidney, noticing that it was next to a bottle of nail polish remover. What would Trent want with
that? he wondered, before remembering Amanda informing him how flammable the liquid could be. He wished he were with her now rather than forcing out a confrontation in a filthy room. He took a sip of tea. ‘Is there something you want to tell me, Mr Trent?’

‘Leonard Graham is unmarried.’

‘Perhaps you are too?’

‘That is different, I have been unfortunate in love.’

‘And that may be the case with Mr Graham.’

‘I fear not.’

‘You have evidence to the contrary?’

‘He has a special friend. They came to the shop.’

‘Together?’

‘Not exactly. Mr Graham hovered in the background while his friend bought a double bed.’

‘Is that unusual?’

‘Men buying beds on their own? It doesn’t happen every day, I’ll tell you that. And it wasn’t for himself. It was for Mr Graham. I had to arrange the delivery to his house in Sumpter Yard.’

‘I do not see what is wrong with that,’ said Sidney, playing with a straight bat. ‘The clergy are not well paid, as you know. Some of us are fortunate to have more wealthy friends.’

‘And do they buy you beds?’

‘They might if I asked them.’

‘So you see nothing wrong.’

‘I don’t,’ said Sidney. ‘What I do think is “wrong” is this,
Mr Grace
.’

‘Why are you calling me that?’

‘It’s not a very appropriate name.’ He produced a piece of paper. ‘
Almighty God, unto whom all hearts be open, ALL DESIRES KNOWN AND FROM WHOM NO SECRETS ARE HID
. . .’

‘What is that?’

‘A blackmailer’s letter, addressed to Leonard Graham.’

‘How did you get it?’

‘I presume it is from you.’

‘I don’t know why you would think that. My name is Trent.’

Sidney handed over the letter. ‘Other recent communications contain your real name.’ He pulled a second missive from his inner jacket pocket. ‘This is the second note that you sent to the
Daily Mirror
: “
DEVICES AND DESIRES. HIDDEN SECRETS. THE REVELATION OF THE BEAST
.”’

‘How did you get all this?’

‘Let’s just say I know the right people.’

‘Protecting your own.’

‘No, Mr Trent. Working against the malign.’

‘Are you one of them and all?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘A pansy. A queer. A homosexual.’

‘It doesn’t matter whether I am or not.’

‘That means you are.’

‘Tell me, Mr Trent, what is it that you find so very threatening about homosexuality?’

‘They’re perverts.’

‘All of them?’

‘I’ve seen them hovering round toilets.’

‘You know that homosexuality is no longer illegal for consenting adults over the age of twenty-one?’

‘I don’t care how old they are. I am a loyal churchman and a communicant member of the Church of England. Your
friend
,’
Trent continued with contempt, ‘is a priest. Doesn’t he know that only when he publicly acknowledges that he is a sinner can he receive the grace of God?’

‘He does that every time he prays. We all do.’

‘To think that man gives communion to people.’

‘He does.’

‘The grace of God . . .’

‘Theologically, you are wrong, Mr Trent. God’s grace comes first. His love is prevenient to our response; his forgiveness awakens our repentance.’

‘You can say what you like. It’s disgusting what they do.’

‘And do you know what that entails?’

‘I don’t like to think about it. Father forgive them, for they know not what they do.’

Sidney took stock. He was not going to let Trent win his argument on religious grounds. ‘As Christians,’ he replied, as pointedly as possible, ‘and you say you are one, Mr Trent, we believe that sexuality is a God-given thing, a wonderful and beautiful thing.’

‘“Go forth and multiply”? That may be. But how can pansies and lezzers do that, that’s what I want to know.’

‘You are going to cite the Bible, I suppose?’

‘The Book of Leviticus, chapter eighteen: “You shall not lie with a male as one lies with a female; it is an abomination.” Chapter twenty: “If there is a man who lies with a male as those who lie with a woman, both of them have committed a detestable act; they shall surely be put to death.”’

‘Old Testament teaching . . .’

‘Then there is Romans, chapter one, verses twenty-six to twenty-seven. You can’t deny what it says.’

‘I think we know far more about human sexuality now than people did in the past. Many of those observations are out of date.’

‘It’s biblical truth, not subject to time but eternal.’

‘But you don’t feel the need to obey other laws found in Leviticus? To follow the regulations against wearing different clothing materials and planting varying types of seed in the same ground?’

‘That’s irrelevant.’

‘I’m not sure that it is,’ Sidney replied, realising that they had reached a stalemate. He was determined to stand his ground.

Unfortunately, so was Nicholas Trent. ‘I follow the teachings of St Paul, in the Book of Romans which I cited and you did not answer. I don’t agree with this permissive society. I know I am in the right, as St Paul was when he censured the Galatians.’

‘We could talk about this for a long time, Mr Trent, but ultimately I don’t think that Leonard Graham and Simon Hackford’s friendship has anything to do with us. In many ways it’s none of our business. It’s not harming anyone else.’

‘It’s an offence against the Lord. They cannot refrain from temptation.’

‘They may not be as licentious as you imagine.’

‘You would know, I suppose.’

Sidney refused to rise to the challenge. ‘I think I have yet to meet a homosexual man or woman who does not yearn for a permanent relationship. I don’t think homosexuals are very different from their brothers or sisters, and it doesn’t help to blackmail them.’

‘Who said I was doing that?’

‘Come, come, Mr Trent. We both know that all these letters are from you.’

‘If that is the case, what are you going to do about it?’

‘Do?’ Sidney asked. ‘Why, pay you off, of course.’ He reached into his briefcase. ‘I think the sum mentioned was fifty pounds.’

‘Now we’re getting somewhere. I should have made it a hundred.’

‘The demand was for fifty and here it is.’ Sidney placed an envelope on the table. ‘I hope you feel better for it and use the money wisely.’

‘I thought I’d give it to charity.’

‘That’s kind of you.’

‘I don’t need the money. It’s the principle.’

‘And what about the morality of blackmail?’

‘My cause is just.’

‘I am not so sure, Mr Trent. And since we disagree with each other’s moral position so profoundly I thought perhaps I could take back the money I have just put down.’

Sidney’s host was appalled. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I would have thought it was obvious. We have your details, I know the police. There is evidence that will put you at the scene of Simon Hackford’s antique shop.’

‘I don’t know who you are talking about.’

‘I find that very difficult to believe. You have Simon Hackford’s name from the cheque he wrote for the bed. It was for a large amount and he requested a different delivery address and so you almost certainly asked where he banked. The answer was already there on his cheque book: Cambridge. Any idle enquiry would also reveal that he dealt in antiques. The business carries his name. You don’t need to be Einstein to find it.’

‘I don’t see why I would burn his shop.’

‘Didn’t your threat mention “the abominable, and murderers, and whoremongers, shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone”? There’s circumstantial evidence and there are also fingerprints. I note too that you are a keen gardener and that you have, over in that corner, what appears to be a plentiful supply of weedkiller, a substance which, as you almost certainly know, contains sodium chlorate, a highly flammable material.’

‘Why would I leave that lying around?’

‘You appear to leave everything lying around, Mr Trent, including some equally flammable nail polish remover. I don’t imagine that you were expecting a visitor.’

‘You’re lucky I let you in.’

‘An example of your Christian charity, no doubt.’

‘I lead a good life, Mr Archdeacon. I am a decent man. There’s nothing you can do to stop me.’

‘Fortunately, there is. This could all become awkward for you if and when the police step up their investigation. Even though there was not much damage at the antique shop, these letters don’t help your case. Certainly it might be difficult to explain any absence from work to your employer if the authorities come calling.’