Sidney Chambers and The Forgiveness of Sins (15 page)

‘Sir Mark?’ Keating checked.

‘Who else? All he’s interested in is drink, shooting and a bit of the other.’

‘I was going to ask you about that . . .’

‘Don’t. He’s my mother’s
boyfriend
. What do you think I am: mad?’

‘Listen,’ Keating pressed, ‘we don’t have much time. Has he ever hit either you or your mother?’

‘Neither, as far as I am aware. His wife’s probably enough for him.’

‘You’ve seen it?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘What have you seen?’

‘Sir Mark’ll go berserk if he finds out I’ve been speaking to you. I bet Muir will tell him and then we’ll all be in trouble. I’ll lose my job. You can’t prove anything and his wife will deny it.’

Sidney was desperate now. ‘Would you mind giving me your mother’s address?’

Nancy Hayworth held Sidney’s gaze. ‘Why?’

‘Because I don’t like seeing women who have been abused and I don’t want you to be next.’

‘I can look after myself. It hasn’t got that bad yet.’

‘But it might. That man is dangerous, Nancy. He could hurt you.’

Nancy lost her defiance. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Positive.’

She looked at Keating. ‘I don’t like talking to the police.’

‘Then speak to me,’ Sidney suggested.

‘I won’t say anything,’ Geordie agreed. ‘I can leave if you like. He’s a clergyman. A good man. You can trust him.’

‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’

‘We’re just trying to look after you.’

‘And Lady Kirby-Grey.’

‘Both of you. If we do nothing, things will only get worse,’ Sidney replied. ‘You have to help us, Nancy.’

He was in a sombre mood on the journey home, and he began to think about his next move before remembering that his actual ‘next move’ was to join the preparations for his daughter’s first birthday party. His parents were coming, together with his sister and the boys, and even Uncle Matt had promised to put in an appearance. He knew that he had to make an extra effort because in an unguarded moment a few days earlier he had told his wife that he had a lot on and might not be able to stay for the whole thing. Failing to recognise this fundamental error (
It’s your family, Sidney
), he had then made matters worse by saying that it probably didn’t matter because his daughter was only a year old and wasn’t going to remember much about it when she was older.

The icy reception to this remark gave Sidney notice that he would have to be a proper host to family and friends; a warning that was raised to red alert after he had tried to joke his way out of the situation by suggesting that they hide the cake to prevent Malcolm Mitchell eating it in advance of the big day. This was not considered amusing.

Amanda and Leonard Graham also came up from London, armed as godparents with the requisite soft toys, mobiles and building bricks. On arrival, Leonard was keen to know all the details of the latest case, and was intrigued by the fact that it had first come to their attention at a shooting party when so much else might have gone wrong. He was reminded, he said, of Turgenev’s
Sketches from a Hunter’s Album
, and looked forward to the day when he could introduce Anna to the joys of Russian literature.

Once the main party had broken up, Sidney made a surprise bid for domestic popularity by offering to do all the washing-up. Amanda said that she would stay behind and help while Leonard gave the new curate a few extra tips. Such was the intellectual terror of Leonard’s presence that Malcolm had confined himself to three or four fairy cakes, a couple of dainties, and a single slice of the birthday sponge.

As Amanda washed and Sidney dried, she informed her friend that she had just had another row with Henry Richmond and had given him an ultimatum. He either had to confront Mark Kirby-Grey or they would have no future together.

‘And what did your prospective beau say to that?’

‘He thought it an unreasonable demand.’

‘To make your love conditional?’

‘Oh, I’m not sure it’s love, Sidney. At the moment we haven’t really got past expedience. That’s why I’m so cross. As long as Elizabeth is in that house she is in danger. Have you any news yourself?’

Sidney reported on his recent visit to Witchford Hall and said that he planned to go and see Mrs Frances Hayworth that very evening.

‘You mean you’re slipping out? Is that why you offered to do the washing-up?’

‘I thought I’d put some money in the bank.’

‘You sly old dog.’

‘I’ll be taking Byron and combine it with a walk. She lives off the Trumpington Road. Works as a hairdresser.’

‘I can’t see Sir Mark stooping to the level of a hairdresser.’

‘I imagine she’s rather glamorous, if her daughter is anything to go by.’

‘Is there a husband?’

‘I’m not sure there ever was one.’

‘How very risqué. You will be careful, won’t you, Sidney?’

‘The conversation could be a little tricky.’

‘That’s not what I mean, Chambers. I know your penchant for damsels in distress.’

‘I have no idea what you are talking about, Amanda. I am a happily married man and, as far as I know, this woman is not in distress.’

‘But she might be after one of your “conversations”?’

‘I will stick to the point and be home in time for supper.’

‘Then I look forward to hearing all about it. Hildegard has asked me to stay. It’s a long time since she and I had a proper chat.’

‘I hope you don’t talk too much about me when I’m gone.’

‘Don’t worry, Sidney. It’s possible that we might not talk about you at all.’

Sidney hoped that Nancy’s mother was a dog-lover since he had found that people were seldom put out when in the presence of a Labrador.

Frances Hayworth was not as spellbindingly sensual as Sidney had been expecting. However, as he had often found in the past few years, it was always foolish to assume that a man’s mistress was more attractive than his wife.

She was a woman of medium height with a high neck and a head that was almost too large to balance on top of it. She walked barefoot (following the example of singer Sandie Shaw), greeting Sidney in a simple low-cut dark-green dress with an accompanying silver necklace, earrings, and bangles that clanked together every time she moved; particularly when she raised her right arm, either to take a drag of her cigarette or a sip of her Cinzano.

‘Could you leave your dog outside?’ she asked. ‘I can’t stand the creatures.’

‘Of course.’

‘I don’t want any dirt on my new white carpet.’

Sidney took off his shoes. He explained that he had recently spent the weekend at Witchford Hall and that he had met her daughter.

‘She’s not in trouble, is she?’ Frances Hayworth asked.

‘Not that I know of.’

‘What did she tell you?’

‘Only good things,’ Sidney exaggerated. ‘I gather you helped her get the job.’

‘I did, but I can’t see where this is leading.’

‘Sir Mark has become something of a friend recently . . .’

‘It’s unlike him to welcome a vicar. He hasn’t said anything to me.’

‘And as a result I have worried about him.’

‘Have you indeed?’

Sidney surprised even himself by this confident opening. Still, he might as well keep going. ‘In fact, I rather wanted your advice; as a fellow friend, you understand.’

Frances Hayworth poured herself another Cinzano without offering any to her guest. ‘Is it about his marriage, his money or his drinking? I’m not sure you can help in any of those cases.’

‘If it’s not too impertinent, I just wanted to know how often you saw him. It’s just that I don’t think he’s been very happy recently.’

‘No one would ever think he was content, despite the big house and the lavish lifestyle. It’s because he never had a proper mother and he married a child. He comes to me so that he can be himself.’

‘And what does that involve?’

‘I’m sure you don’t need me to spell it out.’

‘I’m also worried about his wife.’

‘As you can imagine, I don’t see very much of
her
.’

‘Indeed. Tell me, have you ever seen him lose his temper?’

‘Of course.’

‘And have you seen him lash out?’

‘He tried to hit me once but I could see it coming and gave him a good slap. He never tried that again. In fact he started crying . . .’

‘Did you feel sorry for him, Mrs Hayworth?’

‘Not really.’

‘And how long have you had your arrangement?’

‘I’m not sure I’d call it that. A few years. Not that it’s anything to do with you.’

‘After his son died, I suppose.’

‘What son? He doesn’t have any children.’

Sidney backtracked. ‘Then I must be mistaken. I wondered if either of you have ever wanted anything more.’

‘Do you mean have I asked him to leave his wife? You’re very nosy for a priest.’

‘Curiosity is part of my concern.’

‘And are you “concerned” about me?’

‘I am, Mrs Hayworth. Perhaps you could answer my question?’

‘I can’t complain. He bought me this flat. I’ve got my freedom.’

‘So you’re happy just to carry on?’

‘What else am I supposed to do? At my age there’s only the married men and the rejects to choose from. At least Mark’s got a bit of vim in him. And he makes me laugh. I don’t ask for much.’

‘And he gives your daughter money too?’

‘Well, she does work for him.’

‘As a maid . . .’

‘Yes. What’s wrong with that?’

At first Sidney had not been sure whether or not to tell Mrs Hayworth about Sir Mark’s attentions to her daughter but, after her forthright responses to his questioning, he decided to do so. He introduced the information into the conversation ambiguously, so that Nancy’s mother might fill in the gaps and conclude that the situation was worse than it was. The impact was immediate.

‘He’s WHAT? How do you know this?’

‘I’ve seen them.’

‘Together?’

‘On the back stairs at Witchford Hall.’

‘I don’t believe it.’

‘They were making some kind of arrangement. I couldn’t tell what it was but I’m sure the other members of staff are aware of the situation. Even Lady Kirby-Grey suspects that something is up.’

‘But my daughter would have told me about this. What on earth is she doing?’

‘Perhaps it’s a kind of blackmail?’

‘Nancy?’

‘Or maybe it’s something else . . .’ Sidney let the silence fall. This was almost evil. ‘She told me she wants money. And like you, Mrs Hayworth, she seems to be getting it. It’s not a very edifying situation, is it?’

‘If that man’s seduced my daughter . . .’

‘Of course, it may not be that at all. A misunderstanding on my part . . .’

‘It doesn’t sound like it. I’ll bloody kill him. I don’t care if I’ve confessed before I’ve done it . . .’

‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’

‘But you’re not me. I tell you, I’ll bloody kill him.’

The following evening Sidney recognised that the case was getting to him. He felt guilty about ‘leading the witness’ and was worried that he might have miscalculated. What was he doing involving himself in all this?

He was so on edge that he snapped at his curate for helping himself to a mince pie before one of the carol services. ‘WILL YOU JUST STOP EATING?’

‘I was hungry,’ Malcolm spluttered. ‘I didn’t have any lunch.’

‘That’s nonsense. You just can’t remember it.’

‘I can, Sidney, I assure you. It was nibbles in Newnham.’

‘Followed by canapés in Corpus, finger food in Fitzwilliam, starters at Selwyn and entrées at Emmanuel no doubt.’

‘Really. There’s no need to be cruel.’

Sidney stopped. What was becoming of him? This was not the behaviour of a prospective archdeacon.

‘It’s Christmas,’ Malcolm continued. ‘There’s no need to be such a bully.’

Sidney worried that his curate was going to cry. ‘I’m very sorry.’

‘You should be. It’s so unkind of you.’

Sidney did not know whether to touch him or not. A hand on the arm or the shoulder? A hug would be too much. He might even be rebuffed. ‘I find this time of year rather stressful.’

‘It might be because you think that everything is your responsibility. You won’t let other people do things for you.’

‘Yes, I suppose it might be that. Once again, I can only say I’m sorry.’

‘Your apology is accepted. I am having dinner with Helena tonight. I will try not to eat too much.’

‘I’m sure it doesn’t matter.’