Sidney Chambers and The Forgiveness of Sins (16 page)

‘It does. We’re getting on very well.’

‘I’m glad.’

‘I hope you approve?’

‘I don’t think you need that.’

‘I’d
like
it.’

‘Then you have it.’

‘You don’t sound very convincing.’

‘It’s early days, isn’t it, Malcolm? Besides, I’m worried about the nature of relationships at the moment, as you know.’

‘You can’t judge everyone by the standards of the Kirby-Greys.’

‘I know.’

‘You have to start from your own marriage.’

‘That’s what I’m trying to do . . .’

The telephone rang. ‘What fresh hell is this?’ he asked, almost into the receiver.

Sidney was still in his particularly bolshie mood, utterly failing to count the multiple blessings of a helpful curate, a tolerant wife, a beautiful daughter and an ever-eager Labrador. He had also been neglectful and distracted with his parishioners.

‘This is Dr Robinson. Can you come to the hospital?’

Such calls normally came when someone was on the point of death. ‘What is it?’

‘Lady Kirby-Grey . . .’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Please come now.’

‘Is she in danger?’

‘She’s been beaten. Badly. But she’ll live. Her maid telephoned in hysterics.’

‘Nancy Hayworth?’

‘She’s with the police. The situation has come to a head. Miss Kendall is on her way.’

‘Is Elizabeth all right?’

‘Stable. But she’s very weak. Her husband didn’t bother to avoid her face this time.’

It was worse than Sidney had imagined. Elizabeth’s skin was so pale it was almost translucent. Now her head was bandaged. She had a black eye, her lip had been split, and her arm was in a sling after it had fractured in falling. She must have been hit at least twice and then kicked whilst on the ground.

‘I’m sorry,’ she began.

‘What on earth are you apologising for?’ Amanda asked. ‘Did Mark do all this?’

‘I should have listened to you.’

Elizabeth explained that the butler had told Sir Mark about Sidney’s visit with Keating and that he had then gone to Nancy Hayworth for verification. He was in the process of having it out with her, in public and in the hall, and he would probably have hit her too but for the arrival of Henry Richmond. The two men retired to Mark’s study and the whisky bottle was produced. The butler was told not to interrupt but an hour later there was the sound of shouting and furniture being thrown around the room. The door opened and Henry left, saying that unless Mark changed his behaviour he would go to the police.

‘
“With what?” I heard Mark shout. “You can’t prove anything. Elizabeth will never betray me.” He went back to his study and continued to drink. I knew there would be no point in having supper but I couldn’t think what to do. It took me a while to have the courage to face him, but the longer I left it the worse it would be for me and so I knocked on the door just as he was finishing a telephone call with the word “bitch”. I asked him who it was and he said, more spitefully than I had ever heard him before: “That
was
my lover. No thanks to you and your meddling friends.”

‘I said that I would come back and ask about supper later but he stood in my way so I couldn’t get to the door. The only way out was through the French windows but they had been locked for the winter. Mark started to rant, and because I was too terrified to answer any of his questions, or take any of the blame for what had happened, he started to hit me. It was the mouth first. He shouted that I had no use for it as I hardly ate anything and never said anything useful. I staggered back. Then he hit me again, and I fell. That was when I must have hurt my arm. He started kicking me when I was on the ground, and Nancy Hayworth came in. I heard a scream but I didn’t know what was happening apart from the pain. I fainted. I only woke up when I was here. Is there any tea?’

‘I’ll get some,’ said Sidney.

Amanda stroked her friend’s hand and touched her face, as gently as she could, saying that she loved her.

‘I’m so thirsty. My whole body aches,’ Elizabeth continued. ‘What will happen, do you know? It’s kind of you to come.’

Sidney came back with the tea, and Elizabeth took a few sips before saying that she wanted to sleep. She was so tired.

‘What can we do?’ Amanda asked.

‘We’re going to tell Keating,’ Sidney replied. ‘I can’t remember ever being this angry. We have to make sure that Sir Mark is arrested. We don’t want him bolting.’

When they reached the police station they discovered that Henry Richmond was already there. He was making a statement. Nancy Hayworth had been taken to a separate interview room. She was crying.

‘What’s happened?’ Sidney asked the duty sergeant.

‘Inspector Keating said you’d be here soon enough. He’s out.’

‘Where is he?’

‘You don’t know?’

‘We’ve just come from the hospital. Is he at Witchford Hall?’

‘You’d better let your friend explain.’

Henry Richmond buttoned up his coat. ‘I’ve given my statement. There’s a tea-room over the road. Perhaps we could go there? I can’t stop shivering.’

They crossed St Andrew’s Street as a bus full of Christmas shoppers was pulling away into the wet night. Sidney went ahead. Amanda took Henry’s arm. ‘You did it, then?’

‘I confronted my friend. Not that it’s done any good.’

‘Have you seen Elizabeth? It could hardly be worse. She could have died.’

‘She might have wanted to, living with that man. At least it’s over now.’

‘You think so?’

They sat in a steamed-up window, feeling both the warmth of the room and the cold from outside. They could only see passers-by on the pavement when they were close, looking in at the three friends grouped around a table as if they were on display. Henry kept his voice low. ‘I went to see him, Amanda. Please don’t ask me to do anything like that again.’

‘Did Mark admit to anything?’

‘He told me that his marriage was none of anyone else’s business. He and his wife often had tiffs, just as I had done with my own wife when she was alive and he hadn’t thought to say anything. Furthermore, Elizabeth was perfectly capable of looking after herself. I told him it didn’t look that way and that my marriage was completely different. Connie never appeared in public with burns or bruises. Mark said the injuries were minor and that anyone pointing them out was just making an unnecessary fuss.’

‘Some fuss . . .’

‘I told him that it wasn’t acceptable to have a frightened wife. Then Mark asked me what I really knew about wives, and suggested that Connie’s illness could have been my fault. I could have made her ill. I said I had never heard anything so revolting in my life. He told me I had asked for it and what was I going to do about it?’

Sidney poured out the tea. ‘He thought you wouldn’t dare break the code of friendship, however bad the situation had become.’

‘I said I was never going to see him again, and that I would be going to the police. They had enough evidence and I would make sure he was finished. He told me that I wouldn’t dare. “Watch me,” I said. Then he mentioned my wife, Connie, again. I am sorry to keep mentioning her name, Amanda . . .’

‘It’s all right . . .’

‘He said that I’d never known how to handle a woman. I was so angry. I went to the police and told them that I was sure I could get enough evidence together and that Amanda could persuade Elizabeth to give them enough information to make a charge. Hayworth and Muir too. I came here straight away. I knew I should have taken Elizabeth with me. But I was too angry. That man was a complete shit.’

‘Was?’ Sidney checked.

‘You mean he’s dead?’ Amanda asked.

‘Haven’t they told you?’ Henry replied. ‘That’s why I’m in this state. He shot himself: just as he said he would.’

The funeral was in early January. The new vicar took the ceremony and although Elizabeth was sufficiently recovered to attend there was little that was noble about the day. Mourners silently cursed the deceased, blamed themselves, and inwardly accused each other as Sir Mark was buried next to his son.

‘To think that lives can change so radically in so short a time,’ Amanda said to Sidney as they sat on a sofa in the drawing-room afterwards, cradling glasses of mulled wine against the cold. ‘Even though it already seems long ago. I still worry that I haven’t been a good enough friend to Elizabeth; that even by doing the right thing we were wrong. Perhaps, by intervening, we only made things worse. This wasn’t meant to end in death.’

‘You acted for what you thought was the best.’

Sidney imagined Sir Mark leaving his stately home for the last time, taking his shotgun and leaving his dog behind, heading out into the woodland, unable either to forgive himself or face up to reality. He remembered the Russian proverb: ‘We are born in a clear field and die in a dark forest.’

They were joined by the other members of the shooting party. No matter how much they thought about the sequence of events, only Elizabeth felt any sorrow for the dead man. ‘I can’t help feeling that we might have been able to sort things out between us. Without the help of others.’

‘You should have left him the first time he hit you,’ said Serena Stein. ‘That is a line in the sand.’

Amanda took some more mulled wine. ‘I’d have left as soon as I knew he was being unfaithful.’

Elizabeth answered two women who had never been in a situation such as hers. ‘You never quite know. That’s the problem. Everyone else may have an opinion. But they never tell you. Perhaps people only intervene when it’s too late.’

‘He might have killed you,’ Amanda said.

‘It was never that serious.’

‘It was.’

‘I could deal with it.’

‘You couldn’t.’

‘It was my life. We had lost a child. That changes everything.’

Serena Stein spoke without pity. ‘It can’t be used as an excuse for what follows.’

‘Perhaps it was simply that I should have been a better wife . . .’

‘No,’ said Sidney at last. ‘Mark should have been a better husband.’

‘How can you miss a man that hurt you so badly?’ Amanda asked.

‘It was all I knew. And we had Peter.’

‘We have to help you lead a new and better life.’

‘How will I live?’ Elizabeth thought out loud. ‘There’s no money. It’s all tied up in the house. Mark’s nephew will take over.’

Serena Stein was horrified. ‘You mean you didn’t keep any of your own money?’

‘I gave it all to Mark.’

‘What a beast,’ said Amanda.

‘Don’t . . .’

‘I’m sure we can find a way of managing,’ said Sidney. ‘We don’t have to decide everything today.’

Elizabeth was not convinced. ‘Perhaps I was the one who was supposed to kill myself.’

‘You can’t think like that.’

‘I can’t escape my thoughts.’

‘We won’t leave you,’ Amanda replied.

‘Tell me,’ Elizabeth turned to Sidney, ‘how does a woman of forty-seven with no money, no employable talent, no children and a dead husband begin her life again?’

What would have happened if they had left everything alone? Sidney thought. How much should a priest or a detective force out the truth, whatever the consequence? Does the fear of an unpredictable outcome excuse inaction; or does the more immediate need for justice overrule any concern about the consequences? Had they, in fact, made the situation worse?

He was still convinced that, however hard it might be, the pursuit of goodness should never be compromised by fear. He recalled the vows made at his ordination, that there be no place left in him for error in religion or for viciousness in life. He remembered an elderly clergyman once telling him that ‘a Christian life will always be a failure’ and thought about what the man must have meant; perhaps that one could never live up to the example of Christ; that inevitably a priest must fall short.

Most lives ended in disappointment of some sort. It was impossible to go on, to finish strongly or defeat death. Acknowledging that we cannot be greater than our own limited humanity was perhaps the first step towards becoming a Christian. He decided to preach on the subject of fragility and failure; although he would have to do something to make it sound a little more enticing. He would have to include the need for compassion, and celebrate our shared humanity. He could even, perhaps, quote from one of the last lines of that great Christmas film
It’s a Wonderful Life
: ‘No man can count himself a failure if he has friends.’

Contemplating the idea of friendship, Sidney knew that he still hadn’t had a proper debrief with Inspector Keating, either about the case or his new role as Archdeacon of Ely, and he was looking forward to resuming their regular meetings in the Eagle now that they were well into the New Year. As he walked across the icy meadows, Sidney recognised that they would have to find a new pub and different excuses to meet each other once he had settled into his next job.