Sidney Chambers and The Dangers of Temptation

by James Runcie

  ‘But that could have belonged to anyone.’

  ‘Not really. It was monogrammed; the same as the ones Amanda gave you. HJR. Henry John Richmond.’

  ‘I don’t think the man’s capable of murder and surely he wouldn’t have been so careless as to leave a handkerchief lying around?’

  ‘It wasn’t lying around, Sidney. It was stuffed into Connie Richmond’s mouth.’

  At first, Henry had denied that he had been anywhere near Chettisham at the time of his former wife’s death; a claim that was disproved all too swiftly by Dr Evans, the head of the psychiatric institution. He told police that their suspect had, in fact, paid a visit on the morning of the disappearance in order to take Connie out for a walk. The couple had some kind of altercation as they were leaving the building and the patient had been so upset that Henry had produced a handkerchief to assuage her tears. Dr Evans had intervened and specifically asked if Connie was sure she wanted to go out to the meadows. She had taken a good ten minutes to calm down. Then her mood switched and she was bright again.

  ‘She could be like that,’ Dr Evans said, ‘particularly after Henry Richmond referred to her as his “wife”. They left hand in hand.’

  It had been touching to see the equilibrium restored, although the doctor was sure the peace would not last long. Connie Richmond was too volatile and the situation had been sufficiently dramatic to stay in the memory. He was in no doubt that Henry Richmond had seen Connie on the day of her death and now, as a result of his initial denial, he was the chief suspect.

  ‘What is it with you and your friends?’ Geordie asked.

  ‘It doesn’t look good.’

  ‘Your man couldn’t have made a better job of appearing guilty if he had planned the whole thing.’

  ‘He must have been framed. Why would he be stupid enough to leave his handkerchief at the scene of the crime? I am convinced Henry is innocent.’

  ‘Well, he’s done a very good job of making us think he is not. He’s already told a whopping great lie.’

  ‘That must have been panic. Does Amanda know?’

  ‘I’m surprised she hasn’t telephoned you already. Perhaps she’s in shock?’

  ‘She’s more likely to be finding a lawyer. Were there any witnesses?’

  ‘None so far. The farmer’s son found her as he was bicycling home. Not something he’ll be able to forget in a hurry, poor lad. Dr Evans said that Connie Richmond often liked to walk on the meadows but never went near the reservoir because she couldn’t swim. He told us she had always been careful near water.’

  ‘Except when Virginia Newburn was killed.’

  ‘That’s true. But then it was winter. This happened on a clear summer’s day. That makes it all the more strange. We’ll have to wait for the pathologist to tell us whether she drowned or if she was dead already and her corpse was dumped in the reservoir. I don’t know if the body was weighted down or not. If Connie Richmond was killed somewhere else, whether it was by Henry Richmond earlier in the day or by someone else, then we need to find out where that was and why she was moved. We’ll also need to establish the time of death.’

  ‘Was the body well hidden?’

  ‘Not exactly. There’s a bit of woodland nearby and even an old clay pit that would have been better.’

  ‘So “death by water” may be a deliberate statement?’

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘I can’t believe that nobody saw anything.’

  ‘We’re going round all the farms. There’s a private road and a couple of drovers’ tracks. The weird thing is that the body was found at the far end of the reservoir from the road. That’s a long way to carry a corpse. It’s nothing that Henry Richmond couldn’t have managed but it’s quite a difficult way of going about things. They’re not getting much out of him, incidentally. He’s very evasive.’

  ‘I am afraid that’s his natural state.’

  ‘Well, he’s going to have to change his personality if he wants to save himself.’

  ‘I don’t think he’s a killer, Geordie.’

  ‘Do you know, Sidney, I am not sure he is either. But a man can do strange things when he is desperate. I certainly think he wanted to get shot of her.’

  ‘Connie Richmond was a threat, I’ll give you that; but I don’t think she would be provocative enough to inspire murder.’

  ‘You saw her recently.’

  ‘I hope that doesn’t make me a suspect, Geordie.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. But what was she like? You thought something like this might happen, didn’t you? You told me you were worried. Do you think she could have threatened Henry and he retaliated? What could she have against him?’

  ‘A final secret, Geordie.’

  ‘And what is that?’

  ‘A lost child.’

  ‘One that Amanda doesn’t know about, you mean?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘Is this child alive?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did Connie Richmond tell you this?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘Then I must ask you, Sidney, how did you find out?’

  ‘I’m not at liberty to say.’

  ‘You’ll have to be if this is a material fact.’

  ‘I’m not sure that it is.’

  ‘You won’t let me be the judge?’

  ‘You know what I am saying.’

  ‘An abortion?’

  Sidney nodded.

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘About ten years ago.’

  ‘You know we can still prosecute? There was a Harley Street doctor around that time who carried out a therapeutic abortion on a woman in order to avert her threat of suicide. He charged her seventy-five pounds, she ended up dying of renal failure and he got five years for manslaughter.’

  ‘I don’t know the circumstances but I think Connie may have threatened to expose the truth and tell Amanda all about it.’

  ‘And Henry Richmond would have wanted to prevent her from doing such a thing?’

  ‘I’m afraid that is possible.’

  ‘On the other hand she might have threatened other people with further revelations. Connie Richmond was not a stable woman.’

  ‘You’ll ask Dr Evans who else she saw?’

  ‘We will, Sidney, but you know how often in these cases it’s the closest relative that matters? Henry Richmond was paying for her care. You don’t get much closer than that. You might like to find out if he’s as comfortably off as he says he is. Perhaps he’s been using money from wife number two to pay for wife number one? If that’s the case and Amanda finds out, it’ll be curtains for him.’

  ‘Then I hope you’ll be the one to tell her, Geordie.’

  ‘Oh no, Sidney, I think you’ll find that’ll be your job.’

  Amanda telephoned that evening. She said that she was not sure of anything her husband told her any more. She felt too sick to eat or drink and she couldn’t sleep. Sometimes she thought she was going mad.

  Sidney tried to persuade her not to give up hope. It was perfectly possible someone else had killed Connie Richmond and framed Henry.

  ‘But can you think of anyone who would want to do that?’

  ‘I can’t. There is no suspect other than your husband.’

  ‘I could have killed that woman myself.’

  ‘Please don’t say that to anyone else, Amanda.’

  ‘She’s been nothing but a menace. Henry has been keeping it all from me, I know. It would have been so much better if he had told me everything from the start. Then I might never have married him.’

  ‘It’s too late for that kind of thinking.’

  ‘It isn’t if I can’t help it. Do you know anything more? I bet you do. You know I couldn’t bear it if I found out that you were keeping things from me too?’

  ‘We’ll have to talk about that, Amanda. A telephone call is not ideal. We should meet . . .’

  ‘That means you do know something. What is it?’

  ‘I can’t
be sure of anything at the moment. When I am, I will tell you.’

  ‘But what are your suspicions? You’re good at those.’

  ‘I can honestly say that I suspect that Henry did not murder Connie Richmond.’

  ‘Then who did?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Do you think the woman could have killed herself?’

  ‘She was bound and gagged. They found Henry’s handkerchief in her mouth.’

  ‘I wish I’d never given them to him. I hope you’re not so careless with yours.’

  ‘That’s nothing to do with events as they stand. Our concentration must be on Henry and the death of Connie Richmond.’

  ‘What will they do if he’s found guilty?’

  ‘He won’t be. I will make sure of that.’

  ‘I don’t know how you can be so certain, Sidney. A man can be rash. Henry could be lying. He’s lied to me so much in the past. And that woman was very strange. Who knows what they got up to? Perhaps they planned it together and Henry has framed himself to get out of being married to me. Perhaps she isn’t really dead? Are the police sure the body is that of Connie Richmond?’

  ‘They are, Amanda. Don’t get in a state about all of this.’

  ‘What else do you expect me to do?’

  ‘Be as sensible as you can.’

  ‘I’ve already done that. I’ve found Henry the best lawyer in London. I know when I think about it properly that he is unlikely to have killed that woman. He’s too weak. But he doesn’t help his cause by being so evasive and then by lying. Perhaps the only murder he’s committed is the one to his own marriage.’

  Half an hour later, Alec Chambers phoned in a fury. He had just listened to the news on the radio. Had Sidney heard? The MCC had selected their tour party to South Africa and had left out Basil D’Oliveira.

  Sidney did not welcome the distraction and was not in the mood to discuss the matter, but at least all he had to do was listen patiently as his father ranted about the injustice. ‘There may be good cricketing reasons. Colin Milburn’s not going either. But this is a craven decision, Sidney. It’s not wanting to cause any political trouble; sucking up to the South Africans when we should be telling them that we can pick whoever we like. How can we call it progress if all we do is change from judging a man by the colour of his tie to the colour of his skin? We cannot base our morality on convenience or the fear of offence. We have to select our team on the basis of form alone. Dolly’s 158 at the Oval was masterly, was it not? We were there, Sidney. Did the selectors not see the same game as us? A man cannot be judged by appearance or upbringing but by what he has done. As I said, form. That’s the only thing that matters.’

  Now Hildegard called her husband to the kitchen table. Anna was refusing to finish her fish fingers and she wasn’t going to be given any pudding until she had done so.

  ‘Think of the children in Biafra,’ Sidney cajoled.

  ‘I’m not in Biafra,’ his daughter replied.

  ‘Then eat what you can, my darling.’

  ‘Don’t spoil her,’ Hildegard warned.

  Anna was adamant. ‘I don’t like this.’

  Sidney leaned forward. ‘All right. I’ll have them. Yum, yum, yum. Then I can have all your pudding too.’

  ‘Don’t, Daddy. That’s not fair.’

  ‘Oh it is fair; fish fingers, yum, yum yum. Chocolate pudding and ice cream, yum yum yum. Let me count to three . . . one . . . two . . . th . . . th . . . th . . . th . . .?’

  Sidney pretended to have an unstoppable stutter and began to dance round the room, unable to say the word ‘three’.

  Anna tried to look cross but then laughed, obeyed and finished up her plate.

  ‘That’s my girl.’

  ‘Do you realise how irritating this is?’ Hildegard asked.

  Her husband knew that the next day would present an even greater challenge. He would have to go and see Henry in custody. He should also help Amanda in any way he could. That would be the charitable thing to do. There was no friendship without loyalty.

  Having moved through the stages of refutation, discovery, humiliation and further denial, Henry Richmond cut a tired figure at the station. He had taken off his jacket, there were sweat stains under his armpits and his thinning hair needed a good comb. All his worldly concerns had simplified into when he could possibly leave police custody.

  ‘Have you told them everything?’ Sidney asked.

  ‘It depends what you mean by “everything”. I have explained all that is relevant.’

  ‘That may not be for you to decide, Henry.’

  ‘I don’t know what they want.’

  ‘I think that is fairly straightforward, as I am sure you know. They need to find a way of explaining Connie’s death.’

  ‘I can’t do that. I wasn’t there at the time.’

  ‘But you were possibly the last person to see her alive.’

  ‘Other than her killer, Sidney.’

  ‘You think she was murdered? Who would want to do a thing like that?’

  ‘I don’t know. I can’t be sure. I have been thinking of all the things Connie said to me on that last day.’

  ‘What did you argue about?’

  ‘You know we had a fight?’

  ‘I know more than you think I do, Henry. Was it about whether you and Amanda were going to have children?’

  ‘We’re not.’

  ‘That is not the answer to my question. Let me ask another. This is more direct, I’m afraid. Was it about Connie’s abortion?’

  ‘Your father must have told you. That would be a breach of confidentiality.’

  ‘The least of your concerns, Henry . . .’

  ‘It was a long time ago.’

  ‘Not in Connie’s memory.’

  ‘I think it was her seeing the Biafran children on television; their suffering. She imagined her own; the loss and the waste. That was what she said. We could have had a child, and we didn’t.’

  ‘Did you pressure her into having an abortion?’

  ‘I know the Church doesn’t approve of such things.’

  ‘We don’t,’ Sidney replied, simply. Now was not the time for moral ambiguity. ‘But we do try to understand human behaviour and how people make mistakes. Sometimes there are mitigating circumstances, the health of the mother being important.’

  ‘And that, I hope, includes her mental health.’

  ‘It does. It also depends on when the procedure is carried out.’

  ‘When life begins? I would imagine you considered that being the moment of conception.’

  ‘The views of the Church and the laws of the land do not always work in tandem; but when both are disobeyed there are consequences in this life and the next.’

  ‘You believe that?’

  ‘We must all account for our actions. It is often just a matter of when.’

  Henry reached for a glass of water. He said that it was impossible to rationalise or justify impetuous decisions. ‘I don’t know if either of us knew what we were doing at the time. Connie was so young, she was only just seventeen, and we both panicked. I was scared and I couldn’t promise anything by way of marriage and respectability.’

  ‘You could. But you didn’t want to.’

  ‘I suppose so. She wasn’t “the right sort of girl”, I know. That was very cowardly of me. I should have gone ahead and loved her. Connie was frightened she would lose her job. She had to keep on working for the money and her family back in County Clare. Then, after the abortion, she had a nervous breakdown. She was never really right again. I wanted her to go home, back to Ireland, but she said she could never do that. I tried to pay for her to get better, offered to cover her wages if Mr Lowe kept her job open, but in the end Connie said the only thing that would heal her was marriage. So I tried that, and she was better for a while. Then she said she wanted children to make up for what we had done, a new life for old, but it didn’t work out for us, her insides were damaged, and then things got so bad I was sur
e we were making it worse for each other.’

  ‘So you divorced.’

  ‘I’ve told you the story before, the last time I was in trouble.’

  ‘And then you sent her to Chettisham?’

  ‘She’s been there for over ten years. I didn’t think she ever wanted to leave. I even thought she was happy, but as soon as she found out about Amanda things changed. She could not accept that there was another Mrs Richmond. She kept saying Amanda was an imposter, as if she was a rival claimant to the monarchy or something. I could calm her down often enough but then she started to become obsessed about the child. She kept threatening to write to Amanda. I knew I couldn’t allow that. One more secret would have endangered my whole marriage. I begged Connie not to write but she wasn’t having any of it.’

  ‘And that was why you argued?’

  ‘I didn’t kill her, Sidney.’

  ‘I don’t think you did. But you have to tell the absolute truth.’

  ‘Connie said that if she couldn’t write she would punish me in other ways. I asked her what she meant and she just smiled.’

  ‘Are you suggesting that she has committed suicide and deliberately made it look like murder?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘She tied herself up?’

  ‘She knew how to do that. She was always good with knots. Her fingers were so dexterous. There was no note, but the handkerchief is a deliberate touch. It was Connie’s final act of revenge. I’m sure of it now.’

  ‘Your certainty doesn’t make much of a difference, I’m afraid. It’s convincing Geordie Keating that matters.’

  ‘Have you spoken to Amanda?’ Henry asked, now more concerned about his wife than the police investigation. ‘Is she very angry with me?’

  ‘I fear so.’

  ‘Will you stick up for me?’

  ‘I am happy, as always, Henry, to support your marriage. That is what I pledged at your service of blessing and I wouldn’t be much of a priest if I didn’t keep my promises. But you must tell her what you have told me.’

  ‘I’m frightened of losing her.’

  ‘Then you must say that too.’

  ‘Is honesty the secret?’

  ‘Not always, I fear, especially when our feelings change or are misleading.’