Sidney Chambers and The Problem of Evil (The Grantchester Mysteries)
Page 25
He began by talking about the Christ child as the representative of all children and what it was to be childlike. He was arguing in favour of the need for times of weakness and vulnerability in our lives. An always invincible, strong, resistant humanity would have no room for growth or learning. It would have nothing to do. There would be no test because there could be no failure. Humanity needed its failings in order to understand itself. This was more than a matter of learning from mistakes. It was about acknowledging weakness, denying pride, and beginning any task from a position of openness, aware of the possibility that we often fall short. We must learn from the appearance of the Christ child in the world, as ready for companionship as tribulation, a blank canvas on whose surface life was painted and where depths contained mysteries yet to be understood.
‘The fragility of a baby is a reminder of our own responsibility,’ Sidney continued. ‘He, or she, is at our mercy, as we are at God’s. A child can either be crushed to death or fed, nurtured, cradled and allowed to grow. We see ourselves in each new birth and remember our own childhood. A society is judged by how it treats its children and its old people. Do we offer a favourable climate for a flower to grow, or do we provide impossible soil, harsh rains, and constant darkness? Christ tells us that it is we who must provide the light to see and warm the child in the cold black nights of the soul. The candles of Christmas represent the hope of our own flickering humanity against death and despair, and no matter how frail the flame, we must trust in its ability to illuminate our fragile state. For the light entered the darkness, and the darkness comprehended it not.
‘This is the message of Christmas,’ Sidney concluded. ‘Light against darkness, vulnerability against brutality, life against death. We pray that under the inspiration of the child of Bethlehem, we may shine in a way that will lead others to the true source of peace and joy. May God bless you this Christmas time – you and all those whom you love.’
‘Not bad,’ said Amanda after the service. ‘You got through it even if everyone could tell you were pole-axed.’
‘A good night’s sleep would be a help.’
‘I’ve brought the promised champagne to revive you.’
‘It’s more likely to send me to sleep.’
Sidney greeted the last of his parishioners as they left. Among them was Dr Michael Robinson, the punning doctor. ‘Happy Christmas on this “miss-ty” morning,’ Sidney smiled at him knowingly. ‘I am so grateful to you for your advice.’
‘I don’t recall providing any assistance?’
‘You helped to solve a miss-tery.’
Dr Robinson shook his hand before moving away sharply. ‘I’m only glad the miss-ing child was found.’
Amanda had made sure that there were enough drinks for everyone and she invited the Keating family to come to the vicarage. ‘We haven’t been asked,’ the Inspector worried.
‘But I’m inviting you now.’
‘Just as long as you don’t let in that journalist,’ Cathy Keating muttered to Amanda.
‘Don’t worry,’ Amanda replied. ‘I think her boyfriend is punishment enough.’
Her chilled champagne was a sparkling challenge to the hot punch made by Hildegard’s mother but the extra guests meant that there were sufficient numbers to prevent any embarrassment about choice. There were a few raised eyebrows when Frau Leber offered pickled herring on cocktail sticks, the English contingent preferring the current craze for the similarly skewered cubes of ham and pineapple, but after the drinks guests had departed there were plenty of takers when it came to the roast turkey, potatoes, red cabbage and Brussels sprouts with Frau Leber’s Germanic addition of bacon and chestnuts. This was followed by a choice of Christmas pudding or stollen and then coffee with a selection of chocolates Amanda had brought from Fortnum and Mason. She had quietly replaced Inspector Keating’s gift of After Eight mints.
After the meal and, as they washed up and waited for the Queen’s speech, the Chambers family listened to the news. The Soviet Union was conducting rocket tests in the Pacific, British troops were leaving for Cyprus, and the Scots Vigilante Association had threatened a revolt if Dr Beeching’s proposals for the reorganisation of the railways were allowed to proceed. One of its spokespeople complained that the country was now being run by ‘Cockney leatherbottoms’. Sibilla Leber asked what a ‘leatherbottom’ was and Sidney explained, unconvincingly, that although it was not widely known, several members of the British Cabinet had taken to wearing lederhosen. His wife did not think that this was funny.
The National Anthem played and everyone, including Hildegard’s mother, stood up. The Queen talked of her campaign to free the world from hunger, and said that the only ambition that mattered was to be good and honourable. The message of Christmas, peace on earth and goodwill to all men could not be achieved without determination and concerted effort.
Sidney remembered that his sovereign was pregnant with her fourth child and wondered if she felt the same anxieties as he did about the future of the world. Those born into this nuclear age would form the first generation to live with the possibility of its own annihilation. What was the human capacity for good, for evil?
The end of the speech became the cue for present giving, as bottles of wine, boxes of chocolates, fiendishly complicated jigsaws and games of Scrabble were distributed amongst the family. Sidney’s father gave him the traditional copy of Wisden, his sister furnished him with a pair of cufflinks, and his mother had knitted him an Aran jumper which had, she told him, ‘taken simply ages’. The puppy scampered amidst the detritus of unwrapped parcel and loose ribbon as Hildegard excused herself to give Anna a feed.
‘You know that Byron is your present,’ Amanda told Sidney, ‘but I thought that I should give you something to open on the day.’
‘It’s too much,’ said Sidney.
‘Nothing is too much,’ Amanda replied, handing over a set of spoons. ‘I’d like to be able to say that Anna was born with a silver spoon in her mouth. There are advantages to that, you know.’
‘That’s too kind.’
‘I trust I will be her godmother?’
‘You didn’t have to ask.’
‘And I assume Leonard will be a godfather?’
‘And Geordie, I hope. With Hildegard’s sister that will make up the four.’
‘I always think having a family member as a godparent is such a waste. You might as well ask that journalist girl.’
‘Now, that would be controversial . . .’ Sidney smiled.
There was no evensong on Christmas Day but after all the presents had been opened Amanda said that she should be getting back. Although she had seen her parents the previous evening there was a little soirée in Mayfair that she had promised to visit, if only for the chance of meeting a few rich bachelors who had abandoned their dutiful attendance at family Christmas.
Hildegard returned from the kitchen and turned off the radio to bid Amanda a proper goodbye. A critic had been discussing the way the Beatles had translated African blues and American western idioms into ‘tough, sensitive Merseyside’ in ‘Baby It’s You’ while using a Magyar 8/8 metre.
‘I don’t care what he says,’ Amanda said airily. ‘They can borrow as much as they like but they’ll never be any match for Mozart. So lovely seeing you all. Don’t let me break up the party.’
‘It was so good of you to come,’ said Sidney.
‘Anna’s such a wonderful baby. You must be so proud.’
‘Yes,’ said Hildegard. ‘We are.’
‘I never thought I would see the day.’
‘She is the greatest gift,’ said Sidney.
‘You’d better keep a close eye on her then. I’m tempted to steal her away with me.’
Sidney remembered that he had not told his friend anything about the theft of baby John and was momentarily pleased with his own tact. It was one less thing about which he had to defend himself. He kissed Amanda on the cheek and let the other guests know that this was, indeed, a cue for th
eir departure as well. It had been a long day and he was looking forward to a peaceful night.
However, just after nine o’clock that evening, when all the inhabitants of Grantchester were surely sated by Christmas and watching either Mr Pickwick or Christmas Night with the Stars, and when Hildegard was giving Anna her last feed and Byron had been settled in his pen, the vicarage doorbell rang. Sidney was told by Hildegard very firmly not to answer it, but after a second ring he thought that, in all conscience, he had no choice in the matter. He was, as he still told anyone who would listen to him, never off duty.
He opened the door to find Grace Carrington standing before him in a dark navy coat with a matching beret. She held a soft package wrapped in white paper with holly and red berries. ‘I brought some things for your new daughter. To welcome her into the world . . .’
‘That’s very kind.’
‘And to say thank you for everything.’
‘I haven’t done very much.’
‘We both know you have.’
‘We had a conversation. That was all.’
‘You saved me from myself.’
‘That may be true. Or, of course, it may not. We don’t need to tell anyone else.’
‘I hope not. Thank you for what you did.’
‘I can’t recall doing anything’ Sidney replied. ‘But I’m glad you stayed for an answer.’
Grace Carrington shook his hand. ‘Happy Christmas, Canon Chambers.’
Sidney picked up the package and thought quietly, yet unavoidably, about desperation, guilt and redemption. It was a brave and risky thing for Grace Carrington to do, appearing at his door and quietly acknowledging her wrong. He would discourage Inspector Keating from pursuing a conviction. He would also try to be a better priest by going to see her and letting her know that he would always be willing to listen. That was something he had to learn so much more about: listening rather than speaking.
He left the package on the table in the hall and went into the kitchen to make some cocoa. He would bring a mug up to Hildegard and reassure her that the call at the door had been nothing serious. There would be no further adventures that night.
‘Thank you, O Lord,’ he prayed as he stirred the milk over a low heat, ‘for your gifts; not least, the gift of life itself.’
Outside the wind began to pick up. There was rain at the window. Byron stirred in his basket, and Sidney knew that he would have to walk him on a loose leash on Boxing Day. It was yet another thing to do, and it would take up more of his time, but then he recalled all the happiness that Dickens had given him and was grateful. There was so much going on in his life, but that, he said to himself, gave it all its fullness. He would be bored without challenge or complexity.
He poured the cocoa into the mugs. Perhaps he worried too much? Sometimes such simple acts, which could not be rushed and took up a fixed amount of necessary time, were a respite from more lasting uncertainties and preoccupations. If he could concentrate more upon such manageable tasks (making this cocoa, looking after his wife, feeding his child, or teaching his dog to fetch a ball) then ideas, and even solutions, might come unbidden; thoughts that could make him a better priest, a kinder husband, and even a more incisive detective; although, as soon as he began this daydream, he acknowledged that he would almost certainly have to put his criminal investigations on the back burner for the time being. There was only so much a man could do.
He picked up the two mugs and went upstairs. Hildegard had fallen asleep. He set the cocoa down by her side of the bed and then his own, not wanting to spill the hot liquid anywhere near the baby. He could not resist another look. He wanted neither his study nor his bed. He only needed to stand over the cot of his daughter.
Anna.
He gazed down at her fine hair, blushed cheeks and soft eyelashes. Above her mouth, between the nose and upper lip, was the beginning of a philtral dimple. Sidney recalled the old wives’ tale that it was the mark left on each newborn child by an angel’s fingertip. He had never mentioned it to Hildegard. Now he would remember to do so; either in the morning or as soon as she woke.
He could not wait to tell her.
A Note on the Author
James Runcie is the Head of Literature at the Southbank Centre, an award-winning film-maker and the author of six novels. Sidney Chambers and The Shadow of Death and Sidney Chambers and The Perils of the Night are the first two books in ‘The Grantchester Mysteries’ series. He lives in London and Edinburgh.
www.jamesruncie.com
www.grantchestermysteries.com
@james_runcie
By the Same Author
The Discovery of Chocolate
The Colour of Heaven
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The Grantchester Mysteries
Sidney Chambers and The Shadow of Death
Sidney Chambers and The Perils of the Night
Sidney Chambers and The Shadow of Death
The first book in ‘The Grantchester Mysteries’ series
‘Inspector Morse would appear to have a rival’ Scotland on Sunday
‘A charmingly effective tale of detection ... evoking oodles of churchy village atmosphere, circa 1953, provides a satisfyingly old-fashioned read’ The Times
Sidney Chambers, the Vicar of Grantchester, is a thirty-two year old bachelor. Sidney is an unconventional clergyman and can go where the police cannot.
Together with his roguish friend Inspector Geordie Keating, Sidney inquires into the suspect suicide of a Cambridge solicitor, a scandalous jewellery theft at a New Year's Eve dinner party, the unexplained death of a well-known jazz promoter and a shocking art forgery, the disclosure of which puts a close friend in danger. Sidney discovers that being a detective, like being a clergyman, means that you are never off duty...
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Sidney Chambers and The Perils of the Night
‘Runcie is emerging as Grantchester’s answer to Alexander McCall Smith. The book brings a dollop of Midsomer Murders to the Church of England, together with a literate charm of its own: civilized entertainment, with dog-collars’ Spectator
‘The clerical milieu is well rendered as an affectionate eye is cast over post-war England – a perfect accompaniment to a sunny afternoon, a hammock and a glass of Pimm’s’ Guardian
1955. Canon Sidney Chambers, loveable priest and part-time detective, is back. Accompanied by his faithful Labrador, Dickens, and the increasingly exasperated Inspector Geordie Keating, Sidney is called to investigate the unexpected fall of a Cambridge don from the roof of King's College Chapel, a case of arson at a glamour photographer's studio and the poisoning of Zafar Ali, Grantchester’s finest spin bowler.
Alongside his sleuthing, Sidney has other problems. Can he decide between his dear friend, the glamorous socialite Amanda Kendall and Hildegard Staunton, the beguiling German widow? To make up his mind Sidney takes a trip abroad, only to find himself trapped in a web of international espionage just as the Berlin Wall is going up.
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And for more information about ‘The Grantchester Mysteries’ please visit www.grantchestermysteries.com
Copyright © 2014 by James Runcie
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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Runcie, James, 1959–
[Novellas. Selections]
Sidney Chambers and the problem of evil / James Runcie.—First U.S. edition.
(The Grantchester mysteries ; 3)
eISBN: 978-1-62040-646-5
1. Clergy—England—Fiction. 2. Murder—Investigation—
Fiction. 3. Criminal investigation—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3568.U463S64 2014
813’.54—dc23
2013043690
First published in Great Britain 2014
First U.S. edition 2014
This electronic edition published in June 2014
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