Sidney Chambers and The Problem of Evil (The Grantchester Mysteries) (32 page)

‘I was hoping to visit Sister Carrington tomorrow.’

‘I wish you’d get on with it, man.’

‘It’s difficult for me at the moment, Geordie.’

‘I don’t mean to be hard but I’ve come to rely on you. I acknowledge that it can’t be easy and I’m sorry this is taking you away from Hildegard. It’s bad timing.’

‘It’s never good,’ Sidney replied. ‘But I think she’s all right about it. I always tell her where I am.’

‘You mean she knows you are in the pub with me now?’

Sidney hesitated. ‘Well, to be honest, I am not sure that’s strictly true.’

‘That means it isn’t the case at all.’

‘She knows the number of the police station.’

‘That’s not the same thing.’

‘Finding me could be a matter of moments
.
.
.’

‘It’s about as easy as locating a missing child. Half of the time no one knows where you are, Sidney.’

‘Nonsense. The church services are posted on our noticeboard. Tuesday nights are bell-ringing.’

‘You don’t ring the bells yourself.’

‘Wednesday is the PCC. On Thursday nights I am with you. It is a life of considerable routine and I have a very tolerant wife.’

‘Take that tolerance for granted and you might end up regretting it. She’s going to need a lot of looking after.’

‘Her mother is arriving tomorrow and she wants to get the house in order. I am told that I tend to be in the way. So I thought I’d steer clear for a little while so she can do what she needs to do and then mother and daughter can have a good chat about all things baby.’

‘You mean you are trying to pass off your negligence as benevolence?’

‘It has worked in the past, Geordie.’

‘That’s no guarantee of the future.’

‘Never mind all that. Let us see. Have you any news of the case yourself?’

‘There’s no sign of the child. And it’s no good asking for help from the useless boyfriend, Colin Sampson. He couldn’t organise a stag party for a herd of deer. So now I’m thinking that if it’s not a mother that’s been bereaved, and we’ve been to see the ones we know, then, as we have discussed, it has to be an inside job at the hospital.’

‘I agree,’ Sidney replied.

Keating was adamant. ‘But it’s important we don’t make the perpetrator panic. We don’t want to find the baby dumped in a dustbin.’

‘I am aware of the sensitivity of the situation. Everyone we speak to must be given the impression that they will be helped.’

‘Even to the extent of getting away with it.’

‘It’s not the apprehension of the culprit but the protection of the child that matters most. Do you think we’re running out of time?’

‘I hope it’s one of the nurses. They are more likely to take care of him.’

‘Do you know if any of them have lost a child recently?’ Sidney asked.

‘It’s not a question we can easily ask. But what about that doctor friend of yours, Michael Robinson? Doesn’t he owe you a favour? I remember we turned a blind eye after he bumped off his mother-in-law a few years back.’

‘He didn’t “bump her off”.’

‘We both know he did. Isn’t he your missus’s doctor?’

‘I hardly think either of them will appreciate my interrupting one of his visits.’

Keating finished his pint. ‘I’d have thought you’d be used to that. No one “appreciates” what you are doing except me. A prophet is without honour in his own land, don’t you remember? Just ask the doctor a few decent questions, if you don’t mind.’

It was fortunate that Sidney had seen plenty of Michael Robinson recently and that the doctor had been vigilant during the later stages of Hildegard’s pregnancy, popping into the vicarage to see that all was well before returning to his home in nearby Eltisley Avenue. However, Sidney still knew that he was going to have to be at his tactful best to elicit any breach in patient confidentiality.

‘This situation has been a very distressing business,’ the doctor said on his next visit. ‘But you must not worry unduly, Mrs Chambers. These things never happen twice.’

‘That is what they say about the lightning,’ Hildegard answered. ‘And sometimes people say it about love too, but I have only loved properly once and it is now.’

Sidney smiled uncertainly. He was uneasy with public pronouncements of private affection.

His wife continued. ‘I try not to worry about bad things happening, Doctor, but of course, I still think about them all the time.’

‘I am sure that your husband will look after you.’

‘When he is here, yes, he does. But he is often away.’

Dr Robinson hastened to reassure her. ‘A baby changes everything. I’m not sure that Canon Chambers is aware of that yet.’

‘I live in trepidation and hope,’ said Sidney in rather too pat a fashion.

The doctor picked him up on his tone. ‘I hear you are involving yourself in the investigation into the disappearance, as usual.’

‘It’s not that usual.’

‘It must be difficult for you to continue your enquiries, I imagine. Especially now that everyone knows what you are up to. Perhaps people are less willing to tell you things. The line has become blurred between privacy and the public good. The secrets of the confessional and the problem of indiscretion is something that we have in common, I think?’

‘Indeed it is,’ Sidney concurred. ‘Although I think it’s fair to admit that one cannot keep any questioning of the people involved a secret. Particularly in this case.’

‘Some of those being the nurses who were on duty that night?’

‘It’s a delicate situation, as you can imagine. Those who give their lives to the care of others do not take kindly to any kind of inquisition. They feel they are doing enough as it is.’

‘And yet you must continue. You cannot give anyone preferential treatment.’

‘We have to think it through, Dr Robinson. It’s not enough to contemplate what happened on the night in question. We have to find out what went on before that night, anything that might have led to the taking of the baby, perhaps as a replacement after a tragedy
.
.
.’

‘Indeed.’

‘And so patient history becomes an issue.’

‘I am sure you can’t expect me to provide you with any clues, Canon Chambers?’

‘I wouldn’t dream of asking you. That would be unprofessional.’

‘And, as far as the hospital is concerned, I cannot give you any hard information. I am merely a GP. The nurses there are very reliable and I have no doubts about the women who were on duty that night. Sisters Bland and Foster, together with Miss Carrington, are admirable in every way.’

‘Are you their doctor?’ Sidney asked quickly.

‘I don’t think I can answer that question, Canon Chambers. But this is a small community. I am sure that you can jump to a conclusion or two.’

‘I have already been warned about that.’

‘Ah yes, perhaps one can make too many leaps of faith. It’s so easy to be mistaken. But it is important to live on the side of the angels. I assume you have no further questions?’

‘I do not. Thank you.’

‘I am sorry not to have been of any more help. Look after your wife, Canon Chambers. We don’t want another mis-hap. Any fall from grace.’

After the doctor had left Sidney cleared away the teacups and began to wash up. He was doing his best to help Hildegard around the house but was not known for his ability to concentrate on domestic chores. There was always so much more to think about.

‘By the way,’ he asked his wife before picking up a tea towel. ‘Don’t you think it strange that Dr Robinson hoped that we didn’t suffer any “mishap”.’

‘No. I didn’t notice anything unusual. I thought he was just being careful and kind.’

‘“Mishap.” It’s an odd word to choose. A man doesn’t normally go round hoping that people don’t suffer “mishaps”.’

‘Perhaps that’s just his way.’

‘But he stressed the word “Miss”. As in “Miss Carrington”. Not “Sister Carrington”, which is her proper professional title. Miss Carrington. As in “miscarry”; and “Grace” as in “fall from”.’

‘Sidney, really.’ Hildegard looked at her husband but knew that any attempt to stop this flight of fancy would be futile.

‘There’s no harm in going to see her, is there?’ Sidney asked.

Grace Carrington lived in a terraced house a mere five minute’s walk from Addenbrooke’s Hospital. The Christmas tree in the window looked welcoming enough, but Sidney knew that he was going to have to be at his tactful best if he was to gain entry to a home that might well be harbouring the missing child. He said that he was just passing, he made it his duty to wish all of his parishioners a happy Christmas and he just wanted to ask a few questions about how he could best support his wife through the final stages of her pregnancy.

The nurse was reluctant to let him in. ‘Couldn’t we discuss this at the hospital? It is the most appropriate place.’

She was a tall woman with the slightest of stoops, and she wore a tartan skirt with a dark green cardigan and a cream blouse with a silver thistle brooch, although she did not sound Scottish.

‘I was not sure when I might find you,’ Sidney began.

‘There is always Sister Bland.’

‘You never know who is going to be on duty.’

‘I’m on nights at the moment, so I admit it isn’t very convenient. And I’ve been off work this week.’

‘Have you not been well?’

‘I was owed holiday. I’m going to see my mother tomorrow.’

‘I see. Does she live nearby?’

‘Just a few miles down the road.’

Sidney had wondered how a nurse who worked nights could keep a child at home. This could, perhaps, explain things, especially if her mother was aiding, even unwittingly, the concealment. ‘I am preaching a sermon on what it means to have a baby, on Christmas Day, you understand, and I was hoping that I could benefit from your wisdom.’

‘I don’t know why you are asking me. I don’t have a child myself.’

‘But you have known plenty of mothers and seen so many children brought into the world.’

‘That is true. Do I take it you want to come in and talk about it? It’s not a very convenient time.’

Sidney had already decided not to care whether he appeared rude or not. ‘It won’t take long.’

She stepped back and showed Sidney into a small lounge where two tabby cats made their hostility known by refusing to move from sofa and chair. A side plate with half a mince pie was on the table next to a copy of
Modern Knitting
magazine and an unfinished cup of tea. The wireless was playing dance music. ‘I haven’t finished tidying, I am afraid.’

Three or four twigs of holly had been spread across the mantelpiece, twisting round a few Christmas cards and a ticket to the pantomime. Sidney decided not to tell her that the show was dreadful.

‘It doesn’t matter. I’ve seen all sorts of houses and this is very congenial.’

Grace Carrington took up Sidney’s original theme. ‘Some of the mothers don’t have a clue, of course. They expect us to do it all for them.’ She moved one of the cats. ‘Sit down, won’t you?’

‘I suppose they don’t appreciate how lucky they are.’

‘That’s just the thing, Canon Chambers. Some of them don’t know they’re born.’

‘Do you ever think, then, that some mothers don’t understand what it means to have children?’

Grace Carrington was surprised by Sidney’s boldness. ‘That’s a very unchristian statement, coming from you.’

‘I was just wondering. They perhaps don’t ever realise how fortunate they are.’

‘I try not to think about it. Sometimes it’s best just to get on with your work. If you ask too many questions you end up worrying.’

‘I was thinking of someone like Abigail Redmond,’ he continued.

‘She’s not very fortunate, is she?’

‘I gather you were on duty on the night her child was taken.’

‘I’d just come off. I made sure Sister Bland saw that everything was in hand. Then Sister Foster arrived.’

‘And you went home?’

‘Of course. I had finished my shift.’

‘You didn’t need to go back for anything?’

‘Are you the police, asking questions in this way?’

‘No, I’m not, I’m sorry.’

‘I know you help them from time to time.’

‘An occupational hazard.’

‘I have already told them everything I know.’

‘This is a very nice room,’ Sidney blundered. He was looking for family photographs. ‘Is it just you here?’

‘It is now. My husband left, but I’m happy enough without him, to tell the truth. These things happen. I don’t really like talking about it. You just have to get on with your life.’

‘And you don’t have children?’

‘No. I’ve already told you that.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘We couldn’t, if you must know.’