Sidney Chambers and The Shadow of Death (The Grantchester Mysteries)

been better. ‘I’ve had nothing but bloody tea all night,’ Frank complained. ‘What do I have to do to get a decent drink round here?’
    ‘I saw you giving your son some brandy,’ Sidney observed.
    ‘He’s taken my hipflask and drunk the lot, most likely. I needed it for a bit of Dutch courage, not that the Dutch make any brandy as far as I am aware.’
    ‘You were nervous?’ Sidney asked.
    ‘Of course. I’ve never acted in a play before.’
    ‘Then why did you agree to take part?’
    ‘Ben was in it and I thought it might be a lark. I quite fancied meeting an actress. Although I didn’t realise how few women were in it. They should have done a musical.’
    ‘That’s what I thought,’ said Keating. ‘Or a panto.’
    ‘The woman playing Calpurnia’s all right. I’ve had a few chats with her, even if she is more crackers than biscuit. What do you want to know?’
    Inspector Keating began. ‘Can you tell me how you killed Lord Teversham?’
    ‘I didn’t. Or is that a trick question?’
    ‘At the moment we are trying to establish who stabbed Lord Teversham when, where and in what order. Could you remind us of your movements leading up to the murder?’
    ‘I was on stage. Lord Teversham was on my left . . .’
    ‘And you stabbed him with your right hand?’ Keating asked. ‘Whereabouts?’
    ‘In the chest. That’s where I was told to do it. I was to go second so the old man fell forward before Hector did the stomach so the blood came out. Then the others followed.’
    Sidney joined in once more. He wished he had more of a photographic memory. ‘And what did you do with your knife afterwards?’
    ‘I threw it on the floor. We all did.’
    ‘And then you stood back?’ Keating asked.
    ‘That was the idea. It’s terrible that it took us so long to notice that something was wrong but that’s what happens when you all wear black. Someone might have been able to save him.’
    ‘You weren’t shocked when you realised what had happened?’
    ‘Of course I was shocked. It’s murder.’
    ‘And you saw nothing suspicious?’
    ‘Nothing. No one can believe what’s happened. You don’t expect this kind of thing, do you?’
    Inspector Keating began writing down a few notes but Frank Blackwood had had enough. ‘Do you think I can go now?’ he asked. ‘I’ve got a seven o’clock start and I need to be at the factory for the men. You can always find me at the works.’
    Sidney stood up to open the door and stretch his legs. He wondered how much longer they were going to take. There were just a few people left to interview. The situation had been so confused and it was difficult to think it through when everyone was so tired. He needed to sleep, wake refreshed and then make some notes, recalling everything he had seen during rehearsals. He closed his eyes and tried to remember the movements of everyone on stage during the performance.
    ‘Last one for now, I think,’ Inspector Keating announced. ‘Simon Hackford of Willows Farm. Art dealer, auctioneer and former business associate. I hope you’re not falling asleep, Sidney?’
    ‘Not at all. I was thinking.’
    ‘I hope productively?’
    Sidney was not sure that he was. His thoughts had roamed from the question of dignity and status in the play – ‘Set honour in one eye and death i’the other’ – to the idea of reputation in general. Could there be a clue here?
    The presiding ethic of the aristocracy was to be noble; and yet, perhaps Lord Teversham, in some aspect of his life, had lacked nobility and fallen short? But where? Could it be in his financial dealings, in his personal relationships, or in the management of his estate? Where might such a gentle man have behaved dishonourably? Sidney would have to talk to those who had been closest to him.
    Simon Hackford, Lord Teversham’s former business associate, had been waiting for three hours and was in no mood for a close examination. ‘This is ridiculous,’ he began. ‘How can I possibly have committed this crime?’
    Inspector Keating looked to Sidney to calm the situation. ‘You were playing the part of Brutus. The last man to strike,’ he said, ‘and therefore the most important. Can you remember how much stage blood there was on his costume before you struck the blow?’
    ‘It was all over the place . . .’
    ‘So you did not need to puncture the sachet?’
    ‘I did not.’
    ‘And where did you strike him?’
    ‘In the heart. I had to pull Dominic’s head