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

rumours,’ Sidney urged Leonard after finishing his boiled egg. ‘The last thing we want is people jumping to conclusions.’
    ‘I am afraid,’ his curate replied, ‘it is too late for that.’
    ‘And what are they saying?’
    ‘They think it was Simon Hackford.’
    ‘That is ridiculous.’
    ‘He did play Brutus . . .’
    ‘But he is the most mild-mannered of men. And it is most likely that the fatal blow was administered before Simon Hackford got anywhere near Lord Teversham. ‘Why are they saying these things?’
    Leonard Graham gave his vicar a steady look. ‘I think you can guess.’
    ‘Simon Hackford is a married man.’
    ‘But Lord Teversham was not.’
    ‘There is no proof of any indecent involvement on anyone’s part.’
    ‘Of course there isn’t, Sidney. If there was any evidence for that then both men would be in prison.’
    ‘I do think that is harsh.’
    ‘Do you?’
    ‘Some homosexuals receive longer sentences than burglars. It’s absurd. But surely this is all gossip?’
    ‘People are saying that there is no smoke without fire.’
    ‘That is one of Mrs Maguire’s favourite phrases. I have told her to stop saying that but she never listens. I can’t abide the way in which our country is losing its sense of discretion. Even if there was something between Simon Hackford and Lord Teversham, the fact of the matter is that it is none of anyone else’s business. People should have a right to privacy.’
    ‘I didn’t know you felt so strongly.’
    ‘We must think the best of people, Leonard, or we are lost. I think I’ll have to preach along those lines on Sunday.’
    ‘That would be a brave thing to do.’
    ‘It isn’t brave at all,’ Sidney replied. ‘It is necessary.’
    ‘Matthew chapter 7 would be an obvious text,’ Leonard advised. ‘ “Judge not that ye be not judged.” There is also the Book of Proverbs: “The words of a talebearer are as wounds . . .” ’
    ‘That’s a better idea . . .
    ‘ “And they go down into the innermost parts of the belly.” Do you think it’s a bit too apt? Lord Teversham was stabbed, after all.’
    ‘I’d like to give it to them straight: shake them up a bit.’
    ‘I think they are already quite shaken, Sidney.’
    The telephone rang. It was Amanda. Sidney asked how she was feeling and if she was all right.
    ‘Never mind me,’ she began. ‘I hear Lord Teversham has been murdered.’
    ‘I’m afraid it’s true.’
    ‘Ben telephoned. He could hardly speak. This is a disaster.’
    ‘I know. It was, it seems, the perfect murder.’
    ‘How can a murder ever be “perfect”?’
    ‘There were multiple weapons and everyone in the cast was wearing gloves. It could have been any of them.’
    ‘But who would want to kill Lord Teversham? You could hardly hope to meet a kinder man. It’s so cruel.’
    ‘It’s hard to find a genuine motive, I must admit.’
    ‘Ben has asked me to come and stay. He said that it would be a comfort. Then I can see you at the same time. Are you all right?’
    ‘I think the correct word would be “preoccupied”.’
    ‘I was thinking of the five o’clock train. Would you like to come to Locket Hall for drinks? I just need to see you, Sidney. For both of our sakes.’
    Sidney thought how good it would be to see Amanda once more, but worried about exposing her to the darker side of life once again. He tidied his desk, took Dickens for what was now becoming yet another brief walk across the Meadows and returned to his neglected paperwork. As soon as he did so, Mrs Maguire seized the opportunity to remind him about the peeling wallpaper in the bathroom.
    ‘I do have more important things to think about than wallpaper,’ Sidney snapped.
    ‘If you weren’t so involved in all that crime then you would have plenty of time.’
    ‘I am aware of that.’
    Mrs Maguire continued to grumble. ‘They should never have put a bathroom and toilet next to the kitchen. That sort of thing belongs outside.’
    ‘It is 1954, Mrs Maguire. Times change.’
    ‘Some things never change,’ the housekeeper replied, ominously. ‘Just like people.’
    Sidney was not going to rise to the challenge of yet another gnomic remark. He pretended that he was writing a sermon.
    ‘You’re busy, then?’
    ‘I’m always busy, Mrs Maguire.’
    ‘Then I suppose I’ll have to let you get on. I’ve left you a steak and kidney pudding,’ she added. ‘I hope you don’t burn it.’
    ‘Very good, Mrs Maguire.’
    When