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

good.’
    Sidney remembered his own war, fighting in the last year with the Scots Guards, the long periods of waiting, the sleepless nights before moments of violent activity, risk and death. He didn’t remember the killing so much as the guilt and the loss: men such as Jamie Wilkinson, ‘Wilko’, whom he had sent out to have a look at the enemy lines and who had never come back. He recalled the fear in men’s faces; the sudden bursts of action and then, afterwards, the swift, brutal burial of friends. No one spoke about it and yet Sidney knew that they had all kept thinking of the things that had happened, hoping their thoughts and fears would recede. The rest of their lives would be lived in the shadow of death, and they would spend time involved in activities that were unlikely to have as much impact as anything they had done in those years of war.
    ‘Are you listening?’
    Sidney remembered where he was. ‘I’m very sorry.’
    Hildegard was almost amused by his lack of attention. Sidney saw the beginnings of a smile. He liked her mouth.
    ‘You were perhaps dreaming, Canon Chambers. Such a thing is normal for me, even more so than what is real.’
    Sidney remembered why he had come. It was not going to be easy to continue but he had to do his best to discover the truth. ‘I meant to ask you a question. I hope you do not mind.’
    ‘I hope I can answer it.’
    ‘I know this may sound strange,’ Sidney began tentatively. ‘But do you think anyone would have wanted to harm your husband?’
    ‘What a question!’
    ‘I am sorry to have asked.’
    ‘Why should anyone want to hurt him? He was good enough at harming himself.’
    ‘Yes, I can see that.’
    ‘Everyone loved my husband, Canon Chambers. He was a charming man.’
    Sidney finished his sherry. ‘I wish I had known him.’
    He was about to make his excuses and leave when Hildegard Staunton continued. ‘Of course, you should also speak with his secretary.’
    ‘Why “of course”?’
    ‘You have met Miss Morrison?’
    ‘I don’t think I have.’
    ‘She was at the funeral. She organised his life and knew everyone who saw my husband. She would be able to answer your question if you go to ask about the will. They spent all their time together at work. I sat in this house.’ Hildegard looked away as she said this.
    On the mantelpiece Sidney could see another porcelain figurine, of a little girl feeding chickens. Mädchen füttert Hühner was inscribed in Old German at the base. He wondered who had given it to them, or if it had belonged to Hildegard’s family, bought when she was a child. There were so many questions he could not ask.
    ‘We could not have children,’ she said, as if in answer.
    ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you or intrude,’ he said.
    ‘I do not know why I said that. I sometimes think people who live in England prefer their pets to their children. But I do not worry about that any more. I will try to come to your church. It was kind of you to take the funeral; you have a gentle face.’
    ‘Thank you,’ said Sidney, ‘if that is true.’
    ‘Come again,’ Hildegard offered, ‘after you have visited Miss Morrison. If you see her then perhaps she will tell you more.’
    Hildegard Staunton held out her hand and Sidney took it. Her grasp was firm and she looked at her guest with a gaze that did not falter. ‘Thank you for coming. Please visit me again.’
    ‘It would be my privilege.’
    Sidney walked back to church and felt unutterably sad. Something was very wrong. He thought of a field in a foreign country, a summer’s evening, white wine and apple trees, an Irish boy and his German sweetheart at the beginning of their adventure together and a man singing:
     
    ‘From Bantry Bay up to Derry Quay
    And from Galway to Dublin town
    No maid I’ve seen like the sweet colleen
    That I met in the County Down.’
     
    They had once had all of their lives before them.
     
    The offices of Morton Staunton Solicitors were located on the ground floor of a single-storey building that abutted the yellow brick loggia of Cambridge Railway Station. To the left lay a waiting room and Miss Morrison’s office. To the right lay the rooms of the two partners, Clive Morton and Stephen Staunton.
    On arrival, Sidney was somewhat surprised by the appearance of the victim’s secretary. He could not remember seeing her at the funeral and was now guilty of a presumption. He had been expecting a cliché: a woman in a green tweed