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    Sidney Chambers and The Shadow of Death: Grantchester Mysteries 1
    Sidney Chambers and The Shadow of Death: Grantchester Mysteries 1
    Sidney Chambers and The Shadow of Death: Grantchester Mysteries 1
    Ebook417 pages6 hours

    Sidney Chambers and The Shadow of Death: Grantchester Mysteries 1

    By James Runcie

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    The first of the Grantchester Mysteries, and inspiration for the PBS/Masterpiece television series, finds Vicar Sidney Chambers beginning his career, as both a spiritual leader and a detective.

    It is 1953, the coronation year of Queen Elizabeth II . Sidney Chambers, vicar of Grantchester and honorary canon of Ely Cathedral, is a thirty-two-year-old bachelor. Tall, with dark brown hair, eyes the color of hazelnuts, and a reassuringly gentle manner, Sidney is an unconventional clerical detective. He 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 jewelry theft at a New Year's Eve dinner party, the unexplained death of a jazz promoter's daughter, and a shocking art forgery that puts a close friend in danger. Sidney discovers that being a detective, like being a clergyman, means that you are never off duty, but he nonetheless manages to find time for a keen interest in cricket, warm beer, and hot jazz-as well as a curious fondness for a German widow three years his junior.

    With a whiff of Agatha Christie and a touch of G. K. Chesterton's Father Brown, The Grantchester Mysteries introduces a wonderful new hero into the world of detective fiction.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBloomsbury USA
    Release dateApr 24, 2012
    ISBN9781608198580
    Sidney Chambers and The Shadow of Death: Grantchester Mysteries 1
    Author

    James Runcie

    James Runcie is an award-winning film-maker, playwright and literary curator. He is the author of twelve novels that have been translated into twelve languages, including the seven books in the Grantchester Mysteries series. He has been Artistic Director of the Bath Literature Festival, Head of Literature and Spoken Word at the Southbank Centre, London, and Commissioning Editor for Arts on BBC Radio 4. He is a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature. He lives in Scotland. www.jamesruncie.com www.grantchestermysteries.com @james_runcie

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    Reviews for Sidney Chambers and The Shadow of Death

    3.5/5

    265 ratings32 reviews

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    • 3/5
      A quaint, relatively easy to read collection of short stories introducing Sidney Chambers, with a supporting role to his friend Geordie Keating, the Police Inspector. I came to this, like many, from the TV series, and whilst enjoyable, I think actually the TV series is considerably better. In literary form, Sidney looks more like a young Jeremy Brett, I would have thought and whilst the casting of Robson Green wasn't far off the mark as Keating, curate Leonard isn't like his screen counterpart. The TV characters seem to have more depth, more passions. This felt like Kazuo Ishiguro without the seemless ness. The latter depictions of the treatment of homosexuals in this era were well handled, yet I found some of the pontificating and need for moralising at times difficult. I didn't really ask for Aesops fables, I picked up the book for a unique take on an era and a character, and whilst the former was fairly well addressed the latter wasn't.
    • 2/5
      This new cozy mystery series set in 1950's Cambridge features a vicar playing detective. While it had all the elements I usually enjoy in this type of series, an amateur playing detective, a curmudgeonly housekeeper and an English setting, it seemed somewhat lacking. I think it needed an injection of humor or maybe a few more wacky characters to keep it from being so dry.
      I did like the fact that it's format was in a series of criminal vignettes rather than one single murder mystery but I still found it a little difficult to get through.

      2.5 stars
    • 2/5
      Another amateur detective joins a very crowded market place. In this case in the guise of Cannon Sidney Chambers, a Cambridgeshire Vicar who teams up with local Police to solve crime while debating with himself over the role of Christianity in 1950's England. Not in the same class as say Alexander McCall Smith, but it ticks all the boxes for a period English mystery series; so it no surprise a television series has quickly followed - not made by the BBC as one or two reviews have stated. Personally I'd argue that the tv series is far better than it's source material deserves.
    • 4/5
      A fun read especially having watched the PBS series by the same name. As I was reading, I was visualizing all of the actors who played the Grantchester characters which made the book so much more enjoyable. I am such a fan of British drama and the period and character interaction were well done.
    • 4/5
      I have enjoyed the Grantchester Mysteries on PBS, and the actual novel expounds on the series. The first book contains short stories on the different adventures that Canon Sidney Chambers encounters in his quest of serving God. My biggest beef with James Runcie becomes the omission of a table of contents at the beginning of the book. The stories introduce Sidney's meeting with each of the supporting characters such as Leonard, Amanda, Dickens, Mrs. Maguire, and Geordie. Each character plays a role in the life of Sidney in his quest of serving God and helping people to find God's love and understanding. The emphasis of each story gently reminds the reader of the good and bad emotions that push an individual into crime and murder. Friendship enters into every story as the rock that holds Sidney on his journey. I look forward to reading more of this series.
    • 4/5
      What a refreshing change to have a balanced, normal, moral central character who is presented as having a faith which impacts his everyday life but (and here is the clever bit) doesn't turn him into an idiot. Sidney is brilliantly conceived character, with a past and real emotions, rather than just being a caricature of a person in his chosen vocation.
      The book is relatively unusual for contemporary novel in its construction and is all the better for it. It is in effect a collection of short stories encompassed by an overarching narrative. This form makes for a great page-turner whilst allowing the development of the main characters.
      Some may look on these stories a being a little corny (although they would be wrong), they are certainly gentle in nature and set in a very different and long-disappeared time but it would take some effort of will not to be charmed by these stories. I have been taken in completely by Canon Chambers and the picture of life in the early 1950s presented in this book and I'm not ashamed of it! Can't wait to get back to Grantchester!
    • 4/5
      First of the Grantchester Mysteries series, about a Church of England vicar who solves mysteries in collaboration with one of the local police detectives. The first book is a set of six short stories, each a standalone about an individual case, but with an overall arc running through them. I bought it because I'd seen and enjoyed a couple of episodes of the tv adaptation. This doesn't always mean I'll like a book, but in this case I'm very glad I bought it. It's an excellent period cosy mystery, written by someone who knows the minutiae of Anglican clerical life. The ebook for this one is often low price as a hook for the series, and well worth getting.
    • 4/5
      Cozy English mysteries involving the some of the same characters--
    • 4/5
      I had, I guess, expected a more traditional mystery than this is, I suppose because I read this after watching Grantchester on PBS. Instead, it's a lot of really unconnected mysteries (and non-mysteries): three murders, two suspected-but-not murders, a theft, another theft involving art forgery and kidnapping, and some other things besides. The book is quite different from the TV series, or, at least, the parts of this book that were used in it are treated pretty differently. I'm not sure the TV series isn't better in terms of depth and pacing. The cramming of so many unrelated mysteries into a single novel leaves little time for in-depth investigation and slow reveal of, say, an Agatha Christie and so as a reader you lose a bit of the fun of trying to outsmart the detective while the story unfolds slowly - you're shuttled rapidly between incidents via Sidney's inner reflections that he should really stop becoming involved and on his helplessness to actually refuse, even at the expense of his other responsibilities. It was an enjoyable read nonetheless, but, again, not at all what I was expecting. I'm looking forward to reading more books in the series.
    • 3/5
      Sidney Chambers, a vicar and lecturer in Grantchester, Cambridge, solves crimes with his friend Inspector Keating and flirts with his friend Amanda while wistfully remembering the German widow of the first murder victim. I have not seen any of the television episodes, but I found these stories mostly enjoyable in a harmless way. (Noteable exception here being the story where a character is kidnapped and sexually assaulted, which was disturbing and seemed to have wandered in from a much grittier book). I'm not sure I would go to the trouble of reading any of the others though. It was a bit like Midsomer Murders without the humour. There was a lot of telling and not so much showing and some things (the fact that Sidney fought bravely in the war, the question of homosexuality, the fact that Amanda will never marry a vicar) were treated very heavy-handedly. Sidney acquires a curate, Leonard, who pops up occasionally, but is never developed as a character. The excuses for inserting Sidney into investigations became more and more outlandish and there was a tendency for him to deduce or intuit the guilty party, whereupon they immediately and unreservedly confessed and explained exactly how and why they had done it.
    • 5/5
      What a good old fashioned story!
      The story is well thought out and the characters are believable especially the dog!
      Don't remember seeing Grantchester on tv, but I will certainly look out for it and other books in this series.
      Highly recommended.
      I was given a digital copy of this novel by the publisher via Netgalley in return for an honest unbiased review, which I am very happy to give.
    • 4/5
      The book was enjoyable but I would have enjoyed it more if I had not seen the BBC production first. The series follows the book very closely with a few changes in a some of the stories. I really liked the evocation of the period, the depiction of the characters, and just the mood of the book.
    • 5/5
      Well-written, enjoyable read about a church vicar who teams up with the local constable to solve mysteries. The series Grantchester is based on this book. The book is divided into 6 chapters, 4 of which correspond loosely to the television series. There are 2 more books written, and a 4th due to be published in April. PBS is planning a second season based on the second book.
    • 4/5
      Very Masterpiece Theater, very British. Like reading the episode. I like Sidney Chambers and the people of Grantchester. Can he mix detecting and being a priest?
    • 3/5
      Charming but these are short stories strung together as a book, so each mystery is quite short.
    • 5/5
      I am glad to have met Canon Sidney Chambers, a priest who is an accidental sleuth. The Grantchester Mysteries begin in the early fifties when Sidney Chambers, who has received a minor canonry from an African diocese, begins his ministry as Vicar of Grantchester near Cambridge. Chambers is a veteran who has seen active service, a bachelor unable to choose romantically between a young German widow and an old London friend Amanda Keating. He is conscientious about his ministry, wanting to be available pastorally to his people and to frame all the day to day work of the parish as part of the mission of the Kingdom of God.However, Sidney finds himself drawn into different crimes: partly because of his association with his best friend, Inspector Geordie Keating, with whom he shares a weekly beer and game of backgammon, and partly because a clergyman can go where others cannot. For example, the mother of a young woman he is preparing to marry dies suddenly. The woman’s fiancé is a doctor and her mother would not give her approval for the marriage. The match and dispatch aspects of his ministry give him access to the young murderous couple while his friendship with a policeman gives him a reason to question the coroner. The stories are easy to read. Each crime is only short, and the characters move comfortably in and out of the stories depending on whether they are set in Cambridge or London or in the great house of the local gentry. Their tone is light-hearted, and I chuckled gently at many points. Some of the dialogue made me laugh out loud. This clergyman loves jazz and cricket and dines occasionally at his old College where he teaches New Testament. He wonders whether he is a bit eccentric among clergy. In fact, part of the pleasure of reading The Shadow of Death is the authenticity of the picture created of parish ministry in post-war England. James Runcie, son of the former Archbishop of Canterbury, may well be writing from his observations growing up as a clergy kid. He has certainly created an engaging priest-detective, a worthy successor to G.K. Chesterton’s Father Brown. Mr Runcie has promised another five Grantchester Mysteries spanning the period of English history from the accession of Queen Elizabeth II to the marriage of Charles and Diana in 1981. I look forward to following Canon Chambers and his sleuthing.
    • 4/5
      I liked this book a lot. It's set in 1953. No sex, no bad language. Good mysteries, & good natured. It was like Fr Brown; it was like Agatha Christie; but it mostly made me think of Barbara Pym. I'll buy the next mystery in this series without doubt. If my grandmother was still alive, I'd give her a copy.
    • 4/5
      I am not a big cozy reader, though there are a few series that I still keep up with, but I can definitely see this series joining them. In this series debut, set in 1953 England, Sidney Chambers is a canon, though he is the first to admit he is not a very good one as he feels he could always to more for his parishioners. The villagers are varied but all interesting, there are a few different mysteries needing solving, so Sidney along with his backgammon inspector playing friend work together to solve them. I can definitely see this joining the ranks of the BBC mysteries aired on television. A delightful and fun romp through a small English village will appeal to cozy lovers. ARC from NetGalley.
    • 4/5
      This was an entertaining set of novellas about Sidney Chambers, Canon of Grantchester in Cambridge. The mysteries are engaging, and the setting is delightful. I visited Cambridge last summer, and I can attest to the delights of a Chelsea bun at Fitzbillie's.
    • 3/5
      Interesting premise, the priest is a detective. The writer ventures into cultural aspect of the 1950s in addition to some thoughts on literature and morality. No deep theology here but a rather gentle narration of the thoughts of a man of the church.
      The book is a series of short cases, with some more interesting than others.
    • 4/5
      Really 6 short stories rather than 1 novel. I really enjoyed the first 5 but could have done without the 6th.
    • 5/5
      Love Sidney chambers!!
    • 4/5
      It is Britain, 1953. Sidney is an Anglican priest, World War II combat vet, unmarried, in his early 30s. In this series of related stories, he and his backgammon playing buddy Inspector Geordie Keating team up to solve a series of mysteries, not all involving murder. I passed on watching the PBS series Grantchester, which feature Sidney and the inspector, but decided to read the books instead. After finishing this book, I’m watching the series on DVD and really enjoying them.Sidney Chambers and the Shadow of Death is just terrific. Sidney is a wonderful character and the secondary characters are marvelous, including Keating and especially the vicar’s vinegary housekeeper. Although short stories are not usually my cup of tea, the stories together read much like a novel. And I like the writing … polished and witty. The plotting is smooth, the stories at least plausible if not totally believable. I look forward to reading and viewing more of Sidney.
    • 5/5
      I am glad to have met Canon Sidney Chambers, a priest who is an accidental sleuth. The Grantchester Mysteries begin in the early fifties when Sidney Chambers, who has received a minor canonry from an African diocese, begins his ministry as Vicar of Grantchester near Cambridge. Chambers is a veteran who has seen active service, a bachelor unable to choose romantically between a young German widow and an old London friend Amanda Keating. He is conscientious about his ministry, wanting to be available pastorally to his people and to frame all the day to day work of the parish as part of the mission of the Kingdom of God.
      However, Sidney finds himself drawn into different crimes: partly because of his association with his best friend, Inspector Geordie Keating, with whom he shares a weekly beer and game of backgammon, and partly because a clergyman can go where others cannot. For example, the mother of a young woman he is preparing to marry dies suddenly. The woman’s fiancé is a doctor and her mother would not give her approval for the marriage. The match and dispatch aspects of his ministry give him access to the young murderous couple while his friendship with a policeman gives him a reason to question the coroner.
      The stories are easy to read. Each crime is only short, and the characters move comfortably in and out of the stories depending on whether they are set in Cambridge or London or in the great house of the local gentry. Their tone is light-hearted, and I chuckled gently at many points. Some of the dialogue made me laugh out loud.
      This clergyman loves jazz and cricket and dines occasionally at his old College where he teaches New Testament. He wonders whether he is a bit eccentric among clergy. In fact, part of the pleasure of reading The Shadow of Death is the authenticity of the picture created of parish ministry in post-war England.
      James Runcie, son of the former Archbishop of Canterbury, may well be writing from his observations growing up as a clergy kid. He has certainly created an engaging priest-detective, a worthy successor to G.K. Chesterton’s Father Brown. Mr Runcie has promised another five Grantchester Mysteries spanning the period of English history from the accession of Queen Elizabeth II to the marriage of Charles and Diana in 1981. I look forward to following Canon Chambers and his sleuthing.
    • 4/5
      James Norton has done for Sidney Chambers what Timothy Hutton once did for Archie Goodwin: got me reading the books behind the TV series. And I was completely surprised to discover that James Runcie only published the first set of short stories in 2012 (me being even less observant of publication dates when reading Kindle books) - I was so taken in by the 1950s setting, characters and dialogue that I thought I was reading contemporary fiction! Also, I'm still not entirely won over by short stories - reading six or so different 'novels' in one book might make picking up and putting down a lot easier, but the reader also gets to notice the author's 'quirks' a lot quicker, especially with the detective genre.

      I do love the characters, however, and not just because one of them looks like James Norton in my mind. The hero of the hour is definitely Canon 'Oh Sidney!' Chambers, with less of the double act implied by the TV series, which is fine by me. His licence to meddle is Inspector Keating of the Cambridgeshire police, with other regular supporting characters including his 'friend' Amanda. She is a wonderful creation, privileged and cruelly selfish with respects to Sidney (who wouldn't be?), but also funny, forthright and clever.

      The themes of the stories vary - euthanasia, homosexuality and art forgery, along with the usual murders - but the formula runs along the usual amateur detective line. Still enjoyable, though, and I would love to live in 1950s Grantchester, even with all the gossip and shady characters. Sidney is a true Christian - or incredibly naive with a lucky streak - and Keating is a nice balance, all work-hardened cynic and miserable married man. Very enjoyable - onto book two!
    • 4/5
      Sidney Chambers is a vicar in his early 30s, working in the parish of Grantchester (near Cambridge) in 1954. When a young man dies, apparently suicide, a woman asks him to look into it, saying she's sure the man wouldn't kill himself even though it appears to be an open and shut case. Sidney pursues the clues and enlists the help of his good friend, Inspector Geordie Keating.

      I only outlined the first case, but there are six each running between 50 and 80 pages or so, covering about a year in span altogether. There is an old-fashioned mystery feel to them, even though the book itself came out only four years ago. Despite the fact that these are mysteries - not, in all cases, murder - there's a sort of quiet, homey feel to them that I think is often brought out by the character of the vicar himself. Sidney is drawn reluctantly into sleuthing: he muses that as a vicar he needs to think the best of people, so in some ways investigating turns this on its head. Sidney's challenges as vicar/sleuth and his interactions with different people - his housekeeper, his curate - are really well done (though in some ways, the TV series Grantchester actually got this better, I think). An enjoyable weekend read.
    • 3/5
      A nice enough collection of short stories about the fictional crimes solved by Revd Sidney Chambers during the 1950s, but nothing seriously good to write home about. I think I started off enjoying it but, as I went through the different scenarios, they became very similar and I became rather annoyed with Sidney. He's exceedingly bland, plus I was very cross at how casually he treated poor Amanda who was desperately in love with him, but he doesn't have the emotional wherewithal to deal with it. Sigh. She could do a lot better.

      Mind you, Inspector Keating is a good character, and I liked Sidney's housekeeper too - they both have a lot to put up with. However, I won't be staying around for the remaining five books in the series.
    • 4/5
      Several people enthused about the TV series so I hunted it down, the station isn't generally visible on the planner on my TV but can be found with a little work. and I enjoyed it, and promptly forgot to set up reminders about it, sadly. The first story in this collection is the first TV episode. A story that unfortunately has whiffs of casual racism against the drunken Irish.

      The next story involves a new years party and a missing ring, there's also stories of a sudden death at a jazz concert, and several others, all kept my attention and made me want more. The description of the Backgammon games entertained me greatly. The moral dilemmas by Sidney himself about his role as a pastor for his flock and where the boundaries are when he also detects are quite interesting.

      I'm so sorry I missed the rest of the series.... must try to find it when it does the rounds again.
    • 3/5
      It's 1953 and Canon Sidney Chambers is quite happy with his life in the vicarage at Grantchester. He has his church duties, his jazz, and a weekly backgammon game at the pub with the local Inspector. But following the funeral of one of his parishioners, a friend of the deceased asks Sidney to look into the apparent suicide as she suspects murder. Thus is Sidney pulled into solving a multitude of crimes over the course of a year and left wondering whether a priest can fulfill his duties and investigate the darker side of life.

      I picked this up because I'd heard good things about the TV series based on the books. The novel itself is solid but nothing really exciting. Sidney is a wonderful character and I found him and all the characters in his life interesting but somehow the novel lacked a certain something. Perhaps given the time period the novel is set, I was expecting something a bit more like Agatha Christie and found it lacking the sparkle of her novels. That being said, I can see the mysteries have serious potential as a TV series so I do still plan to watch it at some point.
    • 2/5
      Well, James Runcie certainly sold me the dummy here. The first story in this collection was very well written, with a tightly developed plot and a particularly engaging protagonist in the shape of Canon Sidney Chambers who shows great sensitivity to the widow of the victim.

      However, the subsequent stories marked a great falling off and descent into simplistic trivia. I enjoyed the period descriptions of Cambridge in the 1950s, but the charm of those vignettes did not suffice to compensate for facile stories and implausible characters. I doubt if further volumes in this series will be cluttering my Kindle any time soon.

    Book preview

    Sidney Chambers and The Shadow of Death - James Runcie

    For Marilyn

    Contents

    The Shadow of Death

    A Question of Trust

    First, Do No Harm

    A Matter of Time

    The Lost Holbein

    Honourable Men

    A Note on the Author

    By the Same Author

    The Shadow of Death

    Canon Sidney Chambers had never intended to become a detective. Indeed, it came about quite by chance, after a funeral, when a handsome woman of indeterminate age voiced her suspicion that the recent death of a Cambridge solicitor was not suicide, as had been widely reported, but murder.

    It was a weekday morning in October 1953 and the pale rays of a low autumn sun were falling over the village of Grantchester. The mourners, who had attended the funeral of Stephen Staunton, shielded their eyes against the light as they made their way to the wake in The Red Lion. They were friends, colleagues and relatives from his childhood home in Northern Ireland, walking in silence. The first autumn leaves flickered as they fell from the elms. The day was too beautiful for a funeral.

    Sidney had changed into his suit and dog collar and was about to join his congregation when he noticed an elegant lady waiting in the shadows of the church porch. Her high heels made her unusually tall, and she wore a calf-length black dress, a fox fur stole and a toque with a spotted veil. Sidney had noticed her during the service for the simple reason that she had been the most stylish person present.

    ‘I don’t think we’ve met?’ he asked.

    The lady held out a gloved hand. ‘I’m Pamela Morton. Stephen Staunton worked with my husband.’

    ‘It’s been a sad time,’ Sidney responded.

    The lady was keen to get the formalities out of the way. ‘Is there somewhere we can talk?’

    Sidney had recently been to see the film Young Man with a Horn and noticed that Mrs Morton’s voice had all the sultriness of Lauren Bacall’s. ‘Won’t you be expected at the reception?’ he asked. ‘What about your husband?’

    ‘I told him I wanted a cigarette.’

    Sidney hesitated. ‘I have to look in myself, of course . . .’

    ‘It won’t take long.’

    ‘Then we can go to the vicarage. I don’t think people will miss me quite yet.’

    Sidney was a tall, slender man in his early thirties. A lover of warm beer and hot jazz, a keen cricketer and an avid reader, he was known for his understated clerical elegance. His high forehead, aquiline nose and longish chin were softened by nut-brown eyes and a gentle smile, one that suggested he was always prepared to think the best of people. He had had the priestly good fortune to be born on a Sabbath day and was ordained soon after the war. After a brief curacy in Coventry, and a short spell as domestic chaplain to the Bishop of Ely, he had been appointed vicar to the church of St Andrew and St Mary in 1952.

    ‘I suppose everyone asks you . . .’ Pamela Morton began, as she cast an appraising eye over the shabby doorway.

    ‘If I’d prefer to live in the Old Vicarage: the subject of Rupert Brooke’s poem? Yes, I’m afraid they do. But I’m quite content here. In fact the place is rather too large for a bachelor.’

    ‘You are not married?’

    ‘People have remarked that I am married to my job.’

    ‘I’m not sure what a canon is.’

    ‘It’s an honorary position, given to me by a cathedral in Africa. But it’s easier to think of me as a common or garden priest.’ Sidney stamped his shoes on the mat and opened the unlocked door. ‘The word canon just sounds a bit better. Please, do come in.’

    He showed his guest into the small drawing room with its chintz sofas and antique engravings. Pamela Morton’s dark eyes swept the room. ‘I am sorry to detain you.’

    ‘That’s quite all right. I have noticed that no one knows what to say to a clergyman after a funeral.’

    ‘They can’t relax until you’ve gone,’ Pamela Morton replied. ‘They think they have to behave as if they are still in church.’

    ‘Perhaps I remind them too much of death?’ Sidney enquired.

    ‘No, I don’t think it’s that, Canon Chambers. Rather, I think you remind them of their manifold sins and wickedness.’

    Pamela Morton gave a half-smile and tilted her head to one side so that a strand of raven hair fell across her left eye. Sidney recognised that he was in the presence of a dangerous woman in her mid-forties and that this gesture alone could have a devastating effect upon a man. He couldn’t imagine his interlocutor having many female friends.

    Mrs Morton took off her gloves, her stole and her hat, laying them on the back of the sofa. When Sidney offered her a cup of tea she gave a slight shudder. ‘I am so sorry if this seems forward but might you have something stronger?’

    ‘I have sherry, although I am not that keen on it myself.’

    ‘Whisky?’

    This was Sidney’s favourite tipple; a drink, he tried to convince himself, that he only kept for medicinal purposes.

    ‘How do you take it?’ he asked.

    ‘As Stephen had it. A little water. No ice. He drank Irish, of course, but I imagine yours is Scotch.’

    ‘It is indeed. I am rather partial to a good single malt but I am afraid that I cannot really afford it.’

    ‘That is quite understandable in a vicar.’

    ‘You knew Mr Staunton well, I take it?’

    ‘Do you mind if I sit down?’ Pamela asked, walking towards the armchair by the fire. ‘I think this is going to be a little awkward.’

    Sidney poured out the Johnnie Walker and allowed himself a small tumbler to keep his guest company. ‘It is clearly a delicate matter.’

    ‘We are not in church, Canon Chambers, but can I presume that the secrets of the confessional still apply?’

    ‘You can rely on my discretion.’

    Pamela Morton considered whether to continue. ‘It’s not something I ever imagined telling a priest. Even now I am not sure that I want to do so.’

    ‘You can take your time.’

    ‘I may need to.’

    Sidney handed his guest her whisky and sat down. The sun was in his eyes but once he had established his position he thought it rude to move. ‘I am used to listening,’ he said.

    ‘Stephen and I had always been friends,’ Pamela Morton began. ‘I knew that his marriage wasn’t as happy as it had once been. His wife is German; not that it explains anything . . .’

    ‘No . . .’

    ‘Although people have commented. It seemed an odd choice for such a handsome man. He could have chosen almost anyone he wanted. To marry a German so soon after the war was a brave thing to do, I suppose.’ Pamela Morton stopped. ‘This is harder than I thought . . .’

    ‘Do go on.’

    ‘A few months ago, I went to the office to pick up my husband. When I arrived I discovered that he had been called away. There was some fuss about a will. Stephen was alone. He said he was going to be working late but then he suggested that we go out for a drink instead. It seemed perfectly innocent. He was my husband’s business partner, and I had known him for several years. I had always been fond of him and I could see that something was troubling him. I didn’t know whether it was his health, his money or his marriage. I think that’s what most men worry about . . .’

    ‘Indeed.’

    ‘We took a drive out to Trumpington, where I suppose Stephen thought that we were less likely to meet people we knew and we wouldn’t have to explain to anyone why we were having a drink together. So, thinking about it now, I suppose it all began with something complicit.’

    Sidney was beginning to feel uncomfortable. As a priest he was used to informal confession, but he could never quite reconcile himself to the fact that it often contained quite a lot of detail. There were times when he wished people wouldn’t tell him so much.

    Pamela Morton continued. ‘We sat in the far corner of the pub, away from everyone else. I had heard that Stephen liked a drink or two but the speed surprised me. He was on edge. It was the usual chatter to begin with but then he changed. He told me how tired he was of his life. It was a strange thing to say; the intensity of his feeling came on so suddenly. He said how he had never felt that he belonged in Cambridge. He and his wife were both exiles. He said that he should have gone straight back to Ireland after the war but that the job was here. He didn’t want to sound ungrateful to my husband for giving it to him, and besides, if he hadn’t, then he would never have met me. When he said that, I started to worry. I wondered what I would have to tell my husband, and yet there was something compelling about the way he spoke. There was an urgency, a desperation and a charm to it all. He had a way with words. I’ve always admired that. I used to act, you know. In a small way. Before I married.’

    ‘I see,’ said Sidney, wondering where the conversation was going.

    ‘Despite the blarney, I knew he was telling me that his life was a shambles. Anyone who heard him speak might have thought that he was beginning to be suicidal but they would have been so wrong.’

    Pamela Morton stopped.

    ‘You don’t have to tell me everything,’ Sidney answered.

    ‘I do. It’s important. Stephen spoke about how he longed to get away and start again somewhere else. Then, when we were still in the pub, he looked me in the eye for a long time before speaking and . . . oh . . . do you mind if I have a drop more? Dutch courage, you know.’

    ‘Of course.’

    ‘You must find this all rather seedy. You know what I am going to say, don’t you?’

    Sidney poured out the drinks. ‘No, I don’t think I do,’ he said quietly. ‘Please go on.’ He had learned never to stop a narrative in full flow.

    ‘Stephen told me that he couldn’t stop thinking about me; that every part of his life without me was a misery; and that he loved me. I couldn’t believe it. He said what a miracle it was that we had the chance to be alone so that he could tell me. He only lived for the times when we saw each other and that if only we could be together then his life would have purpose and meaning and he would drink less and be happy.’

    Pamela Morton looked up, expecting Sidney to ask what she had done. ‘Go on . . .’ he said.

    ‘As he was speaking,’ Pamela continued, ‘I felt this strange heat inside me. I don’t know where it came from. I thought I was going to faint. My life seemed to fall away from me. I hadn’t ever thought about it before but he was saying all the things I thought myself. I could see that my life did not have to be a dead end in a small provincial town. I could begin again. We could run away, escape our own past and live without history, pretending that there had been no war, we had lost no friends and that we had no family. We could just be two people with the future before them. We could go away, anywhere, Stephen said. He had some money saved and all I had to do was think about it. He didn’t want to rush me. All he wanted was for me to say yes . . .’

    ‘And did you?’

    ‘I thought it was mad and impossible. I was frightened and thrilled at the same time. He talked about getting back in the car and driving away there and then, down to the coast, and taking a boat across the Channel. I didn’t know what to say. He told me to imagine how we’d laugh, thinking of the havoc we’d wrought. We could drive all the way through France, staying at hopelessly romantic hotels while everyone else continued with their humdrum lives back in Cambridge. We would be free. We would go to Nice and the French Riviera and we would dress up and dance on warm summer nights under the stars. It was crazy and it was wonderful and although we knew we couldn’t leave there and then it was surely only a matter of time. Anything was possible. Everything could change.’

    ‘When was this? Sidney asked.

    ‘It was just after the Coronation. The pub still had its bunting up. Four months ago.’

    ‘I see.’

    ‘I can understand what you’re thinking.’

    ‘I am not judging you in any way,’ Sidney replied, knowing that he was not sure what to think. ‘I am listening.’

    ‘But you must wonder. If we were that impetuous why has it taken us so long? My children have left home but, even so, I thought of them. Then, as soon as we got back home, I became frightened of what it all meant. I began to lose heart. I couldn’t quite believe what had happened. Perhaps it had been a dream and Stephen had never said those things, but then we started to meet each other in secret and I knew that it was the only thing I wanted to do. I was obsessed. I could not believe that no one had noticed any change in me. Surely they can tell? I thought to myself. I hardly dared to believe that I was getting away with it. The more it went on the more I couldn’t wait to leave. I was no longer myself. In fact, I didn’t know who I was, but I told Stephen that we had to be sure that we had everything settled before we could do something so rash and that we should go in the New Year.’

    ‘And he agreed?’

    ‘As long as he saw me, he said, he believed that anything was possible. And we were happy.’

    ‘And no one else knew of your plans?’

    ‘I have a friend in London. She . . . it’s difficult to explain, Canon Chambers. She let me pretend that I was staying with her . . .’

    ‘When, in reality?’

    ‘I was in a hotel with Stephen? I’m afraid so. You must think me very cheap.’

    Sidney was taken aback by her frankness. ‘It is not for me to pass judgement, Mrs Morton.’

    ‘Pamela. Please, call me Pamela . . .’

    It was too soon for such familiarity. Sidney decided to try not to offer his guest another drink.

    ‘So you see why I have come, Canon Chambers?’

    Sidney couldn’t see anything at all. Why was this woman telling him all this? He wondered if she had got married in church, if she had ever considered her marital vows and how well she got on with her children. ‘What would you like me to do?’ he asked.

    ‘I can’t go to the police and tell them this.’

    ‘No, of course not.’

    ‘I can’t trust them to keep it a secret. My husband is bound to find out and I don’t want to stir things up.’

    ‘But surely this is a private matter? It is no concern for the police.’

    ‘It has to be, Canon Chambers.’

    ‘But why?’

    ‘Can you not guess? I can’t believe Stephen killed himself. It is totally out of character. We were going to run away together.’

    ‘So what are you suggesting?’

    Pamela Morton sat up and straightened her back. ‘Murder, Canon Chambers. I mean murder.’ She fought to find a handkerchief from her handbag.

    ‘But who would want to do such a thing?’

    ‘I don’t know.’

    Sidney was out of his depth. It was all very well for someone to come to him and confess their sins but an accusation of murder was a different business altogether. ‘This is quite a dangerous thing to suggest, Mrs Morton. Are you sure that you really think this?’

    ‘I am certain.’

    ‘And you have told no one else?’

    ‘You are the first. When I heard you speak in the service about death and loss I felt sure that I could trust you. You have a reassuring voice. I am sorry I don’t attend church more often. After my brother was killed in the war I found it hard to have faith.’

    ‘It is difficult, I know.’

    Pamela Morton spoke as if she had said all that she had to say. ‘What I have said is the truth, Canon Chambers.’

    Sidney imagined his guest sitting through the funeral service, restraining her grief. He wondered if she had looked around the congregation for suspects. But why would anyone have wanted to kill Stephen Staunton?

    Pamela Morton recognised that Sidney needed to be convinced. ‘The idea that he took his own life is absurd. We had so much to look forward to. It was as if we were going to be young once more and we could be whoever we wanted to be. We would start again. We were going to live as we have never lived. Those were the last words he spoke to me. We will live as we have never lived. Those are not the words of a man who is going to shoot himself, are they?’

    ‘No, they are not.’

    ‘And now it’s gone. All that hope. All that wasted love.’ Pamela Morton took up her handkerchief. ‘I can’t bear it. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cry.’

    Sidney walked over to the window. What on earth was he supposed to do about this? It was none of his business; but then he remembered that, as a priest, everything was his business. There was no part of the human heart that was not his responsibility. Furthermore, if Pamela Morton was correct, and Stephen Staunton had not committed what many people still believed to be the sin of suicide, then an innocent man had been unjustly killed and his murderer was still at large.

    ‘What would you like me to do?’ he asked.

    ‘Talk to people,’ Pamela Morton answered. ‘Informally if you can. I don’t want anyone to know about my involvement in all this.’

    ‘But who shall I speak to?’

    ‘The people who knew him.’

    ‘I’m not sure what I can ask them.’

    ‘You are a priest. People tell you things, don’t they?’

    ‘They do.’

    ‘And you can ask almost any question, no matter how private?’

    ‘One has to be careful.’

    ‘But you know what I mean . . .’

    ‘I do,’ Sidney replied, as cautiously as he could.

    ‘Then you could keep what I have said in mind and, if the moment comes, perhaps you might ask a question that you might not otherwise have asked?’

    ‘I am not sure that I can make any promises. I am not a detective.’

    ‘But you know people, Canon Chambers. You understand them.’

    ‘Not all the time.’

    ‘Well, I hope you understand me.’

    ‘Yes,’ Sidney replied. ‘You have been very clear. I imagine this must have been terrible. To bear it alone . . .’

    Pamela Morton put her handkerchief away. ‘It is. But I have said what I came to say. Are you sure I can rely on your discretion?’ she asked, looking up at him, vulnerable once more. ‘You won’t mention my name?’

    ‘Of course not.’ Sidney answered, already worrying how long he could keep this secret.

    ‘I’m so sorry about all of this,’ Mrs Morton continued. ‘I’m ashamed, really. I couldn’t think how to tell you or the words that I was going to use. I don’t know anything at the moment and I’ve had to keep so quiet. I’ve had no one to talk to. Thank you for listening to me.’

    ‘It is what I am called to do,’ said Sidney and immediately wondered whether this was true. It was his first case of adultery, never mind murder.

    Pamela Morton stood up. Sidney noticed that, despite the tears, her mascara had not run. She pushed back that strand of hair again and held out her hand.

    ‘Goodbye, Canon Chambers. You do believe me, don’t you?’

    ‘It was brave to tell me so much.’

    ‘Courage is a quality Stephen said I lacked. If you find out what happened to him then I hope you will inform me first.’ She smiled, sadly, once more. ‘I know where you are.’

    ‘I am always here. Goodbye, Mrs Morton.’

    ‘Pamela . . .’

    ‘Goodbye, Pamela.’

    Sidney closed his front door and looked at the watch his father had given him on his ordination. Perhaps there would be time to look in at the wake after all. He returned to his small drawing room with the tired furniture his parents had bought for him at a local auction. The place really did need cheering up, he thought. He gathered the glasses and took them through to the kitchen sink and turned on the hot tap. He liked washing up; the simple act of cleanliness had immediately visible results. He stopped for a moment at the window and watched a robin hopping on the washing line. Soon he would have to get round to his Christmas cards.

    He noticed the lipstick marks on the rim of Pamela Morton’s whisky glass and remembered a poem by Edna St Vincent Millay he had read in the Sunday Times:

    ‘What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,

    I have forgotten, and what arms have lain

    Under my head till morning; but the rain

    Is full of ghosts tonight . . .’

    ‘What a mess people make of their lives,’ he thought.

    Sidney’s friend Inspector Keating was not amused. ‘It could hardly be more straightforward,’ he sighed. ‘A man stays on in the office after everyone has gone home. He sets about a decanter of whisky and then blows his brains out. The cleaner finds him in the morning, calls the police, we go in, and that’s it: clear as my wife’s crystal.’

    The two men were sitting at their favourite table in the RAF bar of The Eagle, a pub that was conveniently situated not far from the police station in St Andrews Street. They had become friends after Sidney had taken the funeral of the inspector’s predecessor, and they now met informally after work every Thursday to enjoy a couple of pints of bitter, play a game of backgammon and share confidences. It was one of the few off-duty moments in the week when Sidney could take off his dog collar, put on a pullover and pretend that he was not a priest.

    ‘Sometimes,’ he observed, ‘things can be rather too clear.’

    ‘I agree,’ said the inspector, throwing a five and a three, ‘but the facts of this case are as plain as a pikestaff.’ He spoke with a slight Northumbrian accent, the only remaining evidence of a county he had left at the age of six. ‘So much so, that I cannot believe you are suggesting that we set out on a wild goose chase.’

    ‘I am not suggesting that.’ Sidney was alarmed by his friend’s assumption that he was making a formal request. ‘I am merely raising an eyebrow.’

    Inspector Keating pressed his case. ‘Stephen Staunton’s wife told us that her husband had been depressed. He also drank too much. That’s what the Irish do, of course. His secretary informed us that our man had also started to go to London on a weekly basis and was not in the office as much as he should have been. She even had to cover for him and do some of his more straightforward work; conveyancing and what have you. Then there is the small matter of his recent bank withdrawals; vast sums of money, in cash, which his wife has never seen and no one knows where it has gone. This suggests . . .’

    Sidney threw a double five and moved four of his pieces. ‘I imagine you would think the solicitor was a gambling man . . .’

    ‘I certainly would. And I would also imagine that he might have been using some of his firm’s money to pay for it. If he wasn’t dead I’d probably have to start investigating him for fraud.’ The inspector threw a four and a two and hit one of Sidney’s blots. ‘So I imagine that, when the debts mounted up, and he was on the verge of being discovered, he blew his brains out. It’s common enough, man. Re-double?’

    ‘Of course.’ Sidney threw again. ‘Ah . . . I think I can re-enter the game.’ He placed his checker on the twenty-three point. ‘Did he leave a note?’

    Inspector Keating was irritated by this question. ‘No, Sidney, he did not leave a note.’

    ‘So there’s margin for error?’

    The inspector leaned forward and shook again. He had thought he had the game in the bag but now he could see that Sidney would soon start to bear off. ‘There is no room for doubt in this case. Not every suicide leaves a note . . .’

    ‘Most do.’

    ‘My brother-in-law works in the force near Beachy Head. They don’t leave a lot of notes down there, I’m telling you. They take a running jump.’

    ‘I imagine they do.’

    ‘Our man killed himself, Sidney. If you don’t believe me then go and pay the widow one of your pastoral visits. I’m sure she’d appreciate it. Just don’t start having any ideas.’

    ‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ his companion lied, anticipating an unlikely victory on the board.

    The living at Grantchester was tied to Sidney’s old college of Corpus Christi, where he had studied theology and now took tutorials and enjoyed dining rights. He enjoyed the fact that his work combined the academic and the clerical, but there were times when he worried that his college activities meant that he did not have enough time to concentrate on his pastoral duties. He could run his parish, teach students, visit the sick, take confirmation classes and prepare couples for marriage, but he frequently felt guilty that he was not doing enough for people. In truth, Sidney sometimes wished that he were a better priest.

    He knew that his responsibility to the bereaved, for example, extended far beyond the simple act of taking a funeral. In fact, those who had lost someone they loved often needed more comfort after the initial shock of death had gone, when their friends had resumed their daily lives and the public period of mourning had passed. It was the task of a priest to offer constant consolation, to love and serve his parishioners at whatever cost to himself. Consequently, Sidney had no hesitation in stopping off on his way into Cambridge the next morning to call on Stephen Staunton’s widow.

    The house was a mid-terrace, late-Victorian building on Eltisley Avenue, a road that lay on the edge of the Meadows. It was the kind of home young families moved to when they were expecting their second child. Everything about the area was decent enough but Sidney could not help but think that it lacked charm. These were functional buildings that had escaped wartime bombing but still had no perceivable sense of either history or local identity. In short, as Sidney walked down the street, he felt that he could be anywhere in England.

    Hildegard Staunton was paler than he remembered from her husband’s funeral. Her short hair was blonde and curly; her eyes were large and green. Her eyebrows were pencil-thin and she wore no lipstick; as a result, her face looked as if her feelings had been washed away. She was wearing a dark olive housecoat, with a shawl collar and cuffed sleeves that Sidney only noticed when she touched her hair; worrying, perhaps, that she needed a shampoo and set but could not face a trip to the hairdresser.

    Hildegard had been poised yet watchful at the service, but now she could not keep still, standing up as soon as she had sat down, unable to concentrate. Anyone outside, watching her through the window, would probably think she had lost something, which, of course, she had. Sidney wondered if her doctor had prescribed any medicine to help her with her grief.

    ‘I came to see how you were getting on,’ he began.

    ‘I am pretending he is still here,’ Hildegard answered. ‘It is the only way I can survive.’

    ‘I am sure it must feel very strange.’ Sidney was already uncomfortable with the knowledge of her husband’s adultery, let alone potential murder.

    ‘Being in this country has always seemed strange to me. Sometimes I think I am living someone else’s life.’

    ‘How did you meet your husband?’ Sidney asked.

    ‘It was in Berlin after the war.’

    ‘He was a soldier?’

    ‘With the Ulster Rifles. The British Foreign Office sent people over to aerate us, whatever that meant, and we all went to lectures on Abendländische Kultur. But none of us listened very much. We wanted to go dancing instead.’

    Sidney tried to imagine Hildegard Staunton in a bombed-out German ballroom, dancing among the ruins. She shifted position on the sofa and adjusted the fall of her housecoat. Perhaps she did not want to tell her story, Sidney wondered, but the fact that she would not look him in the eye made it clear that she intended to continue. Her speech, despite its softness, demanded attention.

    ‘Sometimes we went out into the countryside and spent the nights drinking white wine under the apple trees. We taught them to sing Einmal am Rhein and the Ulstermen gave us The Star of County Down. I liked the way Stephen sang that song. And when he talked about his home in Northern Ireland, he described it so well that I thought that this could be my refuge from all that had happened in the war. We would live by the sea, he said, in Carrickfergus, perhaps. We were going to walk by the shores of Lough Neagh, and listen to the cry of the curlews as they flew over the water. His voice had so much charm. I believed everything he told me. But we never did go to Ireland. The opportunity was here. And so our marriage began with something I had not been expecting. I never imagined that we would live in an English village. Being German is not so easy, of course.’

    ‘You speak very good English.’

    ‘I try hard. But German people are looked on with suspicion, as I am sure you know. I can see what they are thinking still, so soon after the war. How can I blame them? I cannot tell everyone that I meet that my father was never a Nazi, that he was shot at a Communist protest when I was six years old. I do not think I have done anything wrong. But it is difficult for us to live after such a war.’

    ‘It is hard for everyone.’

    Hildegard stopped and remembered what she had forgotten. ‘Would you like some tea, Canon Chambers?’

    ‘That would be kind.’

    ‘I am not very good at making it. Stephen used to find it amusing. More often he drank whiskey.’

    ‘I am rather partial to Scotch myself.’

    ‘His was Irish, of course.’

    ‘Ah yes,’ Sidney remembered. ‘With a different taste and a different spelling.’

    Hildegard Staunton continued. ‘It was Bushmills. Stephen called it the oldest whiskey in the world. It reminded him of home: a Protestant whiskey, he always said, from County Antrim. His brother

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