Read Online Sidney Chambers and the Perils of the Night by James Runcie - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James Runcie
Tags: Mystery
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world he could never imagine joining, and so it was just as well that he was getting on so well with Hildegard. She was, he had decided, so much more like him.
Hildegard had not been back to Grantchester since the death of her husband, Stephen Staunton, over four years ago. Despite their affection for each other, Sidney had not pressed the idea of a return visit, preferring to take short holidays in Germany. He had first been to see her in the New Year of 1955, and had made two further trips since then. Hildegard had taken him to Hamburg, to see St Michael’s Church and the Trostbrücke, and then, only last year, they had spent a few days in Koblenz where they had taken a boat to Boppard and cruised through the Rhine gorge to Rüdesheim.
Despite intrusive questioning by his friends and colleagues, Sidney had decided not to pin down the nature of their relationship. He had, however, begun to take lessons in German conversation from Marcus Gruner, an elderly parishioner, and on his last visit he had even surprised Hildegard with the deftness of his first tongue-twister in a foreign language: Fischers Fritze fischt frische Fische; Frische Fische fischt Fischers Fritze.
The situation, however, was far from straightforward. Unlike Amanda, who seemed to tell him everything, Hildegard was more circumspect. He had no idea, for example, if she had other suitors in Germany, or if she had decided to renounce the possibility of love and a second marriage altogether. She kept an air of mystery about her even though, Sidney thought, at the age of thirty-one she was surely too young to resign herself to a single life. Could they drift on as they were, or would things have to develop one way or another? His relationship with Amanda was more feisty, he recognised, and he was perhaps more confident of his abilities within it. Perhaps she didn’t expect so much of him, or the stakes were lower, or he felt that his failings didn’t matter so much because she had made it perfectly clear that she couldn’t possibly marry a vicar. Amanda was mercurial, openly flawed, vulnerable and quickly forgiving, whereas Hildegard was quieter, more thoughtful and harder to read. She made him think more deeply about his actions and his responsibilities. In short, she expected more of him, and, as a result, Sidney had an uneasy fear of letting her down.
As he approached the woodland, Sidney was distracted from his thoughts by one of his non-churchgoing parishioners, Jerome Benson, standing under a canopy of chestnut trees. He wore a matching flat cap and tweed hacking jacket, cord breeches and a well-worn pair of shooting boots. He had an untrimmed beard that was more ginger than his hair, and features so roseate that he looked like a man on the verge of losing his temper. He held an uncocked twelve-gauge shotgun by the barrel in his right hand, resting the magazine against his shoulder with the stock behind his back. A couple of partridges were peeping out of the tweed cartridge bag on his opposite shoulder. Sidney bid him a good evening and noticed that Benson’s corduroy trousers were tied up with string.
A few yards further on, Sidney passed a parked car, a Triumph TR3 Roadster, in which a young couple were amorously involved. The briefest of glances assured him that the girl was Abigail Redmond, the comely seventeen-year-old daughter of his Labrador breeder, and he guessed that the stylish vehicle belonged to her boyfriend, Gary Bell, the son of the local garage owner.
Suddenly, he heard a shot ring out. Dickens ran off and rapidly returned with a tawny owl in his mouth. He dropped it at Sidney’s feet.
‘Good heavens!’ his master exclaimed. ‘I am sure that’s illegal.’
Dickens looked up, expecting gratitude and reward, but before Sidney could decide what to do, Jerome Benson stepped into the light, with his lurcher beside him. ‘What has your dog got?’
‘Did you shoot this owl?’ Sidney asked.
‘A woodcock. Your dog must be
Hildegard had not been back to Grantchester since the death of her husband, Stephen Staunton, over four years ago. Despite their affection for each other, Sidney had not pressed the idea of a return visit, preferring to take short holidays in Germany. He had first been to see her in the New Year of 1955, and had made two further trips since then. Hildegard had taken him to Hamburg, to see St Michael’s Church and the Trostbrücke, and then, only last year, they had spent a few days in Koblenz where they had taken a boat to Boppard and cruised through the Rhine gorge to Rüdesheim.
Despite intrusive questioning by his friends and colleagues, Sidney had decided not to pin down the nature of their relationship. He had, however, begun to take lessons in German conversation from Marcus Gruner, an elderly parishioner, and on his last visit he had even surprised Hildegard with the deftness of his first tongue-twister in a foreign language: Fischers Fritze fischt frische Fische; Frische Fische fischt Fischers Fritze.
The situation, however, was far from straightforward. Unlike Amanda, who seemed to tell him everything, Hildegard was more circumspect. He had no idea, for example, if she had other suitors in Germany, or if she had decided to renounce the possibility of love and a second marriage altogether. She kept an air of mystery about her even though, Sidney thought, at the age of thirty-one she was surely too young to resign herself to a single life. Could they drift on as they were, or would things have to develop one way or another? His relationship with Amanda was more feisty, he recognised, and he was perhaps more confident of his abilities within it. Perhaps she didn’t expect so much of him, or the stakes were lower, or he felt that his failings didn’t matter so much because she had made it perfectly clear that she couldn’t possibly marry a vicar. Amanda was mercurial, openly flawed, vulnerable and quickly forgiving, whereas Hildegard was quieter, more thoughtful and harder to read. She made him think more deeply about his actions and his responsibilities. In short, she expected more of him, and, as a result, Sidney had an uneasy fear of letting her down.
As he approached the woodland, Sidney was distracted from his thoughts by one of his non-churchgoing parishioners, Jerome Benson, standing under a canopy of chestnut trees. He wore a matching flat cap and tweed hacking jacket, cord breeches and a well-worn pair of shooting boots. He had an untrimmed beard that was more ginger than his hair, and features so roseate that he looked like a man on the verge of losing his temper. He held an uncocked twelve-gauge shotgun by the barrel in his right hand, resting the magazine against his shoulder with the stock behind his back. A couple of partridges were peeping out of the tweed cartridge bag on his opposite shoulder. Sidney bid him a good evening and noticed that Benson’s corduroy trousers were tied up with string.
A few yards further on, Sidney passed a parked car, a Triumph TR3 Roadster, in which a young couple were amorously involved. The briefest of glances assured him that the girl was Abigail Redmond, the comely seventeen-year-old daughter of his Labrador breeder, and he guessed that the stylish vehicle belonged to her boyfriend, Gary Bell, the son of the local garage owner.
Suddenly, he heard a shot ring out. Dickens ran off and rapidly returned with a tawny owl in his mouth. He dropped it at Sidney’s feet.
‘Good heavens!’ his master exclaimed. ‘I am sure that’s illegal.’
Dickens looked up, expecting gratitude and reward, but before Sidney could decide what to do, Jerome Benson stepped into the light, with his lurcher beside him. ‘What has your dog got?’
‘Did you shoot this owl?’ Sidney asked.
‘A woodcock. Your dog must be
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