Sidney Chambers and The Forgiveness of Sins by James Runcie Read Free Book Online Page B

marriage?’
    ‘I don’t think it would be a good idea to stay cooped up here all day.’
    ‘Some of us have no choice, mein Lieber .’
    Sidney recognised the possibility of an argument and tried to stick to the subject. ‘But a quartet? It must have been hard to know when work stopped; if they were ever off duty.’
    ‘Just like you.’
    ‘I do draw the line at infidelity and murder, Hildegard.’
    ‘I’m glad to hear it.’
    ‘And I miss you every minute I’m away.’
    ‘Then that is why you leave? In order to miss me?’
    ‘It is one of the consequences of love.’
    ‘You are fortunate to have such freedom.’ Hildegard thought about the case once more. ‘From what I know of quartets they either love each other or hate each other. There was one group where the only woman married each of the three men in turn . . .’
    ‘You’d think she could have looked further afield . . .’
    ‘Perhaps she didn’t need to. It’s the same with your investigation, Sidney. The solution must lie in the quartet itself. But I must see to Anna.’
    ‘I’ll go.’
    ‘No, it’s all right. I’ll leave you to your thoughts. You have a quiet minute to yourself.’
    Hildegard gave her husband a kiss on the cheek, and began to leave the room, humming as she did so.
    Sidney called after her. ‘That music’s unlike you, Hildegard. Very English.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘ “I vow to thee my country”.’
    ‘No it’s not. It’s Holst, the “Jupiter” movement from The Planets suite. I was still thinking about the quartet.’
    ‘But it’s the same tune.’ Sidney began to sing:
     
    ‘I vow to thee, my country, all earthly things above,
    Entire and whole and perfect, the service of my love;
    The love that asks no question, the love that stands the test,
    That lays upon the altar the dearest and the best . . .’
     
    ‘It’s Holst, I promise you,’ Hildegard answered. ‘He wrote it first.’
    And then it came to Sidney. ‘But it’s a hymn tune. Thaxted.’
    ‘What about it?’
    He was cold with fear. Why had he not realised sooner? ‘My goodness. That’s where Sophie Madara could have been all this time. Her husband talked about a place they went to when they were first married; in the countryside, on the edge of a small town, not far from London; a church with a medieval spire, some old almshouses, and a windmill. Thaxted: Holst. I may be wrong, but I must tell Keating . . .’
     
    On the afternoon of Wednesday 11th March, after a lengthy conversation with Josef Madara in which it was firmly suggested that he remain in police custody to avoid further distress, Geordie Keating, Sidney and Helena made their way to Thaxted in Essex. They had discovered that Sophie Madara had been brought up in the small market town and that her parents still lived in a timber-framed Tudor house just beyond the famous windmill. It was easy enough to track down.
    ‘You know what I’m going to say if we don’t find anything,’ the inspector warned.
    ‘Please don’t take the name of the Lord in vain,’ Sidney asked.
    ‘I think he’s probably used to it by now.’
    ‘That doesn’t make it any more forgivable.’
    They came in two cars, with a police officer in attendance, and parked some way away in order to avoid suspicion. It was a crisp spring day, the first time in four months Sidney had been optimistic that it might actually get warm, and the church bells rang in celebration at the news of Prince Edward’s birth. Listening to them, he wished he could have been there to take a wedding rather than conduct an inquiry.
    They were greeted by a handsome woman in her early sixties. After Keating had told her the purpose of their visit, she admitted that she was Mrs Rimkus, Sophie’s mother. The door to the sitting-room was open and inside sat a frailer man with a rug over his legs by an open fire. He was sorting through a butterfly collection. The sound of a cello came from upstairs.
    ‘She still has her