Sidney Chambers and The Forgiveness of Sins by James Runcie Page A

of an occasional table stacked with back issues of Country Life and three or four contemporary novels that had never been read. Hildegard had brought a copy of Jane Eyre . She had made it her mission to get to grips with some of the English classics and was already wondering if Witchford Hall was similar to Mr Rochester’s Thornfield. So far, however, there had been no sign of any Grace Poole, no hidden flight of stairs and no dark laughter from the attic.
    As they prepared for bed (grateful that the maid had provided them with a hot-water bottle) and worried about Anna (would she really be all right without them?), Hildegard teased her husband about his dining companion. ‘Serena Stein was very attentive. Had you met her before?’
    Sidney knew that any questioning on the subject of how much he had enjoyed the company of a woman who had asked so directly about the nature of his marriage would not end well.
    ‘I heard her tell you that she looked forward to being better acquainted. Were you flirting, Sidney?’
    ‘Of course not.’
    ‘I don’t mind if you were.’
    ‘I was not. And you do.’
    ‘Would you care if I behaved in a similar way with a man?’
    ‘Of course not.’
    ‘Liar.’
    Sidney decided to change the subject as quickly as he could and was aided by a knock on the door. It was Amanda.
    ‘Let me in, darlings. I’ve forgotten my toothpaste.’
    ‘You could have asked the maid,’ said Sidney, rather ungraciously.
    ‘It’s an excuse , you stupid man.’
    Sidney opened the door. ‘Are you coming for a midnight feast?’
    Amanda flopped on to one of the chairs. ‘We could do with one after that dinner. Those pheasant had no meat on them at all. And as for the potatoes . . .’
    ‘Stone cold.’
    ‘I liked the pudding,’ Hildegard remarked, sitting down on the edge of the bed. ‘But not what happened afterwards.’
    ‘Have you come for a debrief on Henry?’ Sidney asked. ‘He seems a very agreeable chap.’
    ‘He certainly knows how to tell a story. He likes being popular. A bit like you, Sidney . . .’
    ‘I don’t court popularity.’
    ‘But you don’t mind it when it comes.’
    ‘I was just teasing him about that,’ said Hildegard.
    ‘I think I can make up my own mind about Henry,’ Amanda continued. ‘He’s a bit too eager to please but there are worse faults. Did either of you get another look at Elizabeth’s burn?’
    ‘I did,’ said Hildegard.
    ‘And what do you think?’
    ‘It was not an accident at the hairdresser’s.’
    ‘Exactly. I think Mark’s responsible. And not for the first time.’
    Sidney could see that his friend was about to embark on a theory. ‘But do you have any other evidence?’
    ‘There was another one a few months ago, on her forearm. She explained it away by saying that women with an Aga often burn themselves. You can also tell from their children’s jumpers. They always have scorch marks when they’ve been left too long to dry. The only thing is . . .’
    ‘She doesn’t do the cooking,’ Hildegard replied.
    ‘And they lost their child.’ Amanda turned to Sidney. ‘I don’t know if I ever told you about that.’
    ‘I would have remembered if you had.’
    ‘A little boy. Peter. He drowned. I don’t think either of them have ever recovered.’
    ‘Do they blame each other?’ Hildegard asked.
    ‘Of course. And themselves. They don’t talk about it. But Elizabeth’s become very withdrawn in the last few years. And you saw how scared she was of her husband? It’s horrible.’
    ‘Has she said anything about this?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Nothing at all?’
    ‘I can tell she’s hiding something.’
    ‘But she hasn’t said anything specific?’ Sidney checked.
    ‘Sometimes women don’t need to tell each other things . . .’ Amanda continued.
    Hildegard agreed. ‘We just know .’
    ‘And she couldn’t be harming herself?’
    ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’
    ‘She doesn’t seem happy at all . . .’ said Hildegard.