Bishop Cormac McKenna shook hands with the last of the eight Fathers to leave, made the sign of the cross and closed the arched oak door of the convent of The Sisters of St Mary The Virgin. He turned to the five remaining clerics who now stood in the candlelit entrance hall, patiently awaiting instructions.
“May I say that was a most fruitful congress, Your Grace,” said Father Donal. “I think all the Fathers are clear on their mission and now have the resources at their disposal to carry on the fight to fulfil the wishes of the Holy Father.”
“Aye Donal. And thanks to you and The Sisters for hosting it so well.”
“Thanks to God, Your Grace. The Sisters and I are merely his humble servants.”
“Quite Donal. Thanks be to God indeed. Fathers, since you are staying the night here, shall we retire to the comfort of the calefactory and finish the evening with a nightcap? Father Donal has been gracious enough to provide a bottle of Tullamore for our enjoyment and Sister Shona tells me a log fire has been laid.” Father Donal beamed with pride at the Bishop’s praise and led his four fellow priests and the Bishop through the cloisters to the west wing of the convent.
Inside the warm room, Father Donal poured whiskey into six crystal glasses and handed one each to Bishop McKenna and the four other priests.
“Praise be to God for the gift of whiskey,” he said holding his glass aloft.
“Amen,” murmured the other five in unison, sipping the spirit and taking seats around the roaring fire.
“You know I was wonderin’ Donal,” said Father Michael, priest of St Joseph’s in Ballydown, “but for the untimely death of our benefactor, God rest his soul, how far we might have gone to avail ourselves of his generosity. In the pursuit of God’s work, of course,” he added quickly for clarification.
“God only knows Michael,” said Father Brendan. “But I fear the poor boy was lost to us from the moment his mind was turned by the devil. I don’t think we would have seen any more in the way of donations from that source.”
“Aye, it’s a terrible tragedy,” agreed Father Lochlann. “I think we underestimated the devious nature of the Presbyterian who cannot see the true path of God.” The others nodded sagely.
“Cardinal Monzi tells me that, despite being unable to track down whoever is in control of the funds, the Banco della Sorellanza expects to recover its loans in full, with or without the cooperation of the borrower,” added Bishop McKenna. “We should thank God and be content that a Protestant criminal will face the judgment of God and his diabolical empire severely weakened, if not destroyed, although I admit to some regret we could not fully exploit Lucifer’s funds for our own noble purpose.”
“That would be like havin’ your whiskey and drinkin’ it,” scoffed Father Niall and they raised their glasses in merriment, the whiskey, following all the wine at dinner, intensifying the effect.
McKenna continued. “Remember, the Church has accepted donations totalling over five million pounds from the fund and all of that has gone straight back to the Holy See. I have been advised by Cardinal Monzi that all Fathers can expect a significant increase in their stipend to use as they see fit, to carry out their obligations as set out by the Holy Father.”
“I wonder what the poor boy did with the rest if it?” mused Father Brendan. “Do you think it will find its way back to Satan’s lair?”
“That’s a possibility. But Father Donal’s sources tell him that, now the loan has been called in, there is serious consternation in the enemy camp, which rather suggests they have no idea where the rest of it is and are looking for it at this very moment. If they’re successful, then the Church will have benefited by five million. If we’d just been able to persuade Flynn to donate the other fifteen before he lost his mind, then we would have bolstered the Church’s finances by the full twenty. Whatever happens, I think we should be very proud of what we achieved.” Bishop McKenna turned to Father Donal and raised his glass. “In particular, I think Father Donal here, who nurtured and tutored the boy in the ways of the Church, led him to salvation, and brokered the financial arrangements, deserves the highest praise of all. I have no doubt the Holy Father will recognise your contribution Donal, and very soon, we shall be addressing Bishop Donal Byrne.”
“Bishop Donal!” cheered the four Fathers gleefully and drained their glasses. Father Donal nodded in modesty and then refilled them.
“I thank you Your Grace, and I thank the Fathers, but if I may be serious for one moment,” he said. The younger Fathers gave him their immediate attention, out of respect for the venerable Father in their midst. “I have heard a rumour from a friend of mine in Derry, that the Protestant heretic who sups with Satan may have been behind the murder of that poor lassie, Miss Louise Harrison, the journalist who was lookin’ into the tragic death of Mr Flynn. It’s said she suspected it might not have been suicide after all.”
“Is this the lassie who was askin’ questions here at The Sisters?” asked Father Lochlann.
“Yes indeed, Father. Flynn had come to me with wild allegations that are too vile and repugnant for me to repeat here. The poor boy clearly could not cope with learnin’ the truth about his mother’s sins and went completely off the rails, repeatin’ his lies to this journalist.”
“Then the devil may have done us a favour,” said Father Niall soberly. “God works in mysterious ways.” Their thoughts were interrupted by a sharp knock on the door.
“Enter!” called Father Donal. The door opened to reveal the Mother Superior, deferential as ever in the company of priesthood.
“Forgive me Your Grace,” she said. “Your rooms are ready for you whenever you care to retire to them.”
“Thank you, Sister Shona,” said Bishop McKenna looking around at his subordinates. “I for one am ready and I’m sure the Fathers are ready too.”
They mumbled their agreement and drained their glasses. Sister Shona led them through the cloisters in saintly procession, back into the main entrance hall, past the giant crucifix from which their Lord Jesus Christ looked down in sorrow, and up the wooden stairs to the guest accommodation. On either side of the corridor were three oak doors and standing in front of each, a Sister exuding humility and penitence, holding the hand of a young woman in a dressing gown. Each of the six took their appointed positions alongside the women, closed their eyes and put their hands together in prayer as Bishop McKenna’s rich voice filled the air.
“I say unto Almighty God, thank you for the food and wine on our table; the body and blood of Christ that gives us the strength to continue your holy work. May you guide your humble servants to indoctrinate these children in the teachings of your son Jesus Christ and deliver them from evil, so help me God. Amen.”
“Amen,” they replied in unison.
Sister Shona made a signal, and the sisters opened a door, each pushing ahead of them a young woman aged between fourteen and twenty, each followed sombrely by a priest who closed the door behind him.