Page 159 of The Missing Sister
‘And?’ It was as if Maggie couldn’t bear to ask.
John turned back to Ambrose and James. ‘Would we be taking her straight home with us now?’
‘Good Lord,’ Ambrose said as James returned to the study, having said goodbye to the young couple and their brand-new child. ‘I feel quite overcome.’
James watched as Ambrose pulled out his handkerchief and mopped his eyes. ‘What is it?’
‘Oh, I’m sure it’s a mixture of things,’ said Ambrose. ‘But mostly it’s John O’Reilly: as poor as your poorest church mouse, and yet so proud.’
‘He’s a good man,’ James agreed. ‘And worships the ground his wife walks on. Which is good to see, given the amount of marriages I’ve conducted that feel more like joining acre to acre rather than man and wife. That is a love match for sure.’
‘Would you mind if I helped myself to a whiskey? After all that excitement, I feel I need one to calm my nerves.’
‘’Tis a good thing you’ve done today, my friend.Sláinte,’ James said as he accepted a glass of whiskey from Ambrose and toasted him. ‘Here’s to you, and the baby.’
‘Who will be called Mary because that’s what they want, which is rather a pity. I have a whole host of Greek names I rather like. Athena, perhaps, or Antigone...’
‘Then I’m happy she was already named after the Holy Virgin,’ smiled James.
‘Mary is special, James, I feel it. She was sent for me to watch over.’
‘I’d be agreeing that God does move in mysterious ways.’
‘I’d call it fate, but I must admit the chances of my taking a trip down here, combined with the absence of Mrs Cavanagh, together with a mother who had recently lost a child herself, does make me feel as if it was all destined.’
‘I’ll make you a believer yet,’ smiled James.
The next morning, Ambrose walked down to the village and stepped into the bank. He drew out the amount he’d promised Mr and Mrs O’Reilly, then walked back up the hill. Taking two envelopes from James’s desk, he separated the amounts, then sealed the envelopes. The withdrawal would not even make a dent in his trust fund, yet to the O’Reillys, it represented financial security for the next five years at least. Mrs Cavanagh was bustling about the house, complaining at anything and everything she could find to suggest that ‘the O’Reilly girl’ had not been thorough in her duties, so he stuffed the envelopes into the desk drawer.
There was a knock on the study door. ‘Come,’ he said.
‘Will you be staying for luncheon, Mr Lister?’
‘No, Mrs Cavanagh. My train leaves at noon, so I’ll be off to the station in fifteen minutes,’ Ambrose said, checking his watch.
‘Right so. Safe journey then,’ she said and almost slammed the door behind her as she left. He could feel the animosity that emanated from her. Even though he’d accepted the woman was not a lover of the human race in general, her dislike for him – though he was, after all, a guest of the man she worked for – was palpable. It was obvious she thought it somehow inappropriate that the priest should have a male friend who visited him every month. He’d done his best to be as polite as he could, for James’s sake at least, but he could smell that the woman was trouble.
James walked into the study and gave him a weak smile.
‘You look weary, dear boy,’ Ambrose observed.
‘I admit to not sleeping well last night, after all the... activity yesterday.’
‘Does it concern you?’
‘Not the act itself, but the deception of it worries me. If anyone found out that I was associated with this, then...’
‘No one will; the O’Reillys won’t tell, I’m certain of that.’
Ambrose put a finger to his lips as they both heard footsteps along the corridor. ‘I must be leaving now,’ he said in a normal voice as he went to the drawer to show James where he’d put the envelopes.
James nodded. ‘I’ll give them to Maggie next Monday when she’s in for work, as we agreed,’ he whispered.
There was another knock on the study door, and Mrs Cavanagh appeared around it again.
‘Don’t forget, Father, you’re due at choir practice in ten minutes – the organist changed it from Thursday, because it’s fair day in town and he has to take two of his heifers along to it.’
‘Thank you for reminding me, Mrs Cavanagh – I’d quite forgotten. Ambrose, I’ll walk with you as far as the church.’
