would have a hot supper ready for us when we arrive and that Sister Evangelista would be waiting for us. Then tomorrow, it’s down to work. Sister Evangelista did say we would be rather thrown in at the deep end.’
Father Anthony sighed. He had hoped to begin his time on the four streets on a more positive note, but he was at a loss to find a positive in a double murder. The world was changing fast and holding a community together in England was difficult at the best of times.
As they drew nearer, Harriet became entranced by the docks. When the klaxon sounded, the cranes, which loomed like spectres, ceased to swing and men began to appear at the top of the steps, hurrying home. Each one looked directly at the cab and lifted a hand in greeting as they looked to see who was entering their domain. Harriet felt slightly self-conscious, but Anthony smiled and waved from the window with a smile for each work-weary face they passed. A car on the four streets was an event, unless it was a police car.
As they pulled into the Priory drive, Harriet’s heart sank. It wasn’t because of the rows of back-to-back houses, the towering, smoking chimneys and the all-too-apparent poverty of the neighbourhood; none of that bothered Harriet in the slightest. Anthony had prepared her well and she knew what to expect. What troubled her was the eerie Victorian tombstones peering at them over the Priory wall out of the darkening mist, and the knowledge that Father James had met his ghastly end just yards from the Priory front door, where the cab now paused. She looked over the graves, down towards the river, and cold shivers ran down her spine.
The Priory door flew open. Sister Evangelista, who filled the brightly lit doorway with Annie O’Prey hovering behind her, sang out in greeting, ‘Ah, thanks be to God, ye have arrived at last. Come away in, now.’
After an exchange of introductions and greetings, there was a bustle in the driveway while they tripped over one another, each trying to ease the other’s burden and carry the largest number of bags indoors.
The cab had long since disappeared.
‘I’ll be going now, queen, if that’s all right,’ the cab driver had said to Harriet, taking the money from her gloved hand. ‘It’s a bit creepy round here, like, since the murders and I’m a bit of a wimp. I’m not one of youse Catholics.’
Father Anthony, who had carried a trunk indoors, could be heard struggling up the stairs to a concert of instructions from Sister Evangelista and Annie O’Prey. Harriet stood with the remaining bags, waiting for him to return and take her own trunk, which was too heavy for her to lift.
She looked up at the red-brick building covered in lichen and ivy, at the tall sash windows on the top floor and the even taller chimneys. She counted eight, soot-blackened doubles and she couldn’t even see over the other side of the roof. She had yet to set a foot indoors, but her heart was already yearning for their white-rendered, sea-facing, welcoming home close to Dublin.
Harriet shivered. The snow-covered ground had frozen. She could feel the mist penetrating her woollen coat as it drifted over the gravestones and onto the Priory lawn, lying at her feet and rolling out a carpet of welcome, all the way to the front door.
Father Anthony’s voice boomed out into the damp air.
‘I’m sorry, Sister, I think that maybe ’tis a painting now on the floor as I cannot see round this corner on the stairs.’
Harriet smiled. Anthony had never been very practical, always bookish.
‘Whaaa!’
Harriet screamed sharply as, apparently from nowhere, a frozen little hand grabbed her cuff. It was the iciness of the fingers that shocked her as much as the unexpected company.
‘Sorry, miss, sorry, shh, please don’t scream, me da will kill me if I make a nuisance of meself.’
Little Paddy was standing next to Harriet with Scamp at his side.
‘Oh, my Lord, you scared me half witless,’ said
Father Anthony sighed. He had hoped to begin his time on the four streets on a more positive note, but he was at a loss to find a positive in a double murder. The world was changing fast and holding a community together in England was difficult at the best of times.
As they drew nearer, Harriet became entranced by the docks. When the klaxon sounded, the cranes, which loomed like spectres, ceased to swing and men began to appear at the top of the steps, hurrying home. Each one looked directly at the cab and lifted a hand in greeting as they looked to see who was entering their domain. Harriet felt slightly self-conscious, but Anthony smiled and waved from the window with a smile for each work-weary face they passed. A car on the four streets was an event, unless it was a police car.
As they pulled into the Priory drive, Harriet’s heart sank. It wasn’t because of the rows of back-to-back houses, the towering, smoking chimneys and the all-too-apparent poverty of the neighbourhood; none of that bothered Harriet in the slightest. Anthony had prepared her well and she knew what to expect. What troubled her was the eerie Victorian tombstones peering at them over the Priory wall out of the darkening mist, and the knowledge that Father James had met his ghastly end just yards from the Priory front door, where the cab now paused. She looked over the graves, down towards the river, and cold shivers ran down her spine.
The Priory door flew open. Sister Evangelista, who filled the brightly lit doorway with Annie O’Prey hovering behind her, sang out in greeting, ‘Ah, thanks be to God, ye have arrived at last. Come away in, now.’
After an exchange of introductions and greetings, there was a bustle in the driveway while they tripped over one another, each trying to ease the other’s burden and carry the largest number of bags indoors.
The cab had long since disappeared.
‘I’ll be going now, queen, if that’s all right,’ the cab driver had said to Harriet, taking the money from her gloved hand. ‘It’s a bit creepy round here, like, since the murders and I’m a bit of a wimp. I’m not one of youse Catholics.’
Father Anthony, who had carried a trunk indoors, could be heard struggling up the stairs to a concert of instructions from Sister Evangelista and Annie O’Prey. Harriet stood with the remaining bags, waiting for him to return and take her own trunk, which was too heavy for her to lift.
She looked up at the red-brick building covered in lichen and ivy, at the tall sash windows on the top floor and the even taller chimneys. She counted eight, soot-blackened doubles and she couldn’t even see over the other side of the roof. She had yet to set a foot indoors, but her heart was already yearning for their white-rendered, sea-facing, welcoming home close to Dublin.
Harriet shivered. The snow-covered ground had frozen. She could feel the mist penetrating her woollen coat as it drifted over the gravestones and onto the Priory lawn, lying at her feet and rolling out a carpet of welcome, all the way to the front door.
Father Anthony’s voice boomed out into the damp air.
‘I’m sorry, Sister, I think that maybe ’tis a painting now on the floor as I cannot see round this corner on the stairs.’
Harriet smiled. Anthony had never been very practical, always bookish.
‘Whaaa!’
Harriet screamed sharply as, apparently from nowhere, a frozen little hand grabbed her cuff. It was the iciness of the fingers that shocked her as much as the unexpected company.
‘Sorry, miss, sorry, shh, please don’t scream, me da will kill me if I make a nuisance of meself.’
Little Paddy was standing next to Harriet with Scamp at his side.
‘Oh, my Lord, you scared me half witless,’ said
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