hand over Annabelle’s phone.
“Yes?” Annabelle said, raising an eyebrow.
Mary squirmed a little before speaking. “The Bishop may not be as sympathetic toward me as you might expect. You see…”
Annabelle’s eyebrows and ears pricked up at this somewhat peculiar tone in Mary’s voice.
“He and Teresa knew each other. I’m not sure, but I believe they were friends. She was a well-known contributor to the Catholic Church. It was the Bishop himself who suggested I seek her out in order to gather resources for my hospital. He is probably gravely concerned about her death, not least because of my involvement – or I should say – suspected involvement.”
Annabelle considered her friend’s words briefly, but carefully. She pushed away the unthinkable thought that popped into her mind and proceeded to smile good-naturedly as she sought out the Bishop’s number in her phone.
“All the more reason to get him on our side as quickly as possible,” she declared, bringing the phone to her ear. “Let’s just hope that his judgment is as capable as his faith.”
The two women set off as soon as Annabelle had arranged a meeting with the Bishop’s secretary, who had assured them that Bishop Murphy was anticipating their meeting greatly.
Bishop Murphy’s home was in the heart of Kensington, one of London’s oldest and wealthiest boroughs. With its clean, tree-lined streets, and the well-maintained fronts of its vast and diverse homes, it was an area that drew the kind of people who enjoyed the distinctive flavor of London life while still requiring the peaceful repose of quiet streets and luxurious homes more often situated in suburbia.
For the first time since they had met again, Annabelle and Mary felt relaxed as they strolled through the safety and the beauty of the area’s spotless streets. They walked arm in arm, just as they had as children in search of their next adventure.
“This is it,” Annabelle said, as they stopped outside the address given to her by the Bishop’s secretary.
“Oh my!” replied Mary, as she craned her head back to take in the full majesty of the Bishop’s abode.
They were standing in front of a tall, four-story Victorian structure, though it displayed none of the typically Victorian austerity, with vast, arched windows and double doors almost as large as those of Annabelle’s church. The white-stone walls of the building were purer and brighter than any other on the street. A dense array of colorful flowers lined the gravel path up to the door, as inviting to newcomers as they were to the bees and butterflies that frolicked among them.
“Have you ever been here before, Annabelle?”
“No, though I’m incredibly curious to see what it’s like inside. If it’s half as striking as it is outside, we’re in for a treat.”
“You go first, Annabelle,” Mary said, as if daring her friend.
“Off I go!” Annabelle chuckled breezily, before opening the gate and leading the way up the large steps toward the big, brass knocker.
CHAPTER 4
SECONDS AFTER ANNABELLE had confidently and firmly struck the knocker, the door was opened by a young woman dressed demurely in a grey pencil skirt and white blouse. With her black, perfectly coiffed hair, her dark eyes, and dusky skin, Annabelle assumed she must be of Spanish or Italian descent. She smiled, revealing a set of perfect teeth, as white and as strikingly large as the front of the building.
“You must be Sister Mary and Reverend Annabelle,” she said, in husky voice with an accent that Annabelle couldn’t quite place. “Please come in.”
“Thank you,” the two women responded, stepping carefully inside.
Suddenly, they felt as if they had stepped into some kind of portal, for the large entrance hall was more like that of a castle or stately mansion than a home tucked into a corner of Kensington. A thick, red carpet sat in the middle of the marble floor. To one side, there was a small, tidy
“Yes?” Annabelle said, raising an eyebrow.
Mary squirmed a little before speaking. “The Bishop may not be as sympathetic toward me as you might expect. You see…”
Annabelle’s eyebrows and ears pricked up at this somewhat peculiar tone in Mary’s voice.
“He and Teresa knew each other. I’m not sure, but I believe they were friends. She was a well-known contributor to the Catholic Church. It was the Bishop himself who suggested I seek her out in order to gather resources for my hospital. He is probably gravely concerned about her death, not least because of my involvement – or I should say – suspected involvement.”
Annabelle considered her friend’s words briefly, but carefully. She pushed away the unthinkable thought that popped into her mind and proceeded to smile good-naturedly as she sought out the Bishop’s number in her phone.
“All the more reason to get him on our side as quickly as possible,” she declared, bringing the phone to her ear. “Let’s just hope that his judgment is as capable as his faith.”
The two women set off as soon as Annabelle had arranged a meeting with the Bishop’s secretary, who had assured them that Bishop Murphy was anticipating their meeting greatly.
Bishop Murphy’s home was in the heart of Kensington, one of London’s oldest and wealthiest boroughs. With its clean, tree-lined streets, and the well-maintained fronts of its vast and diverse homes, it was an area that drew the kind of people who enjoyed the distinctive flavor of London life while still requiring the peaceful repose of quiet streets and luxurious homes more often situated in suburbia.
For the first time since they had met again, Annabelle and Mary felt relaxed as they strolled through the safety and the beauty of the area’s spotless streets. They walked arm in arm, just as they had as children in search of their next adventure.
“This is it,” Annabelle said, as they stopped outside the address given to her by the Bishop’s secretary.
“Oh my!” replied Mary, as she craned her head back to take in the full majesty of the Bishop’s abode.
They were standing in front of a tall, four-story Victorian structure, though it displayed none of the typically Victorian austerity, with vast, arched windows and double doors almost as large as those of Annabelle’s church. The white-stone walls of the building were purer and brighter than any other on the street. A dense array of colorful flowers lined the gravel path up to the door, as inviting to newcomers as they were to the bees and butterflies that frolicked among them.
“Have you ever been here before, Annabelle?”
“No, though I’m incredibly curious to see what it’s like inside. If it’s half as striking as it is outside, we’re in for a treat.”
“You go first, Annabelle,” Mary said, as if daring her friend.
“Off I go!” Annabelle chuckled breezily, before opening the gate and leading the way up the large steps toward the big, brass knocker.
CHAPTER 4
SECONDS AFTER ANNABELLE had confidently and firmly struck the knocker, the door was opened by a young woman dressed demurely in a grey pencil skirt and white blouse. With her black, perfectly coiffed hair, her dark eyes, and dusky skin, Annabelle assumed she must be of Spanish or Italian descent. She smiled, revealing a set of perfect teeth, as white and as strikingly large as the front of the building.
“You must be Sister Mary and Reverend Annabelle,” she said, in husky voice with an accent that Annabelle couldn’t quite place. “Please come in.”
“Thank you,” the two women responded, stepping carefully inside.
Suddenly, they felt as if they had stepped into some kind of portal, for the large entrance hall was more like that of a castle or stately mansion than a home tucked into a corner of Kensington. A thick, red carpet sat in the middle of the marble floor. To one side, there was a small, tidy
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