desk and to the other, patterned carpeted stairs chased up the wall toward the second floor. Doors led in all three directions from the entrance, guarded by plinths upon which various busts stared blankly forward, like an unimpressed audience.
“Golly!” cried Annabelle, as she stepped onto the soft carpet and craned her neck to see the religious artwork hung high upon the walls. “It looks larger inside than it does outside!”
“How impressive!” Mary added.
The dark woman retained her smile and clasped her hands in front of her.
“This property has actually been owned by the Catholic Church since shortly after it was built in 1822. It has been used for a multitude of purposes over the years, mostly involving visits from various Catholic officials abroad. Pope John Paul II was rather fond of stopping here when he traveled to London. Currently, as you know, it is predominantly being used by Bishop Murphy, as both his main place of residence and that from which he conducts his London-based affairs.”
“It’s almost inconceivable that such a place would lie behind what seems to be a simple Kensington home,” Mary said.
“It’s interesting you should say that,” the dark woman replied, retaining her upright, prim posture. “The building once had a far more elaborate – and rather striking – exterior. However, two years ago, Kensington council introduced a set of initiatives to help retain the harmony of the neighborhood’s appearance. Although this building was protected by various laws pertaining to matters of religious and historical importance, Bishop Murphy agreed to have the façade redesigned so that it was more in line with the area’s aesthetics.
“Though it seems small from the outside, there are actually twelve large rooms in the building, along with three bathrooms and a sizable kitchen. There is also a large cellar in which items of value and significance are stored and occasionally displayed to select visitors.”
“How interesting!” Annabelle said, turning her head to the woman for the first time since she had entered.
“My name is Sara,” the dark woman said, unclasping her hands to shake Annabelle’s and then Mary’s. “I’m Bishop Murphy’s secretary. He’s expecting you. If you’ll just hold on a second, I’ll let him know you’ve arrived.”
Once, when they were children, Mary and Annabelle had been called to the headmaster’s office together. As they had taken the solemn walk toward his extremely private office, they realized that it could only mean one of two things. One, they were to receive a commendation for the recent, well-designed, soda-bottle-rocket project they had conducted in science class. Or two, they were about to be punished for said soda-bottle-project’s destruction of the science classroom’s ceiling, as well as the clothes of everybody in the room at the time. As they waited for the Bishop, they shared the same mixture of foreboding and excitement.
Sara stepped lithely toward the desk, leaned over it, pushed a button on a panel, and spoke briefly with the Bishop.
“He’ll be down immediately,” Sara said, flashing her fashion magazine smile at the visitors once again.
“Thank you,” Mary said.
Though Bishop Murphy was renowned for his warmth and his inviting nature, the two women felt as if they were preparing for an occasion with all the glamour and pomp of a visit from the Queen. Mary brushed a little dirt from her friend’s cassock, to which Annabelle nodded a curt “thank you.”
Soon, they heard the sound of well-heeled shoes upon marble steps, as Bishop Murphy came down the stairs. The sense of being in the midst of a special event only increased as they watched the slow, descending emergence of his polished, elegant shoes, then his tailored suit, his tall, athletic build, and finally his dashing, combed-back hair.
Though he was well into his fifties, Bishop Murphy had all the vigor and sharpness of a man half his age. Were
“Golly!” cried Annabelle, as she stepped onto the soft carpet and craned her neck to see the religious artwork hung high upon the walls. “It looks larger inside than it does outside!”
“How impressive!” Mary added.
The dark woman retained her smile and clasped her hands in front of her.
“This property has actually been owned by the Catholic Church since shortly after it was built in 1822. It has been used for a multitude of purposes over the years, mostly involving visits from various Catholic officials abroad. Pope John Paul II was rather fond of stopping here when he traveled to London. Currently, as you know, it is predominantly being used by Bishop Murphy, as both his main place of residence and that from which he conducts his London-based affairs.”
“It’s almost inconceivable that such a place would lie behind what seems to be a simple Kensington home,” Mary said.
“It’s interesting you should say that,” the dark woman replied, retaining her upright, prim posture. “The building once had a far more elaborate – and rather striking – exterior. However, two years ago, Kensington council introduced a set of initiatives to help retain the harmony of the neighborhood’s appearance. Although this building was protected by various laws pertaining to matters of religious and historical importance, Bishop Murphy agreed to have the façade redesigned so that it was more in line with the area’s aesthetics.
“Though it seems small from the outside, there are actually twelve large rooms in the building, along with three bathrooms and a sizable kitchen. There is also a large cellar in which items of value and significance are stored and occasionally displayed to select visitors.”
“How interesting!” Annabelle said, turning her head to the woman for the first time since she had entered.
“My name is Sara,” the dark woman said, unclasping her hands to shake Annabelle’s and then Mary’s. “I’m Bishop Murphy’s secretary. He’s expecting you. If you’ll just hold on a second, I’ll let him know you’ve arrived.”
Once, when they were children, Mary and Annabelle had been called to the headmaster’s office together. As they had taken the solemn walk toward his extremely private office, they realized that it could only mean one of two things. One, they were to receive a commendation for the recent, well-designed, soda-bottle-rocket project they had conducted in science class. Or two, they were about to be punished for said soda-bottle-project’s destruction of the science classroom’s ceiling, as well as the clothes of everybody in the room at the time. As they waited for the Bishop, they shared the same mixture of foreboding and excitement.
Sara stepped lithely toward the desk, leaned over it, pushed a button on a panel, and spoke briefly with the Bishop.
“He’ll be down immediately,” Sara said, flashing her fashion magazine smile at the visitors once again.
“Thank you,” Mary said.
Though Bishop Murphy was renowned for his warmth and his inviting nature, the two women felt as if they were preparing for an occasion with all the glamour and pomp of a visit from the Queen. Mary brushed a little dirt from her friend’s cassock, to which Annabelle nodded a curt “thank you.”
Soon, they heard the sound of well-heeled shoes upon marble steps, as Bishop Murphy came down the stairs. The sense of being in the midst of a special event only increased as they watched the slow, descending emergence of his polished, elegant shoes, then his tailored suit, his tall, athletic build, and finally his dashing, combed-back hair.
Though he was well into his fifties, Bishop Murphy had all the vigor and sharpness of a man half his age. Were
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