sad reply as he went out with the gun and his sickly burden.
I was intrigued by the conversation. ‘You have an animal hospital ?’ I asked.
Mrs Macmerry laughed scornfully. ‘We havena, but it’s no’ from lack of trying. The man’s daft about animals and folk come from miles around to have him cure their sick beasts. He certainly has a way with them, healing hands they’d call it if they weretreating folk but his gift doesna extend to God’s created human beings.’
This was a new dimension to Jack’s father and having already decided that I liked him very much, one that raised him further in my estimation.
‘He would have liked Jack to go to the university to be a doctor but no, the lad had a mind of his own, he didna care for the sight of blood.’
I found this somewhat ironic. The father who saved animal lives and the son who set about pursuing those who destroyed human lives.
That I wasn’t hungry was hardly surprising and declining the offer of soup on the pretext of further acquaintance with the village , I set off once again for the Catholic church.
Nearby a group of women were gathered, one of them Mrs Ward whom I had met earlier. She recognised me. With my hand on the church door, I lost my nerve.
It would be all around the village like wildfire. ‘Did ye see that? Ken where she was going? Dinna tell me that the lass who is to marry Jack Macmerry is an RC!’
I couldn’t quite face that imagined Greek chorus and fled in the opposite direction. There, by a stroke of luck, the priest’s housekeeper was emerging from the post office with a basket over her arm.
When I greeted her, she stopped, looked a little puzzled and then smiled at me apologetically.
‘You were wanting to see the Father? He’s been delayed. It often happens.’ And then with a curious expression, ‘You’re a visitor here?’
It was a great chance. Telling her that I was related to Father McQuinn by marriage, I had to repeat that several times as she listened with the intense watchfulness that indicated deafness. At last I was hearing what I most wanted to know. She had metDanny.
‘Aye, long ago, when I was a lass. Only the once, he was on a case with an inspector –’
That would be Pappa, I thought.
‘– and he looked in for a chat.’ Pausing a moment, she added: ‘I heard that he had gone to America.’
At this stage I had no desire to embark on the sad story of my widowhood and merely asked if Father McQuinn still heard from him.
‘Letters, you mean.’ She frowned. ‘There might have been some – yes, I think there were –’
And there our conversation ended as a farm cart laden with produce rolled along the street. Presumably this was what all the women were waiting for and the housekeeper stared anxiously in its direction.
‘Come and have a cup of tea with me. I’m usually at home in the afternoons, and if you want to be sure of seeing the Father, after mass at eight o’clock is the best time –’
Her eyes fixed on the group of women round the cart, I asked, ‘If you could remember when Father McQuinn last heard from Danny –’
But she didn’t hear me. She was turning away, I touched her arm and she stared at me blankly.
‘It’s very important,’ I said, repeating it.
She nodded briefly, a puzzled look. ‘You can ask him yourself, when you see him later on.’
And with that I had to be satisfied as I made my way in the direction of the Abbey, a magnificent scene worthy of my sketchbook .
As I walked among the ruins, I thought I was alone.
I was wrong. A shadowy figure lurked, then, as if anxious not to be seen, ducked out of sight.
A moment’s unease. Was I being stalked? How absurd! I was certainly mistaken. With a shrug, I took out my sketchbook.
Chapter Seven
I had little idea of how long I had been drawing the Abbey ruins before I became aware that I was certainly being watched, my movements carefully followed.
Awareness might have come earlier except that, after
I was intrigued by the conversation. ‘You have an animal hospital ?’ I asked.
Mrs Macmerry laughed scornfully. ‘We havena, but it’s no’ from lack of trying. The man’s daft about animals and folk come from miles around to have him cure their sick beasts. He certainly has a way with them, healing hands they’d call it if they weretreating folk but his gift doesna extend to God’s created human beings.’
This was a new dimension to Jack’s father and having already decided that I liked him very much, one that raised him further in my estimation.
‘He would have liked Jack to go to the university to be a doctor but no, the lad had a mind of his own, he didna care for the sight of blood.’
I found this somewhat ironic. The father who saved animal lives and the son who set about pursuing those who destroyed human lives.
That I wasn’t hungry was hardly surprising and declining the offer of soup on the pretext of further acquaintance with the village , I set off once again for the Catholic church.
Nearby a group of women were gathered, one of them Mrs Ward whom I had met earlier. She recognised me. With my hand on the church door, I lost my nerve.
It would be all around the village like wildfire. ‘Did ye see that? Ken where she was going? Dinna tell me that the lass who is to marry Jack Macmerry is an RC!’
I couldn’t quite face that imagined Greek chorus and fled in the opposite direction. There, by a stroke of luck, the priest’s housekeeper was emerging from the post office with a basket over her arm.
When I greeted her, she stopped, looked a little puzzled and then smiled at me apologetically.
‘You were wanting to see the Father? He’s been delayed. It often happens.’ And then with a curious expression, ‘You’re a visitor here?’
It was a great chance. Telling her that I was related to Father McQuinn by marriage, I had to repeat that several times as she listened with the intense watchfulness that indicated deafness. At last I was hearing what I most wanted to know. She had metDanny.
‘Aye, long ago, when I was a lass. Only the once, he was on a case with an inspector –’
That would be Pappa, I thought.
‘– and he looked in for a chat.’ Pausing a moment, she added: ‘I heard that he had gone to America.’
At this stage I had no desire to embark on the sad story of my widowhood and merely asked if Father McQuinn still heard from him.
‘Letters, you mean.’ She frowned. ‘There might have been some – yes, I think there were –’
And there our conversation ended as a farm cart laden with produce rolled along the street. Presumably this was what all the women were waiting for and the housekeeper stared anxiously in its direction.
‘Come and have a cup of tea with me. I’m usually at home in the afternoons, and if you want to be sure of seeing the Father, after mass at eight o’clock is the best time –’
Her eyes fixed on the group of women round the cart, I asked, ‘If you could remember when Father McQuinn last heard from Danny –’
But she didn’t hear me. She was turning away, I touched her arm and she stared at me blankly.
‘It’s very important,’ I said, repeating it.
She nodded briefly, a puzzled look. ‘You can ask him yourself, when you see him later on.’
And with that I had to be satisfied as I made my way in the direction of the Abbey, a magnificent scene worthy of my sketchbook .
As I walked among the ruins, I thought I was alone.
I was wrong. A shadowy figure lurked, then, as if anxious not to be seen, ducked out of sight.
A moment’s unease. Was I being stalked? How absurd! I was certainly mistaken. With a shrug, I took out my sketchbook.
Chapter Seven
I had little idea of how long I had been drawing the Abbey ruins before I became aware that I was certainly being watched, my movements carefully followed.
Awareness might have come earlier except that, after
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