Читать книгу Avenged - Jacqui Rose, Jacqui Rose - Страница 16

Father Ryan sat at his dark wooden desk in St Joseph’s Orphanage and Home for Unmarried Mothers. It stood on top of a hill called the Five Acre Trees, though no local knew why it was named so; the hill was neither five acres nor had it ever held any trees for as far back as anyone could remember.

The building of St Joseph’s was forbidding. Tall, dark and gothic. The unwelcoming black wrought metal gates were held together by a large heavy chain and allowed no unauthorised visitor in and no resident out. But it was here that Father Ryan liked to sit and think – undisturbed and without interruption. Today, however, was the exception to the rule. Instead of getting the peace and time to reflect as he’d hoped and needed, Father Ryan was facing Donal O’Sheyenne who stood stonily opposite him.

Father Ryan hadn’t been sleeping well with what seemed like relentless pressure, and prayer had brought him little comfort, as it seldom did these days, and certainly no answers to his ever-increasing problems.

Sighing, he turned his attention back to Donal and to what he was saying.

‘So you see, Matthew, it’s all worked out well after all.’

Father Ryan’s voice was emotionless. ‘Not for the Brogans, or for the boy.’

‘He knew too much and rather than use the chance to work for me he began to sound off. These things have to be done.’

‘Thomas Doyle is a rogue indeed to be part of your wickedness.’

‘If I recall, it wasn’t so long ago you needed him for your own … how should I put it … inconvenience.’

The priest craned forward, pointing his finger at Donal. ‘How dare you! That wasn’t the same at all.’

‘You don’t want me to talk about your secret, Matthew? I’m sure a lot of people in the village would be most interested in what the real Father Ryan is like.’

Like a man possessed, Father Ryan stood up from behind his desk and rushed over to where Donal stood; hissing out his words. ‘Don’t push me. You might think I haven’t got what it takes to take on a man like you, but be careful, O’Sheyenne. One day. Mark my words … Tread very, very carefully.’

Donal looked down at Father Ryan’s clenched hands and grabbed them. He pulled the priest’s scrunched-up fists to his own face to mockingly punch himself with them, then exploded into peals of belly laughter.

‘Oh for the love of God! To be sure, Matthew, you’ve got a good craic in ye, so you have! I could swear those words were those of a fighting man. A threat no less. To me! Me! Donal O’Sheyenne.’

It was all too much for Father Ryan. He leapt again at Donal, pushing O’Sheyenne’s six-foot-four frame backwards to snatch hold of the lapels on his trench coat.

‘You’ll pay for this, O’Sheyenne! I swear; you’ll pay.’

Donal O’Sheyenne had been surprised many times and by many things in his life, but it occurred to him that, at that moment, Father Ryan attacking with such vigour and bravado was perhaps the biggest surprise he’d ever encountered, which was why it took him a moment to react.

However, instead of dishing out a ferocious beating – as he’d usually lay on any man who dared to challenge him – Donal O’Sheyenne found himself staggering around the room in blind hysterics, having to wipe away the streaming tears of laughter running down his face.

‘Stop! Stop! No more! By Christ, you’ll have me passing out. Look at me, man, I can hardly breathe for laughter!’

Incensed by the further mockery, Father Ryan – losing control altogether – ran up to Donal, who by now had collapsed with delighted amusement into a large brown leather chair.

About to bring down his fist with the full force of his anger and humiliation, Father Ryan froze as the door suddenly opened and a shrill voice sounded.

‘Tea, Father! … What in heaven’s name!’ A nun stood open-mouthed in the doorway of the study carrying a pot of tea, a plate of biscuits and a look of horror on her face.

Father Ryan blushed and dropped his fist. ‘Saints in heaven; have you ever heard of knocking, Sister?’

The nun said nothing, still startled by the sight which had greeted her.

Composing himself and wiping away the tears, Donal got up from the leather chair. He winked; charm snaking its way into his smile.

‘Why, Sister Margaret, don’t look so startled. Father Ryan was only showing me how the other day an ungodly scoundrel attacked a poor innocent man in the street.’

The nun’s face drew both relief and concern from Donal’s explanation. ‘Why that’s terrible. I hope the man was all right and a good Samaritan was able to intervene?’

Donal grinned. ‘There was such a Samaritan, Sister. In fact, you’re in the same room as him. It was Father Ryan who selflessly, and with no thought of his own safety, procured the man from a terrible fate.’

The nun’s face lit up in pride. ‘Is this true, Father? Did you really save a man from such a sinner? Were you hurt?’

Not letting Father Ryan reply, Donal spoke with mischief in his voice. ‘Now, Sister, no more questions. We know how modest Father Ryan is.’

‘But …’

Donal interrupted the nun. ‘Enough, Sister. Do they not say flattery is a sin? “The Lord shall cut off all flattering lips, and the tongue that speaketh proud things.” Psalm twelve, verse three.’

The nun giggled as she looked at Donal. ‘Father O’Sheyenne! You really …’

‘Sister Margaret, you know as well as anyone I left the church a long time ago. I am, unlike Father Ryan here, just an ordinary soul.’

‘To me, Father, a man of God is what you’ll always be. It was a sorry day when you decided to leave the priesthood; though the good Lord will never leave your side. Is there nothing that will tempt you to come back to our fold?’

Irked at this conversation, Father Ryan interrupted. ‘Sister! That is quite enough! You can pour the tea and leave us, and I would be grateful if this discussion wasn’t broadcast to the whole of St Joseph’s.’

Donal smirked; amused at the discomfort of Father Ryan as he tried to pretend all was well.

‘There’s no need to be too hard on Sister Margaret, she was only interested to hear what a good Samaritan you were, as I was when I was sitting in the chair.’

Watching the nun finish pouring the tea, Donal addressed her. ‘Thank you, Sister, you can leave us now.’ The nun nodded, pushing the plate of biscuits into Donal’s hands. As she turned to walk away, he stopped her.

‘And, Sister?’

‘Yes, Father O’Sheyenne?’

‘You’re looking lovely today.’ Donal chuckled as Sister Margaret, blushing in pure delight, scurried out of the room.

Once the door was shut, Donal turned back to Father Ryan.

‘Now where were we? Oh, I know. You were attacking me.’

Father Ryan, who by now had regained his composure, glared as Donal continued talking. ‘I’ve got a married couple downstairs who’ve come for the Brogans’ baby.’

‘Have you no shame? Connor and Clancy are barely cold and you’re already getting rid of their baby.’

‘As you rightly point out, they’re no longer with us, so I can’t imagine they’ll make great parents.’

‘Are you even human?’ Father Ryan shouted, his face red.

‘I provide a service, and that doesn’t come free; they know what they’re getting themselves into.’

‘I doubt that. These people are desperate for a child; they’ll do anything to make it happen; even make a deal with the devil and I will no longer be a part of it; you will cease to use St Joseph’s as your market place.’

Donal’s voice was laden with mocking contempt. ‘Now you know that’s not possible, Matthew.’

Father Ryan placed his hand on his stomach. He was feeling unwell; it was more than he could cope with, and he was certain he was getting an ulcer. The whole situation was too much. It’d gone on long enough.

‘It’s over.’

Donal chuckled. ‘Pardon? Me poor ears aren’t hearing you correctly. I could have sworn you just said, It’s over.’

‘That I did, Donal O’Sheyenne. This all has to come to an end and here is the end. We had a deal.’

Donal nodded his head. ‘We did indeed and it’s worked out all round. You’ve got everything you wanted and so have I, so why make the walls come tumbling down, why bring trouble on yourself?’

Father Ryan stiffened. His voice was almost pleading.

‘I did all you asked of me a long time ago. I’ve paid my dues over and over. I live with the shame of my sins, and I ask God for forgiveness and for him to allow me through the gates of heaven, and now what I ask of you, Donal O’Sheyenne, is to set me free from this … this deal of Shylock.’

Donal sniffed, popping a whole biscuit into his mouth. He didn’t usually go in for melodrama but it amused him how worked-up and dramatic Matthew Ryan was being. Shylock. The man who wanted a pound of flesh for every money owed. But Father Ryan was wrong to compare him to Shylock because he wanted more. Much more, and therefore he wasn’t going to let the priest walk away from this.

‘I think we both know that’s not possible, Matthew. You’re up in it as much as me.’

‘It’s wrong. I always knew it was, but …’

Interrupting, Donal smiled nastily. ‘But you turned a blind eye to it back then because you needed something from me. And you got it. And now you owe me. Besides, what difference does it make? Childless couples get a new baby and I get what’s owed.’

‘How is it owed to you? They aren’t your children. They’re children of God and that being so no money should pass hands in the process.’

Donal sneered. ‘Let’s get something straight. They’re hardly children of God. They’re the bastard offspring of whores and drunks. The unwanted of the poor, the needy and simpletons. If they didn’t go to the homes we arrange, they’d end up in the industrial schools. So everybody wins.’

‘What about the Brogans? Connor and his poor wife, did they win, Donal? They were good people and you killed them. Striking them down like stray dogs.’

Donal chuckled. ‘That’s what I always liked about you, Matthew. The way you put things. I remember your sermons were always passionate; full of the flames of hell, warning the sinners of their wrongdoings. I can see that hasn’t left you.’

Father Ryan leant forward, trying to keep his temper under control. ‘Is there nothing resembling decency in you? How you ever became a priest …’

Donal looked at Father Ryan flatly. ‘I became a priest for the same reason you did, Matthew. For power. And I left for the same reason. I just wanted more of it.’

‘Shame on you, O’Sheyenne.’

Donal took out a cigarette, holding Father Ryan’s gaze as he lit it. ‘The Brogans knew the rules. A charge for the baby and payment each week thereafter. If a payment can’t be met, then the baby has to be returned. They didn’t keep up with their payments.’

‘So why couldn’t you have just brought the baby back to St Joseph’s?’

‘To be sure, Matthew, no-one wanted things to end up like they did. Messy business all round. I liked Connor, I told that to his wife when we became … better acquainted. They’d had the choice of returning the baby, but Connor didn’t want to do that. He wanted to talk. Now have you ever heard of such a thing? Talk me business. I tell you, has the world gone mad?’

Donal stopped to chuckle. He shrugged his shoulders. ‘So what was I supposed to do? Ruin everything I’d worked for? They left me no choice.’

Father Ryan’s face turned red. ‘’Tis not a man that stands before me. ’Tis Lucifer himself.’

Donal’s eyes cut a stare. ‘Is it, Matthew? Are you sure it’s not Lucifer who you see in the mirror? Is it not you who has gone along with accusing Patrick Doyle for the killing of Connor Brogan and his wife? ’Tis nothing priestly about accusing an innocent young man.’

‘The boy is not innocent,’ Father Ryan answered. ‘What he did to Mary can’t go unpunished.’

‘Maybe not, but as we both know Patrick is innocent on all other counts. You are more guilty than he.’

Father Ryan turned his back on Donal. He watched the rain beat against the paper-thin window as his mind took him to the events of the other evening.

The killings of the Brogans – Donal had given him no option but to lie about it. What else could he have done? And it wasn’t as if Patrick was entirely innocent; sins of the flesh must be punished in the severest of ways, so perhaps he could live with the fact Patrick would be held responsible for the Brogans’ killing. God would be his judge and he would make his peace with God.

And besides, even if he valued his own life so little as to let it be known that Donal O’Sheyenne was responsible for the murders, it wouldn’t make a difference. No-one would want to listen. Only a fool would cross Donal O’Sheyenne; they’d be certain to meet the same grisly fate as the Brogans, whose only sin was to want a baby in their childless marriage, which he had helped to arrange. And then of course there was the other matter. The other matter he didn’t like to think about. The one which had him in O’Sheyenne’s grip.

No, there was nothing he could do about O’Sheyenne right now. He hoped there’d come a day when the man would be held accountable for each and every sin, but today was not that day.

Turning back round to face Donal, Father Ryan spoke, feeling more settled. ‘Fine, Donal. You win, do what you must with the baby. But, as God is my witness, this will be the last.’

Donal winked. ‘Matthew, we go through this every time. It’d be quicker all round if you didn’t put us through this each time.’

‘How dare you!’

Donal O’Sheyenne said nothing; getting up to walk for the door. Stopping suddenly he turned to look at Father Ryan. When he spoke, his voice was cold.

‘“Be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour.”’ Then as if as an afterthought, he laughed, adding, ‘Peter five, verse eight.’

Donal O’Sheyenne smiled at the couple as they stood cooing over the Brogans’ baby. It was true, he was a handsome young fella, which was always good when it came to finding prospective parents. The price he charged for the child reflected that. It was much more difficult to get rid of the ugly ones and often they would be confined to a life in orphanages and industrial schools.

‘What happened to his real mother, Mr O’Sheyenne?’ The prospective father spoke to Donal.

O’Sheyenne walked to the window. It always fascinated him as to why would-be-parents asked this question. He wasn’t sure if it was simply out of curiosity or if they wanted to ease their consciences by being able to say to each other that they did the right thing in buying somebody else’s child. Like a lot of the babies, the ‘Brogans’ baby’ had been born to a sixteen-year-old girl, whose boyfriend had promised to marry her if she slept with him. Of course, like so many of the other girls in St Joseph’s, she’d been unceremoniously dumped the next month, heartbroken and pregnant.

Her parents had been mortified with shame and had quickly packed her off to St Joseph’s where she’d had the baby. The girl had wanted to keep him, but her parents had said that that was unthinkable, just as it was unthinkable for her to go back home. So the baby had been taken away and she’d been carted off to one of the Magdalene laundries run by the nuns, where she’d been ever since.

‘Did she die?’

Donal turned back to the prospective parent. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Did the child’s mother die? It’s just, he’s such an adorable baby, I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to give him up.’

With a wry smile, Donal answered. ‘That’s one way of putting it … Now, if you’re happy with him, we can go over the terms and conditions again.’

The couple nodded, beaming smiles. ‘Oh yes, we’d love to have him. We think he’d fit right in.’

O’Sheyenne sat down behind his desk, playing with the paper-knife. ‘Good. Well, as I say, there’s a one-off payment which you need to pay now, followed by two other payments a couple of months later. But you do appreciate if you don’t honour the payments I’ll have no choice but to bring him back to the orphanage and put him up for adoption again.’

‘Oh, we’d never not pay, Mr O’Sheyenne. We want a baby so much.’

‘I just don’t want any misunderstandings, I has something similar quite recently …’

Encouraged by his wife, the man got out his chequebook and quickly squiggled the agreed amount on the cheque. He tore it off and pushed it across the desk to Donal.

‘We’d like him. We’re happy with all your terms.’

O’Sheyenne looked at the cheque then stretched out his hand to the man and winked.

‘Congratulations; you’re now the proud parents of this beautiful baby boy.’