After the Lockout Read Online Free PDF Page B

past six. I wish you would tell me where you’re going out and didn’t keep me late, Father,’ said Mrs Geraghty, standing behind him with her cloth coat pulled tight around her.
    â€˜Your Grace,’ Stanislaus muttered, but knew it was pointless to keep correcting her. She’d never learn to address him correctly. At her age and station, she was disinclined to take in anything new. ‘Dinner smells wonderful,’ he said.
    â€˜It’s been in the oven so long it’ll be dry as communion,’ she said with a bitterness he knew was affected. ‘Oh, and Father,’ she went on, softer now.
    She gently removed a letter from her coat pocket and held it up. ‘There’s a letter for you, Jeremiah McGrath brought it special delivery. It looks very official, Father.’
    Stanislaus reached for it but Mrs Geraghty seemed reluctant to let it go. She recognised the seal as well as he did.
    â€˜Thank you, Mrs Geraghty, I’ll be fine from here on,’ he said.
    â€˜If you’re sure there’s nothing else you need,’ she said, at length letting go.
    â€˜Quite sure, thank you,’ said Stanislaus, nodding to the clock.
    â€˜I’ll say good evening then,’ she snorted. She raised her chin and eventually took herself out the door. Stanislaus sliced the envelope open, relishing the crisp rasp of the water-marked paper coming apart. The handwriting was unmistakable. Only close friends and colleagues got handwritten letters.
    My old friend Stanislaus,
    I have this morning returned from Rome where the Holy Father has briefed the Conclave on a crisis of the gravest urgency. In accordance with the Holy Father’s instructions I am gathering together the most senior principals of the Church in Ireland to discuss the emerging crisis. I expect to see you at the Synod Hall in Armagh this coming Sunday at three o’clock.
    I pray this letter finds you well and fully restored from your illness.
    Your Brother in Christ,
Michael Cardinal Logue + +
    Stanislaus read and reread the letter. The most senior principals of the Church in Ireland. Ten years had passed since Stanislaus had risen from his sickbed to be told he wasn’t getting the Bishopric of Derry. It was no reflection on his abilities of course, everyone thought the world of him of course, his counsel would still be invaluable of course. But His Eminence the Cardinal, the Archbishop, the Primate, had never sought the counsel of the parish priest of Madden. Not till now. In time of crisis though, the Cardinal wanted his old friend at his side. Poor old, sick old, pensioned-off old Stanislaus Benedict. The old enforcer. The man who made enemies so Mick Logue, the Northern Star himself, didn’t have to. Father Daly came bounding down the stairs and into the kitchen. He opened the oven door and reached for the plates, then withdrew his hand quickly and waved around chastened fingers. He bit his lip so as not to swear, then made a glove of a dish cloth and lifted the hot plates from the oven.
    â€˜You’re ready for your tea, Your Grace?’
    Stanislaus nodded and sat at the head of the table. The curate set out forks, knives, a jug of water and two glasses on the table and when he sat down, they bowed their heads. In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Benedic, Domine, nos et haec tua dona quae de tua largitate sumus sumpturi per Christum Dominum nostrum, Amen. Stanislaus chewed slowly. It wasn’t quite as dry as communion wafer but it was overdone. He put some of his food onto Father Daly’s plate – it seemed that, no matter how often she was told, Mrs Geraghty would not accept that a man’s appetite shrivels with the years – and the curate nodded appreciatively. Stanislaus set the Cardinal’s letter on the table. Father Daly stopped chewing. He swallowed and picked up the letter. He read it quickly, then seemed to read it again. ‘It sounds serious, Your Grace. I