‘She wasn’t right, poor girl. Maybe the work was too hard for her? I remember your father taking Communion afterwards every week, regular as clockwork.’

Briony didn’t say a word. If you took Communion, you had to have your Confession heard. She knew the priest was telling her he knew exactly what was wrong with Eileen and still she didn’t speak.

The priest sighed. He had hoped to trade information. This girl and her family intrigued him.

‘Well now, if I remember rightly, Elizabeth O’Malley has a brother in Islington. He’s a bit of a demon by all accounts, another one with religious mania. I don’t think they really get on, but that’s not surprising, is it? You ask around Islington and I’m sure you’ll find him.’

Briony nodded and stood up.

‘Thanks, Father.’

‘Would you like me to go and see poor Eileen?’

‘My mother would like that, Father. There’s just one thing, before I forget.’

‘What’s that, my child?’ The priest looked up at her with his hands clasped together on his lap, cigar clamped firmly between his teeth.

‘Don’t ever try and find out my business or my family’s again. What you guess and what you know is up to you. But in future remember where the money comes from for your expensive cigars and whisky, because there’s plenty of other churches who’d welcome me with open arms. No questions asked.’

She left the room, leaving a stony-faced Father McNamara whose Havana cigar had suddenly lost its expensive taste.

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-three

Eileen was tucked up in bed in the house where all her troubles had started. Cissy and Mrs Horlock fussed over her, Molly stared at her in bewilderment, and Briony soothed her. But inside her head nothing was right. Her thoughts seemed to run off on tangents; she wasn’t sure what was fact and what was fiction. She stared vacantly around her, smiling at times but always quiet. Too quiet.

Briony left her in Mrs Horlock’s capable hands and she and Molly retired downstairs to the library to talk.

‘You’re good to have her here, Briony.’