Olive stood at the top of the centre aisle looking down the church towards the altar where the black-clad figure of Father McHaffie was kneeling before the statue of Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament. For the life of her she couldn’t walk or even move to sit in a pew, merely bowing her head and making a deep genuflection. She knew what the priest made of her conduct; he had made it abundantly clear at their last meeting.

After a few moments had passed, the lean, tall figure rose to his feet and then turned to face her. His eyes were small and hard, his mouth was thin and he had a sharp beak of a nose that dominated his face, and with his black robes he resembled nothing so much as a giant crow. As he walked towards her Olive thought he was terrifying. He stopped within an arm’s length of her, his stare cold. ‘Does your situation remain the same?’

‘Yes, Father.’

‘And you have made no mention of this to anyone other than Dr Upton and the father of the child?’

‘No, Father.’

He nodded slowly. ‘And the father, Adam Gilbert, still refuses to marry you?’

Olive gulped; her throat was dry with fear of the priest along with dread of what the next hour would bring. Her mam was going to be so disappointed in her, she knew that. She swallowed again before she could say, ‘He – Adam’s arranged to meet my sister tonight so I think he’s going to tell her, but this morning, at the doctor’s, he was still saying he wouldn’t get wed to me. I told him you were going to speak to his mam an’ da today.’

Father McHaffie surveyed this girl who had sinned and his thin voice dripped condemnation when he said, ‘You have been wicked and foolish and as a result of your action the fruit of your womb will be tainted in the eyes of God unless Adam does his duty. The sooner he acknowledges his transgression before men and the Almighty, the sooner he can receive absolution. He will marry you as quickly as it can be arranged.’

There was no doubt in his voice that he would be obeyed, and much as Olive feared the priest she knew a moment of deep thankfulness for the power he wielded. Adam’s family, like hers, were staunch Catholics, and although his da and brothers might drink themselves paralytic on a Saturday night, come Sunday they’d be at Mass and suitably penitent. Lowering her gaze, she murmured, ‘Yes, Father.’

‘Your father will accompany me to the Gilberts’. He is at home?’

‘Yes, Father.’

‘Then come along.’