“I’ll think it over,” said Father Conroy coldly. So the truce was only James’s idea as yet. Yes, it would suit his book to have Jimmy fall in for Rosnagree, as well as for whatever might be squeezed out of his own will. Jimmy, the sole heir of the Conroys! It was on that basis, no doubt, that the marriage had been arranged, old Burke having driven a hard bargain. Well, Jimmy wasn’t the only heir, thank God.

“What about my English nephews?” he asked.

“Who, Father?”

“The young Conroys. Owen’s sons. The heirs to Rosnagree.”

“What? What about them, Father?”

“Surely they’ve been asked?”

“Lord, no, Father.” He managed a smile of derision. “Sure, we don’t know anything about them.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Father Conroy said, and watched James’s smile fade. Of course, it was only bluff, but the remark would make James uneasy for some time. Already the old lips were repeating the remark, trying to test Father Conroy’s exact shade of meaning.

But James wasn’t finished peeling the visit, like an onion. In the hall he turned suddenly to say, “Tell me, Father, is the schoolhouse free on Thursday?”

“For what?”

James brushed carefully at his hat. “It’s just a small meeting I’m calling. I’ll be giving a bit of a talk, and then maybe we’ll have a few questions afterward.”

“I thought that was arranged for Kavanagh’s kitchen.”

James’s eyes flickered. “You keep in close touch, Father.”

“Because I’d prefer you had it there. Anything political...”

“Oh, it’s not that, I assure you. Anybody’s welcome. Fáilte roimh cách. In fact, I’d be very pleased if you’d come along yourself.”

“What would I be doing at a thing like that?”

“A man like you would appreciate it, Father. The cut and thrust, you know, democracy in action. You’d be very interested.”

“Thanks, but...”

“No, really, Father. You’d be at liberty to leave whenever it suited you, any time at all. And, of course, I needn’t tell you the people would like very much if you’d open the proceedings with a prayer.”

“With a prayer?”

“Yes, Father, a prayer.”

That put him in a right fix. Could he refuse a prayer? “Don’t tell me you’re that worried about Kilbride?”

“Ah, no, Father.” A big laugh. “We don’t need the Man Above to support us in Kilbride. Just a little prayer, you know. Bail ó Dhia ar an obair, a blessing on the work, as they used to say long ago.”

“I suppose such a sudden access of piety must be a sign of something.”