‘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