The Sixth Lamentation by William Brodrick Read Free Book Online Page A

case.
    ‘Thank
you, Anselm,’ said the Prior. ‘And thanks to you all. Now, time for quiet.’
    Father
Andrew said a brief prayer and extinguished the candle between his fingers. The
meeting was over. And, having listened to all, the outcome was for the Prior
alone to decide.
     
    The Papal Nuncio came to
Larkwood the following day — yet another unexpected visitor demanding to see
Father Andrew Not some hobbledehoy, exclaimed Father Michael, but the top
brass, you know. Precisely what the Nuncio had to say was not disclosed but
word went round that Rome must have leaned on the Prior to throw Schwermann
out.
    And so
it was the week drew to a close. Anselm stayed up late, waiting for Sailing
By on Radio 4, and mused lightly on the curious sequence of events. In four
days, four driven horsemen from different quarters had galloped across the
hearth: the fugitive, the sheriff, the Queen’s good servant and, last of all, a
Prince of the Church. But as he drifted off to sleep to the consolation of the
shipping forecast with warnings of gales at Tyne and Dogger, he was gripped by
a darker thought, and suddenly woke. Their coming had the mark of a grand
reunion.

 
    Chapter Five
     
    1
     
     
    Lucy propped herself up in
bed and laid the manila envelope carefully on her knees. Agnes had given it to
her that afternoon and Lucy had nearly cried. The soft clunking of Grandpa
Arthur’s wall clock grew louder, as if he were coming, as if he would take off
his hat and coat and sit down.
    In the
three months that had passed since Agnes had told the family about her illness,
the tight pattern of relating, built up over so many years, had begun to fall
apart, threatening something more significant, like the one or two loose rocks
that topple down a scree. Freddie came to visit his mother more frequently,
tussling with the old awkwardness he preferred to avoid; Susan’s spirits rose
as she saw the coming together of separate worlds — not just that of her
husband and mother-in-law but also their daughter. As Lucy recognised, she had
once been the small hub in a wheel where everyone else’s long spindles found a
meeting place: that arrangement had splintered a while ago, but now, with the
news that Agnes would soon die, a strange re-ordering of things was under way
As with all great changes, there was a constant: Lucy came frequently with
market vegetables in brown paper bags.
    The
subtle transformation was not restricted to the inner workings of Lucy and her
parents. Agnes, too, was on the move. Arriving unannounced one afternoon, Lucy
found a pile of newspapers in the hail. Surreptitiously she leafed through
them: two or three bore the same date and cuttings had been taken. As she
realigned the pile, puzzled, Lucy halted, suddenly identifying the subtle
difference in ambiance that had struck her as soon as she opened the door, but
which she had not been able to name: the radio was on. She crept into the
kitchen. Grandpa Arthur’s Roberts had been retrieved from some forgotten place
and now stood upon the windowsill by the sink. Agnes was twisting the dial,
grumbling about modern music.
    On
another day Lucy rushed into the sitting room chasing a stray cat that had
formed an unreciprocated attachment to Agnes but who, out of mercy had been
granted a tenancy The beast escaped through the window Turning to go, Lucy
caught the tiny twinkle of a red light. She scanned the familiar room as though
she were a traveller in a foreign land: the record player was on; the piano lid
was open … there was music on the rest. Lucy glanced at the title: ‘Romance
sans parole, No. 2’ by Fauré, her grandmother’s favourite melody All at once
Lucy saw Agnes, alone, when she knew no one would call, her long fingers
finding their way across the keys.
    As for
Agnes, she was slower, more measured in her movements, and when she walked
from one room to another she held out her slender arms like a ballet dancer,
touching objects lightly as she passed —