Black magic

She had told some of the impressionable girls that Communists might have their own very reasonable belief in dividing wealth equally. That had been a headache, Mother Bernard said, and one that she could have done without.

And it wasn't only the children who were under her spell, Brother Healy said in an grrieved tone. Oh no, no. A man who should know better, like Martin McMahon the chemist. Brother Healy had heard with his own ears the man suggesting to Mrs Sullivan, whose poor Billy had been carried off screaming, that she should go to Sister Madeleine for some advice about a nice soothing drink to make her sleep.

"Next stop will be black magic altogether " said Mother Bernard, nodding feverishly in agreement.

And of course, if Martin minded his business and aid a bit of attention to that fancy wife of his, he'd be better off. Brother Healy might have gone too far now in uncharitable gossip. He knew it and so did Mother Bernard.

They both began to shuffle their papers together and end the meeting. It would remain unsaid that Helen McMahon, with her disturbing good looks, walked too much alone, beating at the hedges with a blackthorn stick, her eyes and mind far, far away from Loguh Glass and the people who lived there.

It was a Wednesday, and Martin McMahon closed his shop with a sigh of relief. The flypaper was thick with dead bluebottles. He must remove it quickly before Kit or Emmet came in with a lecture about them being God's creatures and how unfair of him to lure them to their death.

He was relieved that Kit and Clio Kelly seemed to have got over whatever childish squabble it had been that kept them apart for a few weeks. Girls were so intense at age, it was impossible to know their minds. He had asked Helen if they should interfere, try to bring the children together, but Helen had said to let it run its course. And she had been right about everything.