The Brothers' Lot - Kevin Holohan [93]
Brother Loughlin stopped in his tracks while McRae continued on in front of him across the yard. Against the dark sky he watched aghast as tiny flames started to spring from the collapsed attic roof.
“Will you shut up and get everyone out, you fool!” he shouted at McRae. “Go ring the bell and get them all out of there!”
In the distance Loughlin heard the wail of the approaching fire brigade. He stood helplessly watching the tiny flames grow bolder and more playful as they flitted and danced through the crushed attic. Behind him he heard the rasping and whining of a motor being brought to a halt by inexpert hands and he turned round. There, like a thickening bulge in the darkness, he saw a pristine black Morris Minor pull up. It was ageless, in perfect condition, and reeked of care. It stopped just beside him and through the driver’s window he saw the troubled face of Father Mulvey. Next to him in the passenger seat was a large, imposing figure, presumably Father Sheehan.
As if propelled by some unseen force, McRae was suddenly holding Father Sheehan’s door open like one of the flunkies outside the Shelbourne Hotel.
“Thank you, my good man,” baritoned Sheehan. He stepped out of the car and Brother Loughlin caught his first glimpse of the next step after Mulvey on the long ladder of authority that led all the way to the Vatican.
Father Sheehan stood about six-foot-two and his athletic figure filled his perfectly pressed black suit. His hair was silvery gray and neatly swept back without a parting to show his high forehead. He had aquiline features and deepset eyes that glinted with something that in the dark Loughlin could not clearly identify. It could have been mirth, it could have been anger, or it could have been the reflection of the flames now making merry in the rubble of the attic.
“Brother Loughlin, Father Sheehan; Father Sheehan, Brother Loughlin.”
Loughlin took Sheehan’s outstretched hand and pressed it firmly, hoping thereby to give himself an air of self-confidence. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Father,” he beamed.
Sheehan smiled and ended the handshake with an adroitness that conveyed a perfect mixture of disdain and amity and left Loughlin feeling respected and slighted at the same time. He felt like he had just shaken hands with someone who knew just how the world ran and exactly how long it could be expected to continue doing so.
“So, Brother Loughlin, this is your spot of bother, is it? You would seem to have quite the penchant for the under-statement. Wouldn’t you agree, Father Mulvey?”
“Yes, well, it was, when I rang Father Mulvey, it was,” replied Loughlin brightly, hoping his bonhomie might distract them from the fact that part of his school was currently aflame. He was saved the embarrassment of further dithering by the arrival of the fire brigade.
“I think you might want to move my car out of the firemen’s way now, Father Mulvey,” commented Sheehan with the assurance of one accustomed to never needing the imperative mode to have his bidding done.
Loughlin shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Perhaps we should go to my office while the firemen tackle this,” he suggested, thinking his weight might rest more easily if he put his arse in a chair.
“Yes. I don’t think we can be of much help to the fire brigade by standing here in their way,” said Father Sheehan, deftly stepping aside to avoid the ashen-faced Brother Boland who had just bolted out of the monastery pursued by Brother Moody.
McRae’s brutal tolling of the monastery bell brought out the rest of the Brothers who gathered in an anxious knot in the middle of the yard.
Brother Tobin broke away from the group and ran toward Loughlin. His eyes were rolling in his head