INSTEAD, SHE WOULD GO-THIS VERY MINUTE-TO JOIN LUCY.

AS THE KNIFE SANK INTO HER CHEST AND PIERCED HER HEART, BESSIE DELACOURT FELT A GREAT PEACEFULNESS COME OVER HER.

SHE, LIKE MISS LORETTA BEFORE HER, AT LAST WAS FREE OF THE CONWAY FAMILY.

Monsignor Devlin once again closed the Bible. Was it possible that Frank Conway could have killed his own child, as Bessie Delacourt said? But of course it was-a hundred years ago a child born of a servant in St. Albans was less valued than a hunting dog.

But even so…

The old priest flipped back, searching for an entry in the Bible that might have predated the one made by Loretta Villiers, but found none. Then, as he examined the ancient Bible more closely, he saw something: deep in the crevice between the two pages, cut so close to the binding as to be all but invisible, was the remainder of a page that had been removed from the volume.

Had Cora taken it out before giving him the Bible?

Or had it been someone else, someone who had gone before?

Sighing heavily, Monsignor Devlin put the Bible aside. Later, when his eyes were up to it, he would continue reading the rest of the entries made through the years by the women who had kept this strange journal of the family they had married into. But for now he turned to the histories of his own church-the parish of St. Albans-searching for some clue as to who this Monsignor Melchior could have been, this man who by the title associated with his name must once have been a priest.

A priest who had broken his vows and abandoned his vocation, yet kept his title?

Why?

He gazed dispiritedly at the thick journals filled with the scribblings of all the priests who had preceded him in St. Albans. Most of their hands were no more legible than that of the semiliterate servant, Bessie Delacourt. If he were truly going to find the answer to what might have been written on the pages that had been torn from the Conway family Bible, he would need help.

Father MacNeill!

Of course! He would talk to Father MacNeill, whose mind was much younger and sharper than his own.

Feeling as if a burden had been lifted from his back, Monsignor Devlin let his tired eyes close, and quickly drifted into the quiet of sleep.

The phone call from Father Bernard hadn't taken Ellie Roberts entirely by surprise. In fact, she'd been expecting it-or at least one very much like it. She'd seen it coming ever since Luke started hanging around with Jared Conway. Ellie herself, of course, knew all about the Conways, even though she hadn't been born until a few years after George Conway hanged himself from the magnolia tree behind his house. Even now she could remember the first time she and her friends had snuck over to the big house on Pontchartrain Street. She'd only been five years old, and she'd stood on the edge of the road-none of them had dared set a foot on the property itself-and listened, wide-eyed, as Rudy LaFrenier, who was two years older than her, and knew everything-told them the story of what had happened here.

"Father Fitzpatrick says they was voodoos," Rudy had said, and even now, thirty years later, Ellie could remember the fear the words had instilled in her. "Father Fitzpatrick says this whole place is full of voodoo, and anybody who even walks on the lawn will go to Hell!"

The story had been enough to keep Ellie and her friends away from the Conway house, and even when she was old enough to realize that whatever tale Father Fitzpatrick-who had retired when Father Bernard came to St. Albans-might have told Rudy LaFrenier probably wasn't entirely true, she'd been unable to shake off her fear not only of the house, but of the Conways as well. After all, even if there wasn't anything to the voodoo story, George Conway must have been crazy to hang himself from the magnolia tree, and everyone knew what had happened to his wife when she found him. While Ellie didn't believe in ghosts, there'd always been something about the old Conway Victorian. Which was why she'd told Luke right off that she didn't want him hanging around with Jared Conway. "There's just something about that place," she said. "And the Conways, too. Whenever there've been Conways in this town, there's been trouble."

Luke had rolled his eyes scornfully. "It's just a house, Ma," he replied, his voice taking on a stubborn note that reminded Ellie of his father. "Besides, I like Jared."

For perhaps the millionth time, Ellie wished Luke's father were still alive to deal with Luke, but there was nothing to be done about that. Big Luke had been a good man, doing a good job as a deputy sheriff, and when his motorcycle skidded out from under him that day, Ellie had wondered how she'd ever make it without him, let alone raise Little Luke by herself.

"The Lord works in mysterious ways," Father MacNeill had explained to her, "and the Lord will provide for you and young Luke."

And He had. She found a job working in the rectory. It didn't pay much, but it was enough. It also meant that Luke could go to St. Ignatius School for free, and during the first few years, the Sheriff's Office helped out, too. Ellie tried to bring Luke up right, doing her best to be both mother and father to him. It hadn't been easy, but she always tried to figure out what Big Luke would have told his son, and all in all, she thought, Luke was turning out all right.

Until he started hanging around with Jared Conway.

Father MacNeill suggested she forbid Luke to spend time with Jared, but she knew that wouldn't work. Times weren't like they used to be, when whatever your parents told you was law, and you didn't even think of disobeying them. Nowadays, kids did pretty much what they wanted to do, and even if Father MacNeill didn't understand it, she did. After all, even in St. Albans a lot of the kids were growing up with only one parent, or even if they had two, both parents worked. You just couldn't keep an eye on them as in the past. But it had helped that Luke was at St. Ignatius, because at least the sisters didn't put up with the kind of nonsense the public school teachers did.

And Luke hadn't caused any problems.

Not until today.

Mortified. That's how she'd felt when Father Bernard called to tell her about Luke's misbehavior. Just plain mortified. She'd sat at her desk in the rectory, the phone pressed so hard to her ear that it hurt, as if she were trying to keep Father Bernard's words from leaking out, so nobody would hear them but herself. But of course that wouldn't happen. Not in St. Albans, and certainly not within St. Ignatius parish.

What if Luke got expelled from school?

What if she lost her job because of it?

Finally, knowing she had no choice, she'd gone to see Father Mack about it.

When he looked up from the homily he was working on, she could tell he'd already talked to Father Bernard. So at least she was saved from the humiliation of having to confess Luke's sins herself. Then, when Father MacNeill began talking to her, Ellie realized that the situation wasn't as bad as she'd feared.

"Nobody blames Luke," the priest assured her. "We all know him, and know what a fine young man he is. But even the finest young men can fall under…" Father Mack hesitated, and Ellie could see him searching for exactly the right words. "Let's just say all of us sometimes fall under the wrong influences, shall we?" He smiled at Ellie, and her fears began to abate. "The problem isn't Luke himself." He pursed his lips, and tented his fingers in front of his chest as if he were about to begin praying. "It's the Conway boy I worry about."

"I know," Ellie quickly assured him. Father MacNeill had not only offered her a job when she was most in need, he'd also become her adviser in everything else in her life as well. "I've been worried ever since Luke started hanging around with that boy." She shook her head. "I wish they'd just go away. I know it isn't charitable of me, but I just wish the entire family would go away."