How disappointing, that Malachi wasn't the blood father of that girl.  It would have made him so much more interesting, but Arthur supposed he didn't need secret children to do that.  Already, he knew the priest to be a drunk, starved for opium and attention, and a sado-masochist that carried a dagger on him, perhaps even now.

There was not much that could make him more interesting than he already was.

"I have eyes, Malachi, and I don't just hide away in my office all day.  I'm out in town just as much as any other person.  I've seen the two of you together - more than once now that I think about it."

Slowly, Arthur let himself fall back onto the bench within the confessional, staring up at the other man's face.  He had to squint to barely make out the details, and doing to made his healing nose sting uncomfortably.

"It's not so far of a reach to believe you two may be related in some way.  She follows you like a shadow, and... you two came to Whitby around the same time, didn't you?"  The doctor shrugged.  "But if you say she's not your daughter, I believe you.  Don't be surprised if the rest of Whitby doesn't, though."