Malachi tossed a glance to his niece, making sure that she was still content with the current plan, and walked at her side as the constable set off. His hands slipped behind him again, folding neatly at the back of his waist.

"There's no need to thank me," he assured, "just let me know where, and I'll bring it by soon."

(What would Father Richards think, he wondered, if he told him that he was going to Constable Crane's house? The poor constable had seemed nervous enough when he'd dropped off the gift in the first place, so he couldn't be sure if the gift had been ill-received or if Crane was just always like this. He did not dare ask Father Richards, either.)

If the priest thought anything of the odd look Crane gave him, he said nothing of it. His eyes merely lifted from where they'd taken to watching the cobblestone street, and met Crane's for that brief moment of the other man's suspicion.

"Yes, you're right. That is what I hope to do, in any case. I've only heard good things about you and your work, and that was very kind of you to bring the basket by the presbytery."

He carefully avoided mentioning his fellow priest.