Mrs. Doyle licked her finger and smoothed down a wayward lock of Father Dougal McGuire's hair.

"Don't fidget," she scolded.

"I can't help it," the young priest fretted. "I'm scared we'll get another mad fella like Father Stack."

Mrs. Doyle shivered. Father Fintan Stack, the sociopathic priest who enjoyed loud jungle music at 3am and drilling holes in the walls for no reason other than personal enjoyment, was hopefully still stuck at St. Clabbert's. Someone else's problem, not theirs.

She straightened Dougal's collar, picked a bit of lint from his patterned tank top, and squared the shoulders of his formal black jacket. "I don't believe there is another priest like Father Stack. At least not on this earthly plane. Besides, he was Father Hackett's replacement, not Father Crilly's. I'm sure Bishop Brennan will give us someone with a little bit more responsibility."

"Oh, right. That reminds me. What time is Len arriving?"

"He'll be here any minute. And you know you're not to call him Len. He doesn't like it."

"All right, Mrs. Doyle. I'll try to remember that." Dougal pulled back his shoulders and stood to attention. "How do I look?"

Mrs. Doyle beamed at her handiwork. The young priest had been scrubbed to within an inch of his life in the bath and smelled as soft and powdery as a baby's behind. His hair was neatly combed, his dog collar a credit to the Almighty. His cheeks were pink and rounded, his smile as wide as a boy on his first day of big school.

"Like a beautiful cherub too good for this world," she declared, earning herself a bark of disgust from Father Jack.

"Why didn't you give Father Jack a bath?" asked Dougal. "He's filthy."

The old priest leered and gave a devilish chuckle. Before she could think of a suitable answer, one that wouldn't lead to more questions, Mrs. Doyle was literally saved by the bell. The door chime suddenly and unexpectedly reverberated through the hallway. Mrs. Doyle and Dougal jumped a mile in the air.

"Oh my... oh my, there they are now!" Mrs Doyle flapped and flailed in a circle before hurtling out of the room as the bell rang again, much more impatiently this time. She flung the door wide to be greeted by Bishop Brennan looking thunderous. Next to him stood a tall, sombre looking priest with black hair plastered down, displaying an alarming widow's peak that jutted onto his forehead. He peered down his long, thin nose at Mrs. Doyle as though she were an insect under glass. The housekeeper seemed frozen to the spot, staring back at this gangly newcomer with startled apprehension.

"Aren't you going to invite us in, Mrs. Doyle?" the Bishop asked, sarcastically.

Mrs. Doyle snapped out of her trance and sprang into action. She ushered them in, issuing a stream of apologies and offering tea. The sombre priest wore the ghost of a smile that didn't quite reach his dark, glittering eyes.

Dougal, still standing to attention in the hastily tidied living room, pulled himself up even further.

"Good morning, Len!" he shouted, a tad over-enthusiastically. Behind Bishop Brennan, Mrs. Doyle shook her head violently, 'No!'

"i told you not to call me Len, ye little bollox!"

Father Jack guffawed in the corner.

"Sorry, Len. I mean, sorry Bishop Len. I mean, Bishop Brennan. Sir."

The Bishop swept past Dougal, bringing the sombre priest fully into the room. Father Jack's eyes narrowed and he emitted a low, feral growl.

"This is Father Fergus O'Dowd. Father Crilly's replacement." The Bishop sounded triumphant.

"Oh, right," said Dougal. "He looks a bit like Dracula," he added, unable to stop himself.

"I beg your pardon?" said Bishop Brennan, already beginning to seethe.

Mrs. Doyle spoke up, somewhat hysterically. "I'll put the tea on!" she announced. "Will you have a cup of tea, Father O'Dowd?"

"No, thank you," the sombre priest spoke for the first time. His voice was low, smooth, and oddly mellifluous. "I simply cannot abide tea."

Mrs. Doyle's eyes flickered back and forth between O'Dowd and the Bishop. "So... is that a yes?"

"It is most emphatically not a 'yes'. It is a definite 'No'. I hate tea. I cannot stand the stuff. I would not take tea if I were burning in the Eternal Fires of Hell and it was the only thing that could extinguish the flames." O'Dowd smiled at the housekeeper, blinking like a sleepy cat. Jack did a comedy double take, Dougal was stunned into silence at last, and even Bishop Brennan looked alarmed for a split second.

Mrs. Doyle's lip began to tremble. She looked as though she were about to cry. She had never met anyone who hated tea. She had no backup plan for this type of emergency, except her tried and tested methods of persuasion.

"Ah, go on," she began, nervously. "Just a drop. Just a teeny, tiny drop. A splash. Go on, go on, go on."

"NO!" O'Dowd almost shouted, then brought himself quickly under control. "No, thank you kindly. it's been a long journey and I'm a little fractious. I would much prefer a cup of coffee, if you have it."

Bishop Brennan cleared his throat. "I'm sure Father O'Dowd didn't mean to snap. Did you, Father?"

"I did not," O'Dowd said, smoothly. "I shall be just fine after a cup of coffee."

Mrs. Doyle scuttled away to the kitchen, rolling the word 'coffee' around on her tongue as she tasted it for the first time. She glanced back at Dougal before she went through the door, but he was too busy staring at O'Dowd and she couldn't catch his eye. It was in the hands of God, now.

Bishop Brennan settled himself onto the sofa. "Father O'Dowd has been looking forward to this challenge immensely. It's high time a little order was brought to this parish, and he's just the man to bring you all in line." He fixed a beady eye on Father Jack. "There'll be no more trouble from you," he asserted, then brought his steely gaze back to Dougal. "And no more lives irreparably destroyed by you. Do you know how many people have left the Catholic faith because of your incompetence, Father McGuire?"

Dougal smiled sheepishly. "No," he said. "How many?"

"Hundreds. If not thousands!"

"Wow. I don't know what to say. I'm humbled. Truly humbled."

"That wasn't a compliment, you blithering little idiot! You've single handedly caused a crisis in the Church the likes of which has never been seen before!"

Dougal looked even more amazed. "I wonder how I did that?"

"I don't know, since you're not stupid enough to be a double agent for the Protestants, and that's saying something."

Dougal blushed. "Thanks, Len. I do my best, you know. Praising the Almighty and all that. It's just that the idea of Heaven and Hell seems a bit farfetched... it's a bit too much of a stretch of the old imagination."

"Teletubbies is too much of a stretch for your imagination," the Bishop sneered.

"Ah, Teletubbies are great. They're educational. They help me to remember the sign of the cross." Bishop Brennan watched in horror as Dougal waved his hand over his body, from forehead to chest, left shoulder to right. "Tinky Winky. Dipsy. Laa Laa. Po."

"Irreparably destroyed," the Bishop muttered under his breath. "Irreparably."

"Oh come on," Dougal said cheerily, his hand sweeping down as though he were playing tennis. "You're not meant to take it seriously."

Father O'Dowd looked up sharply. Only momentarily distracted by Mrs. Doyle reappearing from the kitchen with a tray piled high, he pinned Dougal with a withering glare.

"On the contrary, Father McGuire," he hissed. "I take my work very seriously. Very seriously indeed. And under my tutelage, so will you. Even if my hair turns white from trying!"

Dougal went pale. He ran over to Mrs. Doyle, not even subtly.

"Mrs. Doyle, I'm scared," he whimpered.

Mrs. Doyle's protective nature came forward. She put the tray down on the coffee table and lifted a cup and saucer.

"I found a jar of c... c... " She closed her eyes and tried again. "C... c... " It was no use, she couldn't say it. "That other stuff that isn't tea, in the back of the cupboard. I've never made it before, so I hope it's to your liking."

O'Dowd accepted the offering with a courteous tip of his head. He sniffed the dark liquid, inhaling its scent like an addict. Everyone, including Jack, held their breath as they watched him take a dainty sip from the very edge of the cup. After swirling it round his mouth and swallowing, his eyebrows arched in surprise.

"Unexpectedly delightful!"

The entire room let out its collective breath. Mrs. Doyle beamed smugly as the sombre priest took another hearty sip. She leaned towards Dougal and stage whispered in his ear.

"That jar has been in the cupboard for years. There were cobwebs on it!"

Dougal began giggling.

"And mould under the lid! And it was stuck to the shelf with some kind of black, sticky glue. And inside the jar there was... " she paused for dramatic effect, "a dead spider!"

Dougal shuddered with laughter, trying not to snort tea through his nose. Bishop Brennan pursed his lips and glowered, but said nothing as O'Dowd gulped the rest of his coffee in one go.

"That truly was the best cup of coffee I have ever had," the priest announced, replacing the empty cup and saucer onto the tray with a polite clink. "I think I may enjoy my stay here, after all!"

Mrs. Doyle's face dropped. Dougal stage whispered back to her from the corner of his mouth. "Well done, Mrs. Doyle. Now he's going to live with us forever and ever and ever, and we'll never ever see Ted again!"

Defeated, Mrs. Doyle could only stare blankly at the gloating Bishop and the sinister visage of Father O'Dowd. Over in the corner, Jack slumped like a dead fly caught in tar, his milky eye wide open and a string of drool hanging from his lip, no use to anyone at all. She clung to Father McGuire, the only pure thing in the house, desperate for his innocence and clean, baby-soft smell to banish the creeping sense of evil in her soul.

"I hope we will enjoy it too, Father," she stuttered, not knowing what else to say, and frightened of offending the Bishop.

"Oh, I am sure you will," the sombre priest replied, gently. "I am sure you will."

Mrs. Doyle gave him a sickly smile. The room darkened as the sun went behind a cloud, and she swore she heard thunder rumbling in the distance.