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‘Santa Maria!’ The priest stumbled back, staring at me, eyes wide. He raised a shaking finger to point. ‘La puta de Babilonia!’
I leaned over to Mr Ambrose. ‘What did he say?’
‘You don’t want to know.’
Slowly, his eyes fixing on me one moment, then flickering away the next, the priest sank to his knees.
‘Pai nosso, que estais no céu
Santificado seja o Vosso nome…’
I leaned closer to Mr Ambrose. ‘Is that how priests normally greet visitors in Brazil?’
‘I don’t think so.’
The priest let his eyes flicker to me again - then abruptly pressed them shut, and folded his hands in front of his chest.
‘…Venha a nós o Vosso reino,
Seja feita a Vossa vontade,
Assim na terra como no céu…’
‘Is he…praying?’
‘I believe so, Mr Linton.’
One of the priest’s eyes opened a fraction of an inch, caught sight of me, still standing there in my shift - and abruptly snapped shut again!
‘…O pão nosso de cada dia nos dai hoje.
Perdoai as nossas ofensas,
Assim como nós perdoamos a quem nos tem ofendido…’
‘What is he praying about?’
Was I mistaken, or was there a slight glint in Mr Ambrose’s eyes as he turned to me and let his gaze rake over me?
‘Right now, Mr Linton, I believe he is praying not to be led into temptation.’
His gaze swept over me again, meaningfully.
‘What? Oh. Oh! You don’t mean he-’
‘In my experience, Mr Linton, devout priests seldom get visits from scantily dressed young ladies.’
‘…E não nos deixeis cair…’
I glared at Mr Ambrose, then at the priest, who was still kneeling, his hands clutched tightly together, his eyes shut even more tightly.
‘Hey, you!’
He ignored me.
‘…em tentação,
Mas livrai-nos do mal,
