Isabella's Heiress

by N. P. Griffiths

  “This is a world where the rules you are used to do not apply. Both in here, and out there.” Father Eamon nodded towards the door through which Emma had entered the previous evening. She tried not to think about what lay beyond it. “You will need to learn how it works as well as what you are capable of. That is something I will teach you.”

  “Teach me what? What do you mean what I am capable of?”

  Father Eamon’s measured tones were starting to grate.

  “All will become clear in time. This is not something to be rushed. There are things in the plane that are not to be taken lightly.”

  As Emma struggled to interpret his words, she kept coming back to the same thing, something that had been troubling her since she had overheard Father Eamon’s conversation the previous night.

  “Those things yesterday. Those…those…”

  “Gentle Men.”

  “Yes…them. They knew my name. How? What did they want with me?”

  “I don’t know. Their behaviour yesterday was highly unusual. I wish I could tell you why they came after you in the way they did but I have no idea. I can assure you, though, that it is something that will not go unchallenged.”

  “Who’s going to challenge it?”

  “Powers far greater than you or I, Emma. I would ask that you not concern yourself with such matters.”

  She considered pressing him further and bringing up the snatches of conversation she had overheard, but Emma did not want to have to admit to eaves dropping. She decided to change the tack of the conversation.

  “Who was that woman earlier?”

  “Edith? She is here as you are.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “That is not something to concern yourself with. Everybody here has a story. The only one that should be of interest to you is yours and how it ends.”

  “How will it end?”

  “That is up to you. Over time you will learn to cope with life here. You will learn to move between planes on your own, manipulate the living to do your will…”

  “I’m sorry?” Emma’s eyebrows arched at Father Eamon’s words.

  Father Eamon smiled. “You heard correctly. These things seem strange and outlandish now but I can assure you that it won’t stay that way for long.”

  “Why was that woman panicking? What did she mean, she might have broken the rule?”

  “Ah, yes, the Rule.” Father Eamon’s voice became more serious and he straightened up. “At some point, as I said, you will be given a trial to prove your worth. You must never disclose that trial to anyone. If you do, you will fail. I cannot stress the importance of this enough.”

  “What’s so bad about failing? I still don’t understand what is going on? Why am I here?”

  “I was wondering when you would ask that. Your actions here will dictate whether you ascend or become a permanent resident in this realm. Make no mistake, Emma, what you do here will dictate your eternal path.”

  Emma’s eyes widened at Father Eamon’s words and she stood up as her pulse started to quicken. An eternity in this place was not something Emma wanted to face.

  “Calm yourself, Emma. I said this was not certain. It is just one possibility. It is no different now than when you were alive.”

  Father Eamon’s attempt to placate Emma were doing nothing for her fraying sanity and she started to run her hands nervously through her hair, “Except that, when I was alive, I didn’t believe in all that rubbish! And I don’t believe in it now!”

  “Well, now would be a good time to start. Please, sit down.”

  “No. I’m leaving. Why me? What did I do to deserve this?”

  Father Eamon’s eyes locked onto Emma’s “I think you know.”

  His voice stopped her in her tracks.

  “In most cases when people die prematurely, a decision can be made on the spot. They can move on with ease. But for some their conscience weighs on them and they cannot break the connection with their previous life. Hence the existence of the sanctuary.”

  Emma sat down, utterly desolate.

  “Many people have passed through here successfully,” Father Eamon continued “Many have ascended and found peace. There is no reason that you cannot be one of them.”

  “This is because of Lisa, isn’t it?” Emma’s voice was miserable, an old pain returning to stab her in the chest, guilt rising up to remind her of her past.

  “Yes, this is because of Lisa.”

  She slumped down gulping back tears, a cloak of pity and self-loathing descending on her. A terrible wrenching tore at her stomach “Oh, please God, tell me she didn’t have to come here.”

  “No, she ascended immediately. She was just a child.”

  For a second, relief swept over her. Then the shame returned.

  A smile crossed Father Eamon’s face “Remember, you will not tread this path alone.”

  “I know: you’re there to guide me. You’ll forgive me if I don’t find that too comforting.”

  “Well, perhaps you will be comforted by a familiar voice.”

  Father Eamon looked over Emma’s shoulder, who turned as a woman’s voice piped up behind her.

  “Hi, Em.”

  The voice was small and uncertain, but Emma recognised it instantly, a chill running down her back. She dared not turn around, terrified that what she saw would pull down the walls of her fragile world but slowly she twisted round, looking up at the woman standing behind her.

  She was beautiful, her blonde hair hanging loosely off her shoulders, framing a face that, in a previous lifetime, had gained her an army of male admirers. She hadn’t changed much in six years. Looking at her now, Emma understood that everything Father Eamon had told her was true. There could be no denying it as the woman now standing before her had been dead for eighteen months.

  Emma got up and staggered back, tripping as her foot caught under the bench she had been sitting on. An arm came out and grabbed her. It came from the woman standing in front of her. She steadied herself and tried to marshal her thoughts.

  “T-Taryn?” She was lost for words, stunned. The last time Emma had uttered Taryn’s name had been a year and a half earlier at a graveside in South London.

  An uneasy silence settled on the two women. Emma didn’t know what to say or do next. Any lingering doubts she might have had about Father Eamon and the sanctuary had been swept away. For her part Taryn wasn’t saying anything, choosing instead to keep a nervous distance between the two of them

  Thoughts of her childhood and teenage years flashed in and out of Emma’s mind, a patchwork whose only link was that each memory contained the woman now sitting two rows away from her.

  They were kneeling in the shadow of an apple tree on a glorious, hot summer’s day, dolls clothes strewn around them as the aroma of freshly cut grass hung in the air. Now she was at school, third-year seniors. She was in a dip at the bottom of the playing field, kissing a sandy-haired boy two years above her; the name escaped her after all these years, but she remembered the dizziness and the short sharp intakes of breathe. Looking over his shoulder, she saw Taryn kissing another boy, the sandy-haired boy’s friend? Her hands were all over him, Taryn being far more experienced and braver at this than she ever was. Then it was another hot and sunny day but in another country. The trees and hills wore vibrant colours and olive groves delivered up a sweet scent which filled their noses. They were in Umbria: a school trip in the fifth form. On their laps were books on Brunelleschi and the Medici’s but their attention was taken by a group of boys sitting on scooters just down the road. They stole glances and looked at each other giggling when they were returned. One of the boys called over, “Ciao bella, andiamo!” They giggled some more before Emma called back “No, grazie.” and they headed back to their school party.

  As this image left, another one fought its way in, one she had done her utmost to banish. It was dark, raining; she was sitting in a car, soaking wet; the rain was dripping from her hair, and there was screaming.


  Emma pushed the memory down and brought herself back to the present.

  “How long have you been here?” She didn’t move, preferring instead to keep a distance between herself and her one-time friend.

  “Since it happened.”

  Emma shuddered. She remembered getting the call at her office. Her mum telling her there had been a tragic accident and that Taryn was dead. Officially, Taryn had fallen down the stairs at home. The coroner had concluded that she was drunk and lost her footing, plunging headlong to the bottom, before breaking her neck and dying instantly when she landed. It had seemed a particularly ignominious end but Emma had not spoken to Taryn in years after drifting apart and it wasn’t until she was standing at the graveside that the full impact hit her and she dissolved into tears. She had felt pangs of guilt ever since but lately these had gone, replaced by a kind of fleeting regret. Now, confronted with her long-lost friend, she struggled to remember all the things she’d regretted not saying to Taryn before she died but nothing seemed appropriate. What do you say on meeting your dead ex-friend?

  “You’ll get used to this place, it just takes time.” Taryn moved down the rows and embraced Emma in a hug. “Please look at me. It’s been so long.”

  Emma was completely lost, not knowing how to react. Slowly she raised her arms and returned the embrace.

  Taryn gently kissed Emma’s cheek. “Hi, babe.” The words were delivered in a barely audible whisper.

  Emma gulped, trying to catch her breath. Her words came in heaves. “Oh, God! H-how can you? After everything? A-after what I did.”

  “All that’s in the past. We’re beyond those things now.”

  Taryn’s appearance opened the floodgates for Emma’s repressed memories. All Emma’s feelings for her family welled up as waves of grief and emotion swept over her until she thought she would drown. It was as if she had been set adrift but only now realised that there was no way home.

  “It hurts so much! Make it go away.” Even as she said it, Emma knew that she didn’t want the pain banished: it was the only thing connecting her to her mother. Right now she wanted more than anything to see her mother one last time. “I want to go home.”

  “Em, you can’t. You’ll only cause yourself more pain. Believe me, babe, I know.”

  “No, I’ve got to go. I have to. I have to see mum one last time - to say goodbye.”

  “Emma, there is nothing to be gained; you will only cause yourself more grief.” Father Eamon had been watching Emma’s reaction to meeting Taryn and chose now to gently interrupt.

  “I don’t care. I want to see mum!”

  Father Eamon nodded. “I understand, Emma but I must advise you that it will not lessen your pain. Your family are grieving for you; seeing them in that state will only hurt you more.”

  Father Eamon’s gaze moved towards Taryn. “Listen to those who would advise you.”

  “I don’t care, I want to go.” Emma’s mind was made up; she was going, regardless of what anybody said.

  Father Eamon breathed out slowly, “If that is your choice, then we will go. Taryn and I will accompany you. We should leave now if we are to be back before dark.”

  Chapter Six

  Broken Ties

  Waiting outside the gateway, Emma stood next to Father Eamon, shivering as her eyes adjusted to the dimness. It was a raw morning as she drew her jacket around her and looked out at the square, careful to keep in the shadow of the arch.

  “It’s okay Em, it really is.” Taryn was just behind her, holding open one of the iron gates, ready to close it as they left.

  “I’m fine. I just need a second.” The shock of meeting Taryn was still with her and she was starting to doubt the wisdom of her decision to see her family.

  Father Eamon turned as he stepped out from under the arch. “They will not come after you again, Emma. Of that you can be sure.”

  They stepped into the square and she braced herself for the reappearance of the mist, which had brought the Gentle Men the previous day. Instead there was silence. Nothing appeared at the end of the street or from within the borders of the square’s garden. Emma wasn’t sure whether she felt relief at this or a sense of anti-climax but for now she was just happy to be left alone.

  The central garden in the square was now neatly manicured and Emma could make out park benches and trimmed hedges. Two Victorian street lamps looked out from the entrance, partially obscured by four large trees, whilst, further down the street, metal poles set into the pavement had had their signs removed. Emma could see coarse hemp sacks piled up around the main entrances of the surrounding buildings: next to them, little pyramids of sand rose a few inches off the ground where small tears allowed their contents to escape in a whispery yellow cascade. Above her, white tape criss-crossed all the windows of the surrounding buildings in a web of diagonal crosses, their panes vibrating as a humming noise filled the air.

  A loud scraping on the left of the square made Emma turn. She watched as a chunk of masonry crashed down the side of a large building. It came to rest with a thud by a set of stairs that led up to an ornate entrance, its once proud golden art deco doors now hanging off their hinges.

  There was a sign just across the road, which she had noticed a little way back. She walked up to it and ran her hand through the dirt. It fell away to reveal a dirty blue circle with a red bar running through it saying Mark Lane Station. Below it was an arrow pointing left. Above her the humming continued.

  Emma exited Seething Lane and found herself standing opposite a large church, which seemed untouched compared to the buildings around it. There was a dryness in her mouth as she found herself looking out at a decimated city. Some buildings still stood but others had been left with only their façade. It was as if the hand of God had come down and, with one swipe, demolished everything around her, leaving only the occasional chair or table sticking out from the rubble as a reminder of what had been.

  She turned left and froze. “This is London?” Emma said it to herself but Father Eamon was now beside her.

  “We haven’t the time to waste, Emma, we must move on.”

  She ignored him, concentrating instead on the deep orange and red glow, which silhouetted the Tower of London and Tower Bridge as a crackling sound was carried on the wind. The smell of smoke and dust hit the back of her throat while on a boiling Thames, ships bobbed aimlessly at anchor.

  “What happened here? This is all different from what I remember…” Emma’s voice trailed off.

  She recognised the two landmarks but such buildings as there were, were different to what she remembered. They weren’t the coffee houses and newsagents that she had known. Those buildings that were still standing were blackened brick with row upon row of shattered rectangular windows. Waves of rubble stretched out to her right and above her the humming she had heard a short while ago was now a low, incessant droning. Looking up she saw huge beams of light cut through a smoky sky in lazy arcs. She stood transfixed, watching as the beams swept first left then right, illuminating huge floating balloons. Trying to take in the scene in front of her, Emma stepped back and tripped on a dislodged paving stone. It was enough to break her trance. Emma looked over to where Father Eamon and Taryn now stood, both of them waiting for her to come round.

  “We have to head towards London Bridge if we are to reach your parents,” Father Eamon said, motioning for Emma to join them.

  As they headed west, towards Cheapside, Emma found herself having to walk round the piles of rubble and debris, silently grateful for having chosen a set of trainers and jeans that morning. “I don’t understand. None of this was here yesterday.”

  “No, you’re right - but did you not notice how things started to decay as we made our way to the sanctuary?” Father Eamon was in front of her and was negotiating their passage around a large hole in the road. Emma thought for a second and remembered back to the buildings she had seen after they had left the sunken garden.

  “That was the twilight setting in.
As your consciousness left your body, so it came to this plane; but it is not an instant transition. It takes time and what you saw were the first elements of this world.”

  Emma tried to take this in but was more interested in not breaking something on the loose rubble. Behind her, she heard a noise and looked around. Taryn was picking herself up having just lost her footing on some loose half-bricks. She shot Emma a disgusted look.

  “This is ridiculous. Why do I always end up having to travel through London after a bombing raid? Other people get it in a heavy storm or during the Great Fire. I end up in rubble! It’s the third time this month!”

  The buildings around them flickered and spat, as orange and red tongues licked hungrily at window frames and doorways. Glass exploded, causing Emma and Taryn to duck as they worked their way along Byward Street whilst behind them, they heard a low rumble, followed by a roar as an avalanche of bricks and wood finally succumbed to the heat and flame.

  At Cheapside, Emma looked up nervously as a building to her left threatened to collapse at any second. She found herself heading to the centre of the street in an effort to minimise any danger from falling bricks, as an initiate and guide silhouetted in the distance narrowly avoided disappearing under a cascade of masonry.

  “Oh my god! Are they going to be okay?” Emma strained to see if they were still standing and breathed a sigh of relief as the debris settled to reveal them dusting themselves down.

  “Watch out for the rats.” Taryn had now caught up and followed Emma’s path into the middle of the road

  “Rats?”

  “Yeah, rats. They love this place. I had one run across my feet last week.” Taryn gave an involuntary shudder.

  “You’ve been here before?”

  “Yeah. I seem to be stuck with this place.” Taryn was looking around her with barely disguised contempt.

  Taryn’s words caused Emma to pause whilst negotiating her way around a large chunk of debris. “Hang on. What do you mean stuck with this place?”

  Taryn slowed down “What has Father Eamon told you about this plane?”