Isabella's Heiress

by N. P. Griffiths

  Father Eamon looked around, ensuring no one was within listening distance but even so Emma’s heightened sense of paranoia had her imagining invisible initiates and guides leaning in to their conversation.

  “Your task is to get that letter to your father.”

  Emma thought for a second. This wasn’t so bad. She had thought that she would have to do something more demanding. Judging from what she had found out and learnt since she had been here, it shouldn’t be too difficult at all. All she had to do was carry on with her training until she was at a point where she could master the skills she would need to complete it. Her mood lightened as she felt her prospects brightening by the second.

  “There is, I’m afraid, a complicating matter. You’re father is very ill. He has terminal bowel cancer. Emma I’m so very, very sorry that you have to find out this way, I truly am.”

  It was as if a giant fist had knocked all the wind out of her and Emma felt herself spinning. Once again elation was replaced with despair. This couldn’t be happening to her. Not now. Not when she thought that she might be getting to grips with this world.

  Father Eamon placed a hand on her arm and lent in closer.

  “Emma, I need you to look at me. Look at me!”

  His words were urgent and Emma looked up, tears welling in her eyes. All she could think was that her father was about to die and that she would never be able to say sorry or good bye. It was the worst of all outcomes.

  “How…how…long has he got?”

  “That is the problem. He has only six months left on his plane. That means that your time to complete the task is limited to the time he has left. Six months, Emma. Six months.”

  Emma sloped forward on the bench. All she could think was that the man who had showered her with love from the moment she was born and whom she had let down so badly was about to die without ever knowing how much she loved him.

  “I need some time alone.” She stood up and headed outside, sitting on the bench.

  People walked by consumed in their own private worlds but some stopped briefly to look curiously at the woman they had all heard about, sitting forlornly, staring at the walls of the tower. After a while Father Eamon came and sat by her.

  “Emma, can you hear me?”

  Emma nodded.

  “I understand what I have told you is a shock but you have to understand, your future is at stake here. This letter must be read by your father prior to his death. This is as much for him as it is for you.”

  “Says who? Who says that this is for anybody’s benefit? This is somebody’s idea of a sick joke.”

  “I won’t lie to you; we do not always know the reason behind these decisions. Nor would it help if we did.”

  “And besides there’s not a lot I can do about it even if I wanted to. I’m damned if do, damned if I don’t.”

  Father Eamon smiled, “Well it is down to you whether you’re damned or not but I would suggest that this is something that with effort on your part can be passed, do you not agree? Would you not want your father to read this letter before he dies?”

  “Of course I would.”

  “Well this is the only time that he will get a chance to see it, unless your mother looks in the bottom of the drawer and seeing as she hasn’t done that in over four years, do you really want to take the chance the she’ll look in the next six months?”

  Emma didn’t know what to say. She felt violated. She hadn’t told anyone about it.

  “I don’t have any choice in this do I?”

  “No, I’m afraid not. The decision has been made and there can be no going back.”

  “Bastards.”

  “Come Emma, we should get out whilst there is still time, you need to work on your crossing over.”

  In Bishopsgate they passed a well, its bucket sitting on the brick wall surrounding the drop. The rope attaching it to the wooden beam hung in a lazy U and in front of them, Emma could see the gate in the city wall. Father Eamon guided her away from the ever present stares and into a narrow alley which opened into the raised mound of a small churchyard surrounded by tenements on three sides and a church on the far end.

  “How do you feel about crossing over without using me?”

  Emma knew this question had been coming. “Not great.”

  “I understand but you will have to do it sooner or later and it is one of the most important things you will learn. Try it.”

  Emma closed her eyes and slowed her breathing. She tried to picture herself travelling between the two realms but nothing happened. She tried again, all the time aware that Father Eamon was by her side watching. Again nothing, although this time she did manage to give herself a slight headache.

  Emma opened her eyes to find the scene in front of her hadn’t changed. She let out a sigh of disappointment and turned away.

  “This will take time, Emma, no one gets it first time, so don’t be too down hearted. The thing is to keep trying and it will come. Take my hand and we will go through together.”

  “No. Let me try again in a little while. I want to do this myself.”

  Father Eamon nodded and they headed back onto the road. Emma closed her eyes and thought again of the Bishopsgate she had known. Father Eamon started to say something when the ground gave way beneath her and her stomach rushed into her mouth. For a second there was nothing except the rushing of the wind, and then there was noise, lots and lots of noise, and daylight.

  Emma opened her eyes and saw a black cab bearing down on her, its windscreen wipers obliterating watery reflections from its front window only for them to stubbornly return after every sweep. She jumped out the way just in time to see its driver pass by, oblivious to her presence. Emma was in the middle of Bishopsgate at rush hour. In jumping away from the taxi, she placed herself in the path of a large articulated lorry.

  It ploughed through her and Emma let out a low moan. It was as if she had been run though with icicles as first the cab then the body of the lorry entered her and passed out the other side. Her vision went and it was all she could do to keep her legs from collapsing beneath her. Once the lorry had passed through, she fell to the ground as nausea overtook her.

  She looked up to see the grille of another taxi increasing in size. Her shoulders sunk as she realised she was going to go through the same experience again but just as the bumper was within feet of her, she was lifted up and carried to a disused doorway away from the flow of people and traffic.

  “Take a deep breath. It will pass.”

  Father Eamon was kneeling in front of her and looking intently into her face.

  Emma struggled to clear her vision. “What happened?”

  “I tried to warn you not to try to cross over whilst in the middle of a road but as I did, you disappeared.”

  Emma just sat there, despondently looking out over the traffic, drained of all her energy and hope. The feeling was returning to her legs and she stood up, looking shakily at Father Eamon for support.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t think about that.”

  Father Eamon placed his arm on Emma’s shoulders. “This is how you learn. You are none the worse for it apart from having your confidence shaken. It is not a pleasant feeling but it is harmless none the less.”

  Emma looked out to the spot in the road where the lorry had run her through. “How do you know where to cross over? How do you stop yourself from doing that?”

  “You learn over time where the safe places are, although as a general rule, it is never a good idea to do it in a main road.” There was a smile on Father Eamon’s face as he said this. Emma tried to respond but the best she could manage was a faint grimace.

  “The place I took you to is still a square here. You would have ended up there.”

  The feeling of shock was replaced by one of stupidity. Emma looked across the road to where the church now stood between two glass and steel buildings housing large investment banks. The traffic was heavier now as people started to make their way home. The pavements wer
e filling up with office workers trying to get to wherever it was that they were going as quickly as possible as the rain got heavier. It was getting dark now and the rush to the stations was starting with people raising umbrellas and pulling their coats in tighter as they hurried along the wet and slippery pavement.

  “Well, I guess I can cross over.” It was a weak attempt at a joke but it raised her spirits a little. Emma still felt drained but her strength was slowly returning and she felt strong enough to move on.

  “Where to now?”

  “We’ll walk a little, let your strength come back”

  They stepped back into Bishopsgate and headed towards Liverpool Street Station. The street was crowded; an intentional coincidence on Father Eamon’s part, Emma had no doubt, to get her to practice walking amongst the living. That thought brought on a feeling of sudden loneliness and she had to force herself to concentrate on avoiding the people around her. She was getting better but every now and again, an arm or a briefcase would catch her and she would experience a sickening numbness where she had been caught. It would pass in a second but whilst it was there, it was impossible to concentrate on anything else. She watched as streams of commuters turned left and headed for the main entrance of the station.

  “It feels strange being back here.”

  “It always does but you will get used to it. How are you feeling?”

  “Better I think. I’m not as tired as I was but I feel…” Emma struggled to find words for what she was feeling. Something wasn’t right. It had come on once she started walking but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was.

  “Disorientated?”

  “Yes, disorientated.”

  “It is your body trying to adjust to the new plane.”

  “Oh, you mean like jet lag.”

  Father Eamon looked at her quizzically.

  “It’s when you fly between different time zones around the world. Your mind knows what time it is but your body has to adjust.”

  “Ah.” Father Eamon grinned, “I understand. Ah, yes this will do. We’ll turn down here.”

  They crossed the road and turned into Steward Street. There, Father Eamon stopped and looked around. Emma tried to work out what he was looking for but all she could see was him inspecting the upper floors of the buildings that ran down the right hand side of the street. She looked across the road at a square that opened out onto rows of glass-fronted shops. It was different from the last time she had been down here but that had been a while ago and she reminded herself that things change. That thought brought a wry smile to her face. Things change. Yeah, don’t they just.

  Emma looked at the back of her hand, before turning it over and stretching out her palm. It felt strange to see rain drops stop at the point they made contact with her body yet feel nothing as around her, people ran for cover as the storm took hold. To the west a roll of thunder shook the sky, whilst the rain started to fall in waves, causing mini explosions on the ground. She and Father Eamon kept to the road, avoiding the sodden workers hurrying for their trains’ home. Vehicles were few and far between at this time of night, with the exception of the odd taxi but they wouldn’t be coming down a dead end street, so there was only the occasional car to worry about and even they were mostly gone, their owners choosing to leave early rather than brave the commuter traffic in an encroaching storm.

  They headed into Brushfield Street using the canopies that extended out from the Old Spitalfields Market as cover. Emma’s stomach was still queasy from crossing over and her legs and arms ached from where they had suddenly been drained of all their energy. She tried not to look in the windows of the shops as they passed them, knowing that there would be no one to look back.

  The rain was getting harder now and even though it couldn’t touch Emma, she pulled her coat tighter around her anyway.

  “Emma, you see that streetlight on the corner over there?”

  Father Eamon was pointing to a light, which sat just short of the entrance to Crispin Street. It was giving out a dull orange flicker as opposed to the solid yellow glow of the others. Its bulb was dying and producing a last defiant surge of energy before the filament finally gave out.

  “Watch.”

  As Emma looked at the light, it suddenly grew brighter until it radiated the same confident intensity as all the others.

  “All I am doing is concentrating on the bulb and willing it to glow brighter.”

  Father Eamon turned away and the bulb went back to its flickering former self.

  “Have a go, see how it feels.”

  Emma looked at the light and concentrated on the opaque cover that shielded the bulb. For a second the flickering seemed to quicken but then it went back to its irregular pattern. She tried again but with no success. The veins in her head started to pulse and she found herself holding her breath as she tried to bend the light to her will.

  Eventually she gave up, exhausted and sat on the kerb. Water gurgled into a nearby drain as Emma sucked in deep breaths.

  “Get your breath back, Emma and we’ll try again. Try not to worry about not getting it first time.”

  Father Eamon went and stood on the opposite side of the road and as she looked up, Emma realised they were now the only people left in the street. She stood up and walked into the middle of the tarmac, determined to get it right. She looked up at the flickering light and took a deep breath, concentrating on the dim orange glow of the filament. Slowly the flickering became less erratic and the glow went from a weak orange to a dim yellow. The glow started to gain in intensity until it was half the strength of the streetlights around it but at that point it stopped. Emma concentrated harder, her breathing becoming more laboured but it made no difference, she could not get it to glow any brighter. Eventually she gave up and the light went back to its flickering. Emma gave an exasperated groan before turning away.

  Father Eamon walked over and motioned for Emma to turn back to the streetlight. “Try this.”

  He raised his arm and pointed it towards the light. Emma watched as the light shone bright yellow before returning to its orange flicker.

  “Raise your arm until it is inline with your eye. Then point it at the lamp.”

  Emma did as he said, raising her right arm until she could look down it and see the streetlight at the tip of her index finger, then she started to work on the light again, channelling her thoughts through her extended arm.

  Slowly the light started to get brighter until it reached the point where it had stayed last time. Emma slowed her breathing and concentrated harder until, after a few seconds, the glow from the streetlight started to fill the air around it as it reached its full strength. She kept it there for a few seconds before dropping her arms and resting her hands on her knees. Even the sudden exhaustion couldn’t keep the feeling of elation from rushing over her. When she stood up, there was a smile of deep satisfaction on her face. “I did it!”

  “You did. Well done. You see it wasn’t really that difficult was it.”

  Father Eamon placed an arm around her shoulders in congratulations. “The next step is to learn to control that power so that it becomes easier and can be used for longer. There are exercises for that which I will show you. They will help you understand this ability more.”

  Emma was about to respond when a half-scream struggled to make itself heard from a side street just a short way from where they were. Father Eamon headed over to the street followed by Emma. It was narrow and the lights afforded little in the way of illumination. At first Emma could see nothing but as her eyes became more accustomed, the shapes of two people against a wall became clear. They were at the far end of the road but it was impossible from where Emma was standing to be sure what they were doing. After a few seconds, Emma started to walk towards the couple, an uneasy feeling settling in her stomach.

  “Emma, this is most unwise. There is nothing we can do here.”

  Emma ignored Father Eamon and carried on down the road. As she got closer, it became clear that the
couple were a man and a woman. They were tight against each other and half-hidden by a doorway. The man was whispering in the ear of the woman and had one of his arms wrapped around her waist but there was something about it that made Emma very uncomfortable. She could see that the woman’s face was twisted to one side, her eyes tightly closed.

  Through the pounding rain, Emma could hear small sobs coming from her as she tried to edge backwards but had nowhere to go, trapped between the man and an unyielding wooden door. It was a grotesque parody of a loving couple.

  “Please, you can have my bag. There’s money in it. Just take it.”

  There was desperation in her voice as she tried to bargain with her assailant and the man stepped back for a second, allowing Emma to get a good look at him. He was skinny, with short brown hair and pockmarked skin, but he ignored her pleas, instead forcing her further up against the door as his green and red leather jacket gave off a dull reflection of the streetlights.

  Where the woman’s coat was now open he groped her, eliciting more cries from his victim but he was oblivious to them, caught up in his own need for her. He pulled her blouse out of the waistband of her skirt before running his hand up inside it until he spasmed and groaned.

  Emma found herself breathing hard as she watched, helpless. She ran up to the man and went to pull him off but her arms went through him, the agonising numbness returning with every attempt. In her desperation, the heat of Emma’s tears mixed with the coolness of the rain drops on her cheeks.

  There was nothing she could do no matter what she tried and it was only getting worse for the woman in the doorway. The man was running his hand down onto the hem of her skirt and his breath was coming in short, sharp gasps. She was trying to keep her legs together but he used his knee to force them apart.

  “Please, don’t.” The words were coming between sobs and the woman tried to use her hands to keep him from forcing her skirt up but he brushed them away before using his whole body to slam her back into the door.

  “Stop struggling or I’m going to really hurt you.”