Isabella's Heiress

by N. P. Griffiths

  A thin smile drew itself across Emma’s face. “Sounds like the law firm I used to work at.”

  The clock on the wall showed eight fifty and Emma yawned as she struggled against the warmth of the room.

  “I don’t understand, who were the Robillard’s? Why would they want to overthrow the church?”

  “Theirs is a story of greed and deception. They are the earthly form of an ancient evil. One that has worked towards the downfall of man since before memory.

  “They have existed in one form or another for millennia but their time coincided with a period of decreased influence for the church and their masters thought they could take advantage of this. They would have won as well, had it not been for Isabella Calabria.”

  Emma’s eyes narrowed. “Are? Don’t you mean were?”

  “No, they are still around. They are what you would call old money. Just because you do not see or hear of them on a daily basis does not mean they have gone away. But we have them well contained.

  “Emma, I want you to put this to one side. I understand that what I ask seems impossible but if you fail this task, anything else will be moot.”

  Emma looked around the room at all the toys and posters that had been such a comfort when she had been a child, now all they did was remind her of a better, simpler time when all she had to worry about was boys and homework. She let out a long, low sigh and looked directly at Father Eamon. “How am I supposed to put this to one side when I have people constantly reminding me about it every time I walk out of the door?”

  “I understand that it won’t be easy but you must do it. All that matters right now is that you pass the trial.”

  “Or what, I’m stuck here for all eternity? Doesn’t sound like such a bad deal from what I’ve heard so far.”

  Father Eamon didn’t react but Emma was sure she saw his pupils dilate. He shifted slightly in his seat before responding. “When Edith was removed from here, she was taken to Newgate Gaol. She may be there a day or she may be there a decade, no one knows. The things they do there are not to be looked on lightly.”

  Father Eamon’s voice trailed off and for the first time, Emma sensed something other than the strength that she had come to rely on. He got up to leave, turning to Emma as he reached the door, “We should really head out to carry on with your studies.”

  Father Eamon left and Emma went into the bathroom to wash. As she changed, the pictures in her mind refused to go away. By now she had learned that, unless it was raining, the temperature in the twilight plane stayed the same no matter what period of London you found yourself in. That was unless you ended up by a building on fire in which case it could get uncomfortably hot.

  Emma went downstairs and found Father Eamon waiting for her in the garden. Outside the gate Emma found herself standing on a cobbled street between nondescript warehouses emblazoned with the emblem of the English East India Company. Large wooden doors and cranes hanging from windows on the two floors above them waited expectantly for deliveries of pitch, spices and cotton that would never arrive.

  Father Eamon looked up and down the empty street. They were the only ones there and Emma felt like she daren’t move for fear of breaking the silence.

  “Come Emma, there is something I want you to see.”

  Emma started to lose her feelings of anxiety as she watched the early morning sun bleed through the rooftops over Fenchurch Street. The roads here were rutted where horse-drawn omnibuses pulled their charges day after day. Pools of filthy water caused Emma to trip as she made her way along behind Father Eamon, causing her to silently pray to one day walk out into a plane with normal roads. Somewhere she didn’t run the risk of breaking her ankles every time she took a step forward.

  The buildings she passed were all the same colour of greyish-black. Even now, when the sun was only just rising and no one else was on the street, Emma could see the smoke drifting across the sky. It appeared the tanneries south of the river never shut, or if they did it was only for a few hours. The fallout from this meant that soot had ingrained itself in to the brickwork of the buildings surrounding the area in an uneven coat of pollution.

  Smog descended on Cheapside and Emma found herself in a pea souper. It came down so quickly that she had no time to adjust. She looked around for Father Eamon but couldn’t see anything beyond the end of her arm.

  “Father Eamon!”

  “I’m just in front of you, Emma, keep walking and you will find me.”

  She walked forwards and Father Eamon’s form slowly broke through the hazy drizzle Emma started to breathe a little slower.

  “What’s going on?”

  “A smog has arrived. I brought you here because I want you to realise what happens to those who fail their task. We are now at the junction of Old Bailey and Newgate Street. Do you know what used to sit here?”

  Emma looked at him as if he was addressing a child. “The Old Bailey.”

  “Yes, it sits there in your old world, but do you know what sat there before?”

  Emma thought for a second but hadn’t got a clue. As far as she knew, the Old Bailey had always been there.

  “Before the Old Bailey was here, Newgate Gaol occupied the ground for over eight hundred years. In that time many men and women went inside, by no means all came out. Some were publicly hanged not far from here. Those that weren’t were more often than not deported to the colonies. Many would say that they were the worse off out of the two. Conditions here were a death sentence for most, regardless of their crimes, and believe me when I say that you did not want to be an inmate in the event of the Thames rising. This is where the Gentle Men take their prize when they pick them up.”

  Emma remembered the first time she had ventured out of the sanctuary and shuddered. She strained her eyes as they walked but couldn’t see anything except the smog until, slowly, a dark shadow spread across the road. It started to loom up over everything around it until Emma could make out large blocks of stone, pockmarked where age and soot had taken their toll. She ran her hand over the wall and was surprised to find a harsh, clawing chilliness seeping through its pores and in to her fingers. It was as if the building had taken on a life of its own and was reaching out to her in an effort to drag her in. Emma felt her stomach start to tighten. She moved further along the wall until her hand came into contact with a sticky liquid and it momentarily stuck where it was. A large deep red globule fell off the stonework and hit the pavement with a splash as Emma pulled her hand away. She stepped back and looked at the section of wall in front of her. It was streaked with the liquid. She brought her hand up to her face to get a closer look at what had stuck to it and immediately flicked it away in an effort to rid herself of the final vestiges of the fluid. She had seen it once before when she had met Father Eamon and besides, blood had its own distinctive coppery smell.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” She wiped her hands up and down her jeans until it felt like the skin was going to peel off.

  “Step out in to the road Emma, there is nothing coming.”

  Emma did as Father Eamon suggested and saw that she had reached the corner of the wall. The mist lifted slightly and she could see the front of a grey, austere three storey building which ran down and away from her until the smog claimed it as its own. There were no windows just large, bricked up, stone frames that sat mockingly halfway up the façade, protruding out from the flat expanse of stone, at once teasing and scorning would be voyeurs to the events taking place inside.

  As the Old Bailey descended towards Ludgate Hill, every pore of the building exuded pain and misery. Emma saw the main door and stopped, not wanting to go any nearer, for fear of being dragged in.

  “This is Newgate Gaol. It has known nothing but misery in its entire existence and now it is used to torment those that are unfortunate enough to fail their task. Take a good look, Emma; this is where you will end up if you fail.”

  Emma’s stomach felt like it was looking for a way out and she took some deep breaths in an effort to p
acify it. Carved in to the stone above the doorway was a set of manacles and chains which formed a W. Below these the heavy-set oak doors creaked and moaned.

  “I want to go now. I don’t want to be here.” Emma’s voice was barely audible as she struggled to control her emotions. Father Eamon didn’t argue and they headed back to the sanctuary. Half way along Newgate Street, the smog lifted but Emma’s spirits didn’t and she spent the rest of the journey flipping between compassion for Edith and fear for her own future.

  When they arrived back at the sanctuary, Emma saw Taryn sitting outside on a bench. Taryn ignored her, instead she sat staring at the oak, caught up in her own thoughts.

  “Taryn, are you all right?”

  Taryn didn’t respond, she just continued looking at the oak, her hands clutched tightly in her lap. Emma sat next to her and rested a hand on her shoulder but Taryn flinched, retreating away from her touch.

  “Taryn, What’s happened?”

  Father Eamon knelt in front of her, forcing her to break contact with the tree. “Taryn, What have you seen?”

  Taryn broke down in to floods of tears, her shoulders shuddering with every gasping sob. “He’s hitting her.”

  “Who?” All thoughts for her own safety were instantly vanquished as Emma looked at Taryn’s soulless eyes.

  “Joe.”

  Emma was confused, who was Joe? And why was Taryn so upset about it? She had no idea how to comfort Taryn except to place an arm around her shoulders but that didn’t seem to help.

  Father Eamon breathed out and clasped Taryn’s hands in his own. “Why did you go back, Taryn?”

  “I don’t know. I was just…just curious and wh…when I got there. There was a row and I saw him hit her.”

  “There is nothing that you could do there, Taryn. It was unwise to return. You must understand, that world is no longer your domain and the only thing that happens when you return is the recurrence of painful memories.”

  Father Eamon leant forward and gently pulled Taryn in to his shoulder where she wept freely. For the first time Emma felt a tinge of envy on being on the outside.

  “Come, child, we should get inside. It will be dark soon.”

  Father Eamon motioned for Emma to follow them and she was grateful for the warmth of the hall as they entered through the narrow doorway. Taryn regained her composure, drawing deep breaths as she steadied herself before heading to her room.

  Emma went to follow her but Father Eamon placed his hand on her upper arm and shook his head.

  “What just happened?”

  “Let us sit and I will explain.”

  Emma followed Father Eamon to a bench and sat down. As she waited for him to explain, she felt the remnants of the jealousy drift away.

  “Who’s Joe?”

  “Joe was her fiancé.”

  “Her fiancé?” Emma groaned, “I had no idea she was engaged.”

  “He beat her when she was alive and ended up killing her when he threw her down the stairs during an argument.”

  Emma felt like someone had just kicked her in the teeth. Everybody had thought Taryn’s fall was an accident. There had never been any hint of anything else. Tears came to her eyes and a guilty knot twisted in her stomach. She remembered all the times that she had thought about contacting her in the years leading up to her death but had decided against it, considering herself to have moved on from their childhood friendship. Bitter tears slipped down her cheeks as she thought of the hell she must have been going through in that time and hatred welled in her for the man that had put Taryn through such misery. “Tell me he’ll suffer for this.”

  “He will be judged according to his actions as are we all.”

  “I hope he rots in hell.”

  Father Eamon’s mouth turned up at the edges. “Only time will tell.”

  Emma’s thoughts turned to her oldest friend now tucked away in her bedroom upstairs, crying her eyes out. “Oh, poor baby. Why did she go back?”

  “It is not unusual for people to do this. When you died, it was on a road near your work. It held no particular attachment for you. Taryn died at home; it is not easy to just walk away after you cross over. Many people return to see loved ones when they are in this plane but for Taryn, there are no happy memories there. Unfortunately for her, she will still feel a draw to that place and will do until her time here is finished.”

  Emma slumped forward, remembering the messages from her mum to call Taryn that she had ignored only to receive a call out of the blue to say that she was dead. She thought of all the missed opportunities to help her old friend and she placed her head in her hands.

  “I didn’t know, how could I know?”

  “Even if you had have known, what could you have done? She loved him and forgave him every time he hit her. She would not have listened to you.”

  Emma sat there, taking no comfort from Father Eamon’s words. All she could think of was that she might have been able to prevent Taryn ending up here.

  “I have to go upstairs.”

  Father Eamon nodded, “Remember, she may not want to talk about this and even if she does, there is nothing to be gained by dragging the past out.”

  But Emma was already halfway to the door and didn’t hear a word. Before she knew it she was up the stairs and outside Taryn’s door. She stood there trembling, her hand made in to a fist, held inches from the knocker. What do I say, sorry for not being there, I was too interested in my career, How has she been so nice to me all this time? She must hate me.

  She gently rapped on the door, hoping that Taryn wouldn’t hear it and she would have an excuse to walk away but a hoarse voice responded. “Yes.”

  “Taryn, it’s me, can I come in?”

  There was a long pause, where the walls seemed to close in on Emma before she heard a shuffling on the other side and the door clicked open.

  “Come in.”

  Taryn’s eyes were red and a thin sheen of sweat covered her face as she turned and walked back to her bed. Emma walked in and was taken back to a time in her life where she had wanted nothing more than to play with her Barbie and Cabbage Patch dolls. Taryn’s bedroom walls were done out in a dark pink and were covered in posters. A dresser sat at one end of the room with a beanbag to its right. The floor was covered in loose piles of Jackie and Smash Hits and a wardrobe sat opened with clothes spilling to the floor.

  Taryn sat on her bed, rocking backwards and forwards on the rumpled quilt, her knees drawn up to her chest. She had changed into a set of dark blue pyjamas. A fluffy set of slippers hung loosely off her feet.

  Emma ached as she watched her oldest friend retreat in to a shell. “Taryn, I’m so sorry, I never knew.”

  “How could you? You were away all the time.”

  Emma watched as Taryn sat looking at the wall. She moved into the room, the door closing behind her, and walked over to the bed. The quilt was a pink and white striped one that Emma remembered from her time as a child. It had always made her think of the candy canes in Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory and she had always felt cheated that she could never find them when she went shopping with her parents. Now she sat on it not knowing how Taryn would react.

  Emma reached out her arm to place it around Taryn’s shoulder but thought better of it.

  “Taryn, if I could turn back the clock I would, believe me.”

  Taryn just sat there, oblivious to Emma’s words.

  “I know I should have got in contact, I know that now. I was selfish and after the accident, I guess I felt guilty. I’m sorry, I really am.”

  “It’s a bit late for that now.” Taryn’s words were soft and her eyes didn’t leave the wall but they cut through Emma with every syllable.

  “I know, I’m sorry. I made a lot of mistakes back then, I just wish I could make up for them now I really do.”

  “Well unless you’re going to do my trial for me, I don’t see what you can do.”

  Emma stayed silent. There was no response to that and she knew that no
thing she could say to Taryn would be of any more comfort.

  “He bought me drinks.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Joe, he bought me drinks.”

  “Oh.”

  “He seemed so nice.”

  “Where did you meet him?”

  “In a club. He came over to me and offered to buy me a drink. He seemed so normal. Do you know how rare that was? For someone normal come up to me and offer to buy me a drink? I only seemed to get the complete wankers, you know? Pretty boys and idiots who thought they were gods gift to women. I had no idea what he was like.”

  “Why did you stay with him?”

  “I don’t know. I thought I could change him and he could be capable of such kindness.” Taryn’s words were getting softer and she slumped forward. “I feel such an idiot.”

  Emma leant over and wrapped Taryn in a tight bear hug. “You’re not. This guy was scum. He’ll pay for what he did.”

  Taryn didn’t respond, choosing instead to cling tightly to Emma like her life depended on it.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Night Falls

  Weeks turned in to months as Emma and Taryn continued with their tasks. It was always the same, the pensive looks on the way out and the silence on the way back. The journeys into the different realms slowly became more routine as they spent time practising their new found skills and the inhabitants started to treat them more like the other initiates that Emma would see walking around.

  A heavy storm one morning meant they found themselves standing underneath the eaves of a cobblers shop on the junction of Seething Lane and Thames Street as two women dressed in starched ruffs hurried to get out of the rain, the padded rolls and whalebone frames of their skirts causing them to trip as they attempted to avoid the pools of filthy water in the uneven dirt road.