Isabella's Heiress

by N. P. Griffiths

  She turned and headed towards the ladder without waiting for an answer.

  At the bottom Emma peered round the door looking for any evidence of the two men who had accosted her. There was none. The sun was waning outside but there was still time to make it back to the sanctuary before dark.

  Rodolfo caught her up. “You are certain you will not be dissuaded from your foolhardy course?”

  Emma turned to face him as she stepped outside. “Yes, absolutely.”

  “Well do not do anything until you hear from me. I am not saying yes you understand but I must ponder upon this.”

  Emma’s face lit up, “thank you, thank you!”

  “Aah!” Rodolfo waved her off with an exasperated look and headed back inside.

  As Emma turned to head back to the sanctuary, she heard a final comment come from the warehouse. She couldn’t be sure but it sounded like “Just like her!”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Dali’s discovery

  Emma stood in front of a red brick Victorian terrace looking up at the second floor. Samantha had rented a flat in it six months earlier, before she had walked out in front of the lorry. Its tall ceilings and period features had instantly struck a chord with her sister and she had signed the lease within days. Emma smiled as she remembered carrying boxes up to the flat and seeing the chaos that was synonymous with Sam as she walked through the front door.

  The artist in her seemed to rail against the uniform lines of a tidy place and instead everything seemed at odds with everything else even though Emma was sure that Sam had probably spent hours working out where she wanted it all to go. Even as children it had always been Sam who had won the battle of wills when it came to tidying her room, with their mother eventually excepting a untidy status quo.

  Now, as Emma waited patiently on the pavement, her mind drifted to all the times her sister had come home from school with paint in her hair and, worse, on her school uniform much to the disgust of her parents. Of course they didn’t mind so much after that parents’ evening when they had been told about their daughter’s prodigious talent as an artist. From that day on, they had spared no expense in their pursuit of every opportunity available to allow Sam to study and practise until she finally got accepted to University. After that came her studio in a warehouse on Cable Street, just to the east of the City of London and then her flat.

  Emma looked down the street, wondering where Sam was. It was Saturday and she hated working on weekends, unless she was coming up to a deadline on a commission. They had been starting to come through for about eighteen months, ever since her work had been shown in an exhibition of emerging artists at the Whitechapel Gallery, but Saturday’s were always ‘her days’ and she would use the time to go to the gym and meet friends.

  Emma knew she should be home soon and was starting to get fidgety. She had never been good at waiting for anything, so she breathed a sigh of relief as a beaten up old Clio turned in to the road, its dark blue paint doing little to disguise the dents and dinks in its bodywork. The car pulled into a bay outside of the house and Samantha got out. Emma felt her shoulders lose some of the weight that had settled on it in recent times. She watched as her sister got out and took the bags of food from the boot. She followed her up the path and waited behind her as Samantha struggled to open the front door with her hands full of shopping. As the door opened, Emma managed to slip in, keeping just far enough away from her sister to avoid direct contact.

  Samantha entered the cold hallway and closed the door behind her. The floor was a tiled affair with a rug running down the middle and a solitary telephone sitting on a narrow table to the right. She wrestled with the bags as she made her way unsteadily upstairs, twisting at odd angles in an effort to ensure that they didn’t burst, until she arrived at her front door with Emma in tow. Samantha put the bags down and fished for the door key in her shoulder bag, pulling out a small collection of keys attached to a chain that finished with a picture of Samantha’s pet cat, Dali.

  Emma smiled as she remembered being introduced to the tabby kitten and the ribbing she had given Sam when she had told her what its name was. Dali was fully grown now and slunk round the door to meet Sam, but the instant he stood in the hallway; he froze and arched his back. Crouching down on his haunches, Dali let out a low hiss as he slowly scanned the landing.

  “What’s wrong, Dali?” Samantha looked down at the cat with a concerned look on her face. She turned and looked behind her but it was a small landing and it was obvious that she was the only one on it apart from her cat who was now working his way slowly towards Emma, sniffing the air as he went. As he got closer, Dali seemed to lose some of his aggression until he was almost at her feet. Emma went to step back but the cat did something that made her stop. It started purring, rose off his haunches and rolled over onto his back before playfully kicked his legs in the air, whilst looking at where Emma was standing.

  Emma looked down at the cat, frozen to the spot. There was no way he could see her but he knew she was there none the less and that left her feeling spooked as she watched Dali work his way along the floor.

  Samantha’s face was now one of amusement. “Come on in you stupid cat, I’ve got something for you.”

  Dali rolled back on to his feet and followed Emma into the flat as she once again slipped passed her sister.

  “Come on you, I’ll get you some lunch.”

  Samantha placed the bags on the floor and pulled out a sachet of cat food. She ripped it open before pouring the contents in to a small plastic bowl and putting it on the floor. Dali, however, wasn’t interested in the food. He chose instead to watch Emma contentedly as she looked around the flat.

  Emma winced as she saw the pictures of her and Lisa on the mantelpiece. They were taken when she was in the sixth form with Lisa three years below her. It was the last picture of Lisa taken before the accident and she had kept one as well which she had treasured, keeping it in her purse right up to the day she had died. Nothing much seemed to have changed until she got to the windows. The dowdy red curtains that had come with the flat had been replaced with a set of wooden slatted blinds and for a second Emma felt a sense of betrayal. Samantha had moved on, life had moved on. But as soon as it was there it was gone, as Samantha’s body language told Emma that she was anything but over her older sister’s death. Her movements were leaden and there was a resigned air about her that Emma hadn’t noticed before.

  Samantha cleared the shopping away before putting the kettle on. She opened a copy of a magazine that sat on the work surface and flicked listlessly through it, waiting for the water to boil. When the steam came to a head, she took a mug from a cupboard and threw a teabag into it before taking a carton of milk from the fridge. The water bubbled and frothed over the teabag and Samantha swore as she splashed her hand.

  When she was done, she took the mug of tea and sat on a couch placed to take maximum advantage of the early morning sun. Samantha stared blankly out of the window, alone with her thoughts. Except she wasn’t alone and it was all Emma could do not to sit next to her only surviving sister and hug her.

  Emma knew what she had to do and she hated herself for it but it was the reason why she was here and she only had limited time. She took a couple of deep breathes but her emotions were getting the better of her and she had to gulp hard before she could continue.

  Take a look at the letter, Sam. Take a look at the letter you found in my bedroom.

  Emma forced herself to look hard at Samantha but it was no use, she couldn’t focus. Her heart pounded hard as she watched her sister suffer and she knew that it would be impossible to do anything but she had to try.

  “Come on, Sam, please. Look at the letter.”

  Emma walked around the flat, forcing herself to get a grip whilst Dali looked on from Samantha’s side, torn between consoling his mistress and investigating the unknown yet strangely familiar presence that was now walking towards the kitchen.

  Emma turned back to her sister who h
adn’t moved from the seat. She walked over and looked hard at a spot just above her eyes.

  Sam, you want to look at the letter you found in the bedroom. You have a burning curiosity to read it.

  Sam didn’t respond and Emma looked at her sister in exasperation.

  “C’mon, Sam. Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.” Read the letter!

  This time Sam put her mug down and reached for her shoulder bag, from which she extracted a crumpled envelope. Emma’s heart leapt as she watched her sister trace the outline of the envelope with her right index finger. She worked it loose at one corner and then tore it open before pulling out the single sheaf of paper.

  Emma looked on as Samantha took in the contents of the letter. She had written it five years earlier but every word was as fresh in her mind as if she had only just put the pen down. It was as if nothing had changed since that June afternoon and yet everything was different now and it had brought her here, to her sisters flat, in the hope of redemption.

  Only now, as she watched Samantha reading the letter, she couldn’t be sure what she was hoping for redemption from. The constant threat of failure seemed to regress in the face of redeeming herself in her father’s eyes and for the first time in an age that seemed a possibility.

  Samantha started to cry as she continued to read and Emma felt the hot welt of tears in her own eyes. She watched as Sam read and reread the letter before placing it on the coffee table in front of her. Emma stepped back from her sister in a vain effort to give her some privacy.

  “I’m sorry about this Sam but I need to do this.” Take the letter to dad. It’s really important that you do this now.

  Samantha picked up the letter but then put it back down. Emma tried again but it was no use, she couldn’t focus and Samantha was in turmoil after reading it. When Emma tried to plant another suggestion, it became too much for Samantha and she threw the now-empty mug across the room only to watch it smash against the wall and fall to the floor.

  Emma looked on in desperation as Samantha got up and reached for her jacket.

  “No, Sam, please don’t leave, not without the letter.”

  But it was no good. Samantha grabbed her bag and scooped up the keys as she headed for her front door.

  Emma felt a crushing sense of failure as Samantha raced down the stairs and headed out of the house. She only stopped when she got to the car. There she closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath.

  “Sam, please go back, pick up the letter.”

  Samantha got in the car where, after struggling with her keys, she forced it into reverse and shot into the road behind. After a second of stillness, the car hurtled forward and raced off east, leaving Emma in its wake.

  Emma was left standing on the pavement trying to cope with all the emotions that were now coming to the surface. She looked up and screamed at the sky. She had come here to finish her task but instead had managed to leave her sister in an even more confused state than she had been before. If anything it was even less likely that she would pass the letter on now.

  For all she had done in getting this far, it felt to Emma like she wasn’t going to get any further and now, as she watched the car turn right and disappear out of sight, it felt like she had already failed.

  Had Emma not been so pre-occupied with her thoughts about Samantha’s reactions to the letter, she would probably have seen the shadow that slowly enlarged to her right as she walked off London Bridge. As it was her heart nearly flew out of her mouth as a hand was placed firmly on her shoulder and she was dragged sharply backwards into an alleyway.

  Emma’s senses returned and she started to kick and bite but the grip just got firmer as she was lifted off her feet.

  “Quiet, child, do you want the whole realm to know I am here?”

  Rodolfo’s voiced hissed in her right ear and a wave of relief swept over Emma as she let her body relax. His grip loosened as they entered a bakery. He stepped back and Emma turned around to see a man whose face was fixed in a dark mask.

  “Are you still intent on your action?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Foolish child, you have no idea what you are getting yourself into. I had hoped a few days reflection would have caused you to see the folly of your actions.”

  Emma felt a horrible churning in her stomach. Did this mean that he wasn’t going to help after all? How would she get Taryn out if not with his help? She daren’t approach Father Eamon; he would go through the roof if he found out what she was planning.

  “All I’ve been thinking about is how I’m going to get her out, nothing else. I’m determined to go ahead with this, regardless of whether you’re helping me or not.”

  As Emma’s eyes adjusted to the lower light in the shop, she became aware of the tears in Rodolfo’s clothes and the bruises and scratches on his face. These marks were fresh and could only have been made in the previous couple of days.

  “What happened to you?”

  Emma’s question was met with a grunt. “’Tis not your concern, child. I had a minor disagreement with a few people who, lets just say, weren’t too keen on my presence in the realm. It happens every now and again.”

  Fresh blood seeped from a gash on his left cheek. Emma went to dab it with her sleeve but Rodolfo waved her off. “Ignore it. ‘Tis nothing compared to what they got. This sort of thing goes on all the time, more so since you arrived. They are scared of you, Emma. Scared of what you bring with you.”

  “What I bring with me, what do I bring with me?”

  “The end of all things, certainly as they know it. Should you ascend, then the balance of power, so carefully looked after by both sides for nearly half a millennia, will change.”

  Emma felt the creeping frustration start to work up from her stomach “I still don’t understand what it is I’m supposed to do. Everybody seems to look at me as if I’m some kind of messiah when all I am is me! I’m nothing special and yet everybody thinks I am. God, I can’t even complete a simple task.”

  Rodolfo’s face straightened at this. “It doesn’t go well?”

  “Not really, I know I can’t say too much but I’m not having much luck.”

  “Hmm…that is to be expected. Your sister probably has deeply conflicting feelings about that letter. Remember it is from her dead sister and it is going to her dying father. A man you did not speak to for many years before you died.”

  Emma looked at him for a second, taken aback. “How do you know about the letter?”

  Rodolfo smiled at her, “I am not a guide and few people, up to a little while back at any rate, knew of my existence, so I could go about without anybody looking for me. It was whilst I was out one day that I heard you and Father Eamon talking about what it was that you had to do.”

  Emma’s eyes widened, “You were spying on me?”

  Rodolfo looked offended, “I never spy! I merely hunt for something until I find what I am looking for.

  “I have been here for almost as long as the plane has existed, Emma. All that time I have looked for Isabella’s heiress. When I heard that Father Eamon was in the realm, I knew that something was amiss. He is not a man that the Council would lightly send on any task let alone something as menial as guiding an initiate. I followed the two of you from the first day that you were here…”

  “So you were spying.”

  “I had my reasons for following you, Emma. Please do not think too badly of me. I would hope that my actions since you have known me would bear out my character.”

  Emma thought back to the night she had come so close to getting caught by the Gentle Man only to have Rodolfo shield her and then to see his actions in saving Sister Ignacia from the Soul Gorger. She couldn’t help but be completely creeped out by the prospect of Rodolfo watching her when she had had her guard down but it wasn’t as if he had been watching her showering and he’d had honourable motives, she reasoned.

  “I understand, I guess.”

  “Then you understand that this fools
errand in to the heart of the enemy will come to no good.”

  The frustration started to get the better of Emma, as they seemed to be back at square one, “I don’t care what anybody says. I don’t care who or what I’m supposed to be! I’m going after Taryn one way or the other.”

  Rodolfo looked at her and started to tremble. “Petulant child! Do you not realise what you risk? What hangs in the balance with your every whim? Your friend would be far better served by you completing your task than throwing everything away on a forlorn hope!”

  “Better served how? By me leaving her there to be tortured and abused? That isn’t about to happen.” Emma paused before she lost control. After a few deep breathes, she looked Rodolfo in the eye, “Tell me, what would Isabella have done in this situation?”

  The question caught Rodolfo off-guard and for a second he seemed lost for words. His eyes glazed over, before coming back to the present, then he let out a low sigh as he wiped his arm across his face.

  “She would have followed her heart regardless of my council.”

  “Then why would you expect anything else of me?”

  Rodolfo sighed, “Times are different, Emma. The stakes have never been higher and your actions would risk your capture.”

  “And yet I’m going to go regardless.”

  Rodolfo motioned towards a chair in the corner of the room, “Then sit down, there are things you must know, before you take any further action.”

  “Such as?”

  “Please, Emma, sit down.”

  Emma brushed the dust from the shelf in the bay window and sat on it, careful not to catch any splinters.

  Rodolfo shook his head, “Not there. We are some hours from darkness but their servants are many and they will be looking for you.”

  Emma looked nervously out of the window before shifting herself on to the floor.

  Rodolfo took a final look out of the window before he carried on, “Tell me, what do you know about Taryn’s final destination?”