Isabella's Heiress

by N. P. Griffiths

  Emma thought through her visit to Newgate Gaol with Father Eamon that misty morning and drew her arms around her knees as the memories of the dark granite building came flooding back. “I’ve seen it, Father Eamon took me there. He was trying to get me to focus on my trial.”

  “Hmmph and had about as much luck as me.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Never mind, I was thinking out loud. What you saw was just the outer façade. It goes far, far deeper than you can possibly imagine. It has levels that lead to places that no man should visit.”

  Emma saw the glazed look return for just a moment but it was gone as soon as it arrived. She shuddered as an image of Taryn in this place took hold in her head.

  “You see now the size of your task?”

  Emma said nothing in response, her eyes fixing on a spot on the wall ahead of her.

  “Halls a mile high, with roofs supported by colonnades’ that disappear into the darkness above, Stairs and statues that dwarf any human. Everything is designed to intimidate and breed fear, and believe me when I say that this is just the beginning.

  “They have devised ways of extracting human misery like nothing you have ever seen and pray you never see them.” Rodolfo’s voice started to crack as he spoke but after a brief pause, he continued. “This is a place where hope is banished and maudlin fear welcomed with open arms. If you do make it as far as the lower halls, you will have to contend with the black monks. The Cado Angelus use them as their vessels of pain. There is no method for delivering that pain that they do not know, no technique is overlooked and they take great pride in their work.”

  Not for the first time doubt crept in to Emma’s head. She hated herself for thinking it but she was starting to wonder if it was a risk worth taking. Samantha’s face came to mind as she thought about the fact that her trial was not yet completed and she started to mull over her options. She knew that she had to get Sam to deliver the letter but what more could she do? How long had she got anyway? Not long, her father never left his bed these days and that could not be a good sign. Emma felt a tearful choke catch in her throat as she thought about his imminent demise. The fact that part of the mystery of death had now been lifted from her should have been some comfort but the knowledge of the devastation that this would leave with her mother and one surviving sister wiped that out instantly.

  And then there was Taryn. Her future was certain wasn’t it? She was condemned to a miserable existence from here on in, but why? And according to whom? The more Emma thought about it, the more unfair it seemed. Taryn had done nothing to hurt anybody in her life, if anything she was the one who had been hurt, first by Emma and then by Michael. It wasn’t fair.

  The more Emma thought about it, the more her original conviction returned.

  “I’m still going. Are you going to help?”

  Rodolfo groaned, “Yes, I will, if only to speed your passage but there is one final thing that you must know. Time passes at a different rate inside the gaol. The woman you knew is not the woman you will see in there.”

  Emma’s eyes narrowed. “Meaning?”

  “What I mean, is that in this plane, she has been gone for a month or so but in that place, time will have passed far, far quicker.”

  “How much quicker?”

  Rodolfo paused for a second, “What to you will have been weeks will for Taryn have been years.”

  Emma slumped against the wall. “Years, how many years?”

  “It is hard to tell but you are looking at decades. Even if you find her, she may not remember you.”

  “Oh, Taryn.” Emma started to cry but she fought to regain her composure. “How do I get in there?”

  “There is an entrance that is left unguarded. They do not know it exists. It is a drainage tunnel that runs from the Fleet to the halls below the main building. Their one weakness is their arrogance. They feel that it is impossible to break out or for that matter to break in, so they overlook the seemingly unimportant.”

  Emma smiled as she looked out of the window at the now misty street outside. She had suspected as much from her recent travels. There were still a few hours to go until the sun set but it seemed to be darker all the time now.

  Rodolfo walked up to her side. “The night is nearly upon us and we do not want to get caught out in the open. If you are insistent on following this foolhardy course, then we should leave now.”

  Faced with this sudden choice, Emma felt a sudden jolt of indecision, but after a couple of seconds she took a deep breath and stood up. “We should go now then.”

  Rodolfo’s eyes rolled as he stood up and followed Emma towards the door. “Careful, child, do not be in such a hurry. It may not be night yet but there are still dangers for the unwary. If people see the two of us walking together, word will get back to Newgate before we have crossed the street. Leave now and meet me at the junction of Ludgate Hill and Old Bailey, do you know where that is?”

  Emma turned and nodded, hoping that Rodolfo wouldn’t be able to see through her. She would have known where Ludgate Hill was in her own London but here, in this city of narrow lanes and miasma clouds, she wasn’t sure she could find her way round the corner much less through half a mile of twisted back streets.

  “Good, I will leave shortly, now go.”

  Emma left the building and, pulling her jacket around her, hurried across King William Street and into the entrance to Cannon Street. A coach and horses hurtled out of the mist, narrowly missing her as it turned up Gracechurch Street.

  For the first time, Emma felt grateful to be cloaked by the mist. She could live with the slippery cobbles just as long as she could travel without being spotted. Emma knew that Rodolfo was right that they should not travel together but she could have done with his reassurance right then. Instead she distracted herself by trying to form some kind of plan for when she finally entered the gaol. After a while she gave up, knowing that whatever she came up with would more than likely be completely irrelevant against whatever she found down there.

  Every now and again, the heat from a gas lit street lamp would cause the fog to rise and Emma would get glimpses of top hats and wide skirts as people would pass by. Some would look in her direction and for one heart skipping moment, Emma would think that a scream or shout would cut through the unnatural stillness but there was nothing, the mist saw to that.

  Now though, there was a new problem. Whilst the mist hid Emma from anybody that might be nearby, it also hid London from Emma. Try as she might, she could not get her bearings. She new she was still on Cannon Street but where? Every time her foot slipped on a kerb, or the tell-tale clip-clop of a horse drawn carriage came from her left, Emma would follow it down a short way to see where it went but the kerbs went off at right angles down to the Thames and she realised soon enough that the sounds of the horses hooves were distorted by the buildings so they could have been coming from anywhere. Eventually, the pavement turned left and Emma breathed a sigh of relief as she realised that she was at the junction with Queen Victoria Street. Straining her ears to make sure she wasn’t about to be run over, Emma half ran, half walked across the empty road and carried on down towards Ludgate Hill, but it wasn’t long before Emma realised that she had made a mistake as the mist thickened and her world was invaded by new noises. The sound of water lapping against wood told her that she was too near the wharfs. She had taken a wrong turn and, looking around, Emma knew she had no hope of finding her way back.

  A rising sense of panic overtook her and she started to look for any turn off that might take her back up the way she had come, but which way was back? Come to that which way was left or right? With a sinking feeling, Emma realised that she was hopelessly lost and to top it, there was something else. People. Without realising it, Emma had managed to walk into a side street that was lined with shabby looking dwellings that opened straight out onto the street. Broken windows were framed by rotten wood and, around her, barrels lay on their sides, their spoilt contents spewed across the ground. Emma
tried to cover her nose with her jacket as the sounds of men and women groaning and vomiting started to fill her ears. Then another smell hit her, it was of excrement and waste from the south bank tanneries, combined with tar and damp hemp from the dock warehouses. The Thames had to be nearby.

  “Rotten innit dahlin’”

  The words were spoken by a toothless woman with nothing but a few rags and a rough woollen shawl for clothing. She had come out of the mist to Emma’s left and Emma recoiled at the sight of her.

  “I knows who you are, Emma. You’ll fetch a pretty penny, wontcha. There’s people who wants you bad, int there?” The woman reached out with an emaciated and scab covered arm in an attempt to grab Emma.

  “Get the fuck away from me!”

  Emma stepped back, slipping on the damp cobblestones as she did so. If she thought that her words would scare the woman off, she was disappointed. It had the opposite effect. Not only did the woman advance on her with even more vigour but around her, Emma could hear stirrings from the buildings as people woke up to who was in their midst. Slowly, the mist started to give way to the shadows and silhouettes of more and more people dragging themselves towards Emma in a ramshackle advance. Emma ran back up the street but the mist stopped her from following a straight line and she ended up tripping over a barrel in her haste to get out. Her right shoulder took the brunt of the impact as she hit the ground and Emma let out a yelp of pain that gave her position away to everybody following her. Voices carried on the foul air as fights started among the crowd as to who could get to her first.

  Emma tried to get up but the fall had knocked the wind out of her and she was momentarily paralysed. All she could do was try and kick with her legs in an effort to escape the oncoming mob but even that was proving impossible and she watched in mounting terror as the mist grew darker and the air got thicker with the shouts and screams aimed at her.

  The first arms started to pierce the mist and the shouts reached a crescendo as they found her but they stopped almost as soon as they started as the ground shook violently beneath them. Confusion, then fear overtook the mob and what started as a slow retreat ended up being a rout as the ground shook again, this time accompanied by a low booming.

  Emma looked at where the crowd had been only seconds ago trying to find the source of the shaking. She raised herself up on her elbows and took in some deep breathes but they left her in a hurry as she saw a booted set of feet appear next her. A hand came down and grabbed her collar before pulling her straight up. Rodolfo looked her straight in the eye. He did not look happy.

  “Of all the places to get lost in, you chose here!”

  Emma thought about mentioning the fact that generally getting lost wasn’t a choice so much as an unfortunate state of affairs that was thrust on you, but seeing the dark look on Rodolfo’s face she thought better of it.

  “I don’t know what happened. I thought I’d gone the right way…”

  “…And ended up in the wharfs. We should not stay. Word will get back that you are down here. Keep close.”

  Rodolfo motioned for Emma to stay by his side and they headed back into the mist. As they came back up into Queen Victoria Street, Emma could see the staff that he carried in his right hand, so that was the cause of the tremors, she thought. Emma’s mind went back to the Soul Gorger and Rodolfo’s actions back then. She’d watched as the Soul Gorger had been reduced to a wobbling jelly for a few seconds but only now realised exactly why.

  They carried on walking until Emma felt an arm placed across her chest.

  “We are here.”

  Exactly where here was, was lost on Emma as all she could see was mist but the awful smell that was causing her to gag told her that the River Fleet was somewhere nearby.

  “Where are we?”

  “Newgate is off to our right.”

  Emma stiffened at these words and hoped the mist was as thick there as it was here. It wasn’t lost on her that it was now nearly dark.

  “Fear not, they cannot see us. If anything, the fracas at the docks will have diverted their attention down there.”

  “What happens now?”

  “Now you continue on alone..” Rodolfo took her left hand and placed it on a cold, wet rail. “These steps lead down to a tow path which will take you to a door.” He placed something else cold and wet in her right hand, “This key will open that door. Turn left when you get to the bottom of the steps.”

  Emma turned around and looked at him with wide eyes “You’re not coming with me?”

  “No, child, I cannot go in there, and if you had any sense you would abandon this foolhardy errand as well.”

  But Emma wasn’t in any mood for that and headed down the steps.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Romulus and Remus

  The door was hidden in a recess in the sewer wall. As Emma walked slowly towards it something moved to her left and she recoiled as a rat brushed past her, squeaking in protest, its whiskers and course hair rubbing against her ankle.

  The walls were wet, green streaks of filth testament to the countless times the river had run high and over flown whilst the dark tide of scum running along the bottom gave off a smell that made her gag.

  Emma’s hands ran up and down the roughly hewn wood until they found a small piece of cold metal. She removed the key from its hiding place in her trouser pocket and, using her left hand, guided it to her right in the dark. When her hands found each other, Emma pushed the key into the hole. The lock, rusty and stiff after so many years of neglect, was unwilling to let the key pass, but after twisting it first left then right, Emma was able to push it all the way in. The lock protested with a grinding squeal. Emma stopped; scared that she might break the only way she had to get in. She teased the key, slowly loosening the mechanism until she managed to get it to rotate fully. The lock disengaged from the doorframe, giving one last grating protest. Emma cringed, certain that everybody within a miles radius must have heard it.

  After what seemed like an eternity Emma tried the door. She pushed gently with one hand but the door stayed firm. Emma realised the door was stuck fast and put her whole body weight against it. This time it flew open, as the last elements of rust and corrosion gave way.

  She fell through the open doorway and felt a wave of cool musty air rush over her, banishing the foul smell of the river. She waited for her eyes to adjust and slowly started to make out the regular patchwork of a curved brick roof with low, narrow walls. Closing the door behind her, Emma instantly regretted her decision as the corridor was plunged in to pitch darkness.

  This time there was no light for her eyes to adjust to. Instead she had to feel her way slowly down the passage with her left hand on the wall and her other waving out in front to ensure she didn’t walk in to anything as the corridor twisted and turned. She edged forward inch by inch, every step sounding enormous. It felt like her heart would explode as every movement she made was met with echoes ricocheting down the passageway. The walls were slick with condensation and she had to be careful not to put too much weight on her hand lest it slip and she fall over.

  It seemed as if the tunnel would go on forever with no end in sight but as Emma headed further in, it started to get warmer. Finally Emma felt the corridor gently rise and as she slowly headed up, she started to see a faint glow someway down on the right hand side. The glow got bigger until it took on the form of a small rectangle and Emma slowed down, fearful that she might be heard. She edged along the wall, her back slick with sweat until she was within touching distance of the light. By now she could make out a small grate set into the brickwork.

  Finally Emma plucked up the courage to take a look through it. She ducked down underneath the grate and crept sideways so that she could just about peek through the bottom right hand corner. Emma raised herself up, until she was level with the bottom of the grate and her left eye was capable of seeing what was on the other side. She was ready to run the first instant that someone looked like they had seen her but it was
unnecessary, there was no one there. What Emma did see though made her gasp. The grate opened onto a vast hall, with granite arches, stairs and gangways leading off in every direction. Huge chains hung on the walls, their large metal eyes causing them to knock slowly against the brickwork. The hall rose out of site into shadow, the only light coming either from braziers sitting at regular intervals or torches on the wall. Emma could see Corinthian columns and archway upon archway leading upwards until they disappeared from sight. She also became aware of the pungent odour of sulphur and a clawing heat. It was slowly pervading her nose and she could feel it sticking to the back of her throat.

  Emma heard a cry and froze, mortified at having been seen. She prepared to throw herself back down the tunnel, but no one came. The cry became louder and Emma realised that it wasn’t someone shouting a warning but rather someone screaming in desperation. The voice was a man’s and as it became clearer; Emma could make out his anguished pleas.

  “Please no, not again. I’ll do anything, just not that again!”

  There was a large wooden staircase, which overhung the area immediately outside the grate, so didn’t see the man until he was right in front of her. He was being dragged along by two monks, covered head to toe in black habits. His feet were kicking and he was making a vain effort to struggle but the monks had a firm grip on him and he wasn’t going anywhere. His cries cut through Emma and even after they had passed from view, she could hear his pleas.

  Emma stepped away from the grate and sat down on the floor of the passageway. Her clothes were drenched and her skin was hot and clammy. She thought about what she had just seen and felt renewed doubt as to whether she would be able to rescue Taryn. Father Eamon’s words came back to haunt her and she started to realise the size of the task she had set herself.

  If she were going to try and reach Taryn, she would have to remove the grate. Emma took another look, this time concentrating on the grate itself instead of what was on the other side. It was two foot high, four feet wide and wrought out of iron. She checked once more to ensure no one was near, before running her hand along one of the bars. It was rough to the touch and warm. As she moved her hand up and down the grate, Emma felt pieces of rusted metal break away at the first hint of pressure, but even so the bars were solid and when she finally plucked up the courage to tug at them, they stayed firm.