Isabella's Heiress

by N. P. Griffiths

  The guides though, didn’t seem in the slightest bit confused. If anything they seemed reassured as they slowly sunk back into the alleyway, forming a protective circle around Father Eamon and Emma. Emma looked around as faces, stern and determined, looked out at the forces arrayed in front of them.

  The dark horses were panicking now and were bridling against their riders. Some started bucking and threw the horsemen off their back. This caused the monks to fall back in disarray.

  “You ask what I have, Grainger? I may not have angels but I have something almost as effective.” Father Eamon had to roar over the noise coming from his left.

  Grainger looked to his right and a look of appalled dismay crossed his face. “This is not over; I will have vengeance for this!”

  It was all he managed to say before he was swept away by a tidal wave of livestock led by the low horns and long red hair of the Highland cattle. The guides were safe in the alley but for the horsemen and monks there was no escape as they backed themselves up against the flat walls of Newgate Gaol only to find that there were no recesses to hide in. One by one, they were picked off until eventually all that was left were a few scraps of torn cloth and thrown horse shoes. It took an hour for the torrent to slow to a trickle but by then the Old Bailey was empty except for the six people walking over from Newgate Street.

  “Father Henry, you did well.”

  “Thank you but the plaudits go to Drystan.”

  The granite-chested Welshman sucked in air and expanded to almost twice his original size. He pushed his shoulders back and let out a roar that split the air. “Knew that would spook them.” A smile wreathed his face as he saw the stunned looks of the guides.

  Father Eamon was the only one who seemed to be unfazed by Drystan’s exuberance.

  “This is not over. They will re-group and Emma has not yet passed her trial. We must ensure that she remains hidden, as they will redouble their efforts to reach her. Everything is out in the open now; there will be no hiding.

  “Aithne, you will have to help Emma back to the sanctuary. They will be looking for her so do not rush.”

  Sister Ignacia went to protest but Father Eamon silenced her with a sweep of his hand. “I need you at the sanctuary. There may be need of old ways.”

  Sister Ignacia looked crestfallen but nodded her head.

  “The rest of you must keep your initiates safe. There is no telling what they will do in revenge for this.”

  Emma turned to Father Eamon, her hopes rapidly failing as she realised that she may still have to face the halls she had just escaped from regardless of what she had just been through.

  “What are you going to do?”

  Father Eamon let out a low sigh. “I am going to have to explain all this to the Council.”

  As they went to leave, a crackling noise reached Emma’s ears. At first she didn’t think that much of it but it got louder and then a guide shouted something from the street. His eyes were like saucers and his arm was waiving frantically to the south.

  Father Eamon walked out in to the Old Bailey and looked towards where the guide was pointing. As he did so his shoulders fell. One by one, the rest of the group left the alley and as each one turned right, so they saw the orange glow that was starting to fill the horizon.

  Emma looked at it and her heart sunk. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Yes,” Father Eamon answered without turning around “London is ablaze.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  London’s burning

  Shadows swept across the street as Emma and Aithne hid behind a wall of wooden casks. They had made it down to Queenhithe, a wharf used for fish and corn, which had long since passed in to decline. The flat-fronted warehouses they now used as cover faced out onto the mud flats that led down to the Thames, currently sitting at low tide.

  The two women used the cover given off by these buildings to head towards the sanctuary. It was slow progress made harder by the horsemen who were now back on the streets after the stampede. They were charging along Thames Street and crashing through the roads running off it, randomly stopping people before questioning them about Emma. Twice now Emma had come within inches of walking out in front of a horse only for Aithne to pull her back at the last second.

  Emma looked out at the chaos around her and wondered if she would ever leave this place. The orange and yellow lick of the flames from the torches carried by the now rampant monks’ rose and dropped against the warehouse walls. Long, pencil-thin shadows given off by the cranes hanging over the Thames, moved left and right like an unreliable sundial, their ribbons undulating every time a monk passed by the gap between the warehouses.

  Emma looked around; there was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. Twice now Gentle Men had passed the wharf and stopped only to carry on after pausing for the briefest of moments whilst they checked in her direction. They had managed to hold their breath for long enough that they lost interest and moved on but she wasn’t sure that she could do it a third time. She was certain they would investigate the waterfront before long as she could hear the screams of terrified residents getting closer.

  Emma moved to the left of the casks to afford her a better view of the warehouse across from where she was hiding. On the dockside mooring posts stuck out of the ground at regular intervals as schooners listed to port in the dried out mud, their sails tied tightly to their single mast.

  Aithne followed her gaze over the wharf. “We need to move. If we stay much longer, we’ll get caught.”

  Emma could feel the hairs on her arms starting to singe. The flames were forcing people east and in their panic and confusion, they were looking for any kind of ship or boat that could get them onto the Thames and away from the fire but they were getting stuck in the mud in their desperation to escape.

  Aithne had been looking at the same building. Now she looked up at Thames Street, waiting for it to empty. When it cleared, she looked over at Emma, “The warehouse over there. If we can make it inside, we can work out our next move. We need to go, now!”

  Emma set off at a low run and worked her way along the quayside. Silently cursing her luck at having to expose herself for so long, Emma raced around to the other side of the dock. She threw herself against the wall of the nearest building and waited for the inevitable return of the Gentle Men but nothing happened.

  Gentle waves of heat were starting to tickle her face and Emma knew it wouldn’t be long before the flames arrived. She pushed herself against the wall and looked around her. Shadows were dancing along Thames Street where the fire was starting to jump between houses and sweat was starting to trickle in to Emma’s eyes as she wiped her forearm across her face.

  A sharp tug from Aithne, took her into the warehouse and they stopped to catch their breath, “This is too close to the fire, we can’t stay.”

  Emma felt her hair start to matt down on her head. “Why?”

  “Take a look around.”

  Emma looked at the barrels that surrounded her. They stretched to the back of the building and went up for two stories. Above them were bails of straw that went up for another three. Emma placed a hand on one of the casks and felt something cold and sticky. The casks were leaking and the thick black fluid that was slowly eking out was now stuck to the palm of her hand. As she pulled it away, a long sinuous thread trailed from her hand to the cask until it drooped downwards and broke, falling to the floor before disappearing amongst the scraps and residue of past cargoes. Emma wiped her hand against the rough brickwork of the wall behind her. A black smear appearing as she dragged her hand down.

  “Tar.” Aithne was looking back out of the door as she spoke, “Stay here.”

  Aithne disappeared outside. After a second she was back in, dragging a woman by the shoulders.

  “Quickly, we need to strip her.”

  Emma blanched at the words, “Excuse me?”

  “Everybody’s looking for you. If we are going to get back, you will need a disguise.”


  Aithne had dressed as a man for Newgate, with a cloth cap, a waistcoat over a dirty white shirt and trousers that were tight at the knees. She fitted in perfectly but Emma couldn’t have been more incongruous in her jeans and trainers, so she started to strip the unconscious woman. It seemed to take forever as layer after layer came off until all that was left was the corset and her petticoat.

  “Did you have to hit her?”

  “Would you rather I had asked her if we could borrow her clothes and, if you wouldn’t mind, would you be so kind as to keep it to yourself?”

  Aithne’s sarcasm riled Emma but she couldn’t deny she had a point. “What happens to her now?”

  Aithne paused, “There’s a small boat tied off on the mud. We’ll put her in it and untie its mooring rope. When the tide comes in, she’ll float out into the Thames and away from the flames.”

  Emma took her clothes off and changed into the woman’s. She took one look at the corset before thinking not a chance and threw it to one side. The skirt looked ragged on her without its whalebone frame but Emma knew that it would take forever to put it on so she pushed all the surplus folds to the back where Aithne tied the bustle as tight as she could to hold it all in. Emma felt all the air in her rush out as the dress tightened round her waist. As Aithne buttoned the dress up to her neck, she was surprised to find it was made of silk. That was small comfort considering she could now barely raise her arms to shoulder height but at least it wasn’t Crinoline and wouldn’t itch. She tried to put the bonnet on but her arms refused to comply. Aithne came over and took it from her before placing it on her head and tying a neat bow under her chin.

  “God, how am I supposed to breathe in this? Or move?”

  Aithne smiled, “It’s a challenge.”

  They headed out of the warehouse, carrying the woman, with Emma cursing the fact that she had to end up finding herself in a realm where fashion and comfort had never been so far apart. At the dock wall Emma let Aithne drag the woman down the steps to the waterfront, there was no way she was doing that, and place her in the boat.

  Once they had set the boat loose from its moorings they headed up to Thames Street. As they stepped into the road, the heat suddenly became more intense as the flames worked their way east.

  She could see people desperately trying to put out fires that were starting all around them. Some were easy, the piles of hay and wooden barrels could just be brought out of the side streets and beaten out but the roofs were an altogether different matter. Many were wooden and sat on buildings three or four stories tall and people were reduced to watching helplessly as the fire jumped from one roof to another.

  Emma was forced to squint as she ducked down between a butchers shop and a confectionery in a vain attempt to avoid the encroaching conflagration. She watched as a group of men tried to tear down the houses that made up the right hand side of St Mary Hill in an effort to create a firewall and stop the advance of the flames but they were too slow and the fire was on them within seconds.

  “What do we do now?”

  “St Dunstan’s.” Aithne was focussing on the church just across the road. “It’s made out of stone and should withstand the flames.”

  Emma went to step back out into Thames Street but just as she readied herself to run the short distance to St Dunstan’s church she heard a harsh whinnying to her left followed by a mixture of screams and yells and Aithne pulled her back. She poked her head around the corner to see two dark horsemen riding through the massed throng, swinging their maces as they went. People fell like skittles as they were either hit by the spiked balls or bowled over by the horses until the two riders came to a halt in the middle of the road. One of them reached down and grabbed the nearest person to him. He lifted the man up and brought him close until the two were face to face.

  “The girl, the chosen one, she is near. You have seen her.”

  The rider’s voice was low and hoarse. It was the exact opposite to the man he held whose voice was high pitched with fear.

  “No, no I have not seen her. I have seen no one. Please, I beg you.”

  “You have seen her, tell me where she hides.”

  “I have not. I do not lie. Please I beg of you, leave me be.”

  The man’s voice was cracking up and he started to cry as the rider reached to his waist and pulled out a slim dagger.

  “You will tell me.” He lifted the dagger to the man’s face stroking his large sideburns as he went, before proceeding to push it into his left eye. The man’s scream tore through the air and his body convulsed. He tried to pull the knife out but the rider’s grip was too firm and he pushed it harder until it was in up to the hilt and couldn’t go any further, then he slowly twisted it left then right. All this time, the man was clutching at the riders hand and screaming whilst the other people were crying as they watched. There was nowhere for them to go as the sounds of other horsemen and more screaming reached them from the streets running alongside this one.

  The man’s cries had died down to a whimper and the rider grunted as he withdrew the blade. He turned to the horsemen sitting next to him, “He knows nothing, none of them do.”

  The other rider nodded as the first one turned to look at the man he had in his arms. He twisted his frame and raised the man up before throwing him into a building that was well alight. The renewed screams from the crowd cut through Emma as she watched in horror.

  “Let the word go out. We want the woman. Anybody that tells us where she is will be granted absolution and will ascend.”

  The crowd visibly stirred at this and Emma’s heart sunk. She knew that she would have to compete with a hostile population now on top of everything else. As she took this in a thunder of hoof beats caused her to drop down behind a water collection barrel that sat at the corner of the house as the horsemen went hurtling passed.

  She turned to see her look reflected in Aithne’s face. It had suddenly become a whole lot harder.

  Father Eamon found himself walking towards the chamber doors for the third time in a year. This was more than he had done in the last decade and he knew that this particular visit would be the most difficult one yet. He had been called at short notice and knew that the council would not be pleased with what had just happened.

  He approached the doors at the top of the hill to be confronted by Father Unwin, his face alternating between different shades of puce.

  “Do you have any idea what you have done? Notwithstanding the treaty violations that you have single handedly committed, you have risked the one woman that could be the key to us finally winning this struggle!”

  “Move, dolt. You know nothing of what has just passed.” Father Eamon brushed passed him and headed to where he could see Odysseia standing; her expression was not that of someone with good news.

  “Father Eamon, I must warn you that the Council are baying for your blood. I hope you have resolve for this.”

  “You need not worry about me. I will be up to the task.”

  Odysseia stepped back and Father Eamon walked past. He could feel her eyes follow him as he went. Her angels were nearby but they stayed out of sight, even though their presence seeped through every pore of his skin.

  The doors opened and he walked into the chamber. The air was so thick with anger that it felt like he was wading through treacle. The doors flew shut behind him and the hall shuddered as they slammed closed.

  “Have you had leave of your senses, Father Eamon? Would you have us fall?”

  Gabriel’s voice was cold and Father Eamon knew that this was just the opening salvo in what would be a barrage of criticism from the Council. He made no attempt to hide his thoughts from the probing that was now beginning from the council members.

  “Well? Do you have nothing to say to the council?”

  Father Eamon walked to the centre of the chamber before addressing the Council. “It was not for me to force Emma from her course of action. If this is the woman that you think she is, then this is just the sort of action tha
t proves it, does it not?”

  “Not down to you? You are her guide are you not?”

  “Precisely, I am her guide. I can only advise her against a course of action, you know that.”

  “Do not presume to tell me what I should or should not know, Father Eamon. You would do well to remember your position.”

  Father Eamon had been through this so many times with Gabriel, he had lost count, but this time he knew that Gabriel had a point and he chose a different tack.

  “I understand the Council’s anger but this was not something that I could stop. Emma was determined that she should go through with this. I realise that the Council are angry but this was something that may confirm all its suspicions. I also realise that this will not mitigate its feelings towards my actions but would you not have expected this from someone that you think may be the chosen one of prophesy?”

  “Your actions are a point of deep division within the Council, Father Eamon. There are those that agree with you on this but there are also those that are deeply upset with what you have allowed her to do. That is however beside the point; there is now a bigger problem. Emma has humiliated Grainger and he will not let this pass lightly. Word has gone out in the realm that anybody that gives his agents information on her whereabouts will be granted absolution and will be allowed to ascend.”

  Father Eamon felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. How had he not seen this coming? He should have known that they would not have allowed a successful violation of Newgate to pass without some form of retribution.

  “You see Eamon, everything has consequences. Even now, his horsemen and monks are torturing the people of the realm, trying to find out where she is.”