Isabella's Heiress

by N. P. Griffiths

  Sister Ignacia placed her hands on the windowsill and let out another low breath before turning to Emma. “It is too near the hour for us to be sure of success, we can stay here no longer.”

  Emma looked at her unsure how to respond. What did she mean, how could they get out if the gateway was blocked?

  “How are we going to get out?”

  “There is a passage that runs underneath the sanctuary and leads to the river by Custom House, it was built to help smuggle Jesuit priests out, we will use that.”

  Emma felt her heart jump at these words. “Really, where?”

  Father Eamon had arrived at Samantha’s flat less than half an hour after he had left the Council’s chamber and had been heartened to see her sitting on the floor reading Emma’s letter. The letter was coffee-stained by now and dog-eared. This was not a good sign as it meant she was undecided as to what to do with it and Father Eamon could see it in her eyes now, as they scanned across the lines on the paper. He couldn’t be sure how often she had read it but the smudged letters and creased corners told their own story.

  A phone went off in the kitchen and Samantha stood up to get it. Father Eamon didn’t follow, he knew who it was from.

  “Hello, mum?”

  There was a short silence followed by a choked sob.

  “I’m coming over.”

  The words were forced out and seconds later Father Eamon heard the click of a receiver. Samantha walked back into the room and stopped, bringing her hands up to her eyes. The sound of quiet sobs filled the room and Father Eamon felt a slight uneasiness as he watched Emma’s sister cope with the news. After a couple of minutes she drew in a deep breath and walked over to a seat where she had draped her coat. As she put it on she tried to regain control of her emotions.

  “Come on, Samantha, keep it together.”

  Father Eamon groaned inwardly as Samantha picked up her hand bag and walked towards the door but as she fished about for her keys she stopped and turned back, placing her eyes on the sheaf of paper currently sitting where she had left it on the floor. For a second she paused but then walked hurriedly back and picked it up before heading out to her car.

  Father Eamon followed as Samantha walked to the kerb in front of her flat. The indicators on the Clio flashed twice as a shrill double beep indicated that it was now unlocked and she opened the drivers door. She threw her bag onto the passenger’s seat and the car choked into life just as Father Eamon got in the back. He placed himself directly behind her and watched as she reversed into the road and then drove towards the junction.

  Samantha slowed down before stopping behind a queue of cars waiting to exit the road and started cursing the traffic. Father Eamon felt a disturbance in the air and looked left. A leg appeared through the near side passenger door, followed by a cloak as a black monk climbed in and sat next to him.

  It wasn’t unexpected; both sides had a vested interest in how this turned out so it was no surprise to have company but Father Eamon knew that he would have to ensure that it didn’t try to control the outcome.

  Sure enough as soon as it got in to the car, it focussed all its attention on the back of Samantha’s head.

  “Do not make the mistake of thinking that you can influence this. You know the rules as well as I do. What will be will be.”

  The monk turned to look at Father Eamon and its disfigured face contorted into a scowl. The air was starting to turn stagnant in the car and Samantha opened a window as she looked around wandering what she had left in the back that could have caused it to become so stale.

  They started moving again as Samantha turned into the main road but Father Eamon and the monk never wavered as they looked at each other. Eventually the monk crumpled in the corner and, for the moment, gave ground.

  The rest of the journey was uneventful as Father Eamon sat back, whilst giving the monk his undivided attention. At Dulwich Village, the sky darkened and Father Eamon felt a tightening in his stomach. Every time the car slowed down or stopped at a set of lights or a junction, he willed it to move on and was joined by the imploring of Samantha as she begged the traffic to speed up.

  The engine protested as she overtook one car after another until, finally, they turned into Gilkes Crescent. Samantha pulled up in front of her parents’ house and turned off the engine. She sat there, looking up at the door, with her hands gripping the steering wheel until after a few seconds; she picked up her bag and got out of the car. Father Eamon and the monk did the same thing exiting on opposite sides.

  The clouds had become translucent as the dying rays of the sun gave them an orange and pink hue. Time was running out and it would soon be too late for Emma. Samantha walked around the front of the car and stepped onto the pavement before heading to the garden gate. As Father Eamon turned away from the sky and walked towards the house, the monk gave him a sidelong glance. Its scowl had turned into a grin. It had been looking at the sky as well but it knew that with every moment that passed, its prospects got better and the look on its face said it all.

  Father Eamon walked towards the front door, by now he had no doubt that Samantha would pass the letter on to her mother, all he could do was pray that she passed it on in time.

  Emma felt a cold blast of musty air rush past her as Sister Ignacia pulled a large section of wooden panelling away from the wall. They were standing in the main hall, between the benches and the back wall where the guides always entered. A step led into the darkness and Sister Ignacia was preparing to go in. Before they had entered the hall, she had rushed upstairs and grabbed two of the torches that were fixed on the walls. Now Emma was holding onto them both at arms length as the heat coming off of them was too intense for her to keep them any closer. Her shoulders were starting to protest and she was grateful when Sister Ignacia took one of them off her.

  “How far is it to the river?”

  “About ten minutes if we hurry.”

  Sister Ignacia dived through the hole and the dancing flame instantly lit up a curved stone ceiling. Emma went through after her and found herself at the top of a narrow winding staircase. The steps were rough and she had to be careful not to fall as she navigated her way down. The passage was narrow, just big enough for one person at a time, and the roof was just high enough to allow her to walk without stooping. Even so, Emma found herself crouching as she struggled to keep her balance on the steps. Pits and outcrops in the walls, created by the workmen as they had hollowed out the tunnel, threatened to cut in to Emma’s arms. She tucked them in, which didn’t help her efforts at staying on her feet, so it wasn’t surprising when she slipped on the last step but one and went down heavily on her right side. Emma winced and dropped the torch, which skittered on to floor and gave out, putting her in momentary darkness until Sister Ignacia turned back and dropped down to one knee.

  “How badly are you hurt?”

  “My ribs.”

  “Can you get up?”

  “I think so.”

  “Emma, we cannot stay here. We must be in the open as soon as possible. Only then can we be free to…”

  Sister Ignacia paused but Emma knew what she was going to say.

  “We can’t outrun them, we both know that.”

  “I know but all the same, why make it easy for them.” The flames of her torch illuminated a defiant face as Sister Ignacia’s words rang off the walls.

  Emma winced as she got to her feet. Her breathing was shallow as the pain in her sides refused to allow her to takes full breaths. Sister Ignacia picked up the fallen torch and it instantly re-ignited. She handed it back to Emma before heading back in to the darkness. The air was thicker down here and Emma was reminded of the tunnel to Newgate. Water dripped from the roof and she pulled the collar of her coat tight around her neck. The ground beneath her feet was uneven and she found herself having to stoop in some areas as the floor rose before falling back down to a more comfortable level.

  “Don’t they know about this tunnel? I mean they must know about its exit.”r />
  “They have no idea. This is something that we hoped would never be used.”

  “So what do we do when we get outside?”

  “I do not know, we must hide until the very last minute. Father Eamon will know how to find us but it is imperative that we stay hidden from the mob.”

  “That shouldn’t be too difficult. They all think I’m upstairs.”

  “Do not be too sure. They will take no chances. The realm is filled with their people. Someone will see us, it is inevitable, and when they do, we will be hunted down. We can only hope that Father Eamon is back by then.”

  The passage was winding left and right as well as up and down and Emma was becoming increasingly claustrophobic. Even with the torches, it was impossible to see beyond the length of her arm and the wall behind was lost to the blackness as soon as she passed. Emma’s mind started playing tricks on her, as the sound of water splashing to the floor took on a life of its own. Footsteps sounded like thunder as she became convinced that their every move was being followed above them in the street.

  The ground beneath Emma’s feet started to rise again, only this time the roof rose with it.

  “We are nearly there, Emma.” Sister Ignacia’s voice was little more than a whisper but her words carried on down the passage behind them and Emma cringed. Then the torch in front of her stopped. Emma watched as Sister Ignacia swept the torch left and right. At first she thought her eyes were deceiving her but as she realised they weren’t, her heart sunk.

  Sister Ignacia was waving the torch in front of a brick wall.

  “I thought you said we could get out of here!” Panic was weakening Emma’s legs and she suddenly felt very tired.

  “And we can. This is the end of the tunnel.”

  “Yeah, I had noticed. The wall was a bit of a give away.”

  “This was always the way it was supposed to be. The wall leads onto a mooring. It had to be bricked up to stop the tunnel being discovered. We can only hope that the mooring has survived the fire.”

  Emma gave Sister Ignacia an incredulous look. “And if it hasn’t?”

  “Then we get wet.”

  Sister Ignacia started to sweep lower with the torch until she reached the bottom right hand corner and stooped down to pick something up. She turned to Emma, holding out the torch.

  “Please, hold this while I break through.”

  Emma could see a wooden mallet in Sister Ignacia’s right hand. Its tapered handle led to a large cylindrical head, next to it was a chisel, which was almost as long as the mallet.

  Sister Ignacia turned back to the wall and Emma lifted the torches to the ceiling, trying to provide as much illumination as possible. Slowly bricks and lime mortar started to fall away in gentle cascades of grey and red dust.

  To her relief, Emma realised that this was going to be a relatively quick job given the tools and before long, there was a small pile of rubble to the right of them. After she had created a narrow opening, Sister Ignacia looked through.

  “Hmm, well at least the mooring is still there.”

  Emma didn’t know what to make of this but didn’t say anything, choosing instead to close her eyes and try to ignore the heat from the fire above her which was now filling the void of the tunnel. It took another ten minutes before there was a hole wide enough for them to climb through. Emma waited for Sister Ignacia to get out before gratefully dropping the torches and climbing out into the open air. The wooden platform on the other side was old, rickety and less than a meter wide but Emma needn’t have worried about falling in. As she struggled to cope with the furnace-like heat from the flames, she looked out onto the Thames.

  It was completely frozen over.

  Samantha hugged her mum, her tears and sobs were muffled but her shoulders betrayed the depths of her grief. Father Eamon and the black monk watched on, one with a pang of sorrow for the event that was unfolding in front of them, the other with complete indifference to the situation. Neither could do anything to change what was happening but both were intent on ensuring that the other didn’t try and it was this impasse that found them standing in the hallway waiting to see what would happen next.

  “He’s upstairs dear, in bed. Uncle Stephen is with him.”

  Samantha looked up the stairs and looked back at her mother, “Mum I…”

  “Why don’t we go up together?”

  “Okay.”

  Samantha’s voice was meek as her mother led her by the hand and they walked slowly upstairs. The black monk went to follow but Father Eamon stepped in front of him and cut off his route.

  “You can wait. It is not your time yet.” The words came out in a low growl and the monk backed off. Father Eamon headed up the stairs behind the two women and watched as Samantha walked slowly into her father’s bedroom. The monk was at the bottom of the stairs but stopped its ascent when Father Eamon looked down.

  The scene in the bedroom was one of silent pain. Samantha broke down as she saw her father struggling for breath. He was a shadow of his former self, his sunken cheeks hollowing out as he sucked in air. Again Father Eamon felt the twinge of pain he had felt downstairs for the two women.

  “Dad, oh dad.” Samantha was trying to keep it together and the effort was written across her face.

  The man in the bed slowly turned his face to look at her and gently whispered her name, “Samantha.” He slowly lifted his right arm and Samantha took it, gently sitting by him on the side of the bed.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t have been a better father to you.”

  Samantha wept at these words, “You’re the best father anybody could have had.”

  The words were met with a weak smile from her father as he took in another rasping breath. “Don’t worry, Sam, I’ll always be looking down on you and your mum and I’ll be with your sisters.”

  The words struck a chord in Samantha and her eyes widened. “Dad, I have a letter I found a little while ago. It’s from Emma.” There was a pause before she carried on. “It’s for you.”

  The room fell silent. Samantha’s mum looked stunned and the man on the other side of the room froze. Both were looking directly at Samantha who turned to face her mother.

  “Mum, I’m so sorry, but I didn’t know how to tell you.”

  For a second her mother seemed lost for words but she quickly regained her composure. “Where is it?”

  “In my bag.”

  Her mother reached over and picked up the bag, passing it across to her daughter. “Quickly, before it’s too late.”

  Chapter Thirty

  The Frost Fair

  Flames tore up the sky as they ripped through the city. The plane was no longer twilight but instead alternated between pitch black and a deep, molten orange. Panic infected first one street then another and Emma had to be careful not to be seen as the fire and the clatter of hooves could be heard in nearby streets and people were now running on to the Thames in an effort to escape. They had been lucky so far but Emma knew it would not hold out.

  “We should head for the churchyard.”

  Emma almost jumped out of her skin at the sound of Sister Ignacia’s voice. “You scared the shit out of me!”

  A brief look of amusement crossed Sister Ignacia’s face. “St Magnus the Martyr is the other side of these houses. If we can make it there, we can get into the church.”

  Emma failed to see what getting into the church would do but it had to be better than staying here. They slipped past a crane sitting between the ruined warehouses that went to the waters edge and ducked in to an alleyway that ran north. The fire had burnt itself out here and all that was left was the charred husks of the buildings it had touched. As they picked there way through the ashes, Emma could see a large church ahead of her, its brick façade blackened but otherwise undamaged by the fire.

  “Quickly, we must get inside.”

  Sister Ignacia urged Emma on and they ran towards the front door. As they reached it a cry went up behind them. Emma spun round to see a group of
people to their south screaming and pointing. They were agitated and started running towards them. Emma turned back to see Sister Ignacia struggling with the main door to the church. Then, despite the flames, it suddenly went very quiet.

  Smoke filled the road less than ten metres away and she new what was coming next. First one then two sets of arms reached out of the smoke. Emma wanted to move but was frozen to the spot as two Gentle Men left the cloud and turned to face her.

  “Ehhmmaa.”

  Screams from behind her told Emma the crowd that had been bearing down on her was now running in the other direction. She would have given anything to be facing a thousand of them instead of the two abominations she now looked upon. Their faces had a victorious look on them as they closed in on her and their hands were clawing the air as they moved. But then they stopped and looked down. There was a rumbling noise that seemed to be coming from below her feet. As quickly as they had appeared the two Gentle Men slipped back into the mist. Emma thought she heard them moan but the rumbling that was getting louder by the second drowned any noise they may have made out.

  Emma was knocked off her feet as the ground started to shake violently. She got up only to feel herself jerked sideways but this time it wasn’t the ground, it was Sister Ignacia. She had managed to get the door open and pushed Emma into the church nave before closing it behind them.

  “We will be safe here.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “The plane is changing but this church will remain as it stands in all the realms!” Sister Ignacia had to scream to be heard. It was an effort to stay on their feet as the world dissolved into a wild blur but they made it and Emma felt sister Ignacia’s arms wrap tightly around her as they collapsed to the floor in between two rows of pews. Emma thought she could hear herself scream but she couldn’t be sure as the noise around her was deafening. To her left a pew fell forward, starting a domino effect on the ones in front of it. It was the last thing Emma saw before everything went black.