Isabella's Heiress (20 page)

“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 pacify 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 nothing 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.

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.

They looked up and saw Emma and Taryn standing there watching them and immediately averted their eyes before heading to the far side of the street.

“I think I preferred it when they mobbed you.” Taryn was regretting the choice of clothes she had picked that morning. The rain had come on suddenly without warning and now the jacket she had picked was soaked and useless. She looked over at Emma who was standing under
the eaves edge, oblivious to the rain. She was looking up and down the road.

“Have you noticed how people avoid us now?”

Taryn looked in the direction of Emma's gaze but saw nothing untoward. “Not really.”

“It started a couple of days ago. I was walking along Cannon Street. The men that passed me would put their hands on their hats and look down. Bus drivers would force their horses into the middle of the road when they realised who I was. There was nearly a crash when two of them did the same thing at once and yesterday I saw women who had mobbed me in the past run into a side street as I went by. Another woman crossed herself. This isn't a coincidence. I see people watching us from rooftops that don't come near but always keep their distance. Two of them I'm sure are guides from the sanctuary and the others act like guides. They certainly aren't people that live here. They act differently.”

Emma stepped back into the shelter of the eave and waited for the rain to pass. Taryn shivered as she pondered Emma's words. “Father Eamon or Sister Ignacia would tell us if something was wrong though, wouldn't they?”

Emma wanted to agree with her but she had seen Father Eamon change in the last few days. It wasn't towards her but he seemed distracted when she saw him.

To anybody else it would not have been obvious but she could see his eyes move in and out of focus every now and again as if he was thinking about something that took him from what ever else he was doing at the time. Other times, she would see him glance fleetingly over his shoulder only to return to whatever it was he was doing when he realised that whoever had come through the door wasn't who he was expecting.

Emma would see a look cross his face that hung somewhere
between disappointment and relief. She had thought about asking him what was on his mind but had been so busy herself that the opportunity never arose. Now, watching the people in the realm acting so strangely, it brought back Father Eamon's own actions. She brushed the water droplets off her arms, watching as they formed their own mini-shower as they fell to the muddy ground below.

“I don't know, I'd hope so.”

“We should get out of the rain.” Taryn's shoulders were hunched tight to her neck in a vain effort to keep out the blustering wind.

Emma looked up at their cover and realised that it was no longer helping. She was soaked through as was Taryn and needed somewhere to dry off. Looking around, all the doors on the surrounding buildings were closed and Emma suspected they were going to be staying that way. She looked over at St Magnus the Martyr, the church that stood on the junction with New Fish Street. “Over there. We'll try the church.”

They turned out of Seething Lane and Emma was immediately struck by the emptiness of the road ahead of them. They stood there, looking up and down Thames Street, wondering if they had missed something.

“Where is everybody?” Emma looked from building to building in a vain effort to see some activity but there was nothing except the still air and the low chime of a bell somewhere nearby. It provided the only competition to the constant thump of the rain.

At first she couldn't make it out, a distinctive peal that slowly got louder as they headed west along Thames Street. Its steady chime came from an alleyway ahead of them but no matter how much they strained to listen, neither Emma nor Taryn could work out where it was coming from.

Nothing was making any sense, there should have been a few people around at least. Even in the worst storms she had seen in the plane, there were always people rushing for cover.

“What's with the crosses?”

Emma turned to see Taryn looking at a nearby house. On its door was a hastily painted red cross. Looking at the neighbouring house, she saw the same red cross on its front door and on the house after that until she realised every building in sight had a red cross on it. Suddenly the tolling bell made sense.

“Stay away from the houses.” Emma dragged Taryn into the centre of the street “They're plague crosses.”

“What?”

“Father Eamon said that this plane is imprinted with every major disaster that befell the city, right? Each one falling into a different realm.”

“Yes. So?” Taryn was looking confused

“Well what happened in 1665?”

“Plague?”

“Not just plague, the Great Plague. It wiped out thousands. Those crosses tell you that there is a plague victim in the house.”

Taryn grimaced, “Where did you learn about that?”

“School.”

“Oh.”

The tolling got progressively louder until an old man dressed in filthy black rags appeared from a side street. He was dragging a cart behind him, its wheels making heavy work of the rutted and sodden ground. At the centre of the road, he put the cart down and fumbled with a piece of rope tied around his waist. After a couple of seconds he produced a bell which he rung three times before placing it back in his coat.

“Bring out yer dead!”

His cries went unanswered so he picked up the cart and started to move on, oblivious to the two initiates standing nearby.

Emma and Taryn stood there dumbfounded. The smell from rotting waste and piles of faeces that lay under the jetties of every house combined with that of the corpses hanging limply off the back of the cart made them gag.

“Can we go?” Taryn had a look somewhere between disgust and distress on her face and Emma knew how she felt. It was only now that she started to get a good view of the contents of the cart, their arms and limbs flailing at unnatural angles.

“Yeah, sure.”

Taryn's breath was coming in short gasps as she fought the cold and Emma knew that, but for an extra layer of clothing, she wasn't far behind. She looked for somewhere they could take cover. Her eyes settled back on St Magnus the Martyr.

“Over there, we'll try the church. We'll have to run. Are you ready?”

Taryn groaned but didn't argue.

“Ok, lets go.”

They shot down the road at full pelt, both of them oblivious to the hundreds of eyes that watched their progress from behind closed windows and twitching curtains, and arrived at the church door just as a particularly heavy squall hit them. Emma pushed against the heavy oak door but it sat in a six foot frame and was stuck fast. She knew it was pointless to try and force it.

By now the storm was blowing itself out and they were both starting to shiver as the wind that took its place cut through them. Taryn was suffering the most but Emma could feel her stomach starting to convulse and knew they
needed to find shelter sooner rather than later. She turned as she heard a grating noise to her left. Three houses down a door was being opened and, as she watched, a woman's face appeared. The woman looked both ways before beckoning at Emma and Taryn to come over. Emma looked at her for a second before looking at Taryn who had by now noticed her as well. Taryn was shivering violently now and was rubbing her arms in a vain effort to generate warmth.

The woman stepped out from the doorway and Emma recognised her as Elizabeth, the woman who had come up to her when she had gone out in the twilight plane for the first time with Father Eamon.

Emma shuddered as a sharp blast of wind hit her in the face. She made a quick decision and grabbed Taryn before heading over to the open door.

Elizabeth lived in a two-story house that was situated between a bakers and an apothecary. It was in the same neglected state as all the others with the exception that the step leading up to the front door was clean of the dirt and mud that covered the ones on surrounding houses.

Emma's heart sunk as she approached the house. A freshly painted cross marked it out as infected and the red paint that dripped down between the wooden splinters betrayed the hastiness in which it had been applied. The smell from the apothecary was that of rotting herbs. The combination of that and the foul smell from the detritus on the ground caused Emma to cover her nose.

Elizabeth raised a hand and shook her head, “Not one step closer.” Her breathing was laboured and she grimaced as her arm dropped to her side.

Emma looked on in horror as she saw Elizabeth's pockmarked face. Flecks of blood marked her cheeks and there were black rings around her eyes.

“God, Elizabeth what…”

“You must not come closer!” The exertion caused Elizabeth's legs to buckle and she let out a rasping cough, spraying blood along the wall of the house as she did so, “‘Tis the plague. We are cursed with this pox.”

“How? I mean, why?”

Elizabeth let out a bitter laugh, “Why? Why do you think? ‘Tis the realm. This is how we live.”

“How you live? I don't understand.” Emma was keeping her distance and was secretly glad that Elizabeth had warned them off. The smell coming from where she stood was almost more than Emma could bare but she did her best to ignore it. Taryn on the other hand had backed off to the church where she was now standing in an alleyway to get some protection from the wind.

“We are cursed with the pox in the realm. You have been lucky; you have caught it at a time when we are clear of it. We are allowed a small time clean from disease as a reminder of what once was, but then we are struck down again.”

Emma felt a rising anger in her as she watched Elizabeth struggle to keep on her feet. What kind of power would allow this sort of suffering?

Elizabeth gave Emma a knowing look, “I know what you're thinking. What kind of God would allow us to suffer like this? Well God has nothing to do with it, this all comes down to the betrayal at Cordoba.” She fell forward; extending an arm to catch herself and for the first time Emma could see the black buboes, shiny with Elizabeth's fevered sweat, nestling under her armpits. A wave of revulsion seeped into her pores as they tore open with a sound like wet tissue paper and a mixture of pus and thick black blood oozed down Elizabeth's side.

Emma looked away but instantly regretted it as she saw Elizabeth's eyes cast downwards as she tried to hide her embarrassment.

“Elizabeth, I'm sorry…”

“Please don't. ‘Tis bad enough that you see me in this state. Please don't make it any worse by trying to coddle me with fine words. I have been dead for so long now, I cannot remember what was. ‘Tis the same for all here. All we can hope is that there will be a time when salvation will be ours but few believe it will be so.”

Emma found Elizabeth's unwavering gaze too much to bear and blushed before looking away.

“You have little enough time in this realm, Emma. You should not waste it by talking to me.”

“Elizabeth, I…” Emma did not know what to say and found herself clawing the air for words that weren't there.

“I must go, and so must you before people see us.”

Emma looked at Elizabeth, trying to convey in a glance what she could not say in words, but Elizabeth had already turned back into the house. As she went to step inside, she stopped and, turning to see if she was being watched, looked in Emma's direction.

“Emma, I would beg that you take these words to heart. When the streets are empty and the wind drops, look to the sky.”

When the streets are empty and the wind drops, look to the sky? What did that mean? But it was too late, Elizabeth was back inside her house and the door was shutting awkwardly in its warped frame.

Emma paused for a second, unsure what to do next. When it became clear that Elizabeth would not be coming out again, she turned towards St Magnus the Martyr and headed to where Taryn was standing, watching her.

Over the course of the conversation, the weather had died down and although Emma was still wet, she no longer felt the bitter smack of the westerly wind. Taryn came out from the protection of the side street and looked quizzically over Emma's shoulder

“What just happened?”

“I think we just got our first taste of what life is really like in this realm.”

“Well let's not hang around to get a second dose, eh?” Taryn was already turning the corner into New Fish Street and Emma knew she had a point. She followed Taryn into the road and headed onto the Bridge.

Emma tried to decipher Elizabeth's words all the way to the station but they made no sense. She turned them over and over in her mind as they reached the platform and entered a near empty train.

Taryn sat in the corner and looked out of the window without saying a word, whilst Emma mulled over the warning from Elizabeth and everything that she had said. Seeing her in that state shook her to the core and it was a sharp reminder that she only had three months left herself.

The train pulled out and Emma ran through all these questions and more until Taryn interrupted her.

“This is my stop; I'll see you back at the sanctuary.”