Isabella's Heiress (42 page)

The car swung violently first left then right as the sounds
of the tyres skidding across the wet tarmac mixed with the screams of the three occupants. Emma tried desperately to wrest control back but it was pointless. Her head shook like a rag dolls as the car careened onwards, the bend in the road first appearing in the left of her vision then the right. Then there was the sickening crunch as they came to a sudden stop.

It all happened so fast, everything blurred into one. She flew forward in her seat and felt the sharp snap of her seatbelt as it restrained her just as the airbag went off. The windscreen made the sound of an eggshell as something smashed into it and she felt a heavy pain in her left shoulder. Then there was silence.

After what seemed like an age, Emma, came to. How long had passed? ten seconds? ten minutes? she had no idea. At first she couldn't make out anything. Her face hurt like hell from where it had impacted on the airbag and her chest felt like it was on fire. A trickle ran down the side of her head but a brief look down to where it was pooling revealed no blood.

Then she heard the screaming. It brought her out of the daze she had been in and she looked to her left to see Taryn struggling with her seat belt. She hadn't been so lucky, there was no airbag on her side and the seatbelt hadn't stopped her hitting her face against the dashboard, but there was so much blood she couldn't tell where it was coming from. Where had all the blood come from? She reached across to help Taryn to release the belt but Taryn drew back screaming and pointing to the back seat. Emma followed Taryn's raised arm but there was no one there. Lisa was gone.

As Taryn's warning had come, Lisa had seen the corner coming up as well and had instinctively covered her face with her hands as the car started to swerve wildly, giving her no chance to grab hold of anything. She wasn't wearing a seatbelt and when the car came to a sudden stop she carried on, hitting Emma's shoulder as she slammed into the windscreen face first. The initial impact broke her nose and jaw, but it was when the laminated glass gave way that the real damage was done. Lisa may have only been eight and a half stone but she was traveling at over forty miles an hour and at that speed, she might just have well have been an elephant. The glass shattered under her weight and she carried on through it, the sharp edges shredding her legs as she went, before she bounced off the bonnet and came to rest just inside a tree line.

She tried to scream but her throat was filled with a warm liquid that she coughed up instead. The blood covered the grass in front of her and Lisa looked on in confusion and panic. She tried to get up but her arm was broken and couldn't take her weight. Instead she crawled forward on her stomach and attempted to turn herself around but the effort proved too much.

The shock wore off and Lisa became aware of the cold. It was raining and her body started to shiver, except that she wasn't shivering, she was convulsing and something inside her, something primeval and ancient told her that this was terribly, terribly wrong. She tried to turn again, she knew the car must be behind her and Emma was in it. If she could just reach Emma, then everything would be okay. She grunted with the effort but instead of turning, she found herself slipping. Lisa had rolled onto a bank and now she found herself sliding down it. She tried to stop herself but her arms were useless and the muscles
in her leg were shredded from their passage through the windscreen. The fall only took a few seconds but in those seconds Lisa saw her life slip away along with a vision of a mangled car in which she could see her sister starting to stir. She made one last, desperate, attempt to shout to her but again her blood was the only thing forthcoming. The water enveloped her with shocking speed as her body spasmed in the cold. It rushed into her nose and mouth as she tried to breathe but by now she had no energy to resist. She coughed, spluttered and convulsed but her body was fighting a losing battle and she knew it.

Numbness spread through her and try though she might to convince herself, she knew it wasn't because of the stream she had ended up in.

As a faint voice carried on the wind, Lisa tried to raise her head but it was too much effort . Her body was giving up the fight as the babbling sound of the water started to recede.

Lisa's last memory was of her sister's voice calling out her name. As she tried to respond, the world withdrew for the final time.

Emma's breathing came in ragged bursts as she forced the door open. It was jammed into the frame from where the impact had crumpled the panels around the engine and diverted the energy along the outside of the chassis. It grated in protest as Emma rammed her shoulder into the plastic trim but eventually it gave and the door opened in a rough, ragged motion. Emma took one last look at Taryn, who was clutching her face in her hands in a vain attempt to staunch the flow of blood and then heaved herself out of the car. The airbag had done its job
and Emma found she could stand without collapsing. She looked at the damage to the front of her car and saw the jagged opening mid way along her windscreen. The rain was starting to come down harder and she watched as the droplets exploded on the bonnet. She followed the trail of glass and clothes as it worked its way down onto the grass. There was a red trail which followed it that Emma didn't want to believe was there, it continued on until it was washed away by the rain and all that was left was flattened and twisted grass.

“Lisa!”

Emma's cries went unanswered, she stumbled on for a few more yards until she came onto a sudden slope where she stopped before she slipped and looked down. Everything was in shadow but in amongst the rustle of the leaves and babble of the river, Emma could see a dark shape. She peered closer, willing herself to be wrong until, “Oh no, no, no, please, God, no! Lisa!”

Emma threw herself down to the riverbank and made a grab for her sister, Her hand slipped off the first time but the second time, Emma was able to heave her out. She looked into the vacant eyes and started to cry uncontrollably, “Oh please baby, please be okay.”

But the words weren't going to be enough and Emma knew it. She held Lisa's lifeless body in her arms, screaming and crying in the same breath as, in the background, sirens started to cut through the curtain of rain.

Emma sat on the stairs looking at the crowd still milling around outside the gateway. It had been an hour since Sister Ignacia had met her at the door and given her the news. Two hours. Was that all she had? Had it all come down to this? Had everything come down to the actions of Samantha?

Sister Ignacia had told her that Father Eamon was at her studio now. There was nothing he could do except watch but he would be back for her the moment that the letter reached her father, if the letter reached her father Emma reminded herself. But right now it didn't matter what happened with the letter, Emma was more concerned that the mob outside didn't lynch her. The horsemen had forced the people around them to attach ropes to the gates. It had taken over a hundred of them to do it as one by one they fell away screaming in pain but eventually they managed to attach and knot them. Emma watched the scene playing out in front of her, knowing that Aithne had chosen to go back out via a side entrance to see what help she could give other initiates caught in the conflagration. she offered up a silent prayer for her safety.

Now the horsemen were whipping them into two lines running off down the street. It was clear that they were
going to try and pull the gates down and Emma wasn't sure that they wouldn't succeed; no matter how often Sister Ignacia assured her that the gates would hold. Sister Ignacia for her part was standing, looking out the window and seemed to Emma a lot quieter than she had been ten minutes ago.

“What are they doing?”

“They are preparing to lift the rope.”

The sparkle had left Sister Ignacia's voice, her playful intonation replaced by a quiet concern.

“Will they succeed?”

“No.”

It was little comfort that she was protected from the crowd like this as it was only a matter of time before the bells tolled and this time they would be tolling for her. Emma stood up and walked to the window. The crowd now filled the whole of Seething Lane for as far as she could see and they were joined by more horsemen with monks following in their wake.

“They really mean business, don't they.” Emma's voice was wavering around the edges but she tried to keep up the appearance of strength, even if she knew it wasn't working.

“They are desperate. They know time is running out.”

“Yeah, I had noticed.”

Emma looked up and down the stairs wondering about the best way to fight off the resurrectionists if and when the time came.

“It will not come to that.” Sister Ignacia had turned from the window.

“How can you be sure?”

“I cannot, but we must trust that Father Eamon will get to us in time.”

“And if he doesn't?”

Sister Ignacia didn't answer; instead, as she turned back
to the window, she let out a long, slow breath.

A large cry went up outside and Emma ran to the window. Men and women in two long, sinuous lines were now tugging on the ropes in an attempt to gain entry into the sanctuary. The horsemen had been joined by six more riders and they were now whipping and kicking people as they leant in to the rope. All around they were falling under the hooves and heels of the horses. The monks threw replacements into the line, never once allowing the tension to be lost as they went about their task.

Every heartbeat felt like the tick of a clock as it counted Emma down to her fate and she was getting increasingly restless. She had gone to her room and changed back into some more comfortable clothes, the one thing worse than failing was meekly waiting for it to take place. She sat down then got back up, itching to do something, anything that didn't involve standing around.

Once again Sister Ignacia seemed to sense her frustration. “There is nothing you can do. We must wait for Father Eamon to come to us.”

Emma felt like she was going to explode
wait for Father Eamon?
She had faith in him but time was short and it wasn't either of those two who would suffer if it ran out, but what could she do? Pacing the main hall wasn't going to help. Her frustration was starting to turn to panic, and panic, she knew, would inevitably turn to fear and she couldn't allow that to happen. If she let fear take over then she wouldn't be able to think rationally.

Emma looked out of the window at the darkening horizon, “How long?”

“Another hour and a half.”

Her stomach churned at the answer. Over time, the prospect of being taken had become, if not everyday, then an accepted part of this existence but now it was rushing up
with an immediacy that caught her off balance. She tried not to become fatalistic but it was difficult to see any kind of good outcome from this. Why hadn't she tried harder, earlier, What if she had spent more time at the house, God, why hadn't she used her mother to get the letter?

Doubts and recriminations started to flood her mind and Emma tried to block them out but their force was irresistible. Was this how it was? Was this how every initiate spent their last hours, running everything through their head, wondering where it all went wrong?

“C'mon, Sam, please, for me.”

She paced up and down the stairs trying to keep her mind active but it didn't help. The air was filled with the shouts of the riders and the screams of those forced to struggle against the rope. The gates held firm and didn't look like giving an inch but this didn't deter those outside.

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.