Isabella's Heiress (7 page)

Finally they reached the south end of the bridge and turned left onto a drab raised passage. The downbeat mix of covered concrete walkway and shop fronts selling anything from stereos to sandwiches to newspapers was a stark contrast to the world Emma had just left. Below them a chattering metropolis went to work unaware of the three souls in their midst.

They came out onto Station Approach, a long semi-circle that was home to a crowd of buses and taxis, and commuters vainly queuing for both. Emma followed the other two through the glass doors and onto the concourse of London Bridge station, home to a thriving mass of people all caught up in their own little worlds of take-away coffees, newspapers and speed walking. A voice announced that the eight fourteen to East Croydon would be leaving shortly as the three of them headed across the station concourse.

“That is ours,” said Father Eamon.

They approached the ticket barriers and went through, unopposed. Emma allowed herself a brief smile as she walked past a blue-jacketed ticket inspector who was none the wiser for her presence.

Platform fourteen was ahead of them and Emma couldn't help but notice the intricate Victorian latticework stretching across the roof: it seemed to go on forever and was at odds with the mixture of portacabins and wheelie bins below it. The train, the doors opened as if on command and Emma stepped on board and took the first seat she came across. They were the only ones in the carriage.

The train pulled away, allowing Emma to look out onto a changing landscape of new-build flats and council estates uneasily sharing limited urban space. Both Father Eamon and Taryn stayed silent, allowing her time alone with her thoughts. This was only a short journey but it was fraught with emotion, each new vista bringing back memories from the dark recesses of her mind.

A voice came over the public address system announcing their imminent arrival at North Dulwich and Emma's stomach churned. They pulled into a near-empty platform and Father Eamon's voice broke the silence.

“This is our stop.”

They rose from their seats and Emma felt Taryn's hand give her arm an encouraging squeeze as they stepped onto the platform and walked towards the stairs. Looking around Emma felt mixed emotions, at once finding solace in familiarity yet distanced from her old neighbourhood by the circumstances that brought her here. She breathed in her surroundings, hoping for some sort of relief from the city they had just left.

Outside the station, they turned left down Red Post Hill and Emma closed her eyes lifting her face to the sun. Even though she could feel no warmth, there was something comforting in the light. She opened them to find Taryn doing the same thing. They walked down the hill before turning left into the leafy comfort of East Dulwich Grove with Emma and Taryn's eyes still adjusting to the sun. Cars passed and children played whilst waiting for a bus as all around them life went on. The road was home to large detached houses, with well-maintained hedges and gravel driveways, the houses owned, no doubt, by well-maintained families thought Emma. People carriers and small hatchbacks lined the pavement, whilst four by fours and German saloons had made the gravel their domain.

They turned into Gilkes Crescent, the cars the same only this time the houses were large elevated semis. The warm summer silence was broken only when a liveried delivery van went by.

They arrived at a house bordered by a hedge and yellow Begonias. There was nothing to indicate anything out of the ordinary about this house but Emma knew what was waiting for her inside.

“God, I haven't been here in…”

“…Ten years.”

Emma finished off Taryn's sentence. It was something
they had done as children but the resurrection of an old habit brought little comfort here.

They stopped at the driveway and Emma held back, unsure whether to continue. There was a part of her that desperately wanted to see her family but a small voice told her that it would only cause more grief.

“We do not have to go in Emma, we can always turn back.” Father Eamon had turned to face her. He stood by the fence that divided the driveway from her neighbours. Emma could remember Steven, her next-door neighbour, putting it up a few years previous as a replacement for one that had blown down in a storm. The image of him swearing as he struggled to keep the posts straight whilst he poured the wet concrete around them made her smile but in an instant it was gone

“No, I want to continue.” It occurred to Emma that she had no idea how they were going to get in. She looked uncertainly at Father Eamon, “How do I open the door?”

Father Eamon smiled, “Like this.” He turned to the door and Emma watched as his eyes narrowed and his breathing slowed down. The front door started to shimmer before slowly evaporating into what Emma could only describe as a heat haze. Through it she could see watery visions of the hallway shifting lazily left and right. Again she hesitated, this time not sure what to think of what she had just seen.

“It's okay Em; you just walk through.” Taryn was now standing by her side “Watch, I'll show you”

“No, it's okay. I'll go first.” For all her misgivings, Emma couldn't allow Taryn to go ahead of her. It didn't feel right, as if it was in some way intrusive, even though as a child Taryn had virtually lived there.

Emma stepped forward; she raised her left arm and
pushed the tips of her fingers slowly through the rippling haze. There was the briefest sensation of heat but then they broke through into cooler air beyond. Taking confidence from this, Emma stepped through, closing her eyes as her face was immersed in a tingling flurry of light. When she opened them she found herself in a hallway, one that looked completely unchanged from when she was last in it twelve months previous, except now, as her eyes and ears adjusted, something was missing. At first she couldn't place it but slowly she realised what it was. Noise. There wasn't any at least none that you would expect to hear inside a suburban home. At first Emma thought that maybe they had arrived when everybody was out but then she remembered seeing her parents car in the driveway and they never went anywhere without it.

Emma moved further into the hall and heard a sound coming from the kitchen. It was quiet and gentle but with nothing to stop it, it carried into the hallway. Emma ventured further in and looked for the source of the noise, only to feel like her heart was being wrenched out.

Her mother sat at a table, her head supported by her hands. Piled up in front of her were photo albums. One was open, the photos inside showing a young child sitting in an imitation car at a fairground, an impish smile on its face. Other pictures showed the child standing with a man kneeling beside her, her dark tousled hair covering one eye as again the impish smile shone through. Next to the albums was a box of tissues that, as Emma watched, she dipped into.

She was a frail shadow of the woman Emma had loved, her silver blonde hair tied back into a bun, her hands prematurely aged. Had Emma turned around, she would have seen Father Eamon gently stop Taryn from coming to her side but she was transfixed on the table. Her mother's
face was hidden but Emma could hear the sobs. Emma watched her mother turned the stiff cardboard page, struggling to work it through the ring bindings. For a brief second a pained smile crossed her face as new photos were exposed only to disappear and be replaced with more tears. “Oh, Emma” her mother's voice was soft but the words were cracked and came through deep breathes and sharp intakes of air.

“It's okay mum. I'm here.”

Emma had never felt pain like it. Watching her mother, wretched and weeping, she knew things had changed. She was on the outside looking in. For all the pain and tears, she knew she was no longer a part of this family no matter how much she wanted to cling on.

Her mother looked up and, for the briefest moment, Emma thought she saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes only for it to be dashed as she heard the slightest of noises behind her and realised her mum was looking towards the source.

Emma turned and followed her gaze. In her distress she hadn't heard the footsteps behind herself. Standing in the doorway was a woman a year younger than her. The hair was shorter and the face fuller but other than that, Emma's sister was undeniably from the same bloodline.

“Mum.” The woman walked straight across the floor, Emma instinctively moving out the way, and wrapped her arms around their mother's neck in a vain effort to comfort her.

Emma wanted nothing more than to take away all the pain even though right then her own was almost too much to bear. She turned and walked out of the kitchen in a daze and headed to the stairs, walking past Father Eamon and Taryn who was weeping uncontrollably. As she slowly walked up the stairs, her hands touched lightly on the wallpaper
and the family pictures hanging there. Reaching the top, she turned left onto the landing and stopped in front of a door. Looking in she could see a wardrobe set back into an alcove and a dressing table against the wall on the left. She walked in to find the room unchanged since she had left it six years ago except now her father was sitting on her bed looking blankly in to thin air. Emma looked around, taking in the mementos of her past. On the wall was a picture taken on a school trip to France. There were four of them in it, Taryn, her and two other girls from her class whom she had been close with at the time. It was at an odd angle, as if it had been taken off the wall and then carelessly put back. On the dressing table was a small jewellery case, which had been given to her on her fifteenth birthday by her gran. The latch had broken, so Emma had decided to leave it here when she had moved out. Now it served to bring back memories of a happier time. She turned back to face her father.

“Dad, I'm so sorry.” She knew he couldn't hear but guilt sat like a vulture on her shoulder, slowly picking her apart. She sat on the bed and just looked at him. For a while he sat there not moving, just looking at the wall and then he did something Emma had never seen him do before. He cried. These were not the silent sobs of her mother but were deep and heavy. It felt to Emma like one of the pillars her life had been built on, her father's guaranteed strength, had just crumbled in front of her. She looked away not wanting to see but could not block the sound from her ears. After a while, her father's tears spent for now, stopped and he went back to looking at the wall. Emma sat there just looking at him. He was hunched over, which gave the effect of prematurely ageing him and to Emma he looked older than his fifty eight years. She leant forward to hug him, as much for her own comfort
as his and was met with a searing cold as she approached him. She tried again only to find the pain waiting for her. Emma sat on the bed, defeated, her father none the wiser to his daughters vain efforts.

After a while Emma got up, realising that no good could come from staying here and headed towards the bedroom door. When she got there she turned around and took a final look.

“Bye, dad.”

She left the room and headed downstairs to be met by Father Eamon and Taryn, who was still struggling to get herself together.

“Are you ready?” It was Father Eamon, his eyes searching hers.

“One second.” Emma headed into the kitchen to see her mother and sister in the same position they had been in when she had left, oblivious to her presence.

“Bye mum, bye Sam.”

“There really is nothing more you can do here.” Father Eamon was now by her side, his voice quiet and sympathetic.

All Emma could do was nod, any energy for speech now gone. He turned to the door and the shimmering returned. Emma took one final look at the house as sharp pangs of guilt picked away at her for not having the strength to stay longer.

The journey to the station passed without Emma realising it, with her only aware of the occasional supporting arm from Father Eamon or Taryn, offered when it looked like she was about to keel over. They arrived and headed down to the London bound platform, where Emma sat down and waited for the train to arrive to take her away from her old life and back to her new one.

The smell of freshly ground coffee and stale pastries hung in the air at London Bridge station. The three of them had passed unseen along the concourse and were now in the mid-afternoon sun. In front of them taxis purged their human cargo only to take on more before completing their trip around the tarmac crescent and leaving.

They left the station and headed back towards London Bridge. At the southern approach Father Eamon turned to them.

“We have to return to our plane.”

Our plane
, the words struck Emma as absurd. Her natural world was here. If nothing else she'd managed to reduce her pirouette to an elaborate side step and she was pretty sure she could reduce it even further, maybe to a nonchalant flick of her hips, with a little practice.

“I want to stay here.”

“You cannot stay, Emma, staying here takes energy. Energy that you do not yet possess. Staying here is but temporary respite.”

Emma shuddered and looked back at the station before giving Father Eamon a weary look. “Ok, let's get this over with.” She took his wrist whilst Taryn went to take the other.

“Come now Taryn, Sister Ignacia tells me that you are becoming quite the expert in crossing over. Surely you do not need me to help you.”

Taryn looked a little nervous, “okay, I'll give it a try.”

Emma closed her eyes and felt a rushing sensation as her world was turned upside down. Even with her eyes closed, she sensed the darkening sky as the air changed around her and the smell of exhaust fumes was replaced with an overwhelming stink that caused her to gag as her nose and throat were overwhelmed. London Bridge had once again been replaced, only this time there was no mist and she could see all the way across. The long cobbled roadway was bordered by high walls and at regular intervals gas lamps burnt brightly atop ornate iron columns. At the start of the bridge, there were two stairways, one either side. They were long and wide and disappeared downwards towards the water.

Emma couldn't take her eyes off of the opposite bank of the river. The bridge led in to a city that had undergone a transformation in her absence. The flames and rubble she had left behind had been replaced by high spires and low roofs topped with terracotta pantiles. Clouds drifted lazily overhead and Emma had to wait for her vision to adjust to the gloom before she could make out the full extent of the change. As her eyes adapted a huge gothic behemoth of a building with a spire soaring up to the sky came in to view. It was by far the biggest building there, its presence looming over everything around it.

They headed across the bridge and the smell got stronger. Emma covered her nose but it didn't help, it seeped through her fingers regardless.

“I know; it stinks doesn't it?” Taryn was following the same vain course of action “It helps if you shallow breathe.” She took two short breaths to emphasise the point.

They carried on walking with Emma speeding up to reach the other end of the bridge as quickly as possible. At the halfway point, the burning in her chest got too much and she had to suck in a deep lungful of air. The sudden taste of excrement and filth that struck the back of her throat was too much for Emma and she retched and leant forward, staggering into a nearby recess to gather her senses. Placing a hand against the wall, something sharp then crumbly dug in to her palm. She removed her hand to see the stone flake away from where she had put pressure. The bridge had been a pristine white when they started out but there was now a grimy film covering it, which was eating away at the stonework as if ages long past now touched it.

A deep, mournful toll filled the air; the sound came from the large church she had seen from the other side of the bridge. A bell was being rung somewhere inside and every chime felt like a knife to Emma. She looked to Father Eamon and saw a clouded expression cross his face, as Taryn turned away, unable to hold Emma's eyes with her own.

A shadow was cast across the rooftops by the church. It was clearer now, its profile thrown into sharp relief by the few rays of sun that cut through the desolate sky. The spire was in the middle of a long and ornate edifice and it towered over everything around it, its regular sides standing in stark contrast to the low-roofed and uneven buildings that made up the surrounding streets. Along its walls were large, ornate stained-glass windows, broken up by slender brick columns whilst above them, and just below the roof, were smaller windows set at the same intervals. It seemed to Emma that the building had just landed there, instead of being built from the ground up like everything else.

“It's St Pauls.” Taryn's voice brought Emma back.

Emma looked at the church and then at Taryn, “That's not St Pauls.”

“No, I didn't believe it at first either, but it really is St Pauls.”

Emma couldn't believe the monument in front of her bore any relation to a building she had known all her life. She looked over at Father Eamon.

“Taryn's right. That is St Pauls. It's the cathedral that stood before the fire.”

“The fire?”

“The Great Fire.”

“Oh, right.” She could remember seeing pictures in old school textbooks and knew that there had been a previous cathedral on the site, but to see it standing there, looking down at her, caused Emma to shrink in to the bridge wall. “Wow.”

“Wow, indeed.” Said Father Eamon smiling “Come, we should make haste. ‘Tis getting dark.”

At the north end of the bridge marble way to mud and stones and it became apparent to Emma that Father Eamon had been correct when he had said that London could change.

Emma found herself surrounded by buildings stretching haphazardly upwards, each additional story jutting out a little further than the one below. The road was wide but it was little more than a dirt track and Emma's ankles became unsteady on the pitted surface. The smell from the river started to fade only to be replaced by the smell of animal dung and human waste

As she looked at the surrounding buildings, all made of half-timbered oak frames, with walls of wattle and clay and windows of filthy, opaque glass; Emma felt a chill set in to her. Everything was different. The buildings were uneven and in some cases looked like they were about to topple
over, such was the overhang from some of the upper floors. The walls had splits in them, with reeds poking out where water damage had caused the beams to warp and splinter. Everything was in a neglected state but for all of this the thing that made Emma shiver the most was the silence. There was nothing, no wind or background noise from the river. It was an artificial, unnatural silence brought on by a complete lack of life. By the houses lay wicker baskets and large wooden water carriers, three quarters the size of Emma, thrown to the ground. To her left a small bucket, half full of cloudy and stinking water sat unattended beneath a lead pipe protruding from a wall, all the signs showed that people had been here but now there was nothing. It was as if everybody had suddenly just dropped what they were doing and disappeared.

“Where is everybody?”

“It's getting dark. They don't stay out after dark.” Taryn's voice was quiet, her words down to a whisper.

“Why?”

“It's not safe.”

“Why? Who are these people?”

“They're fallen initiates.” Father Eamon sounded distracted

“Initiates? Like us?”

“Not like you. They faded into the twilight long ago. They are but shadows now, drawn to those who still have a chance of redemption.”

“Why?”

“Because you have hope and they are drawn to that. Their existence is one of permanent hunger. They can see people around them but cannot talk to anybody unless they are in the presence of initiates. They cannot eat; they cannot love. All they have are the memories of their previous life and the knowledge that this life is all that they have
to look forward to. It's a slow torture that starves them of their soul until all that is left is a husk. They live in a permanent spiritual penury.”

They walked further up the road until they came to a junction and Father Eamon guided them down a side street. Emma was starting to lose her bearings. Apart from London Bridge, nothing she had seen leant itself to her old world. What roads there were led off in unfamiliar directions. She looked at the terraced houses that lined either side; their walls were the soft colour of earth and clashed with the broken red pottery and rotting straw thatch of their roofs. A harsh wind started to play between the gaps in the houses, stinging Emma's face and causing the hairs on her neck to bristle.

“Ehmma…How do you like our whorld, Ehmma?”
The voice rung in her ear and at first Emma wasn't sure she had heard anything at all
“Ehnjoy it while you can, Ehmma. Your time is limited.”

“Ignore it. All they can do is talk, nothing more. They cannot touch you or interfere with you in any way.” Father Eamon was by her side but his words were lost in her fear.

“You cannot protect her forever Eamon. You have failed before, you will fail again.”

Emma looked over at Father Eamon but he was unruffled, acting as if nothing was happening, Taryn, for her part, looked terrified and had moved closer to the two of them, all the time looking straight ahead. As Emma watched, she could see why. Through the half-light, she could just make out movement in the alleyways that ran off in between the buildings that they passed. Dark hooded forms hung just out of sight but just close enough that they could follow the group's progress. Emma watched as one came forwards from the shadows. It was only a fleeting glimpse because as she noticed it so did Father Eamon.
He turned to look and whatever it was melted back into the shadows with a hiss which tickled Emma's ears.

They moved further in to the warren of roads and alleyways and it seemed to Emma that they were getting more and more lost, with no hope of finding their way out. The straight roads with regular intersections were long gone and they were now in a darkening maze of alleys and courtyards. It seemed like they were the only people in the world and Emma found herself fighting off pangs of loneliness.

“Where are we?”

Father Eamon responded without looking back, “Just south of Fenchurch Street.”

Emma felt the cold breath of air hit her again, only this time it came from somewhere to her left. A snorting noise came from a nearby street and she strained to see what was causing it. Just as she thought she could make out a shape, it was gone with a sharp cracking noise and a low guttural moan as something took off into the dark.

“It's nhearly night, Ehmma. Don't get caught out after dharkk or we will hhave our fun. Sssuch beauty, ssuch poise. Iit will be a pleasure breaking yhou.”

Emma heard a whimper coming from behind her. She could almost taste Taryn's fear. She tried to ignore the voices but they were in her head and it was impossible to get rid of them.

“We're nearly there, Emma.” Father Eamon turned them down another road. Eventually the houses gave way to an open field, on the other side of which was a large wall. There was now a mist drifting off the Thames. It hadn't been there a minute ago but it was starting to encroach on the land in front of her. Emma became aware of a soft lapping noise to her right. At first she thought it was the Thames but that was still a little way off. For a second the
mist parted and Emma gasped as she saw a full moat surrounding a large fortified wall. Beyond this were the roofs of a multitude of different buildings but in the middle, towering over them all, was a large square keep. In the distance, she could see small black figures circling in the sky, their caws carrying on the wind. The Tower of London had never looked quite like this in the tourist guides.

Through all this a gentle creaking noise could be heard. It was out there somewhere hidden from sight. The mist was clagging down and Emma was having difficulty following the road but Father Eamon's step was assured and he carried on forward.

Shapes and shadows seemed to twist around them, close enough for Emma to feel their malevolence but too far out to touch. Her breath condensed into tiny droplets of water, and a trickle of sweat started to work its way down her spine. She looked for Father Eamon, ensuring that he was close. She needn't have worried; he was making sure that both she and Taryn were right next to him. A low whisper carried by the wind seemed to seep through every one of Emma's pores, indecipherable but full of malicious intent. Her hair was lank where the fog particles had soaked it through and her clothes were sticking to her through a combination of that and sweat. She was starting to shiver uncontrollably. Emma looked around to see Taryn in the same condition, her eyes like saucers as she tried to ignore all the whispers and hissing.

And all the time the creaking got louder.

A shape started to break through the mist. At first Emma couldn't see what it was but slowly she could make out two thick posts, set ten feet apart, with another, heavy, wooden post running between them at the top. Emma let out a low groan as she realised that she was looking at a gallows. Hanging in the middle was a limp body; a raven
sitting precariously on its shoulder but this wasn't what was making the creaking noise. That was coming from a little way further on. Another post started to show through the fog and slowly, Emma could make out a long metal gibbet, hanging from it. In the cage a rotting corpse was being picked at by yet more ravens, their cawing carrying on the wind as they took to the air, startled by the sudden appearance of the three travellers. Emma wanted to vomit as she saw the final raven pluck an eyeball before leaving with its trophy. The smell of the corpse was overpowering and she could hear Taryn gagging behind her.

The voices started up again,

“Do yhou like what we did with hhim? Wee have a gibbet just for you. But thhat's nhot all. Look again Emma. Take a closer look.”