Isabella's Heiress (4 page)

“Shall we go in?”

The door opened and he guided Emma through. As she crossed the threshold, Emma saw Father Eamon throw an anxious look over his shoulder before closing the door behind him.

Emma found herself in a low-beamed entrance to a hall much larger than the tower she had entered. The warm smell of cedar wood and damp earth that filled her nose made a pleasant change from the cold outside. She heard Father Eamon close the door behind her and turned to see the half-smile from earlier back on his face. He placed an arm on her shoulder and nodded towards the low light ahead of them.

Once out of the entrance, Emma found herself surrounded by roughly hewn oak columns, which ran around the hall forming an oval. Between them were benches, which rose five high to the back wall. Light poured in through high casements, bathing everything in a pale glow. They also gave the people sitting on the benches a haunted look, turning their shadows into thin and wraithlike strips, stretching across the dusty floor. Young and old, male and female, they were all looking at her, curious eyes watching as she stood there, unsure what to do next. The younger ones were dressed in everyday jeans, T-shirts and jumpers. The older ones were in more formal suits and dresses.

Emma looked at one old man, his grey suit immaculately pressed, hunched in to a huddle with a woman half his age. She couldn't hear what he was saying but his body
language and the hushed tone of the conversation spoke of closely held secrets. To his left Emma saw a woman, no older than she was and dressed in jeans and a jumper, doing the same thing with a heavily bearded man.

Emma turned to Father Eamon, “What is this place?”

“‘Tis the main hall of the sanctuary. This is where you will stay whilst we sort out what happens to you.”

Emma's stomach contracted at his words. “What do you mean whilst we sort out what happens to you?”

Father Eamon paused for a second before answering. “This is a place for second chances, Emma - a place where you can decide your own fate.”

“Decide my own fate? You're telling me, my fate wasn't my own to start with?”

Father Eamon smiled at Emma's response, “In good time I will tell you everything that you need to know. To rush it would be to do you a great disservice.”

“So when are you going to tell me?” Emma was torn between a burning desire to know everything and the feeling that she would be better off not knowing anything at all. But she was also in no hurry to step back outside. At least here she felt safe.

“In time. Right now, we should get you acquainted with your new home.”

Emma looked around her. There was inviting warmth to the place and it was hard not to take an instant liking to it compared to what she had just been through. She followed Father Eamon into the sanctuary. The people who had watched her arrival had now gone back to what they were doing before. Some were sitting silently on their own, others seemed deep in conversation. She sat down on a bench, rubbing her legs, trying to massage them back to life. “If I'm dead, how come I'm tired?”

Father Eamon sat down next to her. “Whilst you're
here, you'll feel all the things you did when you were alive, you will breathe, you will sweat, you will feel all the emotions you felt before, including fear. Where you are now is the twilight world. You'll stay here for a while but once you move on, these things will pass.”

“How long will that be?” She was too tired to be impatient but she hated the way he left things hanging in the air.

“That is for tomorrow, Emma. Everything will be explained to you in full, I promise, but you need to be fully rested first.”

Emma looked at Father Eamon with a wry smile. “Yeah, because I'm going to sleep after everything that's happened.”

Father Eamon returned the smile. “Believe me when I say, Emma. Sleep will overtake you soon enough. Let me take you to your room.”

“I have a room?”

“You do. It's above this hall. Come.” They rose and headed over to a side door that was just off the main hall. The door opened when Father Eamon approached, as if expecting him. Emma followed him through and found herself in a twisting stairwell. The inner wall was whitewashed while, on the outer wall, Emma saw lead-framed windows interspersed at regular intervals. She looked out on the garden and the half-lit world beyond.

At the top of the stairs, Emma found herself in a dark corridor that ran into the distance. Torches, jutting out from iron holders, ignited as Father Eamon passed, their naked flames illuminating white walls, broken up by a series of heavy wooden doors. Exposed oak beams, weathered with age, criss crossed the air above her. Emma followed Father Eamon until he stopped and turned to face a door.

“Ah, here we are.”

Two words were etched into the wood. The writing was runic and nearly illegible but Emma knew what it said. Just above the doorknocker was her name, Emma Elliott, immaculately carved.

Father Eamon stood to one side. “Please, after you.”

Emma approached the door and grabbed the knocker; she twisted it clock-wise but nothing happened. She tried it anti-clockwise and it turned smoothly. The door gave way, opening inwards.

Stepping inside she found herself transported back to an earlier, happier time. In front of her was her bedroom. On the far right was a bed with a writing desk next to it. This was complimented by a dressing table and cuddly toys, which spilled off shelves set into a recess in the opposite wall. Posters of Soul Asylum and INXS were plastered haphazardly on the wall next to them and were threatening to collapse on to the small portable television below.

Emma felt the give of the deep red carpet below her feet and closed her eyes, remembering the many long hours of her childhood spent lying on it.

Taking a large battered blue teddy bear off the top shelf and pulling it into her chest, Emma turned to Father Eamon. “God, how did you know?”

“Does it meet with your approval?”

“It's just like I remember it.”

For the first time since she had found herself standing at the roadside, Emma felt safe or at least something coming close to that.

“This is how it was on the 3rd of July 1993. Do you remember that day?”

A smile passed across Emma's face.
My fifteenth birthday.

“This is where you'll be staying whilst you're here. Only you can open this door, Emma. No one can get in here without your express permission.”

Emma looked over and saw that Father Eamon was still standing in the doorway.

“And that includes me.”

“Please, come in.” The words rushed out as she realised he was waiting to be asked in.

Father Eamon walked in and pulled out the chair by the writing desk. He turned it to face Emma and sat down, waiting for her to sit on the bed.

“Emma, you are about to enter a very trying period. I know you have questions but I want you to hold onto them until tomorrow. Can you do that?”

Emma pulled the bear in tighter. “If I have to.”

“This is a time where you will be tested. You have arrived in a place where many, many people have been before you and many will come after you. There are things of which the living are oblivious and to which their eyes are only opened after they pass on. For some it is too late by then but for the majority it is a revelation. For you, I think, it is an opportunity. All I ask is that you wait until tomorrow before I continue. Will you allow me that?”

Emma was already finding herself drifting off as she struggled to comprehend everything Father Eamon said. She let out a low yawn. “I guess so.”

“All that has happened today will become clear over time, of that you can be sure. This is just the beginning of a long journey that you must undertake but you can be sure that you will never be alone.”

Emma didn't know what to say, instead choosing to sit on the bed and watch as Father Eamon stood up and placed the chair back under the desk.

“I have to go now, there are things I need to do; but we will talk tomorrow.”

She watched as he left the room, resisting the impulse to grab onto him and force him to stay, before getting up
to close the door only to see it close on its own. She sat down, looking at it.

Hmm, nice trick.

Emma got up to open it and watched as it opened itself in front of her. She went to close it, only for the door to shut before she had put her first foot forward.

Ah, I see, nice of him to explain.
She pictured the door opening in her mind and, on cue, the door obliged.

Wait until tomorrow, huh? Typical.

She was about to will it to close again, bored of this new game, when she heard voices in the corridor. The voices sank to a whisper so Emma crept outside. A torch on the wall came on and she hopped back in to her room as it went out again. She leaned through the doorway and strained to catch the words.

Fragments of a hurried conversation drifted towards her. She recognised one voice as Father Eamon's. A second man was questioning him.

“…What is this I hear about the Gentle Men?”

Father Eamon's reply was hesitant. “Something wasn't right. They've never gone for an initiate before. I do not know why they would take that chance. They know what they risk in doing that.”

“This is a new development. What did you make of her?”

“She's strong, but she doesn't realise it. I've spent days coaxing people out of denial, but she came around quickly.”

There was a pause before Emma heard the other man respond.

“Interesting…very interesting. We need to proceed carefully. How will she cope with her trial?”

“I do not know. It worries me, though. If they were willing to take those chances before she arrived here, what are they going to do when she goes back out?”

The warmth that Emma had felt when she entered the bedroom now disappeared and was replaced by a creeping dread. The conversation chilled her and she walked back into the bedroom feeling more alone than ever. What did he mean a trial? And who were the Gentle Men? Emma reached for the blue teddy she had picked up a short while earlier and climbed into the bed, pulling the duvet over them. She held the teddy tight, feeling the hair on its ear tickle her nose. As the tears started to flow, she said:

“Mum, where are you?”

Above her, the light switched itself off.

A few years ago Lisa wouldn't have worried about what state her eyelashes were in, or for that matter if her shoes went with her trousers, but being the youngest of three sisters meant that she had grown up quickly.

Now, as she sat at her dressing table, her hands were a mess of powder and mascara as she tried in vain to blend the foundation into her cheeks so both sides matched.

She knew she was fighting a losing battle.

It came so easily to Emma and Sam yet for her it was like going to war with Rimmel every time she tried to apply anything beyond moisturiser.

Tonight was no exception; to the dusky inflection of Toni Braxton, she looked at the array of bottles sitting on the table in front of her not really knowing where to start. She sighed as the smell of hair spray started to stick to the back of her throat. Why couldn't she have the same dark hair as them? Instead of the ginger mess she was currently looking at.

As the chorus of Unbreak My Heart reached it crescendo, Emma stormed past her room and slammed the door of her bedroom in protest at something which mum had just said. She couldn't be sure what had been said
but whatever it was, Emma wasn't happy. This seemed to happen a lot now.

“Emma, she's your sister, come on.”

Lisa pretended not to know what the conversation was about but it was Friday night and she knew exactly what was happening. It was the weekly battle between her sister and her mum about Emma's curfew but this week had a different twist to it. Lisa had just turned fifteen two days earlier and now her mum was pressuring Emma to take her out for the evening, and Emma was less than happy about it.

She tried to block it out, concentrating instead on the face staring back at her from the dressing table mirror but the low-level rumble of defiance coming out of Emma's bedroom put paid to that. Secretly, Lisa would have been quite pleased if Emma had won this latest round with their mum but that would mean staying at home again and it would also mean not seeing Taryn. Taryn was Emma's best friend and also the most popular girl in school. Lisa had known her ever since they had moved to the area and had watched in a silent reverence as she glided through life with not a care in the world. She wanted to be like Taryn, but then so did every girl in school.

The radio DJ finished his inane chatter and The Backstreet Boys came on, causing Lisa's spirits to perk up slightly.

Over the last couple of years Lisa had noticed a subtle change in the way the boys at school looked at Taryn. She had always been popular but now, there was something else. An added edge to the looks she got and it was something that made Lisa blush when she thought about it, although she didn't fully understand why.

Her own experiences with boys were pretty much non-existent and in some ways she was happy with that, preferring the comfort of the known to the pitfalls of the
teenage social scene, although she had to admit that this was partly forced on her by the complete lack of interest shown by any guy she knew. A couple of boys had made advances but on both occasions, they'd been talking to her whilst keeping one eye on Taryn and that had hurt more than being ignored. The Backstreet Boys gave way to the Spice Girls eliciting a silent groan from Lisa as Wannabe played for what seemed like the millionth time.

For the most part, Lisa had found herself inhabiting a world of books and magazines, but they were not the academic books of Emma's world. These were stories of heroines, vampires and talking bears. Lisa found the warm blanket of escapism to be increasingly inviting these days.

But she had just turned fifteen and had now made a conscious decision to try and move on from that. There would be time for that later, Lisa told herself. Now she wanted to do the things that everybody else seemed to do and wanted to experience all the things that Emma and Sam, her other sister, took for granted.

She looked again at the mixture of mascara, foundation, blusher and tissues that sat in front of her and took a deep breath before wiping off her earlier effort and throwing the results in the bin. She took another look at the face in the mirror and started again. In the background Whitney Houston started to sing a ballad about her name not being Susan. Lisa sympathised.

Emma sat on her bed, slowly simmering after yet another argument with her mum. Her bedroom floor was a jumbled pile of maths and geography textbooks along with a well thumbed copy of The Good University Guide 1997 which, her father constantly reminded her, would only be
of any use to her if she got the right grades in her exams. That was unlikely to happen, however, given the god-awful racket coming from Lisa's bedroom. Didn't she realise how hard it made it for Emma to study when she had to contend with all the interference floating in from her room?

Emma had been studying for two years now and was within weeks of taking them, but that was pushed to the back of her mind by the more pressing concerns of tonight. She was due to meet Taryn before heading out for the night but now mum had insisted on Lisa joining them and the thought mortified her. It was bad enough that she'd had to miss her appointment at the salon that afternoon but now she was going to be saddled with her sister. Sam wasn't so bad, at least she got it, but Lisa was beyond all help. She dressed horrendously, her hair was a mess and as for her efforts at make up, well Emma just shuddered. Why couldn't she be more like her and Sam? The thought of taking her along with them was something that sent a creeping chill down her spine and, heading towards her bedroom door, she resolved to face her mum down.

Emma passed Lisa's bedroom and caught a glimpse of her sitting in front of her dressing table dragging a tissue across her left cheek, a sight which just reinforced her resolve as she headed downstairs.

Her mum was at the kitchen work surface kneading dough when Emma flounced in to argue her case. “It's not fair, I shouldn't have to carry Lisa just because she has no friends of her own.”

Her mum turned away from the flour and water to look at her oldest daughter. “Emma, come on. It's not as if I'm asking a lot here. All I'm asking is that you take her out for one night. She's just had her birthday and it wouldn't hurt you to help out here. You know she doesn't get out much.”

“Oh please, as if that's my fault.”

“Emma.” It was delivered in a low extended cadence and came with a disapproving look that told Emma she was close to overstepping the mark.

“Look, mum, please. I haven't seen Taryn since she got back and I don't want to have to baby sit Lisa whilst we're catching up.”

Emma walked over to the fridge and pulled out a can of Diet Coke before sitting down at the kitchen table. The day's paper was spread out in front of her from where her dad had grabbed some breakfast earlier before heading to the office. Emma rued the fact that he wasn't here, as she knew he would invariably take her side. Instead she would have to battle it out with her mum and she knew this one was already over before it started.

“Emma, I'm asking you to do me a favour here. Lisa needs to build her confidence and you're her sister. You shouldn't need to have to be asked to help out here.”

“I know but…”

“No buts. Don't make me withdraw your privileges.”

Emma knew it would come down to this. She had not long passed her driving test and, because she hadn't got a car of her own, she had been allowed to drive her parents when she went out at the weekend just as long as she treated it sensibly and filled it with petrol.

She tried one last plaintive look but knew it was a pointless exercise and stormed back out of the kitchen defeated.

Lisa looked in the mirror, satisfied that this time she at least looked presentable. The light powdering of blusher that turned the dressing table from a deep mahogany to a pale pink was the only evidence of any over zealousness on her part and as she looked in the mirror, she used her
index fingers to blend the last few traces of powder into her freckled cheeks.

The muffled stomp of Emma's slippers announced her imminent arrival and Lisa felt a twist of nerves as she heard her muttering under her breath, what was she going to do? What was she going to say? Emma turned the corner and Lisa saw she was trying to avoid her gaze. She went to walk past her bedroom but stopped and turned.

“I'm leaving at seven thirty to pick up Taryn, make sure you're ready. We're going to The Crown and Greyhound then the Amber Lounge.”

Before Lisa had a chance to say thank you and let her know how grateful she was, Emma had turned and stormed into her bedroom announcing her arrival with the sound of a slamming door.

Lisa's heart quickened as she looked at the clock on the far wall. It was six o'clock; she had an hour and a half. What was she going to wear? She had settled on a set of jeans and a jumper, but she knew it wouldn't be enough. She rushed over to her wardrobe and riffled through the hangers suddenly wishing she had spent more of her allowance and paper round money on clothes and not books, of which she had enough to last her until she hit twenty. When she managed to pull herself away from the assortment of tops and shoes, the time was six fifteen. Lisa wanted to ask Emma's advice but knew that wasn't a good idea. She chose instead to pull out a crème and black cami top and paired it with some black trousers and sandals. She spent the rest of the hour deciding what perfume to put on before worrying whether she'd used too much or not.

Emma allowed herself a few deep breathes before turning
to face her wardrobe. It wasn't as if Lisa was so bad, but she could be so frustratingly naive. She may be fifteen but she had the awkwardness of someone still finding their feet, which caused her to alienate all those around her at school and that embarrassed Emma, particularly when she saw the smirks and looks that followed her whenever she walked along the corridors. It was a relief when they could go their separate ways at three o'clock.

It was probably the guilt born out of her feelings at school that brought her round to letting Lisa tag along. If it meant a quieter life with mum, then what harm could it do? Emma put it to the back of her mind, trying not to think about what Taryn was going to say when she saw her sitting in the back of her car, and concentrated instead on what she was going to wear. Her weekend job at Dorothy Perkins came with a number of perks, not least of which was the ten percent discount on all the stock and Emma allowed herself a smile as she pulled out a black sleeveless top covered in sequins and paired it with a set of skinny blue jeans and a slender gold belt.

A drawer on the right of her dressing table gave up its contents of cigarettes and a small bottle of Malibu, which Emma was careful to hide when her parents were anywhere nearby. The make up went on in minutes as she studied her skin in the baleful light given off by the bulbs that bordered her dressing table mirror, silently cursing the remnants of her acne.

Emma looked at the clock; the time was seven twenty, almost time to leave. Tonight was a big night. It was Friday, she hadn't seen Taryn for an age, and Pete would be there. That last thought brought a nervous smile to her face. Pete. The thought of his name caused pins and needles to run the length of her body.
C'mon Emma she chided herself; you're a grown woman, well almost.