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She ran as far and as fast as she could but there was no way for her to outrun the Empire. The letter arrived almost a year to the day after Robbie’s death, VRI stamped on the seal. She almost threw it aside, unread. Although she could not run from the Empire she could hide in it. She knew now that there were people who did not love the Queen. But Robert had given his life to redeem their name and she wouldn’t make vain his sacrifice. (If she sometimes thought that she no longer loved the Empress she made sure to bury the knowledge in the darkest corners of her mind.)
She allowed herself one rebellion. She sailed into Port Glasgow rather than presenting herself in London. When the Queen herself arrived at Torchwood House a month later she said nothing and Isobel counted it a victory. The Queen stayed for a week, nodding at the brilliant men she had recruited as they laid out their discoveries before her. Isobel wondered if she was the only person present who could tell quite how much the Queen hated the evidence of a world beyond her own.
Isobel was lady of the house again. This time her role felt like a prison, perhaps because her household was scattered and the Torchwood Institute wanted no lady in their midst. She could see the looks they gave her as she wandered the corridors, wondering why she was there, what she was for.
She didn’t tell them why she was there but she showed them, eventually.
Lomax found it, a small wooden box with a crank handle and speaker. She recognised it as a telephone but that didn’t stop Harrison explaining it to her. He was demonstrating how to place a call when he stopped, staring at the handset as though it were a snake.
“Mr Harrison?” She asked.
“I’m sorry, Lady Isobel. I thought I heard –“ He trailed off, she never did learn what he heard. She learned what Lomax heard, though. She tried not to hear his screams as he was carried out by the doctors, more skeleton than man, begging for the chance to speak to his wee baby girl one more time.
For the first time, Isobel used the full weight of the authority the Queen had given to her. She made Harrison and Miller swear to tell no-one about the machine, not even the Queen herself. It was too dangerous. She kept the telephone locked in a room to which only she had a key. It was too dangerous. And yet, she couldn’t help herself.
She cranked the handle and picked up the receiver. She didn’t expect to hear Robbie’s voice, not really. She wanted the future, no matter how beloved the past. She wanted to know that spending the rest of her life in this sepulchre would be worth something.
“Hello,” she said. “Is this Torchwood?”