Belle Morte Bites (Belle Morte 4.3)

Factory Girls: Part One

Leeds, England, 1916

The noise of the factory was deafening.

Heavy machinery operating, workers shouting across the room to each other, the clang of shells being moved from place to place, made it hard to think.

Even for Isabeau Aguillon, a vampire who had been around for more than two hundred years, it was exhausting.

The Great War had raged for two years now, and it had been made clear some time ago that there was a severe shortage of munitions. Factories had sprung up across the country, frantically trying to meet demands, but difficulties had been further exacerbated earlier in the year when conscription was introduced. Millions of men had been forced to leave the country, on top of the millions who had already volunteered when the war broke out. The workforce in Britain had been left severely depleted, and women had stepped up to keep everything moving.

Isabeau was one of them.

After the end of her relationship with Esther Jones, she had left Britain and travelled again, but it had felt like she'd left part of herself back in England, and twenty-five years ago, she had returned, this time with the intention of staying as long as she could.

She was French by birth, but the Revolution had turned her home country into something she didn't recognise, and she'd never gone back. England was her home now, and when the Great War broke out, Isabeau was determined to help, any way she could.

When the Barnbow Munitions factory in Leeds had started recruiting women to fill the places left by the men who'd gone off to fight, Isabeau had been among the first volunteers.

The work was gruelling.

The factory had built temporary accommodation to house the workers, including nurseries so that mothers could work the exhausting twelve-hour shifts.

Sandwiches were eaten standing up, at the machines, and a ten minute break was allowed during a shift so that workers could use the toilets. Isabeau, of course, had no need for a toilet, but when her break came around, she gladly took it.

Anything to snatch a few minutes outside.

Her wooden clogs clacked on the floor as she made her way out of Room 42, the section where she worked, and out of the factory proper. All workers had to wear shoes of wood or rubber, to prevent the possibility of sparks being caused by shoes with any metal in them. No metal items were allowed – no jewellery or hairpins, no corsets – and carrying matches or cigarettes inside was punishable with a prison sentence.

There was always a risk of volatile munitions materials exploding, so every regulation had to be taken to curb the risk.

Isabeau didn't need to breathe, but as soon as she stepped outside, she sucked a deep breath into her lungs anyway.

The factory was poorly ventilated, reeking of chemicals and machinery and human sweat, and as long as she was working here, she didn't have much time to sneak away to hunt for animals that she could drink from. That had left her weaker than normal.

She looked up at the night sky, at the way the stars sparkled against a velvet backdrop, and closed her eyes, rotating her shoulders to unknot her aching muscles.

How much worse must it be for the poor people who didn't have the strength of a vampire to help them through this?

"Isabeau?"

Her eyes snapped open.

She knew that voice.

It had been a long time since she'd heard it, but it hadn't changed over the decades.