The Tallow Image Read online

  As he rounded the bend in the corridor, he was at once confronted by the three officers; each haggard yet determined face told a story. The one whose nose and cheek were laced with fresh jagged scars spotted with crimson droplets and scored deep in his flesh, was the only one who spoke. ‘Don’t go near her,’ he warned Ralph, mindful also of the fact that this particular corridor led only to the padded cells. ‘Not unless you want your eyes ripped out!’

  ‘Who is she?’ An unholy realisation had taken hold of him. He had to know.

  The other man paused, regarding Ralph with inquisitive eyes. The other two men pushed past and hurried away. ‘You mean you weren’t told?’ When Ralph shook his head in answer, a dark and serious expression on his face, the man asked, ‘Have you just come on duty?’

  ‘No. My shift has just ended. I was in the washroom when I heard the commotion…’

  ‘Hmh! Commotion, you say? Commotion!’ He jerked his head towards the direction of the cells. ‘We’ve just brought her in… mad as a hatter. Evil bugger, too.’ He ran his fingertips along the edge of his torn skin. ‘The bastard!’ he hissed, wincing with pain. ‘I’d give a year’s grog to teach her a lesson.’

  ‘You’d best get that seen to. Looks like it needs stitching.’

  ‘Damm her eyes!’ He began striding away, but then he half-turned, saying, ‘I wouldn’t mind, but I’ve only been back at work a few days… been badly… germs breed in this awful heat. Fetched her from the prison, we did. She’s allus been a troublemaker, but this time she’s gone too far. Murdered her cell-mate, she did. Strangest bloody thing! They reckon she killed the old hag without even laying a finger on her. Strangest thing… weird.’ He made the sign of the cross on himself. ‘Don’t bear thinking about!’

  For a long, heart-rending moment, Ralph stood there, a great turmoil alive inside him. Just like before, he had the feeling that someone was near to him. He could feel the warm breath against his neck, and was he imagining those soft, caressing whispers fanning his ear? The trembling started deep inside him. In a moment it had spread through every inch of his body, until it took all of his control to stop his limbs from visibly shaking.

  ‘Take hold of yourself, Ralph Ryan,’ he muttered, a wave of anger coursing through him. What the hell was the matter with him? He didn’t even know whether it was Rebecca Norman back there in the cell. But if it was, it should be of no more consequence to him than if it were any madwoman. He had always prided himself in his ability to do a job with single-mindedness. He was always a man known for his common sense. Why, then, was he made so jittery by this woman? What did it matter to him whether she was the one in that cell?… ‘Mad as a hatter’… a murderess who had ‘killed the old hag without even laying a finger on her’. If all of that were true, then she really was a dangerous and unstable creature. That’s all. A maniac. Nothing more sinister than that. And he would do better to spend his sympathy on more deserving causes.

  Having all but convinced himself, he had half a mind to turn back; the padded cells were not a pleasant duty at the best of times, and to go near of a body’s own accord was downright asking for punishment. All the same, he was curious as to whether the woman committed here really was Rebecca Norman. Why not find out? What was there to be afraid of? Don’t be a fool, man… satisfy your curiosity and be done with it, he told himself. The best way to deal with a dilemma was to face it full on.

  Determined, he pushed onward, his face set like granite. Going past the line of stout panelled doors, he raised the heavy observation panels one by one, peering in, his heart beating so loud it echoed in his chest. The first four cells were empty. As he came to the next one, he heard soft, low singing coming from inside. He paused, his two hands on the hinged panel. Doubts filled his mind. The singing stopped. Gingerly, he slid out the metal pin which secured the panel, then, with his heart in his mouth, he lowered the heavy wooden square just enough for him to peer over the top.

  Looking inside, he saw nothing to tell him that it was occupied. He lowered the panel all the way down. The cell was not unlike the other seven – painfully small, with high ceiling and tiny barred window positioned some safe way up the wall; a narrow iron bed, walls and floor covered in a crude padding of stuffed canvas secured by wooden battens. It was a soulless, dismal place, made by man to contain fiends, and often the last place where hapless souls might lay their poor lonely heads before having their necks stretched on the gibbet.

  It was dim in the cell, the only light coming in from the tiny window being insufficient to illuminate any corner of it. Ralph’s searching gaze was drawn to the bed. His heart almost stopped when something stirred there. He instinctively stepped back. It was her! Like a silvery shadow she rose from the greyness of the bed, her black luminous eyes bathing his face, holding him to her, mesmerising him. With deft and enchanting movements she raised her slim white arms, gracefully crossing them above her head, where with long sensuous fingers she plucked at the shoulders of her shapeless garment and drew it from her body. With a tantalising smile she dropped the garment to the floor and, in a sinuous dancing movement, she came forward. She was the epitome of womanhood, slim and lithe, supple and perfectly formed; she knew her power, and she used it to hold him.

  Watching her was like being woven into a dream, or into a nightmare. Unable to draw his gaze from her magnificence, Ralph felt helpless, lost in admiration of her timeless beauty. Greedily, his eyes travelled her body, from the delicious rise of her breasts, with their stiff upturned nipples, to the dark and bewitching triangle between her milk-white thighs. As she danced towards him, her shining eyes making silent promises, her whole body reaching out to him, he knew at last beyond any doubt. He wanted her! Never in all his life had he ever wanted a woman so badly; so much that he could hardly breathe with the longing in him; so much that the blood in his veins burned like molten fire. A crazy urge sped through him; a driving impulse to tear down the door and to take her, to take her savagely, to have her for himself.

  Suddenly, her face was only inches from his, her dark eyes smiling into his very soul. ‘It was for you,’ she murmured in a voice that was black silk. ‘I did it for you… to be near you.’ He was like a man drowning in his own senses. In his mind’s eye he could hear another voice, whispering. Now he was making wanton love; images that put him in turmoil. God almighty! Was that really him? No! No!

  With a cry he slammed shut the panel. His hands were shaking, his insides boiling. Frantic, he fled from there, not stopping until he was within sight of the office near the main door. From behind he could hear her singing, a plaintive song, unearthly.

  ‘She’ll hang, there’s no doubt about it.’ The duty officer regarded Ralph with passing curiosity, at the same time indicating the direction from which Ralph had emerged. ‘Been checking on our new inmate, have you, Ryan?’ He saw Ralph’s stark, wide eyes and the profusion of sweat teeming down his face. Without waiting for an answer he went on, ‘That’s a bad ’un we’ve got there… a real bad ’un. Oh, aye, she’ll swing from the end of a rope afore long, you mark my words. They found the old hag cowered in a corner of the cell. By all accounts the Norman woman killed the old ’un just by staring at her!’ He shook his head, his eyes intent on Ralph who had taken off his cap and was vigorously wiping the flat of his hand over his face, as though wiping away something that clung to him, something suffocating. Something that would not be so easily wiped away.

  ‘Can you imagine that, eh?’ the other man went on. ‘She stared the old ’un to death!’ He shook his head again, his gaze shifting towards the direction of the padded cells. Then, in a hushed voice, he murmured, ‘Only a witch could do such a thing.’

  ‘It’s not possible!’ Ralph did not want to believe, and yet… and yet…

  ‘Oh, it bloody well is!’ protested the duty officer. ‘I’m telling you that’s exactly what happened. It were the old hag’s terrible screams that brought the warders running… oh, she’s yelled and screamed afore, right enough, but this time
it were different, so I’m told. Terrible, they said. Anyway, when they burst into the cell, they found that one –’ he flicked his anxious gaze back and forth from the direction of the padded cells to Ralph – ‘the Norman woman, was standing over the old hag. Stripped bare, she was. Naked as the day she were born. She were staring right through the old ’un – staring black eyes burning like coals. The old ’un wasn’t screaming by this time. She were whimpering, curled into the corner and whimpering like a terrified babe. When they pulled the Norman woman away, it were too late. The old hag were dead as stone. Oh no! There’s no doubt at all. The old ’un were yelling and screaming murder, and that’s exactly what happened.’ He shivered loudly. ‘Unless you’re unfortunate enough to be put on guard over that one, I should keep your distance.’ He chuckled, hissing through the many gaps in his yellow teeth. ‘Or she might put the evil eye on you an’ all!’ He laughed aloud, prodding the air with two fingers, as though laying a curse on him.

  When Ralph gave no answer, but instead began walking away, he called after him. ‘We can all rest easy in our beds, because afore the week’s out that neck of hers won’t be so lovely when it’s stretched a measure.’

  His loud guffawing followed Ralph from the building. It also echoed down the empty corridors to where Rebecca Norman was softly singing. For a moment the singing stopped. Magical black eyes looked towards the cell door. Her laughter was soft, beautiful. In her heart she felt all manner of emotions – wickedness, loathing for the other man, the man who bore an uncanny likeness to this tall handsome warder… the father who had long ago deserted her. Loathing also for the woman who had given birth to her, then later died. In a different way that woman had abandoned her also.

  Fonder, more painful memories murmured deep inside her, and a love so strong that it would never die. The love of a girl for an old woman, the grandmother who had cherished her when no one else would. There were shadows in her heart now, long dark shadows that flitted and shifted, never resting, never peaceful, always driving, demanding to be let loose; dark, excruciating memories of how they had burned that dear old woman, an innocent candlemaker, whom they labelled a witch.

  But it was not the old one. No. It was not she who was the witch. And yet they were merciless. In their fear and superstition, they had done wrong. The old one was burned, and they believed it was over. Oh, how wrong they were. Maybe it would never be over!

  3

  Maria opened the door, wondering who it could be so late in the evening. The cold night air took her breath away as she peered into the darkness. ‘Oh, Elizabeth, come in,’ she said, being relieved to see that it was one of her neighbours. Knowing Elizabeth, it was more than likely an errand of kindness.

  The woman stepped inside, slipping the blue-fringed shawl from around her neck and letting it slip to her ample shoulders. She was not a young woman, yet not old, possibly in her early forties. There was still a handsome strength about her; in the depth of her hazel eyes and the firm lines of her face was portrayed a measure of suffering, but also an admirable determination. Elizabeth Manners was a woman who made the best of what the Good Lord had given her, the worst of which was a husband who had drunk himself into an early grave, leaving her as a widow with three growing sons. Fortunately, the Good Lord had given her a talent for ‘dressing’ those wretches who departed the human race, and welcoming those who had seen fit to struggle into it. For these services she made a small charge. Her expertise was much in demand, and though her three sons were now self-sufficient grown men, she still coveted her work and her fiercely held independence. Besides which, the money would all go to helping her when she travelled back to England to live with her ageing sister. The older she got, the more determined she was that this would happen.

  ‘I thought I’d best pop in before taking to my bed,’ she told Maria, boldly scrutinising the now considerable bulge beneath Maria’s ill-fitting dress. ‘Evening, Mr Ryan,’ she called, seeing him relaxed in the chair, supping his cocoa and staring deep into the flames of the fire. ‘I was just saying to your wife, I wouldn’t feel right if I went to my bed without checking on her condition. In my experience, you can’t be too careful, not when a woman’s so close to birthing as Mrs Ryan here.’

  At once, Ralph’s mood was brightened by the woman’s observation. ‘It’s comforting to know that you’re only as far as next door, Mrs Manners. You’re on a wasted journey this night though. As you can see, Maria has never been more content.’

  ‘So I’m not wanted, then?’ She rained her smile on Maria.

  ‘Not tonight, I’m thinking,’ Maria replied, smoothing her hand over her belly and startling the other woman by gently blushing with pleasure. ‘It’s not due until the end of May… more than two weeks yet,’ she reminded her.

  ‘I’d best be away, then.’ Elizabeth Manners patted Maria on the shoulder. ‘But you mind you don’t overdo,’ she warned. ‘We don’t want no complications, do we now, eh?’

  Ralph twisted himself round in the chair, his handsome face looking pale and drawn in the firelight. ‘I don’t know what we’ll do when you leave for old England,’ he said, adding with a laugh, ‘Suppose Maria takes it in mind to have another dozen?’

  ‘God forbid!’ remarked Mrs Manners, looking at him aghast.

  ‘We’ll have what comes, I expect,’ Maria quietly interrupted, ‘but, for the moment, my only concern is with the one I’ve got, and the one on the way.’

  ‘Quite right, m’dear,’ rejoined Mrs Manners, casting a cursory glance in Ralph’s direction. ‘Bringing a child into the world is a serious business… drains a body’s energy… another dozen indeed!’ she remarked in mock horror. ‘What would men know?’

  ‘It’s kind of you to keep an eye on my wife,’ Ralph told her, resisting the urge to explain the lightheartedness of his comment. A dozen children may very well drain a body’s energy, but they would also drain a body’s purse. The very idea of twelve or fourteen children was too overwhelming, although he suspected there were many such families living here in Fremantle.

  ‘It’s what my job is, Mr Ryan… keeping an eye on your wife,’ Mrs Manners said. ‘And how are you yourself today? Has the fever left you completely?’ She eyed him dubiously, clucking her tongue. ‘So long as you’re on the mend, that’s all that matters, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you.’ His voice was tired, and she was not convinced.

  ‘He’s well enough, Mrs Manners,’ Maria intervened. ‘We both are.’ Maria knew how Ralph hated to be questioned so. She moved towards the door. ‘You can rest safely in your bed tonight.’ She inched the door open, wincing as the cold breeze rushed in. ‘Baby Ryan doesn’t seem in too much of a hurry to venture into the wide world.’

  ‘You’ll call me if the birthing starts?’

  Maria nodded. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Mind you do.’ Mrs Manners brushed out of the house without another word. Thankfully, Maria closed the door and returned to the chair opposite Ralph, where she resumed her darning. After a while, when the silence grew too heavy and she sensed the trauma of her beloved husband’s thoughts, Maria raised her dark blue eyes to him, discreetly observing this man whom she adored more than anything in the world. But he had changed.

  Over these past three months, and during the awful fever that had struck him down without warning, there had been times when her husband was a stranger to her.

  On that night in January when he came home from his work at the asylum, he had the look of a man possessed.

  Maria’s heart lurched at the memory of it. Wild eyed, he was, the sweat oozing from every pore of his body, like a tap had been turned on somewhere deep inside. She had wanted to call a doctor then and there, but he would have none of it. Instead, he had struggled up the stairs and into his bed, straight away falling into a deep and fretful sleep. For weeks he hardly knew anyone, passing in and out of consciousness and, in his more lucid moments, insisting that she must not summon a doctor. ‘We can’t afford to, Maria,’
was his reason and, to tell the truth, it was a sound enough one. Maria, however, rarely left his side, nursing and loving him, bathing and reassuring him, spoonfeeding the rich hot broth that kept him alive, and softly talking him through the frantic nightmares that constantly plagued him.

  Elizabeth Manners had been a godsend throughout, helping with Agatha and occasionally relieving Maria whenever she would allow it. Now, as she watched her husband, a wave of despair washed through Maria. With his head bowed, and the forlorn gaze in his quiet brown eyes, Ralph was a desolate man. Not for the first time, she wondered for his sanity.

  ‘She’s a good woman,’ he murmured, without drawing his gaze from the dancing flames. ‘You don’t think I was harsh with her?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course not.’ Maria lightly laughed. ‘When were you ever harsh with anyone?’

  An answering smile played at the corners of his mouth, but never blossomed. The silence descended, cradling them, drawing them together, then pushing them apart. Maria sensed the chaos in him. She knew the cause of it, and she prayed he would not be too hasty in his decision. Presently, he spoke, and the bitterness showed. ‘A man is nothing without his work!’ She could never imagine the anger in him, and the terrible feeling of hopelessness.

  At once she was by his side, cradling his dark head, murmuring to him, comforting him like a mother might comfort a child. ‘You’re not ready yet. You know that, don’t you?’ she pleaded. He gave no answer, but she felt him stiffen in her arms, and she knew.

  ‘A man has to work. I’m strong enough, Maria, and I’ll grow even stronger when I’m at my work.’

  ‘Don’t let money force you back before you’re ready,’ she told him. ‘We’ve managed well enough these long weeks, and we’ll manage for as long as it takes to get you really well.’