The Tallow Image

by J. T. Brindle

  All the same, what the old lady had asked her to do was odd. Very odd, and it occurred to the girl that she would have to be careful not to get caught up in things that might bring trouble to her own front door!

  Upstairs, Maria could not take her eyes from the wedding picture. The longer she looked on the young man, Matthew Abel Slater, the more she was reminded of how her mother Agatha described her own father, Ralph Ryan… ‘tall and lithe of limb… dark hair and eyes… a proud upright bearing.’ Elizabeth Manners had kept alive Agatha’s memory of her father. Now, when Maria gazed at the picture, it revived all that she had learned about her grandfather. Her every instinct told her that here… here was the last remaining male link in the Ryan chain. With every bone in her body, she knew that the young man was in mortal danger. But she couldn’t be certain. She had to be certain! Perhaps she was just confused. After all, she was very old, and lately she was prone to imagining things.

  Hearing Emily coming up the stairs and calling her name, Maria quickly folded the newspaper, tucking it beneath her pillow. Suddenly a strange feeling came over her; she felt dizzy, light headed. It seemed as though she was moving out of herself, not in the room at all, but outside, looking in. A cold hand grasped at her heart. She recalled the same sensation only once, many many years before… on the day her young brother was crushed to his death.

  Maria opened her mouth to speak. She heard herself call Emily’s name, but the voice was not hers. She was compelled to look towards the doorway. Relief surged through her as Emily came into the room. But then something happened to make her question her own sanity. The familiar figure of Emily began to change. It became taller, slimmer, the brown bobbed hair was now rich and dark. She came forward; there was no limp, no blemish on the face, only the most stunning beauty, and an aura of terrible evil. Maria could hear herself crying out, calling for Emily. The apparition kept on gliding towards her – it was as though she was seeing everything in slow motion. The full inviting mouth opened, laughing, and then it spoke!

  When Emily reached her side, Maria was quiet but visibly shaken, staring at her with wild, frightened eyes. Later, when the doctor left and his patient was calmer, Emily made up a bed in the same room. She would not leave her friend’s side – not until she was certain the old lady was fully recovered.

  It was in the dark early hours when Maria woke. Her first fears were for Emily. Had the evil discovered that she, too, carried the Ryan blood in her veins? The thought was chilling. In her mind’s eye she saw it all. The apparition… the tallow doll. Its mocking words hummed in her head, swimming into every corner of her being… ‘Through the flames… eye to eye’. What did it mean? What did it mean?

  Exhausted and alone in her terror, Maria glanced lovingly towards the narrow bed and Emily sleeping there. ‘At least you won’t come to harm,’ she murmured. ‘I believe you will be safe… as long as you don’t know the truth about me… about yourself. I pray to God you will never know.’

  The cold clammy air pressed in. With a shock, she realised again. It was all around. Possessed of the power to move in and out of her senses at will. Don’t let it know your thoughts, Maria. Don’t let it know your thoughts!

  6

  ‘Oh Matt, I do love it here!’ It was the day before Cathy and Matt were due to fly home. They had seen and done everything, and now they were on the train going to Fremantle. The journey from Perth took approximately half an hour, according to whether they encountered any stray animals on the line.

  ‘I’ll certainly be sorry to leave,’ Matt replied. ‘It’s so different to anything back home.’

  ‘I’ll be glad to see Dad, though,’ Cathy remarked. ‘I miss him.’

  ‘No doubt he misses you.’ Shuffling along the wooden seat to make room for two young people carrying surf-boards, Matt promised, ‘We’ll come back, though. And when we do, we’ll try and persuade your dad to come along.’

  Cathy laughed at that. ‘You won’t persuade him out of England. You know how he’s always saying he travelled the world when he was in the Navy? And all he wants now is to sit in front of an English fireplace, with his pipe and slippers.’

  Matt didn’t argue. He knew it would be the devil’s own job trying to bring Bill to the other side of the world. ‘Pity,’ he teased, ‘the two of us could have tried our hand at surfing.’ He winked at Cathy and she giggled. Then, much to the amusement of an old woman with a smoking pipe and a big straw hat, he kissed her full on the mouth.

  ‘Honeymooners, ain’t yer?’ Her wide grin revealed a mouthful of rose-pink gums. When Cathy blushed to the roots of her hair, she chuckled and puffed at her pipe, blowing out the smoke until it billowed all around and hid her from view. When she saw Matt smiling, she winked a cheeky eye. ‘Mek the most of it,’ she said wisely, peering through the smoke, ‘’cause young love don’t last too long.’

  The train pulled in and the passengers clambered out. Cathy and Matt went towards the town centre hand in hand. ‘The receptionist at the hotel said they’d spruced Fremantle up since the Americas Cup was run from here.’ Fishing the camera out of her shoulder bag she clicked open the shutter and took a picture of Matt close up. ‘I can see right up your nostrils,’ she laughed, quickly replacing the camera in her bag before he could snatch it from her. He had an aversion to having his picture taken, especially close up.

  The little square was another picture. There were shops selling all manner of wares, raised flower beds and cafés with colourful blinds over the windows, and the whole delightful area was teeming with people. ‘Let’s sit here.’ Dropping her bag to the ground, Cathy sat on one of the many chairs situated around numerous tables. ‘An ice-cold drink, then we’ll explore. What do you say?’ Shielding her eyes, she glanced up at him. The sweat was running down her back, and it was such bliss to throw off her shoes and stretch out her legs. Matt and she had covered many miles since arriving here. The first three days had been used up in pursuit of his father’s origins. All of his enquiries had come to nothing, and he had been bitterly disappointed. Yet he had not allowed his disappointment to overshadow his and Cathy’s honeymoon.

  Matt didn’t need asking twice. ‘My tongue’s stuck to my throat,’ he confessed. ‘I have to admit I can’t stand this heat.’

  ‘That’s ’cause yer a bloody pom, and yer ain’t used to it!’ The old man had watched them approach and now he shifted his chair a little nearer. ‘If yer ain’t used to it, the heat can shrivel you up,’ he warned. He was shrivelled himself, brown and leathery, with blue eyes that twinkled with merriment. His shirt was open to the waist and his broad-brimmed hat was bedecked with corks – ‘To keep the bloody flies off,’ he explained, when he saw Cathy admiring it. ‘Here! Try it on,’ he suggested, snatching it from his head and holding it out to her. The brim was stained with oil and the inside had a thick grimy ring round it. But Cathy tried it on anyway. ‘Suits yer!’ he chuckled. ‘Yer should get yerself one.’

  Returning the hat, Cathy told him they were going home tomorrow, but that, ‘We intend to come back some day.’ The old fellow thought they should drink to that, and Matt ordered them each a long, cool lemonade.

  ‘Have yer been to the lunatic asylum yet?’ the old fellow asked. When they said no, he shook his head, saying solemnly, ‘Yer can’t go home without seeing that.’ He explained how the early convicts had built most of the buildings in Fremantle… ‘The warehouses and the prison… all of it.’ He chuckled. ‘Don’t seem right, does it? Especially when a lot of the poor buggers went mad while helping to build their own asylum.’ He told them how the building had fallen into dilapidation, but then was restored some years ago. ‘It’s an art and craft museum now. A beautiful building. It’ll be a real pity if you go home without seeing it.’

  When the old fellow had gone, Matt went to pay for the drinks. ‘Off home, then, are you?’ The waitress was a chatty soul. Seeing how Matt was surprised that she knew they were going home tomorrow, she laughed. ‘I’m nosy by nature,’ she explained,
nodding towards the table where Cathy was waiting. ‘I overheard you talking to the young lady.’ He looked puzzled, thinking she meant Cathy. ‘She’s right, you know. You ought to see the lunatic asylum before you go back.’

  Matt smiled, not fully understanding. ‘Oh, we will,’ he assured her, ‘but it was the old fellow who told us about the asylum.’

  ‘Old fellow?’ Her eyebrows drew into a frown as she glanced at where Cathy was seated. ‘What old fellow?’

  Matt nodded. ‘The one who was sitting with us when you brought the drinks to the table.’

  She didn’t reply for a minute. Instead, she stared at him, then she glanced again at Cathy. ‘Aw, right, matey!’ she said, her face opening with feigned enlightenment as she pretended to recall the old man. She gave him his change and watched him walk away with Cathy by his side. Turning to her colleague, she shook her head in exasperation. ‘If you ask me, they should keep him in that asylum.’

  ‘Oh, why’s that?’

  ‘Because there weren’t no old fellow sitting at their table. I’ve had my eyes on them all along.’ She pursed her lips and made a sucking sound. ‘You know me. I just thought he was a big handsome hunk, that’s all. But he’s not right in the head, I reckon… ’cause there weren’t no old fellow… just him, with that fair-haired sheila, and another woman. A real looker, that one was – jet-black hair and dark sinister eyes! It were her that told him about the asylum.’ She nodded towards Matt’s figure as it went away. ‘If you ask me, the sun’s fried his brains.’

  Her colleague laughed. ‘And if you ask me, I’d say you were at the grog last night.’

  The other woman looked round. ‘I know what I saw,’ she said firmly. ‘There was him… and two women. And I ain’t touched a drop o’ grog since I fell over that garden wall and split my arse open.’ At that they both burst out laughing and the incident with Matt was already forgotten.

  The receptionist was fresh and pretty, and eager to help. ‘Oh, no,’ she said in reply to Cathy’s question, ‘there’s little left of the old asylum.’ She went on to describe exactly what the old fellow had told them, that the asylum had housed many convicts who had ‘gone over the edge’. She explained how all manner of bad and pitiful creatures had gone to the gallows from there. ‘Mostly men,’ she said, ‘but there were a few women. The one who comes immediately to mind was a young woman by the name of Rebecca Norman… a wild and spirited creature, by all accounts, darkly beautiful and mad as they came.’

  Cathy was fascinated. ‘What was her crime?’

  The young woman got out of her seat and walked across the spacious reception area. There were shelves all around, laden with books and leaflets. Choosing a particular brochure, she handed it to Cathy. ‘According to this, Rebecca Norman and her grandmother were accused of witchcraft and murder. Her grandmother was sentenced to death. Because of her age, the girl escaped the death sentence.’ Pointing to the brochure, she went on, ‘It’s all in there… the history of this place, and a few sketchy stories taken from the old ledgers.’

  ‘Is there nothing left of the old asylum, apart from its shell?’ Matt was intrigued.

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Gesturing towards an opening at the far end of the reception area, she said, ‘There are things to see through there. And right at the end of the corridor you’ll find that one of the cells has been preserved. Some say it’s the very cell where Rebecca Norman was held, the night before they took her to the gallows.’

  All along the corridor, encased in glass-fronted cupboards, artefacts from the asylum’s history were displayed: inmates’ uniforms, kitchen utensils, leg-irons, strait-jackets and other horrendous instruments of punishment. And, just as the receptionist had described, one tiny cell, untouched for over a hundred years. Even the door was formidable. Thick and heavy, with a small window covered by a trap-door, it swung open to reveal a tiny room. Matt peered inside, but made no effort to go in. ‘God! It smells rank in there.’

  Cathy went inside. Matt was right. It did have a strange smell. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. ‘I expect it’s damp,’ she told him, going deeper into the room. A strange feeling came over her, a feeling of being isolated, totally and utterly alone. The air in here was incredibly chilling; it made her catch her breath. Wrapping her arms round herself, and hunching up to ward off the cold, Cathy looked around.

  The cell was tiny. There was a small window in the far wall, and a soak-away grating in the floor. Against the nearside wall stood a narrow iron bed, and beside the bed was a bucket. The walls were covered in a trellis of thin wooden slats, most of which had rotted away to reveal what looked like wattle and daub beneath. Cathy ran her hand over the wall. It struck oddly warm. The warmth pulsed through her, shocking her to the core. In that moment she was compelled to slide her hand between the wooden slats. There was something there! She drew the object out, wiped the cobwebs from it and what she saw made her gasp with astonishment. ‘It’s a doll!’ A strange feeling of elation came over her. Standing there in that cell which was unchanged after more than a hundred years, where she had been shivering with cold only a minute before and now she was warm, Cathy almost believed she had gone back in time. It was the strangest thing.

  ‘What in God’s name is it?’ Matt stared at the object with disgust.

  ‘It’s a doll.’ Stroking her fingers over the coarse features, Cathy told him, ‘I think it’s beautiful.’ She pressed it to herself, afraid that he might suddenly snatch it away.

  ‘Ugly, that’s what it is.’

  ‘Well, you’d better get used to it, because I’m keeping it.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you show it to the curator?’

  ‘No. He’ll only put in a glass case.’ Hugging it close she pleaded, ‘It’s a wonderful memento of our honeymoon. You won’t really mind if I keep it, will you, Matt?’

  ‘And if I did, would it make any difference?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘All right. Let’s get out of here. This place gives me the creeps.’

  Outside in the brilliant sunshine he shivered.

  ‘You’re not cold, are you?’

  ‘No.’ He chuckled. ‘But I think somebody’s just walked over my grave.’

  The hotel was a short walk from the station. A lovely place, with a cool spacious foyer decorated with abstract paintings and adorned with pink velvet drapes, it was a welcome oasis after the searing heat outside. A short exchange with the blonde-haired girl behind the desk, then Cathy and Matt went straight to their room.

  ‘God, this heat!’ As they came into the room, Matt plucked the shirt from his back. ‘A drink first, then a shower,’ he said, picking up the bedside phone. ‘What do you want from the bar?’

  Cathy was so engrossed in examining the doll, she didn’t hear him at first. When he repeated his question, she looked up, startled. ‘Oh, a jug of ice-cold water, I think.’

  ‘I hope you’re not going to let that thing come between us,’ he teased.

  While they were waiting for the drinks to arrive, Matt decided he’d have his shower right away. ‘I feel like I’ve been in a Turkish bath.’

  Cathy too was hot and uncomfortable. ‘We’ll shower together,’ she said. And they did. They also made love right there beneath the running water. It was exhilarating.

  Later, after collecting the drinks from outside the door, Matt had his arm round Cathy, and Cathy had the doll near by. ‘I’m sorry you couldn’t find out anything about your father’s background,’ she said sincerely.

  ‘So am I, sweetheart,’ he replied thoughtfully. He had hoped to discover at least something, but, like his father before him, he had been disillusioned.

  ‘What now?’ Cathy asked.

  ‘Home, that’s what,’ he replied light-heartedly. ‘I’m taking you home, Mrs Slater.’

  Cathy snuggled up to him. ‘Mrs Slater,’ she murmured, contentedly smiling, ‘I’m still not used to it.’

  They talked and they planned, and the evening wore on. ‘Bed!’ Matt looked at the c
lock and was surprised to see that it was almost midnight. ‘We need an early start in the morning.’

  It had been a long day and Cathy was bone tired. ‘And I haven’t even started to pack,’ she said sleepily. When Matt suggested they could do it in the morning, she was happy to climb into bed beside him, safe in his arms and deeply in love. ‘Goodnight, Mr Slater,’ she whispered, turning out the light.

  ‘Goodnight, Mrs Slater,’ he returned, kissing her tenderly on the mouth. To tell the truth he wasn’t sorry to be going home.

  It was in the dark early hours when Matt was woken. He hadn’t felt Cathy get out of bed, but when he reached out and she wasn’t there, he was filled with a feeling of dread. ‘Cathy!’ Calling her name, he clicked on the light and swung his legs over the bed-edge. He was still half-asleep when out of the corner of his eye he saw her.

  With a look of sheer terror on her face, she was standing in the darkest corner of the room, pressed hard to the wall, her arms up over her face and head as though protecting herself from an attacker. When he slid his arms round her, murmuring words of endearment and assuring her she was safe, she resisted at first. Then she sobbed as though her heart would break. Somehow he coaxed her back to bed, but it was a full hour before she fell asleep, a full hour during which time she clung to him with such terror that he was desperately afraid for her.

  In that time when he held her close, she stared at the open window, her stone-grey eyes brilliant with fear, her whole body gripped in a violent fit. Later, Matt recalled how the breeze through the open window fluttered the net curtains and cooled the room. The air-conditioning was full on, causing him to shiver, yet Cathy was bathed in a river of sweat, her body burning in his arms, the awful nightmare still on her. Now and then he gently called her name, but she made no response, her eyes still turned to the window, transfixed in horror. After a while she was comforted and reassured by his voice, secure in his embrace.