Hiding Game, The
Page 24
Later, when all passion was spent and they lay contented in each other’s arms, a feeling of shame came over her. It was always the same. She was a woman, and women who shared such violent emotions were frowned on; the things of night, and passion, and wantonness, were these things not condemned in harsh, trembling voice by the preacher in his sermon? And yet, the shame she felt was only a small, passing shame, because Maria believed that God had joined her and Ralph in the eyes of heaven and would not brand her a hussy for keeping good the vows she had made her husband. If he awakened such raging passion in her, it must be right. It could be no other way. In the half-light she glanced at him. Shame ebbed away. Pride and profound love flooded her heart. When she stirred in his arms, he held her closer. Soon she drifted into a sound sleep.
Ralph could not sleep. He also felt ashamed. In those moments of heightened passion when his thoughts were glorious, something else had spiralled into his mind. It was an image, a face, a pair of eyes. Not Maria’s but the convict woman’s. And, far from disgusting him, he had been elated by the experience, imagining Rebecca Norman to be the nakedness in his arms, wanting it, enjoying it. Now, though, the disgust infiltrated every corner of his being.
Agitated, he slid softly from the bed and collected his clothes from the bedstead; he took the lighted candle, tiptoed out of the room and down the stairs. In the parlour, he placed the brass candleholder on the sideboard and quickly dressed. In a matter of moments he was out of the house, standing forlornly against the closed door and wondering at his own actions. Nothing he had ever known before had disturbed him so deeply as he was disturbed now. He felt incredibly lonely, like a lost soul, and yet there still remained in him a strange and gripping excitement. And a very real sense of terror.
The streets were eerily silent. Only the faint moonlight relieved the darkness, creating shadows that flitted and danced, going before him like so many phantoms. On slow, deliberate footsteps he went to the top of Henry Street, feeling dangerously hemmed in on all sides, the tiny terraced houses standing shoulder to shoulder in a packed and colourless line, seeming to him like an army of sentries, spying on him, reading the ugliness in his mind, waiting for a vulnerable moment when they would seize and punish him. He shivered within himself, though the heat of the night was suffocating. On and on he went, trudging the deserted streets, deliberately distancing himself from the prison, from her, desperately trying to rid himself of her, yet knowing he could not.
Down the High Street he went, then along Cliff Street, past the Custom House and towards the beach. For a while he wandered aimlessly from North Jetty to South Bay, pausing a moment near the jetty, his troubled gaze scouring the many vessels that bobbed up and down, creating their own weird lament as the water slapped the hulks and occasionally pushed one into the other. The port of Fremantle and its thriving colony relied on these vessels and the trade that had built up here. A busy seaport always gave a feeling of security and pride.
Ralph felt that now. He had often thought to be a sailor and roam the world’s great seas, but the fire was never really kindled in him, at least not to the extent that he ever followed his earlier intention. Now, he was content to keep his feet on firm ground and leave the sailor’s life to those who craved it most. All the same, although the sea itself was not in his blood, Fremantle was. A jewel in any ocean, with long stretches of fine, bleached sand, an ever-growing community and ambitious plans for the future, Fremantle was a fine place; what was more, the Fremantle to Guildford section of the railway would soon be opened. It was an exciting time – especially now the convict ships no longer brought their unhappy cargoes to these shores.
Inevitably, a certain convict loomed large in Ralph Ryan’s mind at this moment. In restless mood he skirted the beach, the sharp, salty smell of the sea in his nostrils and a fine spray of sand kicking up from the toe of his boots; at one point he squatted to his knees, clutching at the sand and letting it trickle through his fingers like silk water. A lone seagull screeched at him, its brilliant beady eyes watching his every move. From somewhere along the jetty a man’s voice was raised in anger, the sharp invasive tones cutting the still night air and startling a scavenging mongrel, who shot out in front of Ralph’s striding figure, fleeing into the darkness, its tail between its legs.
Not mindful of any particular destination, but urged to seek a degree of solitude, Ralph was astonished to find that he had gone up the High Street, past his own home on Henry Street, and was now standing at the mouth of the short walkway that led to the prison itself.
Almost without realising it, he had brought himself back to within a stone’s throw of Rebecca Norman. It was a sobering thought. One that raised all kinds of chaos in him. Staring up at that imposing building, he could not help but admire its awesome dimensions. For a place that contained within its great heart the most wretched of mankind, it stood proud, almost noble in its beauty. Ironically, it was the convicts themselves who had constructed this formidable place, having quarried the stone that formed its impregnable walls, floated the timber from Woodman’s Point and, with the aid of stout, broad-muscled horses, hauled the timber along the beach, before delivering it to site. Parts of that timber were used to build the gallows, and many a hanging had taken place on them; there would no doubt be many more in the years to come.
Suddenly, Ralph saw what he must do. Tomorrow morning he would explain his intention to Maria; only the intention, though – being most careful not to betray the real reason behind his decision. Afterwards, he would report for duty at the prison, ask for an appointment with the Governor, and request an urgent transfer back to his former duties at the asylum. The reason he would give was surely obvious, because wasn’t his wife heavy with child? And wouldn’t it be sensible for him to work a normal day, instead of arriving home so late of an evening? It was a feasible excuse, and one which would serve his purpose.
With lighter heart and a merry tune whistling from his lips, he turned about and began his way home. The convict woman had somehow touched him deeply; too deeply. But he prided himself on being a strong-minded man who saw what he must do and did not shirk from doing it. He had misgivings about his decision, of course he did, if only because it seemed as though he was begging out of harsher duties. As a rule he would not succumb to rash decisions, preferring instead to weigh all the options. This time, though, he was urged to follow his instincts. Strange and new instincts. Unsettling instincts. Instincts that murmured of danger, and things he did not fully understand.
As Ralph Ryan quickened his step homeward, his mind alive with the day’s events, there was another, not too far away from him in that moment, whose thoughts fired the blood in her veins. In the darkness of her prison, Rebecca Norman stood with her beautiful eyes raised to the outside world. She was smiling, soft laughter on her lips. It was a chilling sound. Now she grew quiet, her head tilted to one side, her small exquisite ears strained for the slightest sound. In the distance she heard the firm, determined steps that took Ralph Ryan home, that carried her quarry away. Bitterness stabbed her heart as she waited for the last echo of his footsteps. A vicious curse fell from her lips. But then, suddenly, she was smiling. All was not lost. The image of his tall, attractive frame came into her devious mind. Charmed, she caressed it. He was no stranger to her. When she looked on him, the years fell away and the pain became unbearable. At first she had not fully understood. But she understood now.
From that moment when she had first felt his gaze on her, Rebecca Norman had been drawn to the young guard; she had sensed his inner turmoil and been strengthened by it. His handsome face had stirred a dark memory deep inside her, churning something that had lain dormant all these years. There was no going back now. She wanted him, needed him, his body and mind, his very soul. And, beside his strength, she had sensed his weakness, a weakness that scarred his serious brown eyes whenever they looked on her. That weakness was her. His only weakness. A weakness she would not hesitate to exploit for her own ends. A weakness he may well c
ome to regret. Her dark, beautiful eyes closed in a smile. Ralph Ryan’s weakness would be his undoing.
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About the Author
J. T. BRINDLE is the author of the Talisman sequence. She lives in Buckinghamshire.
Brindle is the nom de plume of one of Britain’s No. 1 bestselling authors, with over forty books to her name.
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The story starts here.
First published in Great Britain in 1999 by Headline Feature
This eBook edition published in the UK in 2014 by Head of Zeus Ltd
Copyright © J.T. Brindle, 1999
The moral right of J.T. Brindle to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN (E) 9781781859933
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Contents
Cover
Welcome Page
Epigraph
Part 1: August Out of the Darkness…
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Part 2: Nightmares Are Real
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Part 3: Secrets Will Out
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Part 4: There Once Was a Girl
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Preview
About this Book
Also by this Author
About the Author
An Invitation from the Publisher
Copyright