The Tallow Image

by J. T. Brindle

  With the supposition came a rush of pleasure. She would keep it as a surprise for Maria’s homecoming tomorrow. With that in mind, she put the doll carefully away in the china cupboard. Gazing at it awhile before committing it to the dark interior, Emily was fascinated by its ageless beauty. She thought it uniquely proud, curiously magnificent. She wondered about the hand that had so lovingly fashioned it. Was it made in the image of its maker? Could there really be anyone so stunningly handsome? She recalled Mr Wilson’s words… enmeshed in the tree-roots… maybe fifty years. So long. Almost a lifetime. Could it be that the roots had protected the doll from the ravages of time? ‘Like a cradle’, was how Mr Wilson had described its resting place. So many years! And yet, beneath the grimy deposits and the coating of blackened earth, the doll had remained untouched, unharmed. Each feature was elegant, the face compelling.

  While she gazed on it, Emily was reminded of something she had read… ‘The eyes are the mirror of the soul.’ If that were the case, then the doll must have a dark, mysterious soul, for the eyes were black and scintillating, uniquely compelling in their sooty depths.

  She closed the cupboard door. In her mind’s eye she could still see the doll. Her thoughts wandered back to Maria, to the reason she was coming home. To die. Maria was coming home to die. Emily sat in the garden, a small forlorn figure, thinking how Fate could be cruel and kind at the same time, cruel in the way it had robbed her of her parents when she was only a girl, and now she was losing Maria. Yet kind in the way it had brought Bill into her lonely life. Bill. A warm, caring man whom she loved with all her heart.

  As his image flooded her mind, Emily’s spirits fell. He too had suffered, was still suffering, and there was nothing she could do to help him. It was a painful thing. Suddenly, the clouds obscured the sun and there was a chill in the air. Emily glanced at her watch. It was almost midday. A moment ago the sun was warm and brilliant, now it was dark and cold. Strange, she thought, how the weather can change in the blink of an eye. Shivering, she hurried towards the house. At two p.m. the consultant would be making his final decision on whether Maria Hinson was strong enough for her homeward journey. Right from the start, he had been against the old lady’s request, but in her waking hours she was insistent, the lovable tyrant used to getting her own way. He relented only when it was promised that a nurse would be appointed to watch over her.

  It was twelve thirty when the shrill tone of the telephone interrupted Emily; she was painstakingly arranging the blooms in Maria’s room. She had bought the yellow and white chrysanthemums yesterday, and they made a lovely sight on the windowsill. One vase was enough, though, she had reasoned, because she didn’t want Maria to feel as though she was exchanging one hospital for another.

  Emily was surprised when the caller turned out to be Bill. Yesterday evening, they had sat here in the front room talking of so many things: Cathy and Matt, Maria, their own future. They did not make longterm plans. There was too much turmoil in their lives for that. Today was Monday, and Bill intended to start work at five a.m., delivering an urgent consignment of packages to Liverpool. He calculated it would take him at least five hours. So he expected to be home by ten a.m., showered and ready an hour later, after which he would spend an hour or so with Cathy, who lately was growing more and more agitated with regard to Matt. At quarter to two he would collect Emily and drive her to the hospital to arrange for Maria’s release.

  Emily’s voice betrayed her surprise. She had wrongly believed he was with Cathy. ‘Is there anything wrong?’ she wanted to know. He sounded excited, worried. When he replied, breathless and in a frantic voice, his words tumbling one over the other, her eyes grew wide. She put her hand to her mouth, stifling the cry there, sucking in her breath and her heart leaping at what he told her. ‘Of course! I’ll ring straight away,’ she assured him. ‘I’ll tell them to let Cathy know you’ll be late.’ She grew quiet. He was talking again, his voice close to breaking. She sensed the trauma he was suffering. ‘No, no, it’s all right, you mustn’t concern yourself about me. I’ll get a taxi.’ Now she was listening intently to his fragmented version of the sequence of events that had taken place that morning. ‘Yes. Don’t worry,’ she told him firmly. ‘Is there anything else you want me to do? Shall I come there when I’ve seen Maria?’ A pause, then, ‘All right, I’ll wait for your call. And Bill… God bless.’ Her eyes were bright with tears when she replaced the receiver. It was so cruel the way his hopes had been raised, and then shattered. On Bill’s return from Liverpool the police had called at his house. Matt had been found! Bill’s joy was short lived when they told him that Matt was seriously ill. Bill was with him now, and he was devastated.

  ‘Stop fussing!’ Maria Hinson’s blue button eyes flashed a warning to the two beleaguered ambulance men whose unenviable task it was to convey her home and to install her in the bosom of her family. As they negotiated the stretcher up the stairs behind Emily’s careful steps, they were incredibly gentle, handling her patiently and with a degree of love. They marvelled at her spirit, and were secretly amused by the manner in which she mercilessly lashed them with her tongue. The pneumonia had taken its toll: age and a weakened heart were killing her. Sheer stubbornness, and a secret purpose, were keeping her alive.

  ‘Don’t be so ungrateful,’ Emily chided, as Maria continued to protest even while they lifted her into bed. She wanted so much to put her arms round that frail old figure, but she knew how such demonstrative affection would incur Maria’s wrath. Emily had prayed for her recovery and, for a time, it had seemed as though her prayers were answered. Now, though, she saw the presence of death in the old withered face, like a grey shadow, lingering, waiting.

  ‘We’ll leave you to it, then.’ The older of the two men smiled at Emily, secretly relieved to be released of his burden. ‘Unless, of course, there’s anything else you think we could do for your mother?’

  ‘I am not her mother,’ Maria’s feeble voice corrected the hapless fellow, ‘and no, there’s nothing else you can do for me,’ she added.

  ‘All right, Ma,’ he said, folding the stretcher and handing it to his colleague. Turning to Emily he murmured, ‘Take care of her. She’s a grand old sort. They must have broken the mould when they made her.’ Coming to the bed he looked down on Maria, memories of his own late mother spiralling up in him. Death was a sorry visitor, but not always unwelcome. All the same, he sensed that this old lady was not yet ready to meet her maker. ‘Cheerio, then,’ he told her, and with a broad smile, ‘Now don’t you go doing anything foolhardy, will you?’

  ‘Like what?’ she asked, with a defiant twinkle in her eye.

  He wondered what she had been like as a young woman; a pretty little thing, he didn’t doubt. ‘We’ll be off, then,’ he said. Nodding to the other man, he went straight from the room. His colleague followed. A strange peace settled in the wake of their departure.

  ‘You’re a wicked woman,’ Emily laughed, coming to sit on the edge of the bed, ‘they won’t forget you in a hurry.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t mean to be difficult,’ Maria admitted, ‘but I was impatient to get home.’ She closed her eyes, her whole body visibly relaxing.

  Emily took a moment to gaze on her friend, so grand, so impossible. In that moment Maria looked incredibly old, yet young as an infant, small and helpless. Her iron-grey hair had always been thick and meticulously rolled into a fat halo about her face: now, though, the strands were baby-fine, trailing down her neck and shoulders. The paper-thin skin was loose and patterned with a thousand lines, all criss-crossing in a haphazard network, going in no particular direction, having no beginning and no end. Beneath the eyelids, tiny flickering movements indicated that she was not sleeping, or, if she was, then her dreams were haunted. Suddenly the thin frail body shuddered and the eyes popped open – shocking-blue eyes, vital and shining, but already touched by the creeping fingers of death. ‘Don’t leave me,’ Maria pleaded, jutting out her arm and closing her fingers over Emily’s hand. There was torm
ent in her voice.

  ‘I won’t leave you,’ Emily promised, ‘you won’t be left alone… ever.’

  ‘Is that damned nurse here yet?’

  ‘Soon. She’ll be here within the hour.’

  ‘I didn’t want her. I only want you.’

  ‘I know that, but she’s kind and experienced.’

  ‘Experienced in caring for the dying. Say what you mean, Emily. I’ve always taught you that.’

  ‘Yes.’ Emily choked back the sorrow and braced herself. ‘She is experienced in caring for the dying.’ Maria would never know the effort it took for Emily to say that.

  The blue eyes stared out, a hint of anger making them brilliant. Then a smile shone through as she told Emily, ‘I’m not afraid to die. Living can be more frightening. It’s so hard, pretending. Hiding.’

  ‘That’s a strange thing to say.’

  The old lady smiled; it was a hauntingly beautiful smile. ‘I worried for you, so afraid you would be left all alone. Now you have the love of a good man. You do love him, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh yes, Maria. I do love him, very much.’

  ‘Thank God… he answered that prayer for me. Perhaps he will answer another.’

  ‘I’m sure he will.’ Emily was concerned. ‘What is it? What’s troubling you?’

  Maria remained silent, her blue eyes regarding Emily; blue eyes soft with affection, hiding so many secrets. ‘You will have to know,’ she replied presently, ‘but not yet. There is so much to tell. And too much on my mind.’

  ‘You’re tired. Why don’t you rest?’

  Maria squeezed Emily’s fingers. ‘I am tired, yes, but there will be time enough for me to rest. There are things to do, wrongs to put right. Afterwards I can rest for all eternity.’ She saw how Emily meant to protest. ‘What of Bill?’ she said hurriedly, catching Emily unawares. ‘Tell me about his troubles.’

  Emily stiffened. Both she and Bill had taken great pains to keep his troubles from Maria. Deliberately ignoring her questions, she suggested, ‘I think you should sleep awhile now.’ She made as if to rise from the bed, but the old gnarled fingers kept her there. Emily chose her answer carefully. ‘I don’t know what troubles you mean.’

  ‘Don’t lie to me,’ Maria scolded. Her face was serious, her expression grim. ‘He is a man haunted.’ The thin, aged lips twisted in a half-smile. ‘Don’t think I don’t know, Emily! I do! I know only too well what it is to be haunted. Tell me!’ she insisted. ‘For I won’t rest until you do.’ Her sharp blue gaze remained firm on Emily’s face. She saw how Emily was inwardly struggling, wondering how she might reveal just enough to placate, and no more. ‘I want to know everything!’ she demanded. When Emily hesitated, she struggled to raise herself up in the bed, an odd disturbing expression on her face. ‘For God’s sake, Emily, I have to know. Do as I ask. Tell me everything!’

  Unable to comprehend Maria’s desperate anxiety, but realising with a shock that suppressing the reason for Bill’s ‘troubles’ would do more harm to Maria than revealing the truth, Emily reluctantly conceded. She explained how Cathy and Matt had greatly suffered in their marriage, and how it had slowly deteriorated, until now it seemed irretrievable. She described how Cathy had become mentally unstable and was assigned to an institution. ‘Some weeks ago, something awful happened. Cathy was found in a state of terror… claiming someone had tried to strangle her. She was convinced that she had murdered Matt. She was found alone in the cottage. There was no sign of Matt, although the kitchen door was left open. The police were satisfied that Cathy’s story was the product of an unstable mind. This was confirmed by the doctor, and Cathy was committed. Bill was shattered by it all.’

  ‘When they found Bill’s daughter, were there any marks on her neck to substantiate her belief that someone had tried to strangle her?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Was there any evidence of a struggle there?’

  ‘No.’

  Maria was shocked into silence. All the old horrors were raised in her. It was as she feared. ‘Before that night… were there any other incidents?’ she persisted.

  Emily searched her mind. ‘Yes,’ she said, amazed at Maria’s determination, and far from distressing the old lady, the revelations appeared to stimulate her. ‘I remember Bill telling me about Cathy having some sort of fit in the stables, when Matt had to take her home. She was strange for days… refused to leave the house. But then the arguments began to destroy their marriage. Bill said Cathy had changed almost beyond recognition.’

  ‘And what of Matt?’

  ‘The night they took Cathy away, he went missing. The police failed to trace him. Even Bill’s efforts came to nothing. He’s been found now, though.’ She hesitated.

  Maria sensed there was something very wrong. ‘He’s dead, isn’t he?’ she asked tremulously.

  ‘Oh no!’ Emily could at least assure Maria of that. ‘He is not dead.’

  ‘But…?’

  ‘He is very ill.’

  ‘Tell me, Emily. When did it all begin… Cathy, Matt, when did it all go wrong?’ Maria asked softly. But she did not need to hear, because she already knew. In that wedding picture they had been so much in love, deliciously happy as only the young can be. When they went on their honeymoon to Australia, they seemed not to have a care in the world. She knew that because, unbeknown to anyone but the poor detective who had met with such a sorry savage end on the river that day, she had sent a shadow to follow them. Yes, they had been happy. But all too soon, the evil had begun to manifest itself. How though? How could it happen? That was something she had not been able to fathom. She had agonised over and over. How could it happen?

  She took a moment to quietly observe Emily, that kind and lovely woman whom she had so long deceived. Her fears that Emily would be left alone when she herself was gone from this world had thankfully melted in the warmth that flowed between Emily and Bill. They, too, were so obviously in love. Oh, not in a silly romantic way, for they were no longer young, but their pleasure in each other was a joy to see. Emily had never looked more radiant. Happiness shone from her pretty brown eyes, and her whole countenance was marked by a beauty that Maria had never seen in her before. For the briefest moment, her resolve faltered. Was she right in revealing the awful truth to Emily? Would there be anything gained by delving into the past? Raising the ghosts of those gone before?

  These past days, she had searched her old heart for the truth, for guidance, for a glimmer of hope that the secrets – all the bad things which she had carefully recorded over the years – might die with her. She was old, no longer useful, and during those dark fearful days when she was close to death, there had been times when she wondered whether she was interfering in things best left alone, wicked evil things that may well end when her own life was ended! Oh, if that were true, then she would have taken her own life without a second thought! But a deeper instinct warned her that even when she herself was gone, the destructive force would grow even more powerful.

  When, in desperation and terror, she had buried the tallow image, it had been with the fervent prayer that never again could it weave its awful carnage. But she had been wrong! Maria knew now that the enmity was relentless. Somehow it had found a way to outwit her, to wreak a terrible vengeance on two young innocents. Yet, even now, there had to be a way. There had to be. It was up to her. She had known that all along.

  She waited for Emily’s reply. When it came, she was not surprised, for Emily repeated what Bill had told her, that Cathy was taken ill in Australia and both he and Matt were deeply concerned for Cathy’s health when, during the journey home from the airport, she made a particularly vicious attack on Matt. From then on things got progressively worse.

  In order to learn all she could from Emily, Maria had resisted the weariness that threatened to rob her of her senses. Now it overwhelmed her. ‘Please leave me,’ she murmured, ‘I want to sleep now,’ and keep what little strength I have, she thought, and pray it will be enough.

  Emily
rose from the bed. She gazed down on that dear familiar face, quiet now, gently resting. In a soft voice she whispered to herself, ‘You’re a strange one, Maria, so very ill, and yet deeply concerned about someone else’s troubles. You’re a good woman, Maria Hinson. A good woman.’

  Eyes tightly closed, the old lady whispered also. ‘There are things you don’t know, but soon you will. Things from an old woman’s conscience. Unpleasant things that are not of this world.’ When Emily leaned forward to hear what she was saying, Maria turned away. There would be time enough. Time enough. It was all so painfully clear to her now… Cathy… the hideous hallucinations… just like the one she had as a child when she saw her small brother crushed to death only minutes before it actually happened. Poor Cathy. Poor tortured soul, crippled by a guilt complex, cruelly torn between love and hate. It was all as Maria had feared. ‘There is badness in me,’ Cathy had told her father, and Bill had confessed his worst nightmares to Emily… ‘There’s something happening to my lovely Cathy,’ he had said, ‘something devilish… destroying her, destroying Matt.’

  Reluctantly, Emily had described it all. Maria was glad. But she was so tired, so very tired now. She heard Emily tiptoe from the room. Soon after, she fell into a deep troubled sleep, when all the awful memories came like long-ago phantoms to make her suffer. Weird and terrifying images quickened her senses. The dark silhouette gyrated in her frantic mind, elusive, warm from its grave, its long black hair flowing like a mantle about the slim shapely form. It was alive. The tallow doll knew her every thought. She must be careful. So very careful.

  ‘No! Don’t put the light on.’ Cathy had seen her father enter the room, his bulky frame silhouetted in the light from the outer passage. She heard him call her name, then realised, with a rush of panic, that he was reaching for the light switch. Her frantic call caused him to lower his arm and peer into the semi-darkness. When he could not see her she laughed, but it was a strange, mirthless sound. ‘I’m here,’ she said softly, ‘waiting for you.’