The Candle Man by Alex Scarrow Read Free Book Online

down the hushed passageway, finally taking a door on the left leading to the men’s ward. Heavy, dark wood doors again with frosted glass. The sister pushed one of them open a
few inches and nodded towards the row of hospital beds on the inside.
    ‘Third one along on the right. That’s your gentleman.’
    Mary could see a man with bandages around his head like a comically large Indian turban. He was fast asleep.
    ‘See?’ said the nurse. She smiled. ‘You can relax. He’s on the mend, so he is.’
    ‘Could I . . . ?’
    ‘Go in? No. No visitors until the doctor says otherwise,’ said the nurse. ‘He’s still very poorly and not up to seeing anyone, I’m afraid.’
    ‘Oh, right.’ Mary nodded. She struggled to wrestle back a puff of relief.
    ‘Speaking of which . . .’ The nurse nodded politely at the doctor as he approached the double doors.
    ‘Sister,’ he said, looking at Mary. ‘I’m sure you know there’s no visiting on the ward yet? Not until I’ve done my rounds.’
    ‘Sorry, sir. The lady here was awfully worried about the gent who came in early this morning. I was just showing her that he’s perfectly fine, doctor.’
    He made a face. ‘Ahh . . . I see.’ He scratched his cheek. ‘I wouldn’t say he’s “perfectly fine”. The head trauma was quite severe.’ He noted the
flicker of reaction in Mary’s face. ‘I mean to say he’ll live, but he’s experiencing some disorientation. Some confusion.’
    ‘Confusion?’
    ‘A forgetfulness.’ The doctor shrugged. ‘This can happen with a heavy blow to the head. “Amnesia”, we call it. A forgetfulness of everyday normal things. Most often
it’s a temporary condition that fixes itself in due course.’ The doctor deployed a well-practised reassuring smile for her benefit. ‘Even the most severe cases of complete
forgetfulness, when a patient doesn’t even remember their own name, these things, these memories, can fully return eventually.’
    Mary looked up at him. ‘Is he . . . is he that bad?’
    The doctor shrugged. ‘It’s very early yet. He has some swelling, a lesion inside his skull, which we’re tapping to ensure the swelling does not cause any more harm to his
brain. May I suggest you give him a day or two’s rest? Then I shall have a clearer understanding of his condition?’
    ‘Yes.’ Mary nodded. ‘Yes, of course. Whatever you think is best.’
    The doctor nodded politely. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get started.’ He hesitated in the doorway, the door half pushed open. ‘Oh, what is the gentleman’s
name, by the way?’
    Mary stared at him, frozen with panic. She hadn’t anticipated that: conjuring up a name.
    ‘His name? It’s for our records, you see.’
    Mary’s mouth opened. ‘It’s . . . it’s John.’
    ‘John . . . ?’ The doctor raised an eyebrow, awaiting the rest.
    Her mind was blank. Panic-blank. She licked dry lips as she raced to engage it, make it produce a credible name out of thin air. She saw the man huddled over on the street, bathed in the
flickering amber glow of the street lamp, and beyond him, on the side of a brick wall, a street sign.
    ‘Argyll,’ she said finally. ‘John Argyll.’

CHAPTER 6

    15th July 1888, Whitechapel, London
    ‘I t wasn’t nothin’ like you said, Bill.’ Annie challenged him with a stare over the table. ‘You said it was some cheap
slapper. But she was class, you could see that. She ain’t some Miss Nobody from Who-Pissin’-Well-Cares. Somebody’s gonna miss her, an—’
    ‘And her nipper?’ Polly interrupted. ‘We told you, we only do fresh-born ones.’
    Bill waved them silent. ‘Doesn’t fuckin’ matter, girls. S’all done now, right?’
    ‘The baby was old enough to be . . . I dunno, christened ,’ snapped Polly, her voice rising above the rasping whisper they’d been sharing until now. ‘The baby could
be written in somewhere!’
    Bill grabbed one of her hands and squeezed the knuckles until they bulged and