Chapter 17
Istared at my phone as Oliver rung off, wondering what to do next. Clarabelle was obviously cause for concern. Why else would Oliver have swung into action? I’d already realised that Little Leatherington had its fair share of strange residents, but to know one of them could be dangerous… That gave the place a whole new dimension. My heart thumping, I swallowed hard, wondering if I should just pack up my stuff, ready to leave the second Oliver landed.
I told myself to calm down. The woman in the garden could easily have been an elderly friend of Lillian’s. I began to picture a poor old lady, out in the cold wearing nothing but her nightdress. Suffering from dementia, she’d become confused for some reason and was freezing to death as a result. Tempted to go and check on her welfare, I reminded myself that Oliver hadn’t mentioned any illness, or that Clarabelle might be in distress. He’d told me to stay put. Dementia or not, he obviously considered the woman a threat.
Frank lifted his head and looked my way, before closing his eyes again and going back to sleep, while my mind continued to race.
I couldn’t simply stand there waiting to be accosted so I grabbed my dressing gown and tiptoed downstairs. Careful not to make any noise, I headed into the lounge and crept over to the fireplace. I picked up the fireside poker and stole back out into the hallway. My heartbeat pounded in my eardrums, and as I sat down on the bottom step facing the front door, I prayed Oliver would hurry up and get there.
My ears pricked as the front garden gate creaked and I held my breath at the sound of footsteps.
“Antonia?” Oliver said, his voice hushed. “Are you there?”
I leapt to my feet and raced over to the door to let him in. “At last,” I said, pulling him inside.
He stared at the poker in my hand.
“What do you expect with a madwoman on the loose?”
“I’ve called for reinforcements,” he said. He indicated my weapon of choice. “That won’t be necessary.”
I followed Oliver as he made his way through to the kitchen. “What are you doing?” I asked, as he raised his hand to unlock the back door. Horrified he’d put himself at risk, I couldn’t believe he’d venture out into the garden alone. “Shouldn’t you wait until help arrives?”
He turned the key.
“Then at least take this with you.” I held out the poker.
“Really?” he replied, as if I was the mad woman.
I took a step back. “Well, if you want to play the hero.” I held out my hand, gesturing for him to go ahead. “Be my guest.”
A banging on the front door interrupted the moment. “Thank goodness,” I said. The last thing I wanted was Oliver getting hurt on my account. I ran through to the hall to let in Oliver’s backup, but as I flung open the door, my expression froze. Instead of coming face to face with someone in uniform, I found myself looking at Barrowboy.
“Where is she?” he asked.
With no time for explanations, I took in the length of rope hanging over his arm. “Out back,” I replied, starting to wish I’d not contacted Oliver at all and just rung the police direct.
Barrowboy strode past and made straight for the rear of the house. Closing the door behind him, I struggled to catch up. He possessed a steely determination, leaving me worried for Clarabelle’s well-being more than my own.
“Here we go again,” he said to Oliver.
“Oh, Lordy,” I said, my fears really beginning to set in.
Oliver stood with his hand poised on the door handle. “You ready?”
“Don’t hurt her,” I said, eyeing the rope once more.
I stood there feeling helpless as Barrowboy shaped the length of thick cord into a lasso. “Go for it,” he said, nodding at Oliver.
“Be careful,” I said, as the door flew open, and the two men headed out into the darkness. No longer sure where my loyalties lay, I didn’t know who I worried for more – the burglar or them. I stood back, squinting, almost too scared to watch.
Oliver flicked on his torch and within seconds Barrowboy had hurled his rope into the air. I heard feet scuffling and what sounded like muffled groans. Clarabelle was resisting, because the struggle seemed to go on forever.
“Got you,” Barrowboy said, at last.
My shoulders slumped. It was over.
“Antonia,” Oliver said, amidst yet more huffing and puffing. “I think you should come and meet your intruder.”
