“Who did you tell?” he growled and braced to slam me against the door again. It occurred to me, as ridiculous thoughts often do at moments of crisis, that I should try to lead him on and find out what he thought I knew. But I didn't answer him for the simple reason that every ounce of my strength was needed that moment to stay alive. Obviously I couldn't keep going like this much longer. I could annoy and delay him for a minute or two, maybe, but he would have to triumph in the end.
But I certainly wasn't going to give in without a good fight. I had sparred and wrestled with my brothers in the past, but this was very different. They had been younger than me, and they hadn't been trying to kill me either. I cursed my stupid skirts that encumbered my attempts to deliver a kick where it might do the most damage, but I did manage to connect with his shins again. Then he used all his weight to slam me back against the door once more. As I braced to connect with the solid wood, the door miraculously opened. I felt myself falling backward into blackness, with my attacker pitching on top of me. I struck the ground. The wind was knocked from me. The knife clattered from my hand.
Then I was aware of my name being called, of shouts and screams. Figures were flailing and grabbing at my attacker. “Grab him round the throat, Gus!”
“Watch out, he's got a knife”
I summoned my own strength to bring up my knee as hard as I could and heard a satisfying yelp of pain. At that moment Sid snatched up my own knife, yanked back the stranger's head and held the knife to his throat. “Drop the knife this instant, or I'll cut your throat,” she commanded.
The knife fell to the ground beside me. Gus snatched it up.
“Get up,” Sid said, my knife still at his throat.
She half-dragged him to his feet by his hair. I scrambled to my feet.
“Did you think because we were women we were easy pickings?” Sid demanded. “Go into the kitchen and get string, Molly. We'll tie him up and then go for the police.”
I ran through to the kitchen and found the ball of string in the drawer. As Gus and I attempted to bring his arms behind his back, he lashed out like a madman, sent Sid sprawling to the cobblestones and took off down Patchin Place.
“Are you all right, Sid dear?” Gus dropped to her knees beside her.
Sid sat up and put her hand to her mouth. “I think so, apart from a bloody lip and a nasty bang on the back of my head. But I'm fiirious that we let him get away.”
“We didn't let him. He was just too strong for us,” Gus said. “I'll go for the police. You and Molly get inside and take care of your wounds.”
“No,” I exclaimed. “Don't go for the police yet.”
“Why ever not? They can catch him before he gets too far away.”
“It's useless,” I said. “A young man, dressed all in black? Half the inhabitants of the Village fit that description. Did you get a good look at his face?”
“Not really,” Sid said. “It's too dark out here and it was all so sudden.”
“I hardly had a chance to get a good look at him,” Gus said.
“Then we will just look foolish if we call the police,” I said. “Let us be thankful that we are all relatively unharmed.”
“At least he had to flee without his loot,” Gus said. “Loot?” I asked.
Sid nodded. “He was most certainly a burglar, wasn't he? Why else would you have surprised him in our house?”
She led the way down the front hall, felt for the matches, then went on to the kitchen, where the gas bracket lit with a satisfying pop and warm, friendly light flooded the kitchen.
“I'm afraid it was my fault,” I said. “I went out leaving the French doors ajar. He could have come in that way.”
“Don't blame yourself, Molly,” Sid said. “We often leave doors and windows open on hot evenings. It could have happened to any of us.”
“I don't think so,” I said. Shock was beginning to set in and I was shaking all over. I sank to the nearest chair.
“Some brandy, Sid. She looks as white as a sheet,” Gus said. She came and put an arm around my shoulder. “Poor Molly. You've had a most terrible shock. How brave of you to fight him off, when he had a knife, too.”
“I heard a floorboard creak and grabbed a knife from the kitchen drawer,” I said. “That held him at bay for a little while. But if you hadn't come home when you did, I should surely have been dead by now.”
Sid handed me the brandy. “Get that down you and you'll feel better,” she said. “I'm going out to retrieve his knife. There will be fingerprints on it.”
“No, there won't,” I said. “He was wearing dark gloves.”
“Damn,” Sid muttered. “I'll retrieve it nonetheless. And our knife, too.”
She went outside and as she came back, I heard her laughing.
“Molly, my sweet,” she said as she came into the kitchen, “Next time you attempt to defend yourself against an armed intruder, I'd choose something other than this.”
It was then that I realized the knife I had selected had been the large fish server, with broad, curved blade and rounded edges—not sharp enough to cut anything tougher than a poached salmon.