Then, said Godfrey, they would not mention it again. He passed on to the pleasant suggestion that they abandon the tea cups in favour of a glass of sherry.
Walking back to Charity Cottage, Antonia felt distinctly lightheaded, which was probably due to a mixture of cinnamon toast, scones and two large glasses of sherry.
It was not dark yet; it was the in-between time that was neither quite day nor quite night. Antonia always found it a rather eerie time, because the light and the shadows could play tricks on you. She had always disliked going into her own house at this hour, unless she knew Richard would be there. But the sooner she was inside the cottage the sooner she could switch on lights and turn up heating, and perhaps put on the radio or the television. She unlocked the front door and stepped briskly into the sitting room, flipping on the electric fire and the old-fashioned standard lamp near the window, liking the friendly warm glow that instantly flooded the room. She left her jacket on the back of a chair, and opened the inner door. She would not want much supper after all those scones and toast, but there was some salad stuff in the fridge that could be washed and left to drain, and she had bought ham and cooked chicken in Amberwood yesterday; it was still a novelty to be able to walk into a shop and choose whatever she wanted.
As she went across the dining room, there was a faint movement just beyond the kitchen door which she had left half open. She hesitated, and then thought it was probably Raffles who had got in again. Had he? Yes, something had definitely stirred within the kitchen, although it did not seem substantial enough to be a human intruder so there was nothing to feel scared about.
Or was there? Antonia took a cautious step forward, aware of little creakings and rustlings that might only be the cottage’s timbers contracting in the cool evening air, but might as easily be the sounds of an intruder, creeping away into hiding. Of all the neurotic ideas to have! But something had moved in the kitchen, and it was still moving–Antonia could see the faint stirring of the shadows.
There was a symmetry to the sounds. Footsteps, was it? No, it was more like something moving backwards and forwards. Something rocking? Yes, that was exactly what it sounded like. She paused by the gateleg table, and glanced over her shoulder towards the friendly, warmly lit sitting room. She had closed the front door when she came in, and dropped the latch, but if there really was someone in the cottage she could be at the door in seconds, and outside.
It would not be an intruder, though. It would be Raffles or the plumbing or something in the central heating; it was certainly not her imagination. Whatever it was, it had to be tracked down and dealt with.
Despite her resolve, she had to take a deep breath before she could push open the kitchen door and step inside. The kitchen was dark and her apprehension increased but she reached for the light switch along the left-hand wall.
Something brushed against her face. Something that was light and dry, and felt for a terrible moment like an old, dead hand reaching out of the shadows to touch her cheek.
Panic grabbed Antonia, constricting her throat, so she could not even scream. The unseen thing touched her face again, a little more definitely this time, and she gave a sort of strangled half-cry, and hit out blindly. But her hands met only air, although there was the impression of some kind of thin movement directly in front of her. She was shaking so much she thought she might fall down, but she finally managed to locate the light switch.