An All-Consuming Fire (21 page)

Antony pulled on his recently discarded coat and checked that his torch was still in his pocket. “I’m going out. Search the grounds—” His thoughts were incoherent, but he knew he couldn’t stay here and do nothing.

“Just a minute, I’ll go with you,” Cynthia said. “Did you look in the church? Maybe she’s checking something for the wedding.”

Antony’s heart soared. Was it possible? He picked up Felicity’s red hat. She would need it. Without waiting for Cynthia he lunged toward the hall.

The front door slammed so hard it almost knocked him back into the living room. “Oh, I am sooo mad!” A stomping of feet punctuated the angry voice. The lovely, beloved angry voice. “Can you believe they stole my notes!” A wild-eyed, wild-haired Felicity stormed into the room. “And I’ve got a blinding headache.”

She looked at Antony, standing there speechless. “You’ve got my hat!” She flung herself into his arms, and broke into sobs.

“D
arling! You’re bleeding!” Cynthia was the first to spring into action. She tore her daughter from Antony’s arms and led her to the kitchen where she pushed her into a chair and began bathing the cut beneath the red-streaked golden hair with warm water.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” she glared at Antony. “Isn’t there a first aid kit around here somewhere?”

That jarred him into action. Yes. Somewhere. Bathroom, maybe? He stumbled down the hall. By the time he had finished tumbling the bathroom cupboard to no avail, Gwena had produced the small white box marked with a red cross from the shelf beside the cooker and Cynthia had parted Felicity’s matted hair to reveal the oozing goose egg lump on the back of her head.

Melissa looked up from the notes she was scribbling. “Shouldn’t we take her to accident and emergency?”

“No!” Felicity was adamant. “The last thing I want to do is spend the rest of the night in a dingy emergency room. I’m fine. At least I will be.”

Felicity flinched as Cynthia dabbed at her head with a fresh cloth. “Sorry, darling, I am being careful.”

“Here.” Gwena held Felicity’s hand and shook two paracetamol into it, followed by a steaming mug of sweet tea. “Get that inside you.”

Antony drew breath to argue about going to the doctors. Surely she should be seen to. What if she had concussion? A fracture? What if…

“Where’s that torch you had?” Gwena demanded. Antony drew it from his pocket. Gwena took the half-drunk tea from Felicity’s hands, tilted her head back and shone the light into her eyes. Felicity blinked. “Pupils constricted. Good. Do you feel dizzy?”

“No.”

“Nauseous?”

“No.”

“Did you black out?”

“It
was
black,” Felicity answered with considerable asperity.

“She’s all right.”

“How should I bandage this? I don’t see any ointment.” Cynthia was rifling through the contents of the first aid kit.

Melissa looked up from her mobile where she had been scrolling down the screen. “NHS says, ‘Do not use antiseptic because it may damage the tissue and slow down healing. Pat the area dry with a clean towel. Apply a sterile adhesive dressing, such as a plaster.’ There you have it.”

“No adhesive,” Felicity ordered.

“Clean gauze, then an ice pack,” Gwena prescribed.

The first aid seemed interminable to Antony who could only watch helplessly from the sideline. He was grateful for the ministrations of Felicity’s mother and her efficient female assistants but he wanted Felicity to himself. He wanted to know more about what had happened. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her.

As it was, the activity in the kitchen was followed with a hot bath for the patient, during which Antony, abandoned in the front room, notified Constable Jones that, indeed, the missing person had shown up. But not as unscathed as the constable had so blithely predicted.

Melissa kept him company on the sofa. “So, how did your work at Ampleforth go today?”

Antony had no desire to be distracted by idle chatter, but courtesy demanded that he answer, so he told her about examining the early manuscripts of
The Cloud
. Then he remembered, “Oh, I forgot to tell Father Theobald.”

At Melissa’s probing he told her about the sheet of notes he found tucked in the ancient volume. “I suppose I should ring Theobald.”

“Don’t worry,” Melissa said. “I’ll be in that area tomorrow. I’ll pass on your message. Which box was it in?”

Antony told her, then they both lapsed into silence until the gurgling drain in the bath gave Antony hope that he could have some time alone with Felicity. But Cynthia tucked her daughter up in bed and shooed Antony on his way. “She’ll be much better in the morning.”

“But shouldn’t someone sit up with her? What if she needs—”

“We’ll take it in turns. Melissa is staying over, too. Sharing the sofa bed with Gwena. You go get some sleep.” She ushered him to the door. “Or pray.” The door clicked behind him and he was alone in the night.

Feast of the Holy Innocents

C
ynthia’s advice was good, Antony supposed, but neither her directive to rest nor to pray seemed within his reach as he tossed, turned and fretted through the dark hours of the night. At least the cold, moist air was halfway reviving as he hurried, almost blindly, down the hill to the cottage at first light the next morning.

He raised his hand to deliver an insistent knock on the door. In just over a week he wouldn’t have to knock. He would be at home here. Cynthia flung the door open. “You look worse than she does.” She stepped back for him to rush past her into the narrow hallway.

Felicity was sitting up in bed, propped against a pile of white pillows, a tray with tea and toast on her lap. Antony just shook his head and gazed at her, his heart too full to speak. She held out her hand to him, drawing him into the room. He leaned over and kissed her gingerly, afraid of doing anything to increase her discomfort.

Felicity, however, put her other hand on the back of his head and pulled him forward. When they broke for air she giggled. “Silly, I won’t break.”

Antony moved the tea tray from the bed and pulled up a chair. “I was so worried.” He swallowed. “How’s your head?”

“Not bad. Tender. Not as bad as the whack I got at Fairacres.” She grimaced. “Goodness, if I’m going to make a habit of this I should take to wearing protective head gear. That bobble cap wasn’t much protection.”

Antony gripped her arm. “Felicity, it isn’t a joking matter.”

“Oh, I know. But truly, I’m all right. I just wish I could wash my hair.”

“Keep it dry, NHS orders.” Gwena stood in the doorway with a cup of tea for Antony. “I’ll give it a dry shampoo when I get back from rehearsal.”

“Oh, rehearsal. I forgot.” Felicity started to push her duvet aside.

“Stay right where you are.” Gwena tugged the duvet back into place.

“But—” Felicity protested.

“I can handle it.”

“Are you sure?”

Gwena gave her a look that made even Antony wince.

“Oh. Right,” Felicity agreed. “You are the professional.” She started to lean back against her pillows. “Still—” She sat up again.

Gwena pushed her back.

“I’ll stop at Boots on the way home and get some dry shampoo.” She turned to Antony. “You, Squib—keep her in bed.” The order was followed with a wink that held more than a hint of suggestiveness.

“I just wish I had my notes to give her. Why on earth would anyone steal them?” Felicity’s voice still held a trace of the anger she had expressed the night before.

“What notes were they?”

Felicity shrugged. “It was a prompt book: script with blocking. Cast list. Notes for the characters. Lights and sound cues. Reminders for the house crew… Usual stuff.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“After Melissa left I walked through the entrances I had in mind for all the animals. I wanted to be sure the paths were clear from where Nick and Corin plan to put the pens. I was at the bottom of the stairway, making notes for Mary and Joseph. It was getting pretty dark, but I could see enough to scrawl a bit…”

Antony nodded. “Yes, that’s where I found your hat.”

“I heard footsteps. I thought it was Nick and Corin. I called out to them and then my head exploded. Literally. Everything went dark and I saw stars. Just like they say. Well, fireworks more than stars.”

“Did you lose consciousness?”

“I don’t think so. I fell forward onto my hands and knees. Dropped the prompt book. They put something over my head. Pillowcase, maybe, and pulled me to my feet.”

“They?”

Felicity blinked and bit her lip in thought. “I’m not sure. I had the impression there were two of them. But maybe that was just because I was expecting Nick and Corin.”

“Did you have an appointment?”

“No, nothing like that. I just thought…”

“Could it have been them?”

“But why? What possible reason? I’d have given them my prompt book. Besides, we’re friends.”

Antony sighed. “I know, nothing makes any sense. But you’re sure they were male?”

“I’m not sure of anything.” She thought. “One man definitely. I just had the impression that there was someone else, too.” Felicity raised her cup to her mouth, then set it down. “Ugh. It’s cold.”

“Where did they take you?”

“Out of the quarry. I started screaming but it was mostly muffled by that bag on my head. I tried to kick, but I think I was pretty feeble.” She pulled up the sleeve of her pajama top. “He had big hands.”

Anger surged through Antony when he saw the purple bruises on Felicity’s arm. “This will give that useless Constable Jones something to put in her report.” This time he got through to Sergeant Silsden and filled him in with a few emphatic phrases and a demand for action.

“How did you get away?” He turned back to Felicity.

“I think they—he—I’m not sure—were taking me to a car or something. I had the feeling we were heading toward the road that runs behind the community. Definitely going downhill. It was steep.”

“Did you hear traffic?”

Felicity considered. “Maybe. That bag on my head muddled me. And all my energy was on trying to get away. I think I scratched him.” She held out a broken fingernail. “Then I’m not sure what happened. I was struggling—kicking—and I lost my balance. I rolled. And that bag thing fell off my head—or maybe I pulled it off. It’s all a bit of a blur. Anyway, he started to pull me to my feet and—yes, we must have been by the road because there was a light. A car must have come along. Or maybe he turned a torch on. Anyway, I guess he saw me because he gave this really angry grunt like he was disgusted and shoved me away.

“I landed face down in some bushes and I think maybe I did black out then. Anyway, next thing I knew I was back on the path coming home. And I got here and you met me with my hat.” She looked like she could cry again.

Antony gathered her into his arms and knew it was beyond his strength to keep from crying himself.

There was no knowing how long they might have remained clinging to one another if Cynthia hadn’t entered then with a fresh pot of tea and rack of toast.

Antony pulled himself together. “But you never did get a look at him? Them?”

“I should have tried, I suppose, but I was just concentrating on getting away.”

“And good job you did.” Antony’s heartfelt reply was accompanied with a fervent squeeze of her hand.

“I’m not sure I did, really. It sort of felt more like he threw me away.”

Antony was quiet for a minute, considering all she had told him. At last he turned to her desk and drew out a pen and sheet of paper. “Let’s make a list. Anyone who could possibly have anything to cover up or want to destroy for any reason. No matter how absurd it sounds.” He sat with the pen poised.

“Um, well, anyone doing drugs in the quarry,” Felicity suggested.

“Right.” Antony wrote. “Or worse—doing a drug deal. Who do we know that that could be?”

Felicity grimaced. “What’s the population of Kirkthorpe? Of Yorkshire?”

“Yes, I know, it could be anyone. But think. This sounds more personal. I mean, if you’re right that he/they ‘threw you away’ when he got a good look at you, that indicates it was someone who knew you.”

“Or didn’t know me.”

“Huh?”

“Maybe they thought they had somebody else. Then saw they didn’t.”

“Ah, like Melissa, you mean?”

“It was pretty dark and our hairstyles are a lot alike.”

Yes, Antony himself had momentarily confused them when he glimpsed Melissa through the window. Surely, if he could mistake another woman for Felicity… “We’ll have to ask her who might want to abduct her.”

“We could call her or something if anyone has her number. She’s gone back to work this morning.” Felicity paused. “But you know, if that’s the case, they might have thrown my prompt book away too. Maybe they thought it was some story Melissa was working on.”

“But wasn’t she just doing a promo piece about the pageant?”

“I thought so, but she was awfully interested in Alfred’s death. She asked if I thought it was connected with Tara’s.”

“I wondered about that, too.” Antony wrote Tara’s death and Alfred’s on his list. Then added Father Paulinus. And his fireworks explosion and Fred’s accident with Ginger, which now seemed very far away.

Felicity looked at the list. “Your hit-and-run accident.” He wrote. “And that threatening note in your pocket.”

Antony sighed. “No shortage of suspicious events, but who could possibly be connected to any of them?”

“Well, I hate to say anything. I mean, I could be completely wrong…”

“No matter how wild, we just need ideas here, then maybe we can see a connection. Fantasize. Who’s the least likely person connected in any way to any of this?”

Felicity giggled. “Father Anselm.”

“All right. I asked for that.” But it did make Antony think. “Do we know anything about Father Sylvester?”

“What? You’re kidding!”

“Only a little. I mean, someone is selling drugs. Father Sylvester certainly has access to young people. He knows everyone who comes to the centre.”

“He would be well-placed, I guess. And I suppose he would use the money for the centre. But can you imagine that mouse killing Alfred?”