And Then She Fell(71)
When she offered her hand, he shook it with an easy, understated elegance that belied his working-class station in life. “I understand, Miss Cynster,” Stokes said, his voice deep, his tone even but with an autocratic edge, “that on departing the Wentworths’ house in Hill Street nine evenings ago, you encountered a gentleman leaving the house next door.”
Henrietta nodded. “Although it would be more accurate to say he encountered me.” Turning, waving Stokes and the others to the armchairs, she walked to the sofa and sat.
James sat alongside her; Simon took the armchair to her right, Barnaby the armchair to the left of the sofa, leaving Stokes to take possession of the large armchair directly across the small table from Henrietta.
After drawing a notebook from his pocket, along with a pencil, Stokes sat, opened the notebook, balanced it on his knee, and looked up at Henrietta. “I would appreciate it, Miss Cynster, if you would tell me what happened—all that you can remember, every little detail no matter how small or apparently inconsequential—from the instant you stepped onto the Wentworths’ front porch.” Stokes met her gaze and smiled encouragingly. “Take your time, as much time as you like.”
Henrietta drew in a deep breath, fixed her gaze past Stokes’s left shoulder, and called up the scene in her mind. “It was cold—chilly—and there was fog, enough so I couldn’t see the end of the street. That made the light from the streetlamps seem dimmer than usual, so overall the light wasn’t strong.” She paused, but no one interrupted her, so she continued, “It was bitter, so I told Melinda—the Wentworths’ daughter—to go inside and shut the door. My coachman had halted the carriage—my parents’ carriage—on the other side of the street, and both my groom and the coachman were there, and—” She broke off, then said, “There was no one else nearby. I just realized—I’d already looked up and down the street by then, because that was why I felt so confident about being left alone to cross to the carriage.” She met Stokes’s eyes. “At that point, there was no one on the nearer pavement close enough to reach me—to intercept me—before I crossed the road.”
Stokes asked, “Did you see any others further along the road?”
She thought back, bringing the memory to life in her mind. . . . “Yes. There were two gentlemen walking away toward North Audley Street, and in the other direction, much further away, there was a couple who had just come out of a house and were getting into a hackney.”
“Very good.” Stokes was busy making notes. “So what happened next?”
“With the chill in the air you may be sure I didn’t dally. I walked down the steps—I was holding my cloak around me, and I had my reticule in one hand. I was looking down, placing my feet. Then I reached the pavement and lifted my head—and that’s when he barreled into me.”
“You didn’t hear footsteps?” Barnaby asked.
She thought back, then, frowning, shook her head. “Not coming along. I heard maybe two quick steps, but by the time I’d even registered them, he’d already run into me.” Frowning more definitely, she looked at Barnaby. “That’s odd, isn’t it? If he’d come up the area steps, wouldn’t I have heard him?”
Barnaby glanced at Stokes. “Not those area steps. The staff had put down matting because the steps got too slippery in winter. The matting’s quite thick, more than enough to muffle the sound of footsteps.” Barnaby looked back at her. “That you didn’t hear him coming only makes it more likely that the gentleman who ran into you did, indeed, come up those steps.”
Head down as he jotted notes, Stokes was nodding. “If he came from anywhere else, you would have heard enough to have been aware of his approach before he collided with you. But even more telling, if he hadn’t come up very quickly from those particular area steps, he would have seen you in good time to avoid any collision.” Pencil poised, he looked up at her. “Did your groom or coachman see where the man came from?”
“I don’t know—I didn’t think to ask. I doubt Johns, the coachman, saw anything—he was looking at his horses—but Gibbs should have.”
“Leave them for now—I’ll speak with them later. Let’s go on with what you saw.” Stokes looked down at his notebook. “The gentleman’s just run into you—go on from there.”
She did, recounting as best she could exactly what she’d seen of the mystery man. Between them, Stokes and Barnaby questioned each of her observations.