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She gave him the ghost of a smile and closed the door.
Then, in a few minutes, she returned and let him in.
Celia Darwin received him in the parlor. It was a
small room, very tidy, but somehow it looked lived in. The cushions on the settee, arranged for comfort, were well-worn, the colors faded. The fire was already lit, although it was banked low and with much coal dust to close it off from burning too quickly. There were ornaments on the mantelshelf that had no relationship to each other, except in the mind of the person who had collected them: a single candlestick from what had once probably been a pair, an old pewter salt dish with a matching spoon, a crystal vase such as might have held a single bud, a china frog with a pleasantly ugly face.
Celia Darwin stood in the center of the softly patterned carpet, whose colors were wilted by time and wear. She was taller than he had expected. Her face was very pale, her features stronger and blunter than was fashionable, but he saw a sincerity in her that pleased him.
“I’m John Hooper,” he introduced himself. “I’m here to find out what you remember of Saturday’s events. I’m sorry to ask you to go over it again, but anything you can tell us might matter.” He was careful not to suggest any answer to her. He had made that mistake before and learned how easy it was to skew someone’s thoughts.
“Of course,” she answered. Her voice was soft and unusually pleasing. “I understand that it is necessary. Please sit down, Mr. Hooper.” She sat herself, in the middle of the sofa.
He took the armchair opposite her, a little closer to the fire. After the cold wind on the river, it was welcome. “Thank you. You were walking together along the path a few yards from the riverbank?”
“Yes.”
“Do you often do that?”
“You mean, might someone know to expect us? Yes, I think so. Usually, if the weather is fine, about once a week.”
“At the same time of day?”
“Usually.”
He noticed that she answered with as few words as possible. He did not find it terse. On the contrary, it felt relaxing to him. He avoided asking if she and Kate had been close. If they had, it would stir her emotions, perhaps too much to control. He would rather judge by the tone of what she said, the pitch of her voice. “You were walking together, talking?”
“Yes, but we were silent now and then. As we were at the time the man spoke to her. He behaved as if he knew her. He was respectful, but not…timid.” She looked up at him for an instant, and he saw how distressed she was. Then she looked down and continued speaking. “I thought they were acquainted, and I did not wish to intrude…to be part of a meeting that did not really include me. I wish now that I had!” Suddenly she was angry with herself, and it was sharp in her tone.
“Then you might have been taken, too,” Hooper said quickly.
Celia looked up at him. “Then she would not have been alone!” Her eyes filled with tears and she blinked them away angrily, yet unashamed.
“But you are here to tell us anything you noticed about him.”
“He was about two or three inches taller than Kate,” she began. “And Kate is tall—as tall as I am. He was dark-haired, but he did not have dark brows. I noticed it, because it was unusual. His face was long—long nose, long chin—but altogether not ill-looking. And he moved easily, even gracefully.”
“Thank you. That is very individual.”
“He was slender,” she went on, “and dressed in dark clothes. Very ordinary. I could not describe them usefully, I’m sorry.”
“What direction did he come from?”
“Up the bank. From the water.”
“So, you looked away. To allow them privacy?”
She looked down at her hands, motionless in her lap. At a glance they seemed at ease, until he noticed the pale knuckles. “I wish I had stayed. I moved quite a few yards away, so I didn’t look as if I were overhearing them. I looked the other way. A group of people passed me. I would say six or seven. And…when I looked back, they were gone! It was only a few moments…or perhaps a little more.”
“But you didn’t hear her cry out?”
“No. If I had, I would have gone to her, fought with him, if necessary. I had an umbrella: I could have struck him with it.”
“Was there anyone else near you? Say, within fifty yards?”
“Only the group I mentioned, moving away quite quickly. I looked around to see if she had gone in any other direction, or if there was someone I could ask. There was no one.”
“Then he chose his moment carefully,” Hooper said softly. “There was nothing you could have done, except describe him, as you have.”
