Page 48 of A Captain, a Corpse, and Miss Bridges
“She’s alive,” James confirmed, though the grim set of his mouth betrayed his deeper worry—that she was alive for now.
A juddering sob escaped Miss Vale as she closed her eyes. James felt a pang of sympathy; if Mrs Pinnock died, the girl would be left with nothing.
A commotion at the stairwell announced the arrival of Dr Bates, still clutching a generous wedge of seed cake from the refreshment table in one hand.
“Clear the way, clear the way,” he muttered, though without much enthusiasm. He descended the steps at a pace more suited to an afternoon stroll than an emergency, his gaze straying longingly to the doorway at the bottom of the stairs that led to the pub beyond.
“Doctor,” James barked, hoping to speed the man’s pace. “She fell the length of the stairs—she may have broken her neck!”
“Yes, yes, quite dreadful,” Bates sighed, handing the slice of cake to Mrs Canards, before crouching down beside Mrs Pinnock with evident reluctance.
“Still breathing,” he declared, after the briefest of examinations. “Her bones feel intact enough. Concussion, perhaps.”
“That’s it?” James could not hide his incredulity.
“We’ll have someone move her back to The King’s Head to rest. If she wakes, she may yet live. If she does not…,” The doctor gave a philosophical shrug. “Well, she won’t.”
His knees gave a click of protest as he rose to his feet. “My cake, please, Mrs Canards,”
Mrs Canards wordlessly handed over the slice of seed cake, which the doctor received with grave ceremony, before departing toward the bar.
Just as James was beginning to despair that no one in Plumpton could treat a crisis with an ounce of seriousness, a voice cut through the hubbub.
“Thorne—what’s happened?”
Lord Crabb appeared at his side, his brow furrowed with worry. In a low voice, James explained Mrs Pinnock’s fall and Dr Bates’ languid verdict that she should be moved to her rooms at The King’s Head without delay.
“I’ll pull a few strong men from up there,” Crabb said briskly, nodding toward the knot of onlookers crowding the stairwell. “You stay here with Miss Vale.”
James had almost forgotten Mrs Pinnock’s companion, who stood shivering nearby, her hands clutched tight at her skirts.
“Can you tell me what happened, Miss Vale?” he asked in a low, urgent whisper.
“We had decided to return home because Mrs Pinnock was feeling a little… under the weather,” she stammered, her voice shaking with shock.
James’s mind leapt at once to the brandy.
“I was halfway down the stairs,” Miss Vale continued, closing her eyes as though to blot out the memory. “I heard her cry out—I turned, and I tried to catch her, but—”
The juddering breath she gave explained clearly that her attempt had not been successful.
“So you believe she was so inebriated that she stumbled?” James frowned.
“I cannot say,” Miss Vale whispered, helpless. She hesitated, then added, nervously, “Though I thought—I thought I saw Mr Henderson behind her. But I might have been mistaken.”
“I saw him too,” Mrs Canards interjected. She had been standing a few feet away feigning concern for Mrs Pinnock—though her interjection made clear that she had been avidly eavesdropping.
“You’re certain?” James turned to her.
“As certain as his breeches are tight,” she replied, her thin lips pursed in disapproval.
James heaved a sigh. So Henderson’s part in the scheme had not ended with mere bribery. Perhaps he had decided that silencing Mrs Pinnock was the only way to keep her from exposing him.
Further discussion was halted as Lord Crabb reappeared with several sturdy fellows in tow. As the men began to discuss how best to move Mrs Pinnock without jostling her too roughly, James pulled the viscount aside.
“It seems Henderson pushed her,” he said grimly.
Lord Crabb gave a low whistle of surprise. “I didn’t think the lad had it in him.”
