There isn't much time to waste. Antoinette practically sprints to the front door, trying it quickly. Fortunately, it does prove to be unlocked, and she ducks through, out into the streets, closing it behind her just before the two people in the kitchen come through.
The muscular man is well over six feet in height, and quite bald, with a bloodied butcher's apron as the main part of his simple outfit. He holds a large, equally bloody cleaver in one hand - but he's not looking towards Antoinette. He's looking at the thin, hook-nosed woman in the formal Victorian dress next to him.
The key word to describe her appearance is "severe". Even despite her obviously advanced age, stooped posture, and graying hairs, something about her commands a sort of awe. Her deep, rusty-red dress covers everything but her hands and face - even her neck and feet are hidden behind its cloth, and it's not of the sort of cut that reveals much about the figure underneath. Her lined face and hooked nose are complemented by the tight gray bun of her hair and the gleaming look of her eyes.
She has her mouth open, as if to begin berating the butcher again, but stops and takes a deep sniff through her nose. "Mm," she murmurs to herself. "Someone was... very angry here, not long ago." She smiles. It's not exactly a pleasant thing to look at. "It's a good hate."
Antoinette turns away before the woman can make eye contact with her and shuffles away from the door slightly, out into the crowded streets.
LORD, WHAT CAN THE HARVEST HOPE FOR, IF NOT THE CARE OF THE REAPER MAN? - Death, in Terry Pratchett's Reaper Man