Speaks the Nightbird

by Robert McCammon

Chapter Thirty

 

  "MR. VaUGHaNi" He got up from his chair, where he'd been drowsing in the twilight of early evening, and opened the door. "What does he wanti"

  Mrs. Nettles pursed her lips, as if in a silent scold for his deficient memory. "He says he's come to escort you to his home for dinner, and that it shall be a'table at six o'clock. "

  "Oh, I did forget! What time is it nowi"

  "Near ha' past five, by the mantel clock. "

  "If there was ever an evening I didn't care to go out to dinner, this is it, " Matthew said, rubbing his bleary eyes.

  "That may be so, " Mrs. Nettles said curtly, "but as much as I do nae care for Lucretia Vaughan, I am also sure some effort has been made to show you hospitality. Ye ought nae to disappoint 'em. "

  Matthew nodded, though he couldn't erase his frown. "Yes, you're right. Very well, then: please tell Mr. Vaughan I'll be downstairs in a few minutes. "

  "I shall. Oh. . . have ye seen Mr. Bidwell since mornin'i"

  "No, I haven't. "

  "He always tells me if he's gonna attend dinner. I'm driftin' without a sea-chain, nae knowin' what he cares ta do. "

  "Mr. Bidwell. . . likely is wrapped up in the sorry engagement involving Mr. Paine, " Matthew said. "You of all people must know how buried he becomes in his work. "

  "Oh, yes sir, 'tis true! But y'know, we're havin' a festival of sorts here tomorra eve. Mr. Bidwell's hostin' a dinner for some of the maskers. Even though we've suffered such a tragedy, I do need ta know what he desires a'table. "

  "I'm sure he'll be around sooner or later tonight. "

  "Mayhaps. I've told no one about the murder, sir. Just as he wished. But do you have any idea who mi' ha' done iti"

  "Not Rachel, the Devil, or any imagined demon, if that's what you're asking. This was a man's work. " He dared go no further. "Excuse me, I'd best get ready. "

  "Yes sir, I'll tell Mr. Vaughan. "

  as he hurriedly scraped a razor across the day's growth and then washed his face, Matthew steeled himself for companionship though he fervently wished only to be left alone. He had spent the day attending to the magistrate, and observing Dr. Shields as the excruciating colonic was applied. a fresh plaster had been pressed to the pine oil dressing on Woodward's chesty and the pine oil liniment had also been rubbed around his nostrils. The doctor on his first visit this morning had brought a murky amber liquid that the magistrate swallowed with great difficulty, and had administered a second dose of the potion around four o'clock. Matthew could not help but watch Dr. Shields's hands and envision their grisly work of the previous midnight.

  If Matthew had been expecting rapid results, he was disappointed; for most of the day Woodward had remained in a stupor, his fever merciless; but at least the magistrate once asked Matthew if preparations for Madam Howarth's execution were proceeding, therefore he seemed to have returned from his bout with delirium.

  Matthew put on a fresh shirt and buttoned it up to the neck, then left his room and went downstairs. Waiting for him was a slim, small-statured man in a gray suit, white stockings, and polished square-toed black shoes. On his head was a brown tricorn and he was holding a lantern that bore double candles. It took only a few seconds of observation for Matthew to detect the darned patches at the man's knees and the fact that his suit jacket was perhaps two sizes too large, indicating either a borrow or a barter.

  "ah, Mr. Corbett!" The man exhibited a smile that was strong enough, but something about his deep-set pale blue eyes, in a face that had a rather gaunt and skeletal appearance, suggested a watery constitution. "I am Stewart Vaughan, sir. Pleased to make your acquaintance. "

  Matthew shook his hand, meeting a grip that had little substance. "Good evening to you, sir. and I thank you for your invitation to dinner. "

  "Our gratitude that you might grace us. The ladies are waiting. Shall we goi"

  Matthew followed the man, who walked with a pronounced bowlegged gait. Over the roofs of Fount Royal the sky was crimson to the west and violet to the east, the first stars gleaming in the ruddy orange directly above. The breeze was soft and warm, and crickets chirruped in the grass around the spring.

  "a lovely evening, is it noti" Vaughan asked as they left Peace Street and walked along Harmony. "I feared we would all drown ere we saw Good Sol again. "

  "Yes, it was a difficult time. Thanks be to God the clouds have passed for a time. "

  "Thanks be to God that the witch will soon be dead! She had a hand in that deluge, I'll swear to it!"

  Matthew answered with a grunt. He realized it was going to be a very long evening, and he was still measuring that phrase Vaughan had used: The ladies are waiting.

  They passed Van Gundy's tavern, which - from the racket of its customers and the caterwauls of two aspiring musicians playing a gittern and a drum - seemed to be a place of high and potent spirits. Matthew thought that Vaughan aimed a wistful eye at the establishment as they continued on. In another moment they walked by the house of the recently deceased Nicholas Paine, and Matthew noted with interest that candlelight could be seen through the shutter slats. He envisioned Bidwell on his knees, scrubbing blood off the floor with tar soap, ashes, and sand, and cursing cruel Fate while Paine's corpse was wrapped up in a sheet and stowed beneath the pallet for future disposal. He was sure Winston had invented some reason to tell Bidwell why he'd gone to see Paine so early in the morning. If nothing else, Winston was an agile liar.

  "There is the house, " Vaughan said, indicating a well-lit dwelling two houses northward and across Harmony Street from Paine's. Matthew had remembered Paine's admission of having carnal relations with Lucretia Vaughan, and he could see her approaching his house with a basket of hot buns and he returning the favor by knocking at her entry with a pistol in his pocket.

  Matthew saw a small sign above the door that read Breads & Pies Baked Daily. Then Vaughan opened the door with the announcement, "I've brought our guest!" and Matthew entered the abode.

  The house smelled absolutely delicious. a fragrant bread or pie had only just been baked, but also in the house were the commingled aromas of past delights. Matthew saw that the lady Vaughan possessed an extremely neat and painstaking hand, as the floor had been swept spotless, the white-washed walls free of any trace of hearth soot or smoke, and even the wood surfaces of the furniture smoothed and polished. around the large stone fireplace stood a well-organized battery of skillets and cooking pots, the genteel fire burning under a pot on a jackhook. Even the cooking implements appeared to have been scrubbed clean. adding to the pleasant, welcoming air of the house were several sprays of wildflowers set about in hammered-tin containers, and the remarkable extravagance of perhaps a dozen candles casting golden light. The supper table, which was covered with a snowy linen cloth and displayed four places readied, stood in the corner of the room opposite the hearth.

  The hostess made her entrance from another door at the rear of the house, where the bedchamber likely was. "Mr. Corbett!" she said, showing a toothy smile that might have shamed the sun's glow. "How wonderful to have you in our home!"

  "Thank you. as I told your husband, I appreciate the invitation. "

  "Oh, our pleasure, I assure you!" Lucretia Vaughan, in this wealth of candlelight, was indeed a handsome woman, her fine figure clad in a rose-hued gown with a lace-trimmed bodice, her light brown curls showing copper and aureate glints. Matthew could readily see how Paine could be spelled by her; to be fixed in the sights of her penetrating blue eyes was akin to the application of heat. Indeed, Matthew felt a sensation of melting before her leonine presence.

  as perhaps she sensed this, she seemed to increase the power of her personality. She approached him nearer, her eyes locked with his. He caught the scent of a peach-inspired perfume. "I know you have many other offers to attend dinner, " she said. "It is not often that we find such a sophisticated gentleman in our midst. Stewart, leave your jacket on. We are so very pleased you have chosen
to grace our humble table with your presence. " Her instruction to her husband had been like the swift stroke of a razor, not even requiring her to glance at him. Matthew was aware of Stewart standing to his left, shrugging again into the garment the man had nearly gotten out of. "Your hat is removed, " Lucretia said. Stewart's hand instantly obeyed, revealing a thin thatch of blond hair.

  '"Sophistication is what we yearn for in this rustic town. " It seemed to Matthew that the woman had come even closer to him, though he hadn't seen her move. "I note you have buttoned your shirt to your throat. Is that the current fashion in Charles Towni"

  '"Uh. . . no, I simply did it on the moment. "

  "ah!" she said brightly. "Well, I'm sure it shall be fashionable in the future. " She turned her head toward the rear doorway. "Cherisei Dearesti Our guest wishes to meet you!"

  There was no response. Lucretia's smile appeared a shade frayed. Her voice rose to a higher, sharper pitch: "Cherisei You are expected!"

  "Obviously, " Stewart ventured meekly, "she's not yet ready. "

  The wife speared her husband with a single glance. "I shall help her prepare. If you'll pardon me, Mr. Corbetti Stewart, offer our guest some wine. " She was through the door and gone before she'd completed her last direction.

  "Wine, " Stewart said. "Yes, wine! Would you care for a taste, Mr. Corbetti" He proceeded to a round table on which was placed a rather ostentatious green glass decanter and three cuplike glasses of the same emeraude. Before Matthew had answered "Yes, " the decanter was unstoppered and the pouring begun. Stewart passed a glass to Matthew and set in on his own with the gusto of a salt-throated sailor.

  Matthew had no sooner taken his first sip of what was rather a bitter vintage when from the rear doorway two feminine voices, determined to overpower each other, rose in volume, tangled like the shrieks of harpies, and then fell to abrupt silence as if those winged horrors had dashed themselves upon jagged rocks.

  Stewart cleared his throat. "I myself have never been whipped, " he said. "I imagine it is a less than pleasant experiencei"

  "Less than pleasant, " Matthew agreed, glancing now and again at the doorway as at a portal beyond which an infernal struggle raged. "But more than instructive. "

  "Oh yes! I would think so! You committed an injury to the blacksmith, I understandi Well, I'm sure you must have had a reason. Did you see him treating a horse with less than affectioni"

  "Um. . . " Matthew took a sturdier drink of wine. "No, I believe Mr. Hazelton has a strong affection for horses. It was. . . let us say. . . a matter best kept stabled. "

  "Yes, of course! I've no wish to pry. " Stewart drank again, and after a pause of three or four interminable seconds he laughed. "Oh! Stabled! I get your jest!"

  Lucretia emerged once more, her radiance undiminished by the wrangling that had just occurred. "My apologies, " she said, still smiling. "Cherise is. . . having some difficulty with her hair. She wishes to make a good presentation, you see. She is a perfectionist, and so magnifies even small blemishes. "

  "Her mother's daughter, " Stewart muttered, before he slid his lips into the glass.

  "But what would this world be without its perfectionistsi" Lucretia was addressing Matthew, and deigned not to respond to her husband's comment. "I shall tell you: it would be all dust, dirt, and utter confusion. Isn't that right, Mr. Corbetti"

  "I'm sure it would be disastrous, " Matthew replied, and this was enough to put a religious shine in the woman's eyes.

  She made a sweeping gesture toward the table. "as Cherise may be some moments yet, we should adjourn to dinner, " she announced. "Mr. Corbett, if you will sit at the place that has a pewter platei"

  There was indeed a pewter plate on the table, one of the few that Matthew had ever seen. The other plates were of the common wooden variety, which indicated to Matthew the importance the Vaughans gave to his visit. Indeed, he felt as if they must consider him royalty. He sat in the appointed chair, with Stewart seated to his left. Lucretia quickly donned an apron and went about spooning and ladling food from the cooking pots into white clay serving bowls. Presently the bowls were arranged on the table, containing green stringbeans with hogsfat, chicken stew with boiled potatoes and bacon, corncakes baked in cream, and stewed tomatoes. along with a golden loaf of fresh fennel-seed bread, it was truly a king's feast. Matthew's glass was topped with wine, after which Lucretia took off her apron and seated herself at the head of the table, facing their guest, where by all rights of marriage and household the husband ought to be.

  "I shall lead us in our thanks, " Lucretia said, another affront to the duties of her husband. Matthew closed his eyes and bowed his head. The woman gave a prayer of thanksgiving that included Matthew's name and mentioned her hope that the wretched soul of Rachel Howarth find an angry God standing ready to smite her spectral skull from her shoulders after the execution stake had done its work. Then the fervent "amen" was spoken and Matthew opened his eyes to find Cherise Vaughan standing beside him.

  "Here is our lovely daughter!" Lucretia exclaimed. "Cherise, take your place. "

  The girl, in a white linen gown with a lace bodice and sleeves, continued to stand where she was and stare down at Matthew. She was indeed an attractive girl, perhaps sixteen or seventeen, her waves of blonde hair held fixed by a series of small wooden combs. Matthew imagined she must closely resemble her mother at that age, though her chin was longer and somewhat more square and her eyes almost as pale blue as her father's. In these eyes, however, there was no suggestion of a watery constitution; there was instead a haughty chill that Matthew instantly dropped his gaze from, lest he shiver from a December wind on this May night.

  "Cherisei" Lucretia repeated, gently but firmly. "Take. Your. Place. Please. "

  The girl sat down - slowly, at her own command - on Matthew's right. She wasted no time in reaching out and spooning chicken stew onto her plate.

  "are you not even going to say hello to Mr. Corbetti"

  "Hello, " she answered, pushing the first bite of food into her cupid's-bow mouth.

  "Cherise helped prepare the stew, " Lucretia said. "She has been desirous to make certain it was to your liking. "

  "I'm sure it's excellent, " Matthew answered. He spooned some of the stew onto his plate and found it as good as it appeared, then he tore off a hunk of bread and sopped it in the thick, delicious liquid.

  "Mr. Corbett is a fascinating young man. " This was spoken to Cherise, though Lucretia continued to gaze upon him. "Not only is he a sophisticated gentleman and a judicial apprentice from Charles Town, but he fought off that mob of killers and thieves who attacked the magistrate. armed only with a rapier, I understandi"

  Matthew accepted a helping of stewed tomatoes. He could feel three pairs of eyes upon him. Now was the moment to explain that the 'mob' consisted of one ruffian, an old crone, and an infirm geezer. . . but instead his mouth opened and what came out was, "No. . . I. . . had not even a rapier. Would you pass the corncakes, pleasei"

  "My Lord, what a night that must have been!" Stewart was profoundly impressed. "Did you not have a weapon at alli"

  "I. . . uh. . . used a boot to good advantage. This is an absolutely wonderful stew! Mr. Bidwell's cook ought to have this recipe. "

  "Well, our Cherise is a wonderful cook herself, " Lucretia assured him. "I am currently teaching her the secrets of successful pie baking. Not an easy subject to command, I must say. "

  "I'm sure it's not. " Matthew offered a smile to the girl, but she was having none of it. She simply ate her food and stared straight ahead with no trace of expression except, perhaps, absolute boredom.

  "and now. . . about the treasure chest full of gold coins you found. " Lucretia laid her spoon and knife delicately across her plate. "You had it sent back to Charles Town, I understandi"

  Here he had to draw the line. "I fear there was no treasure chest. Only a single coin. "

  "Yes, yes. . . of course. Only a single coin. Very well, t
hen, I can see you are a canny guardian of information. But what can you tell us of the witchi Does she weep and wail at the prospect of burningi"

  The stew he was about to swallow had suddenly sprouted thorns and lodged in his throat. "Mrs. Vaughan, " he said, as politely as possible, "if you don't mind. . . I would prefer not to talk about Rachel Howarth. "

  Suddenly Cherise looked at him and grinned, her blue eyes gleaming. "Oh, that is a subject I find of interest!" Her voice was pleasingly melodic, but there was a wickedly sharp edge to it as well. "Do tell us about the witch, sir! Is it true she shits toad-frogsi"

  "Cherise!" Lucretia had hissed the name, her teeth gritted and her eyes wide with alarm. Instantly her composure altered with the speed of a chameleon's color change; her smile returned, though fractured, and she looked down the table at Matthew. "Our daughter has. . . an earthy sense of humor, Mr. Corbett. You know, it is said that some of the finest, most gracious ladies have earthy senses of humor. One must not be too stiff and rigid in these strange times, must onei"

  "Stiff and rigid, " the girl said, as she pushed a tomato into her mouth and gave a gurgling little laugh. Matthew saw that Lucretia had chosen to continue eating, but red whorls had risen in her cheeks. Stewart drank down his glass of wine and reached for the decanter.

  No one spoke for a time. It was then that Matthew was aware of a faint humming sound, but he couldn't place where it was coming from. "I might tell you, as a point of information, " he said, to break the wintry silence, "that I am not yet a judicial apprentice. I am a magistrate's clerk, that's all. "

  "ah, but you shall be a judicial apprentice in the near future, will you noti" Lucretia asked, beaming again. "You are young, you have a fine mind and a desire to serve. Why should you not enter the legal professioni"

  "Well. . . I probably shall, at some point. But I do need much more education and experience. "

  "a humble soul!" She spoke it as if she had found the Grail itself. "Do you hear that, Cherisei The young man stands on the precipice of such political power and wealth, and he remains humble!"

  "The problem with standing on a precipice, " he said, "is that one might fall from a great height. "

  "and a wit as well!" Lucretia seemed near swooning with delight. "You know how wit charms you, Cherise!"

  Cherise stared again into Matthew's eyes. "I desire to know more about the witch. I have heard tell she took the cock of a black goat into her mouth and sucked on it. "

  "Umph!" a rivulet of wine had streamed down Stewart's chin and marred his gray jacket. He had paled as his wife had reddened.

  Lucretia was about to either hiss or shriek, but before she could, Matthew met the girl's stare with equal force and said calmly, "You have heard a lie, and whoever told you such a thing is not only a liar but a soul in need of a mouth-soaping. "

  "Billy Reed told me such a thing. Shall I find him tomorrow and tell him you're going to soap his mouthi"

  "That thug's name shall not be uttered in this house!" The veins were standing out in Lucretia's neck. "I forbid it!"

  "I will find Billy Reed tomorrow, " Cherise went on, defiantly. "Where shall I tell him you will meet him with your soapi"

  "I beg your pardon, Mr. Corbett! I beg a thousand pardons!" In her agitation, the woman had spilled a spoonful of corncake and cream on the front of her gown, and now she was blotting the stain with a portion of the tablecloth. "That thug is James Reed's miscreant son! He's near an imbecile, he has the ambition of a sloth. . . and he has wicked designs on my daughter!"

  Cherise grinned - or, rather, leered - into Matthew's face. "Billy is teaching me how to milk. In the afternoons, at their barn, he shows me how to hold the member. How to slide my hand up and down. . . up and down. . . up and down. . . " She displayed the motion for him, much to his discomfort and her mother's choked gasp. "Until the cream spurts forth. and a wonderful hot cream it is, too. "

  Matthew didn't respond. It did occur to him that - absolutely, positively - he'd lately been hiding in the wrong barn.

  "I think, " Stewart said, rising unsteadily to his feet, "that the rum bottle should be unstoppered. "

  "For God's sake, stay away from that rum!" Lucretia hollered, oblivious now to their honored guest. "That's the cause of all our troubles! That, and your poor excuse for a carpentry shop!"

  Matthew's glance at Cherise showed him she was eating her dinner with a smirk of satisfaction upon her face, which was now not nearly so lovely. He put his own spoon and knife down, his appetite having fled. Stewart was fumbling in a cupboard and Lucretia was attacking her food with a vengeance, her eyes dazed and her face as red as the stewed tomatoes. In the silence that fell, Matthew heard the strange humming sound again. He looked up.

  and received a jolt.

  On the ceiling directly above the table was a wasp's nest the size of Mr. Green's fist. The thing was black with wasps, all crowded together, their wings folded back along their stingers. as Matthew watched, unbelieving, he saw a minor disturbance ripple across the insects and several of them commenced that angry humming noise.

  "Uh. . . Mrs. Vaughan, " he said thickly. "You have. . . " He pointed upward.

  "Yes, wasps. What of iti" Her manners - along with her composure, her family, and the evening - had greatly deteriorated.

  Matthew realized why the nest must be there. He'd heard of such a thing, but he'd never before seen it. as he understood, a potion could be bought or made that, once applied to an indoor ceiling, enraptured wasps to build their nests on the spot.

  "Insect control, I assumei" he asked.

  "Of course, " Lucretia said, as if any fool on earth knew that. "Wasps are jealous creatures. We suffer no mosquitoes in this house. "

  "None that will bite her, anyway, " Stewart added, and then he continued suckling from the bottle.

  This evening, Matthew thought, might have been termed a farce had there not been such obvious suffering from all persons involved. The mother ate her dinner as if in a stunned trance, while the daughter now set about consuming her food more with fingers than proper utensils, succeeding in smearing her mouth and chin with gleaming hogsfat. Matthew finished his wine and a last bite of the excellent stew, and then he thought he should make his exit before the girl decided he might look more appealing crowned with a serving-bowl.

  "I. . . uh. . . presume I'd best go, " he said. Lucretia spoke not a word, as if her inner fire had been swamped by her daughter's wanton behavior. Matthew pushed his chair back and stood up. "I wish to thank you for the dinner and the wine. Uh. . . no need to walk me back to the mansion, Mr. Vaughan. "

  "I wasn't plannin' on it, " the man said, clutching the rum bottle to his chest.

  "Mrs. Vaughani May I. . . uh. . . take some of that delicious bread with mei"

  "all you wish, " she murmured, staring into space. "The rest of it, if you like. "

  Matthew accepted what was perhaps half a loaf. "My appreciation. "

  Lucretia looked up at him. Her vision cleared, as she seemed to realize that he actually was leaving. a weak smile flickered across her mouth. "Oh. . . Mr. Corbett. . . where are my mannersi I thought. . . hoped. . . that after dinner. . . we might all play atlanctie loo. "

  "I fear I am without talent at card games. "

  "But. . . there are so many things I wished to converse with you about. The magistrate's condition being one. The state of affairs in Charles Town. The gardens. . . and the balls. "

  "I'm sorry, " Matthew said. "I don't have much experience with either gardens or balls. as to the state of affairs in Charles Town, I would call them. . . somewhat less interesting than those in Fount Royal. The magistrate is still very ill, but Dr. Shields is administering a new medicine he's concocted. "

  "You know, of course, " she said grimly, "that the witch has cursed your magistrate. For the guilty decree. I doubt he shall survive with such a curse laid on him. "

  Matthew felt his face tighten. "I believe differently
, madam. "

  "Oh. . . I. . . I am being so insensitive. I am only repeating what I overhead Preacher Jerusalem saying this afternoon. Please forgive me, it's just that - "

  "That she has a knife for a tongue, " Cherise interrupted, still eating with graceless fingers. "She only apologizes when it cuts herself. "

  Lucretia leaned her head toward her daughter, much in the manner of a snake preparing to strike. "You may leave the table and our presence, " she said coldly. "Inasmuch as you have disgraced yourself and all of us, I do hope you are happy. "

  "I am happy. I am also still hungry. " She refused to budge from her place. "You know that you were brought here to save me, do you noti" a quick glance was darted at Matthew, as she licked her greasy fingers. "To rescue me from Fount Royal and the witless rustics my mother despisesi Oh, if you are so sophisticated you must have known that already!"

  "Stop her, Stewart!" Lucretia implored, her voice rising. "Make her hush!"

  The man, however, tilted the bottle to his mouth and then began peeling off his suit jacket.

  "Yes, it's true, " Cherise said. "My mother sells them breads and pies and wishes them to choke on the crumbs. You should hear her talk about them behind their backs!"

  Matthew stared down into the girl's face. Her mother's daughter, Stewart had said. Matthew might have recognized the streak of viciousness. The pity, he mused, was that Cherise Vaughan seemed to be highly intelligent. She had recognized, for instance, that speaking of Rachel Howarth had caused him great discomfort of a personal nature.

  "I will show myself out, " Matthew said to Mrs. Vaughan. "again, thank you for the dinner. " He started toward the door, carrying the half-loaf of fennel-seed bread with him.

  "Mr. Corbetti Wait, please!" Lucretia stood up, a large cream stain on the front of her gown. again she appeared dazed, as if these verbal encounters with her daughter sapped the very life from her. "Please. . . I have a question for you. "

  "Yesi"

  "The witch's hair, " she said. "What is to become of iti"

  "Her. . . hairi I'm sorry, I don't understand your meaning. "

  "The witch has such. . . shall I say. . . attractive hair. One might say beautiful, even. It is a sadness that such thick and lovely hair should be burnt up. " Matthew could not have replied even if he'd wished to, so stunned was he by this direction of thinking.

  But the woman continued on. "If the witch's hair should be washed. . . and then shorn off, on the morning of her execution. . . there are many, I would venture - who might pay for a lock of it. Think of it: the witch's hair advertised and sold as a charm of good fortune. " Her countenance seemed to brighten at the very idea of it. "It might be heralded as firm evidence of God's destruction of Evil. You see my meaning nowi"

  Still Matthew's tongue was frozen solid.

  "Yes, and I would grant you a portion of the earnings as well, " she said, mistaking his amazed expression as approval. "But I think it best if you washed and cut the hair yourself, on some pretext or another, as we wouldn't wish too many fingers in our pie. "

  He just stood there, feeling sick. "Welli" she urged. "Can we consider ourselves in companyi"

  Somehow, he turned from her and got out the door. as he walked away along Harmony Street, a cold sheen of moisture on his face, he heard the woman calling him from her doorway: "Mr. Corbetti Mr. Corbetti"

  and louder and more shrill: "Mr. Corbetti"