'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 go?'
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 not?' 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 Town?'
''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. 'Cherise? Dearest? 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: 'Cherise? 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. Corbett? 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. Corbett?' 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 experience?'
'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 understand? Well, I'm sure you must have had a reason. Did you see him treating a horse with less than affection?'
'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 perfectionists?' 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. Corbett?'
'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 plate?'
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
