A Bloodsmoor Romance Read online

  Thus, on the very day of Miss Deirdre Zinn’s forcible abduction, from Kidde­master Hall, it happened that Malvinia, acting all spontaneously, made a gesture of considerable charity, in which sisterly concern toward Deirdre was not lacking: with such very mixed results, none of which might have been foretold, that one is forced to marvel at the ironical circumstances, and to puzzle over the nature of cosmic irony, and tragedy, so rigorously explored by the ancients, of Attic renown, though wisely banish’d in more enlightened centuries, with the coming of Our Redeemer.

  For was it not ironical, and was it not pitiable, that Malvinia, moving perhaps against the grain of her own sentiment, should, all unwittingly, have caused the darksome rift betwixt herself and Deirdre to widen all the more? With the unpleasant effect we have already seen, exhibited in the gazebo, and quite shocking to all witnesses: I mean the articulated cruelty of Malvinia, in speaking so explicitly of dowries, and of four Zinn girls, and then five.

  Inexcusable behavior, on the part of a Miss Zinn, yet explicable, I think, on these grounds: for, not an hour before the handsome Kidde­master brougham was due to arrive, at the Octagonal House, to take the Zinns to the Hall, Malvinia’s eye fell upon Deirdre; and she could not prevent herself from exclaiming aloud, in exasperation, and amus’d pity, that the lady’s maid, Chantal, had taken so little pains with Deirdre, the while she, and the other female servants, had fussed over Constance Philippa, and Octavia, and Samantha, and of course Malvinia! that they might strike all eyes as splendid young ladies.

  It was with some genuine anger, then, that Malvinia pronounced Deirdre’s hair style impossible: what could the lazy Chantal have been thinking of, and why had not Octavia taken note, or Mrs. Zinn?—for it was unfortunate enough that Deirdre’s hair, being so remarkably dark, should lack lustre; why then fashion it into ungainly rouleaux over the top of her head, so that the sixteen-year-old girl actually resembled elderly Great-Aunt Narcissa Gilpin! “Nay, this will not do,” Malvinia said briskly. “You will march back upstairs with me, Deirdre, and I shall dress your hair, and make amends for this shocking negligence.”

  The shy, abash’d girl naturally expressed surprise, and alarm, and reluctance, scarce daring to meet Malvinia’s scornful eye, as she protested that Chantal’s handiwork was adequate enough, for her: for she could not imagine (this but rapidly murmured) that anyone should wish to gaze upon her, in any case, throughout the afternoon.

  “A nonsensical thought,” Malvinia curtly said, “for, tho’ your début lies in the future, it would be a most naïve intelligence, indeed, that fails to see you as marriageable, in truth, as any of us. And you must learn to take pity,” Malvinia now gaily spoke, forcibly leading the recalcitrant miss back upstairs, “upon those of us, of either sex, who will happen to gaze upon you, during the course of the afternoon.”

  Thus Deirdre’s feeble protestations were warmly overruled, and, with somewhat pained demeanor, she submitted to her sister’s ministrations; and seemed also to concur in Malvinia’s pronouncement that she must lay aside her cotton gloves, and wear instead a very pretty pair, made of fine Flemish lace, that Malvinia had tired of; and try on a white satin hat, with enormous green cockades, that Malvinia had worn once or twice, and deemed too distracting, for her own complexion, yet which might suit Deirdre very well.

  All the while, Malvinia was working with remarkable skill, employing her own ivory-backed hairbrush, and a crimping iron, and Mrs. Penwick’s Oil of Cathay Pomade, and several false braids, and a great quantity of hairpins, of divers sizes: the scene being the small but cozy dressing room, shared by Malvinia and Octavia.

  “You are, in truth, a pretty girl,” Malvinia spiritedly declared, “and it is yet to be discovered, how very pretty you might be: if only you do not foolishly resist.”

  Malvinia quite enjoyed herself, brushing her sister’s long dark tresses, which frizzed and crackled with static electricity, and gave off flashes of extraordinary hues—now a very deep black, now an iridescent brown, now auburn; and weighed agreeably heavy in the hand, being of a considerable length, falling well to the girl’s slim hips. From time to time Deirdre winced, as the brush encountered surprising snarls, but Malvinia did not pause in her exertions, for the carriage would soon arrive, and they must be off. “Waves—curls—indeed, a row of curls—and feathery bangs—and ringlets—and once or two of these braids—and mother-of-pearl combs—and cloth rosebuds: and the very prettiest hat we can find, discreetly fitted on top, not large, yet not foolishly small either,” Malvinia murmured. “Ah, I shall make you presentable yet!—so do hold still, and hush.”

  Malvinia’s industry, now witnessed by Octavia, and one of the servant girls, was all the more remarkable, and generous, in that this splendid young lady had been fitted earlier into her new white mousseline-de-laine dress, finished but a scant twelve hours earlier, by Madame Blanchet of Philadelphia: and how lovely, and how patrician, she looked! Her exquisite gown had been patterned in accord with the latest dictates of fashion, possessing a high-necked bodice, which fitted the wearer tight as a glove; and innumerable layers of wondrously light, near-transparent fabric; and yard upon yard of ruched and pleated flounces; and ruffles of silky blonde lace; and pink velvet ribbons. Despite her stiff corset, which made the normal intake of breath somewhat difficult, Malvinia succeeded in carrying herself with the grace of a summer’s wisp of cloud; nor did her weight of apparel—some twenty-odd pounds, of skirts, crinolines, and train—have any more effect upon her, than an intermittent shortness of breath, and a numbed sensation in certain areas of her body, the which are too negligible to mention. (Indeed, it may be recorded here that lissome Malvinia was the envy of her elder sisters, and many of her female cousins, in that, despite the weight and burdensome warmth of her attire, she but very rarely betrayed any sign of that unfortunate symptom of corporeal heat called perspiration; and if, at times, strength so rapidly left her, that she sank into a swoon, it was never with less than lithesome grace, that she fell, into a chair, or into a gentleman’s arms.)

  The minutes passed, and Malvinia’s fingers lightly worked, fashioning now curls, and now ringlets: ringlets being precisely what Deirdre’s rather narrow face required: and how felicitous an opportunity, to disguise, by means of feathery puffs of bangs, that unsightly widow’s peak! For this feature, whilst contributing to Malvinia’s beauty, did not add greatly to Deirdre’s, but rather enhanced her discomfiting air of the feral, and the nocturnal, and the unnatural.

  Deirdre shyly protested that, in truth, she did not like ringlets: they tickled her, and made her want to sneeze.

  Malvinia bade her hush, and assured her that ringlets would quite transform her appearance.

  Nor did she like such a quantity of bangs, across her brow.

  Nay, Malvinia laughingly insisted, but she must hush; for it was painfully clear, that she knew very little about such things. “Am I not correct?” Malvinia inquired of the small gathering behind her, consisting now of Constance Philippa, as well as Octavia and the servant girl. “Does she not look far better, already?”

  Some twenty or more minutes of brisk hairdressing activity having ensued, involving brushing, and combing, and crimping, and braiding, and twisting, and curling, and puffing, and oiling, and employing a goodly number of hairpins, Malvinia then stepped back, panting slightly, in triumph, and eyed her creation, and met, in the mirroring glass, Deirdre’s gaze, for an instant penetrating her own. “Ah!—now look!” Malvinia murmured. “Only look: are you not presentable, indeed?”

  She pressed upon Deirdre a hand mirror, and, with a show of reluctance, Deirdre took it, and examined her hair from both sides, and from the back, her eyes widening at first with some surprise: for Malvinia had affixed a remarkable profusion of cloth rosebuds, and very pretty they were, to the back of her head; and the ringlets were somewhat excessive, though altogether charming, and skillfully executed.

  “Well, Deirdre,” Malvinia said, with but a hint of impatience, “we are all awaiting yo
ur judgment: tell us what you see.”

  Deirdre slowly moved the hand mirror from side to side; and raised it above her head, so that she might see, from yet another angle, the effect of Malvinia’s extraordinary handiwork. She then peered into the larger mirror, her pallid cheeks now coloring, as a consequence, no doubt, of the unusual amount of attention lavished upon her. Yet her silence grew more prolonged; her forehead lightly furrowed; her lips pursed themselves in an expression very close to disdain.

  “Do tell us what you see, if you will be so kind,” Malvinia said, still somewhat scant of breath, and her own cheeks prettily flushed.

  At last Deirdre moved herself to speak, in a voice so low and murmurous one might have concluded it was meant to insult, in that the speaker could not trouble herself to raise her voice, in courtesy; and these were the words that, all astonishingly, fell upon the ears of the listeners: “What do I see? I see a clown; a fool; a bewigged doll; a poppet; a marionette; a manikin; a most garishly prepared young lady, not at all different from the rest. I see, in short, no one I recognize, or care to know.”

  SEVEN

  Fate would have it that Samantha, and not Deirdre, would be the first to sight the outlaw balloon, as it soared across the river, fairly low, and close to skimming the tops of those hoary old oaks, which majestically lined the shore opposite the Kidde­master estate—Deirdre being so sunk in an inscrutable, nay, morbid, reverie, that, standing on the bank of the river, her head bowed, her figure motionless, she failed not only to see the horrific vision, as it emerged from out the elysian autumnal sky, but also to hear its extraordinary sound: an uncanny, harsh, diabolical hissing.

  In truth, I believe it the case that Samantha’s remarkably keen eyes had, all unknowing, taken note of something peculiar in the eastern sky, a rain cloud, perhaps—or was it an oddly shaped column of smoke or a funnel of dust-laden air?—the which pricked her curiosity only idly, for she was fatigued by the afternoon’s social demands, and by the most unfortunate strain that had arisen amongst her sisters and herself, for which she blamed Malvinia. (Though she could not think very well of Constance Philippa; or even of Octavia and herself, since they had failed to rectify the situation, and had made no move to hurry after the haughty Deirdre. Ah, that exasperating child!)

  Thus it was, that Samantha, already agitated and impatient, as a consequence of the words exchanged, and the sweltering weight of her clothing, saw the black silken balloon appear, of a sudden, and heard its eerie intake of breath, and saw, or, at any rate, felt a peculiar conviction that the monstrous apparition had come for her sister: and was for some moments so stricken with astonishment, and so doubting of the evidence of her own eyes, that, unhappily, she froze in her place—and could cry out no warning.

  Alas, how very different a chronicle this might be, and how spared of sorrow and ignoble shame, the elder Zinns, if Samantha had had her wits about her at this crucial time!—for it was, in fact, not altogether characteristic of her, to register stunn’d incredulity, as to the certainty of her own keen senses; and to sit, meek, with the helpless passivity, of a lady.

  Of course the astounded girl did finally rouse herself, and wake from her entrancement, to cry, “Deirdre—! Oh, Deirdre, take care!”—but, by the time these words were uttered, the hellish thing was so close upon Deirdre, no human agent could have saved her from her fate.

  THE WHILE THE balloon had been steadily approaching its destination, above picturesque hills of both farmland and woodland, and crickets had begun their merry nocturnal music, in anticipation of dusk, Samantha sat o’erwarm and fretting, a sandalwood fan in her hand, which she opened and closed restively, half hoping she might break, for it would have given her a childish pleasure to discard the thing, in a temper: the fan, for all its charm, being a hand-me-down, in any case, from one of the elder female Kidde­masters.

  Unhappy Samantha! Impatient Samantha! She was quite vexed, by the weight of her comely hat, which was made of green satin, and had an elaborate tulle bow, that tied somewhat scratchily beneath her chin; vexed, too, by the damp warmth of her skirts, and petticoats, and crinolines, and cotton stockings; and the ungiving solidity of her corset. Most of all, perhaps, she was vexed with herself, for whilst she stared after Deirdre’s retreating figure, and felt some considerable measure of guilt, and regret, for all that had transpired, nevertheless she had made no effort to follow after Deirdre; and had not even troubled to call after her, some words of comfort or sympathy.

  “What a wretch it is, despite her Sunday clothes!” Malvinia murmured, vigorously fanning herself, “so exaggerated in her motions, and so common: behaving thusly, I do believe, in order to humiliate her family, in the eyes of the Kidde­master servants!”

  “Malvinia, you are extreme,” Samantha feebly protested. “You are mistaken; and very cruel.”

  “And you are a silly little chit,” Malvinia said.

  Whereupon Constance Philippa, as the eldest, irritably interposed: and bade them both be still, for her head ached most violently, and she feared she might run mad, for all this female chatter and female quarreling and female nonsense.

  So the four sisters sat in the gazebo, fanning themselves, their veiled faces o’erheated, and their hearts sullenly beating, with emotions not entirely sisterly, at this time.

  Samantha silently concurred with Constance Philippa, for such scenes, occurring from time to time amongst the Zinn girls (particularly when no elders were near), struck her as both ignoble and unnecessary; and distracting from serious thought. Gossip, and idle words, and contentious exchanges, and tears, and injur’d feelings, and cruel laughter, and jeering smiles; and forgiving, and embracing, and more copious weeping; and so the days, and the years, passed.

  Samantha’s pale green gaze followed after Deirdre, and unbeknownst to herself she loudly sighed, and snapped her fan shut, the while thinking, I wish—ah, how I wish!—I know not what.

  From the point in time, in which this history of the Zinns is transcribed, it is difficult for me to say, with certainty, which of the young ladies, after Deirdre, presented Mrs. Zinn with the most worrisome thoughts: yet I believe it to have been Samantha, who, tho’ small-boned, and delicate of features, and, with her luxuriant red hair, fairylike to the eye, nonetheless experienced grave difficulties, in comporting herself with grace, in social situations.

  Malvinia said of her, to the others: “How is it that Samantha’s skin is so milky-pale, and smooth, I much prefer it to my own; and her upturned nose, so delightful; and her eyes that cold piercing green; and her hair, ah!—that ravishing hair!—which, indeed, I much prefer to my own: and yet, withal, the child is sadly plain as a tin spoon; and cannot hope to attract any gentleman who is not, himself, decidedly homely.”

  Cruel words, yet not greatly mistaken: for it was the case, as all attested, that Miss Samantha Zinn’s features, whilst attractive individually, yet did not resolve themselves into that enigma, Beauty.

  Nor did it help that she had freckles, on her forehead in particular; and that, all unconsciously, she oft gnawed at her lower lip, as if tumultuous thoughts, not unlike those of her father’s, ceaselessly tormented her brain, and urged her to take pen to paper. (“Samantha would be quite attractive,” Octavia said, in exasperation, “if only she was not always thinking!”) Allowed to work alongside Mr. Zinn, in the laboratory, Samantha was evidently quite at ease, and perfectly absorbed in her labor: at other times, and especially at social functions, she was visibly unnerved, and distracted, and very far from being agreeable company. Mrs. Craik’s gentle observation, in one of her pieces in The Ladies’ Wreath, that gentlemen are naturally discomfited by an excess of ratiocination, in the weaker sex, might have benefited this awkward young miss, had she troubled to seek it. But of course she failed to do so: the books she studied, all out of Mr. Zinn’s own library, were very different indeed.

  Constance Philippa observed of her, grimly, that she would, one day, grow up, and become a lady: for had she any choice?

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; It is hardly surprising, given these impediments, that Miss Samantha Zinn succeeded in intimidating those few suitors who cared to approach her: attracted initially by her petite figure, and the vivacity of which, at times, she showed herself capable, these gentlemen were soon discountenanced by her awkwardness at drawing-room repartee, and the unseemly enthusiasm with which she blundered into discussing scientific subjects, and other matters, of a masculine type, beyond her comprehension.

  For there were times—indeed, on the night of her own debutante ball!—when, all unprovok’d, Samantha might begin to chatter excitedly about her father’s great work, her eyes shining, and her tongue tripping over itself, with a childlike boastfulness: in which, unfortunately, there was not a whit of Mr. Zinn’s intrinsic modesty, or sense of proportion. She was quite proud, for instance, that her father had assigned to her, for improvement, his ingenious spring-stirrup: this being a special device with which Mr. Zinn had tinkered thanklessly during the War years, for the employment of the United States Cavalry. (The stirrup was equipped with a clever spring mechanism, of Mr. Zinn’s invention, which would automatically release the foot of a rider, if he was thrown or shot from his horse; for the greatest danger in such situations was that one might be dragged to his death, by a maddened steed. Many a time John Quincy Zinn, then a lowly private in the 103rd Pennsylvania Volunteers, had sought to demonstrate the efficacy of this shrewd invention, for his commanding officer, and, upon a singular occasion, for General McClellan himself: these efforts being, alas, greeted with no success, and resulting in several injuries to John Quincy, including lacerations of the face and head, and a fractured collarbone.)

  On the very night of Samantha’s debutante ball, held in the elegant cream-and-gold Federal room of Kidde­master Hall, with its eight lithesome Doric columns, and its splendid coffered ceiling, Samantha all unwittingly offended one gentleman after another, with her excitable chatter on these unseemly subjects. She did present a charming sight, with her tiny waist, delicate frame, and resplendent costume (a particularly full dress of pale lilac satin and brocade, adorned with innumerable flounces, ribbons, flowers, and Spanish lace, and looped up most becomingly with red and white camellias, this being shrewdly made over from a Worth design of Cousin Felicity Broome’s, worn to her own debutante ball some seasons previous): yet, alas, what did it matter, if she chose to speak of inappropriate things?