A Bloodsmoor Romance (12 page)

Nay, I think it probable that Malvinia's heart
was
kindly, the while her whimsical thoughts played at cruelty: and we would do best to judge this mercurial young lady by her wisest actions, rather than her careless words!—as, I believe, we should all be wished to be judged, on earth, and by Our Heavenly Father.

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 your 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

F
ate 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!”