A Bloodsmoor Romance (20 page)

Whereupon Mrs. Zinn turned a somewhat reproving face upon Octavia, for it was hardly a delicate question, and might lead to yet more unseemly questions, pertaining to the origins of the girls themselves; yet bethought herself, with some hesitation. For it had always been a tacit understanding, within the family, that the spider monkey had been a prankish wedding present, to both the bride and the groom, from one of the several young Philadelphia ladies who had been gravely wounded by John Quincy Zinn's engagement to Prudence Kidde­master—whether Miss Evangeline Ferris, or Miss Rachel Triem, or Miss Honora LeBeau, or (and this seemed most likely, to Prudence's way of thinking) poor Miss Parthenope Brownrrigg, who was fated never to marry. What a commotion Pip had caused, delivered to Kidde­master Hall on the very morning of the wedding, a spider monkey outfitted in a miniature bridegroom's frock coat, with a spray of orange blossom in his lapel! The gift was accompanied by a card that read
From an Anonymous Well-Wisher;
and so merry were the spirits, of both bride and groom alike, that they had chosen not to take offense at the prank, and not to interpret it, as some did, as a
malicious trick,
but as a
felicitous omen
—little Pip being at that time hardly more than a baby, and very appealing indeed.

Thus, Prudence had secretly believed that the creature was a gift from Miss Brownrrigg, tho' never acknowledged. But now, confronted with her child's innocent question, and having in mind (she knew not why!) some vague dim memory, o'ertinged with melancholy, and some guilt, of the eccentric Mr. Guiteau, Prudence found herself thinking hard, her brow furrowed, and her breath somewhat short.
Where did little Pip come from? And what did the gift of him mean?

It occurred to Prudence, with a flash of certitude that rocked her being, and left her quite faint, that the prankster had certainly not been one of the young Philadelphia ladies: it had been no one other than
Charles J. Guiteau.

Ah, yes! The absurd little man! The monkeyish little man!—who had known beforehand, or sensed, that John Quincy Zinn, once wed to Prudence Kidde­master, would disappear into pastoral Bloodsmoor, and into domesticity, and sacred fatherhood, and his
destiny:
never again to have time to spare for his disciple of carefree bachelor days.

Of course, Prudence thought, a blush o'ertaking her face, the gift was Guiteau's: and it was meant to insult.

“And yet,” she murmured aloud, a knotted handkerchief pressed to her heaving bosom, “and yet, as God knows,
the triumph was mine.
”

FOURTEEN

All doubt in love is swallowed, and lovelier now is she

Than a picture deftly painted by the craftsmen o'er the sea;

And her face is a rose of the morning by the night-tide framed about,

And the long-stored love of her bosom from her eyes is leaping out.

—WILLIAM MORRIS

K
now, O Reader, that, after upward of twelve months' agitation, during which time poor Prudence oft questioned herself, as to whether, in the fever of her own heart's adulation, she might not be
imagining all,
the dread impasse betwixt the young lovers was resolved!—resolved, I am happy to say, most agreeably for all, and, as Chance would merrily have it, in the very house in which Prudence had initially met her “fate.”

And, that night, Prudence knelt by her bed, in sobbing disarray, so eager to give thanks to Our Maker, for His sudden mercy, that she could barely speak: nay, it was all the weeping maiden could do, to whisper these words: “O Lord! To think that I had oft doubted You, or doubted Your love for me!—as, alas, I had, so ignorantly, doubted
his!
But will You not forgive this sinner, and bless our impending union?”

The which heartfelt plea, I cannot think but that Our Maker heard, with a most kindly ear!

 

DEEPLY SADDENED IN
her heart, as a consequence of John Quincy Zinn's most exasperating
silence,
on any matter pertaining to affection betwixt them, Prudence Kidde­master made the decision (not, I am certain, out of childish spite, or a longing for martyrdom) to betake herself to the country, that she might force her reluctant suitor to feel the pain of her absence. This action came, too, following some weeks of irascibility, lethargy, and distraction, in her classroom, and a growing repugnance for her position, as an instructrix of some repute: for, of a sudden, Miss Kidde­master bethought herself, that she did not greatly
care
whether her girl pupils learnt their Latin, and did their sums, and memorized the English kings and queens, and perfected their handwriting: nor was it any longer self-evident, that
Independence
was more valued than
Romance.

Thus, the proud young woman fled Philadelphia, for a certain space of time, accompanied by Mrs. Kidde­master (who, feeling somewhat enfeebled, as a consequence of the brusque changes in temperature, in the autumn, considered that a retirement to the country might be salubrious); and there Prudence spent some hours daily in prayer, and meditation, and the perusal of philosophical literature: such sombre volumes as Dr. Philipp's
Sacred Annotations of the Seasons,
and Mrs. Wyatt's
Dashes at Life with a Free Pencil,
and the handsome kidskin-bound
Poetical Remains of the Late Lucretia Maria Davidson,
running to some five hundred close-printed pages. It was her intention to purge herself of her morbid
love-thoughts
for John Quincy Zinn, but, alas! his presence there haunted her, as she strolled in solitary repose along the picturesque Bloodsmoor River, or encircled the gazebo, or, with an involuntary sigh, leaned far over the granite rim of the wishing well, to stare into the sepulchral depths below.

(
There
in particular she saw him, as she gazed, and blinked, and wiped a surreptitious tear from her eye: his handsome strong-boned face; his thick blond hair, and full blond beard; his declamatory voice; his impassion'd gestures. Behind the pulpit of the Cobbett Square Unitarian Church—in the company of little Guiteau—in one or another of the Philadelphia drawing rooms, in which he was so welcome—and, alas! in the company of Miss Honora LeBeau, who lifted her flowerlike face to his, in a pretense of intelligent concentration. Poor Prudence tried to summon forth an image of herself, beside his manly frame: but she could not. She tried—and could not. John Quincy Zinn loomed large, in the lightless depths of the old wishing well: but no one stood beside him.)

 

I SHALL NEVER
forgive you, John Quincy!
the hapless young lady wept.

 

IT WAS REPORTED
to Prudence that Mr. Zinn came to call, in the city, and expressed some surprise that Miss Kidde­master was not in. He inquired after her health; he inquired into the probable length of her stay, in Bloodsmoor; and, upon one occasion, left a missive for her, of substantial length—some seven handwritten pages, on inexpensive but tasteful stationery. (This document was, of course, hastily brought to Prudence, by a servant on horseback: and, Reader, you can imagine the young woman's disappointment, when, in perusing it, she discovered no words of
love, affection, esteem,
or
marital union!
but only a sort of complaint, about the Brownrriggs' treatment of him, and his pupils' lustreless imaginations, and his conviction that a true destiny might be his, if only he were free to pursue it.
Tho' God culminates in the present moment,
Mr. Zinn wrote, with, doubtless, a droll twist of his handsome lips,
it is not always evident, within the high brick walls of the Brownrrigg Academy!
)

Prudence read and reread this letter, and clutched it to her bosom, and halfway wondered—did it not contain, in its very circumspection of language, a declaration of sorts?—a confession, a plea, a proposal?—of sorts?

She then made her decision, to return to the city, unannounced, and to attend a Saturday reception at the Bayards'.
If Fate decrees that we must meet again,
Prudence wrote in her diary,
I cannot resist. I am but a plaything in the hands of God.

Upward of two hours went into the preparation of Prudence's hair, which was somewhat coarse, and lacking in natural curl or wave, but, with the adroit aid of switches, braids, combs, and velvet ribbons, it was beautifully fashioned into a new Parisian style, which very much flattered her wide forehead. A considerable space of time was required, too, for the ordeal of dressing: for Prudence's striped satin gown, of the previous season, which all the family agreed was
most
flattering, had now become somewhat tight about the midriff and bosom; and had to be let out, by one of the servants.

Yet the toilette was completed, with gratifying success; and, wearing a new satin-and-wool hat, with a comely arcing egret feather, and a long ermine scarf pressed upon her by Aunt Edwina (who knew well, I have reason to believe, the agitated heart hidden in her niece's bosom), and carrying an exquisite Japanese fan, of rainbow hues, and an ivory-handled pink silk sunshade: fortified by nothing more substantial than several cups of black China tea, and a small portion of Miss Emmeline's Remedy, and a negligible breakfast, and lunch, Miss Prudence Kidde­master stepped forth, to be taken by one of her cousins, to the Bayards' home—and thrust into her fate.

 

PRUDENCE WAS USHERED
into the Bayards' crowded drawing room, there to espy, with frightening alacrity, the object of her passion: John Quincy Zinn himself, so tall, and broad-shouldered, and husky of frame, and, it may have been, so abash'd, by society, that he stood out with prominence—nay, it seemed to Prudence, whose breath was very short, and whose heart fairly tripped, that the young gentleman stood somewhat apart from the other guests:
as if in anticipation of a new arrival.

And, unless her moisture-brimm'd eyes greatly deceived her, Mr. Zinn had bought a new frock coat for the occasion!—in itself most remarkable, being of a very dark blue, and skillfully tailored, unlike the near-shapeless preacher's coat he commonly wore. And, too, he had exchanged his greasy cravat for a new tie; and wore a pale gray waistcoat; and—

Of a sudden, the gentleman's head turned, and his eyes fell upon Prudence, with so swift and, as it were, unlook'd-to, a potency, that the breathless young woman could not help but step backward, and clutch at her strained bosom. Across the agreeably murmurous room, the lovers exchanged a look of such intricacy, in Prudence's assessment, that, in her very dawning triumph, she felt a kind of despair, that she might never comprehend him, nor the untrammeled mystery of Romance!

Prudence saw how
alarm,
and
guilt,
and
apprehension,
and
love,
flowed most rapidly across John Quincy's reddening face; she saw how his eyes shone; and his movement to step forward, that he might approach her, tho' so many ladies and gentlemen separated them. She was too astonished, being greeted by that expression of naked
love,
to turn aside, in confus'd modesty; and is to be excused, I hope, if she remained stock-still, staring at her belovèd.

And then, a most inexplicable event occurred: Prudence gasped, and lost consciousness, and, before any startled gentleman could impede her fall, she sank swooning to the carpet.

So it happened that Mr. Zinn, in great haste, made his way to her, calling her name, and fairly tearing at his hair, in his consternation. With no mind for how all gaped at him, he knelt boldly above her; and lifted her somewhat, so that her helpless back rested against his knee; and ah! how his manly voice rang, with alarm, and startl'd love, for all to hear: “My dear Prudence! My love! Oh, do awaken, Prudence! O my belovèd!”

I understand not the paradox of the stricken young woman's mental state: that she was
unconscious,
and yet, to some degree,
conscious.
All unresisting, with no more muscular volition than a dressmaker's dummy—and yet, at the same time, was she not capable of
seeing,
through her shut, flushed eyelids, and
hearing,
with more than ordinary acuity?

John Quincy Zinn continued, the while, to address her, in a veritable paroxysm of tenderness, tears now starting out of his eyes, and his broad-boned face ashen-white. “My dear, my love, oh, my bride! Do awaken, dear Prudence! You shall not come to harm!” Thus the stricken gentleman spoke, as Prudence's pretty feathered hat unpinned itself, and fell slowly, and with an exquisite grace, from her head, and to the carpet below. All this while, Prudence was awake, yet in a swoon; she saw and heard everything, yet could not respond, not even to assure her lover that she was out of danger, tho' it racked her heart, to see his agitation.

(I hope I will not prejudice the reader, against Prudence, by stating that it was well for all concerned, not excluding future generations, of Kidde­masters, that the o'erwrought young woman
did not
enjoy the free use of her arms, at this crucial moment: for I do not consider it an exaggeration, to say that she would have, in full view of the astonish'd assemblage,
entwined her arms about Mr. Zinn's neck; and united herself to him, in a willful ecstasy of love, quite uninform'd by maidenly hesitation, or moral rectitude.
)

Fortunately, Prudence could move neither her arms, nor her nether limbs, so the grave danger passed. It seemed, the while her lover leaned over her, that the scene was ablaze with light, and a thousand angels' voices melodically sounded, in an orison of triumph: and, with that preternatural sharpness of vision, upon which I have commented, she was able to see, past John Quincy Zinn's head, the exquisite stenciled ceiling of the drawing room, at which she had never gazed with especial interest, in the past; and to rejoice in the aesthetic harmony, of the cloud, vine, and pomegranate designs which, skillfully coupled with the rich turquoise of the background, summoned forth the remarkable effect of the out-of-doors, and of the sky, as if the lovers were alone together, in some wild, natural place, in Tuscany, perhaps, or in some unnamed glen, or glade, or declivity, in the ruder region of Bloodsmoor itself!