A Bloodsmoor Romance (73 page)

After a strained pause, during which time Cheyney sipped at his glass of sherry, one hand steadying the other as the glass was brought to his lips, and Samantha, standing immobile, allowed her green gaze to dart about the room—retreating, at once, when it met that of Great-Aunt Edwina, who was watching her quite overtly—Mr. Du Pont inquired of Samantha whether she visited New York City at all: and Samantha replied in a courteous and well-bred voice, that, unfortunately, she did
not.

“Nor shall I,” Cheyney said, sighing. Unconsciously he had begun to scratch at the red flaking skin about his mouth; and small scales fell liberally, with a deleterious effect upon his elegant black jacket. “I am, they have probably told you,” he drawled, with an almost disrespectful wag of his head, in the direction of his elders, “home in Bloodsmoor for good.” His puffy-lidded eyes so contracted, Samantha feared he was about to burst into tears: but, on the contrary, he began to laugh quietly. “
For good,
as they say. Which may be interpreted in one way, or in the other; or in both. ‘For good' in the sense of being permanent; ‘for
good
' in the self-evident sense. Of course I am altogether happy that Providence has arranged it so,” he said, his bloated chin creasing as, in deference to Samantha, or in mockery thereof, he attempted a clumsy bow, all the while laughing and giggling quietly, so that his soft body quivered, “and that I have the honor of meeting you again, Miss Zinn. And this time, I trust it shall turn out properly: you shall not run off: in your balloon or whatever. Or was it—” he said, an infantile bewilderment o'ercoming his countenance—“or was it on horseback, eloping with that blackguard actor—with whom my honor obliged me to duel, but my natural good sense—and my cowardice—instructed me otherwise: nor was the whore worth it. But excuse me, Miss,” he said, blinking and staring. “You seem to be return'd to me: and much smaller this time, and, so they have promised, much easier to manage: and this time,” he said, with a heaving, spasmodic fit of silent laughter, “
you shall not escape.
And we shall see, Miss Zinn, what prodigious issue shall spring from our—union.”

At which point Samantha, tho' having always judged herself a strong-willed individual, given to no foolish female weaknesses, quickly raised her fan to her lips, and, opening it wide, stared with affrightèd green eyes at her companion's merry face.

 

“HE IS AN
altogether agreeable young gentleman,” Mrs. Zinn said to her youngest daughter, the very next morning, “rather more subdued in spirit than I recall; and quite the better for it, your Aunt Edwina and I think. In the old days, provok'd, no doubt, by your departed sister, Mr. Du Pont disported himself in almost too exuberant a virile manner: and, I am bound to think, pressed upon that hussy illicit notes and gifts, if I dared believe the servants' tongue-wagging. The which, my dear, I hope
you
will resist: for no gentleman can respect you, who sees that you accept favors from him, before the banns are officially announced. Your father and I noted too,” Mrs. Zinn said, her voice deepening as if to confront her daughter's protestations, “an altogether pleasant hygienic air about Mr. Du Pont, an uncommon
immaculateness,
both of body and of linen; the consequence, it may be, of his vigorous regimen, and a renewed asceticism. That Mr. Du Pont will not only make an excellent, upstanding, and altogether gentlemanly husband for some very fortunate young lady, but provide also an invaluable opportunity for the generous exercise of
Christian love and charity,
I do not doubt: such love, and such charity, being not inordinately exercised by your generation, in these atheistical times.”

Mrs. Zinn having delivered herself of this speech, which, conveyed thusly, in cold print, cannot suggest the maternal warmth which emanated from it, she then drew herself up to her full height, so as to best confront her red-haired daughter's response: and was greatly surprised, and not a little disconcerted, by Samantha's slow, hesitant, benumbed voice, and the just faintly perceptible trembling of her lips.

“I know you are right, Mother,” Samantha said, “tho' my heart wishes it were otherwise: for, in truth—in truth—” she murmured, faltering, “I had hoped not to marry at all, but to remain here at home, with you, and dearest Father, and—and—simply to continue as I have been: your daughter Samantha, and Father's most trusted associate. I had hoped,” the moist-eyed girl continued, a becoming blush spreading across her cheeks, “I had hoped to remain a maiden, all the days of my life.”

Mrs. Zinn was so moved by this speech that, forgetting her usual composure, and the whalebone armor that restrained her bosom, she reached out to embrace her daughter: and folded her in her arms, all the while comforting her, and half weeping, and then, indeed, truly weeping, for Samantha's meek words had quite penetrated her heart, and for a brief poignant moment she realized all that it imported: she should lose forever not only sweet Samantha, but her
last daughter.

So mother and daughter embraced, and exchanged tearful words of endearment, and Mrs. Zinn surrendered Samantha to Cheyney Du Pont, and to Christian charity; and Samantha, her cheeks streaming with tears, espied little Pip over her mother's shoulder, there in the doorway, in the midst of scrambling nimbly upward against gravity—and spider monkey and young lady exchanged a long, level, unblinking, uncanny stare, the nature of which I am no more able to define, than to countenance.

 

IT MAY HAVE
been that Mrs. Zinn, thinking more calmly, and with more native suspicion, upon Samantha's unlook'd-for acquiescence, believed that another step must be taken; or, it may have been that the good woman, succumbing to a pang of regret, that someone—that is, poor Nahum Hareton—must be injured, in these new developments, came to a sudden decision that he should be addressed: in any case, not three days after this heartrending scene, a manservant brought a letter to Nahum, as he sat dallying in the sunshine above the gorge, attended by a subdued Samantha (surprised in the act of pouring tea into his cup, as the servant approached): and, tearing the envelope open, with shaking fingers, the youth announced that it was a
summons from Mrs. Zinn.

The young lovers' eyes snatched guiltily at each other, and for a long terrible moment neither could speak.

Then Nahum said: “Your mother wishes an audience with me, Samantha; and I must go.”

Samantha pressed a small pale hand against her forehead, half shutting her eyes, yet did not allow herself to stagger, or to exhibit any further sign of weakness. In a low calm voice she said: “Yes. You must go. But do not allow the dragon to devour you alive.”

“Samantha!” Nahum exclaimed. “She is your mother, after all—how can you speak of her thusly?”

“She is not my mother, but a dragon,” Samantha said slowly, “tho' I shall not contest the point, at the present time: indeed, I have no great interest in debating the issue. You must go, and you shall: and, I implore you, do not allow her to devour you. And all will be well.”

“Alas—
will
it?” Nahum asked. He looked from the face of his belovèd, which, from having gone deathly pale a scant moment before, was now regaining its color, to the stiff importunate missive in his fingers; and back to Samantha's face again, with a most piteous expression upon his own, the which might well rend my heart, were this guilty couple not acting both in defiance of the elder Zinns, and of propriety in general. (Indeed, I am not in full possession of the knowledge—and have no desire to be so—of when, precisely, and in what outlaw circumstances, these two
confessed
their feeling for each other: but such is the startling intimacy of this scene, that I am led to conclude that a confession of sorts must have occurred, however “innocent,” in a carnal sense, the two remain.) “Samantha, my dear,
will
it?” Nahum whispered.

“We must trust in God,” Samantha said, a faint line appearing betwixt her delicate eyebrows, “and in our own ratiocinative powers, which are, I do believe, at least the equal of poor Mother's: for she is, you know,
poor, impoverished,
in both heart and in spirit, and cannot do us a great deal of harm, once we elude her. The sole danger, dear Nahum,” the brazen miss said softly, laying her hand upon his, in an extraordinary gesture of comradeship, and blatant public intimacy, “the sole danger is that Mother will so mercilessly interrogate you, as to cause you to reveal our situation—not in actual words, for you are too clever for that, but in emotion, for you are too honest, and know nothing of prevarication.”

“I shall do my best to compose myself,” Nahum said, and, with a stealthy glance toward the doorway of the workshop, a distance of some fifteen or twenty yards thither, dared to squeeze Samantha's fingers in his; and then abruptly released them. A dazed frightened smile warmed his sober countenance. “To compose myself, and to reveal nothing: tho', I must confess, your mother does in fact terrify me, as your father could never.”

“Nay, you are too generous,” Samantha said, with a bitter little laugh, “for surely you have noted the
apparent reluctance,
and the
actual fervor,
with which Father has capitulated to that offer from Congress?
She
is terrifying, yes—but so is
he
—in the alacrity of his surrender—in the very ingenuity with which he has approached the project: considering and discarding, early on, all the ‘humane' measures of execution that would involve no mechanism, and hence no genius. Nay, hush,” the half-angered girl commanded, “do not defend my father to
me.
I was his first human experiment, and shall not have been his last. An
electric bed,
indeed! And the miserable felon to be strapped to it, in full consciousness, no doubt, and high-voltage A.C. to be directed through his being! And Father murmurs of Justice, and Law, and Sacrifice, and Patriotism, and all that he owes to this great nation, and the remarkable kindness of the Senators—nay, my dear, do
not
interrupt, you are
not
obliged to defend any Zinns or Kidde­masters to me—and it is only his current want of materials, and the delay in the honorarium, that keep us from witnessing God alone knows what ‘necessary' experiments, here in this sacred place! No, each is terrifying, Nahum, in his own way: indeed, all of Bloodsmoor terrifies me. So you must approach Mother with caution, my dear, or not at all.”

Nahum was staring most intently at his young lady, during this wild, indeed incoherent, speech; but I know not whether her demented words most absorbed him, or the ruddy blush on her cheeks. All transfixed he was, for an uncanny moment, as if—God help us!—he were about to utter the crudest words of outright love, or move to fold the impetuous girl in his arms, and place a searing kiss upon her audacious lips. But at this moment the sunshine was eclipsed, and then quite obscured, by a massive rain cloud; and the lovers stood staring at each other, as if locked invisibly together, with no notion of what had happened, or what was to come.

Silence brimmed between them. Minutes sped past, with the weight of hours, or days. And finally Nahum bestirred himself: “Or not at all?” he echoed.

Samantha, clad in her weekday calico, an old woollen shawl about her shoulders, could not prevent herself from shivering, with anticipation, or with the damp chill that eased upward from the depths of the gorge: and smiled queerly at her lover. “Or not at all,” she said. “For, you know, there is no power on earth that forces you to obey her summons—just as there is no power on earth that forces me to remain here, as the last of the Zinn daughters.”

“And yet,” Nahum said quickly, “you would break their hearts if—if you left with no warning.”

“How else is there to leave,” Samantha said as quickly, with a brave, nervous little smile, “except with no warning?”

Nahum solemnly folded the missive from the Octagonal House, and would have slipped it into his breast pocket, had not wicked Samantha snatched it out of his fingers, and torn it swiftly in two, and let the pieces flutter over the cliff's edge, and down into the mist-obscured depths of the gorge.

“Samantha!” Nahum exclaimed. He adjusted his wire-framed glasses, as if to peer sternly at her; but his gaze eased away, guiltily, and slyly. No one stood in the doorway of the cabin-workshop, and no one observed from out the window: the lovers were alone. John Quincy Zinn, immersed in his work, was oblivious to them as always; and the aging Pip, coiled asleep near his master, had not the faintest notion of the sin that blossomed in the lovers' hearts.

Fingers of mist rose silently from the ravine, and where innocent sunlight had rayed, but a brief while ago, now the bare flat rocks stretched bleak and expectant.

“It is true, I confess, that your mother intimidates me,” Nahum said quietly, “and your father as well. They are giants, Samantha!—giants in a child's dream.”

“Yes,” Samantha said. “But we must wake from that dream.”

“Am I a coward, Samantha, to fear her?” Nahum asked. “And to fear
him?
Tho' I love him as well.”

“You are no coward,” Samantha said, wrapping her shawl tightly about her shoulders, as if in preparation for a journey. “You are brave, and wise, and gentle.”

“Shall we marry, then?” Nahum asked in a quavering voice. “When we are out of here?—when we are free?”

“I know not about
marriage,
” Samantha said, her pert upper lip curling, as if the word gave her no pleasure. “I have all I can manage, to contemplate
love.
”

And, so exclaiming, the bold young woman seized both her lover's hands, and urged him forward, to stand at the very edge of the ravine, where the damp chill mist grew thicker with every minute. They may have exchanged further words—I do not doubt that they did—but the words were lost to me, and, stricken with revulsion as I am, I cannot wish to retrieve them.