A Bloodsmoor Romance (82 page)

Deirdre slightly recoiled from these unexpected words, and so great was her astonishment, her customary mask of meek, resigned, and ofttimes
ecstatic
serenity gave way, of a sudden, to an expression of near-indefinable complexity: alarm, and anger, and defiance, and childlike curiosity, tumultuously admixed.

“Dr. Stoughton, your words are most peculiar indeed,” she said forthrightly, “and I really must acknowledge that they
do
offend. That the Spiritualist profession is not suited for any young lady, is hardly a premise I grant; yet I find it more presumable, than your impertinent statement that it is not suited for
me.
”

Dr. Stoughton bent his gaze upon her, with a look of profound contemplation and searching inquiry, his manly brown eyes narrowing, but for a half-second, at the petite damsel's response. (For the gentleman was accustom'd, I would imagine, to frightened feminine submission, and acquiescence in all matters, in his professional practice.) He then said, in a seriousness that was informed by some humility, and with a small grave smile of his handsome lips: “My dear Deirdre, I risked offense by speaking so boldly, and yet I cannot regret it: for I was gripped upon awaking this morning—nay, upon the very first sight of you, some weeks ago—with an altogether queer, and yet not unpleasant, sense of my being an instrument, a means, a vessel, a
medium,
if you will!—entrusted with the utterly simple obligation of informing you all that I have said, and more, if you will condescend to hear.”

Deirdre made a faint motion, as if to arise; but sank back in her chair, quite pale, save for a feeble rosy glow about her cheeks. “Dr. Stoughton,” she said, “you honor me by this interest: yet I cannot agree with your assessment, that it is
not unpleasant.
I find it very odd indeed, stemming from one of your professional caliber, and entrusted, as you are, with the presidency of your Society—the unfortunate Dr. Dodd being, I have gathered, now retired.”

“You may indeed find it odd, Deirdre,” Dr. Stoughton said, speaking always with a studied and delicate formality, as he pronounced her name (for he could not address her as “Miss Deirdre,” nor as “Deirdre of the Shadows”—an abominable appellation, I have always thought), “but no less odd than I find it. Yet I hardly exaggerate my conviction that I alone have been entrusted with this advice: believing, as I have reason to, that those with whom you are associated at present, and those with whom you have been associated, until very recently (I refer of course to the notorious Countess Blavatsky), would not offer it to you, their interest in your career having the weight of a decided
investment.
”

“I scarce comprehend your language, Dr. Stoughton,” Deirdre said palely, “but pray continue: I would not interrupt.”

“My meaning is, I hope, not obscured by any ambiguity in
my
motives,” Dr. Stoughton said, as a singularly painful expression passed over his countenance, “for I, as the new President of the Society, am obliged to welcome you into our midst, and to invite you to any and all occasions—whether of a professional, or a social, nature—the Society has cause to sponsor; and it would be contrary to my own interest, as it is to the Society's, to suggest that you put all this behind you, and retire to another mode of life altogether.”

Faint mocking laughter sounded, as indistinct as thunder erupting a great distance away, beneath the earthly horizon: the laughter of
Zachariah,
it may have been: but it shaded at once into Deirdre's own, in which she indulged but for a moment or two, her pale countenance betraying no mirth. “That I have been
chosen
from birth, and consequently
will-less,
is as much an aspect of my being, Dr. Stoughton, as these hands—and this face—and this hair—and this physiognomical curiosity called a widow's peak,” she said in a low breathless voice. “So, should it interest a gentleman of the scientific profession, like yourself, the experiment of defining myself against, or in opposition to, my very nature, would not only result in disaster: but would, I believe, be an impossibility. The terms of my contract on the earthly plane are such that, I would not
be
here, in this very chair, had I not this particular
being
—the which, I gather, you find so very disagreeable.”

“Not at all, Miss Deirdre—I mean, Deirdre—not at all, not at all,” the startl'd gentleman stammered, as, continuing to gaze upon her face, he seemed near-o'ercome with the brave insolence of her eyes, in which myriad fiery rays, of a possibly preternatural origin, converged into a burning focus. “You are hardly disagreeable, in any of your selves; you simply could not be so! I refer, instead, tho' dismayed of the difficulty I am having, in making my meaning clear, only to your professional employment of yourself, in Spiritualist circles, under the moral and worldly guidance of no guardian, whom I am able to discern at the present time—
that
is what my clumsy words sought to express, and that is
all.
”

“Yet it is a great deal, sir,” Deirdre said with a semblance of calm.

Rising suddenly from his chair, and beginning to pace about, as if in inordinate anxiety, Dr. Stoughton murmured almost brokenly: “My conviction is,
I alone am obliged to offer you succor.
And yet, if you do not wish it—! And yet, if I am mistaken—! It would be, I fear, an unforgivable transgression on my part, the more intensified, perhaps, by my professional qualifications, and my subsequent
pretensions
to wisdom. For, clearly, you are one of the most gifted ‘mediums' of
all
time, as well as being, I hardly need inform you, without parallel in this country, at
this
time; and why should you not employ yourself, as you wish? Why should you not be swept up in the frenzy of others' demands, so long as they constitute a reasonable—I should think it a
most
reasonable—means of livelihood? Ah, I know not! I know not!” the distraught young man said, his face now ashen pale, and his eyes snatching at Deirdre's, as if to measure the degree of her revulsion. “That I imagine myself
entrusted
with any sort of mission, however well intentioned, is perhaps as much a self-delusion as—as—” And here, in grave embarrassment, Dr. Stoughton paused; and swallowed; having made such a blunder (for of course our keen-witted young lady knew precisely what he meant—her sensitivity being natural as well as supranatural), that he scarce could continue, but leaned back against the book-filled shelves of his office, and, for a brief spell, gave himself up to a posture rather more suitable for a common derelict, of the kind, alas! now glimpsed so frequently on the streets of our metropolis, than for a physician and scientist, of the highest reputation. His handsome face colored; and colored more deeply; and he said, now in a more discreetly restrained voice, “The entire phenomenon of self-deception is not one I can bring up, at the present time; for our subject is another, and far more significant.
Deception
is provocative enough a subject, and rarely, I think, truly understood, but
self-deception
—alas! A veritable cornucopia of riddles, each with its own distinctive flavor, or poison,” he said, now smiling abash'dly; and making, even, an attempt to laugh, as if to dispel the unmistakably
strange
—indeed,
uncanny
—atmosphere, that had begun to pervade the room, in the past few minutes. (An atmosphere, I hazard to guess, that was hardly alleviated by a near-inaudible continuation of that low mocking laughter, nor by a queer, scarcely perceptible flickering of the gas lights: tho', if Dr. Stoughton looked resolutely about him, and listened with assiduous concentration, he could discover nothing amiss.) “Deception—self-deception—no, I shall not tread upon
that
precarious ground, for I am unduly distressing you, or, it may be, angering you—and unwisely too!—ah yes!—unwisely!—as the wretched Eglinton would now attest and the others—unwisely, unwisely,” he nervously said, coloring yet more deeply, and with a shy intensification of that abash'd, and even boyish, smile, which he bent upon the solemn young lady.

“You forget yourself, Dr. Stoughton,” Deirdre said evenly. “You are o'erheated: you will, in another moment, cause that pretty Egyptian vase to dislodge itself, from its perch atop the shelf, and fall, to shatter in a dozen pieces, introducing an element of
material
upset into our discussion, which will quite alarm you: your pulses having begun to flutter already, I sadly suspect, with an anticipation of spirit mischief, or vengeance, in response to your treading too close, in your own figure of speech, to that cornucopia of which you spoke. And so, I pray,
do
seat yourself: and disburden yourself, of all you have to say, by way of your
sacred mission.
” These last words uttered with a very light, tho' unmistakable, irony, as subtle as the bitterness attendant upon even the finest China tea, that has been allowed to steep past three minutes.

Whereupon Dr. Stoughton cast his eyes downward, as if surprised in the most secret recesses of his being; yet, with an air of some relief, which blended most agreeably with his nervous, boyish manner, he did return to his desk, and to his seat; and managed to sustain his hopeful smile. His voice had near-calmed, and regained something of its authority, as he spake: “I can hardly be surprised, my dear Deirdre, that you have taken this tone—indeed, it is a tone
well
taken—for in my stumbling, blundering, altogether graceless way, I have requested of you something I should be unable to supply, should anyone—however kindly of intent—request it of
me.
I mean by this, as you so finely phrased it, that I have asked you to consider a mode of action so contrary to all you believe of yourself, and of your unique destiny, that it is a virtual impossibility for ratiocinative exploration: as if some doddering old fool of a philosopher should demand of Substance that it define itself, denuded of its qualities; or some crazed scientist should wish to ‘cure' a person of that which—whether inclination, or habit, or something so merely superficial as a birthmark—
is
himself! Yes, I see, indeed I see,” the young man mused, his strong-boned face still ruddy, as his eyes were still somewhat dilated, “and yet, you will forgive me, I hope: I persist in believing, with an unwavering stolidity, that the
public career
of mediumship is not a destiny forced upon you, by ‘spirits' or by your own stubborn decision, but one which is
accidental
to your
essence:
and one which,” he said, hesitating but an instant, before plunging with great audacity forward, “—one which you might yet be saved from, by the proper guidance, informed with the proper high regard for your worth.”

Again sounded that distant laughter, faint, susurrous, and quite uncanny!

But Deirdre was replying in a calm, albeit melancholy, voice: “
Proper
has much to do with
propriety,
I think; and neither, Dr. Stoughton, has much to do with
me.
”

Dr. Stoughton raised an alarmed gaze to her countenance, and for a long trembling moment could not speak. Then he said hurriedly: “Alas, have I offended you irrevocably? And I meant no harm, I assure you—no harm! I meant only,” the agitated gentleman said, “to suggest with the warmth of a friend or a brother, that a life as a professional medium need not be your fate: for there are others, I assure you, bringing far more rewards, and far greater contentment.”

“And what, may I inquire,” Deirdre said, her expression impassive, but her great dark brooding eyes bright with barely withheld flame, “what are these other fates, Dr. Stoughton?”

Again he bent his gaze upon her, and again looked away, as if confus'd, or, it may have been, dimly apprehensive, as the low distant laughter sounded, ominous as thunder, or invisible waves lapping about the very floorboards of the study!—the which this forthright man of science did his best to ignore. “Ah, perhaps it is wrong of me to speak!—to answer to the compulsion of my heart—to offer succor, where none is desired! For what, after all, have I to set against your destiny—your public career—your practice—your life as ‘Deirdre of the Shadows'? I—I know not—I know not— Perhaps it is even the case that I am grievously deluded, in imagining that I can offer you aid: perhaps it is
you
who should offer
me
aid! Nevertheless, Deirdre,” the blushing gentleman said, with an abjuring gesture, and an uneasy smile playing about his manly lips, “nevertheless I must speak bluntly, tho' I risk your anger, or, excuse me!—the anger of your spirits: I must warn you against sacrificing yourself to a life of Spiritualist ‘service'—answering always to the demands of others, whether deceased spirits, or living clients. Ah, to drain away your life's blood, in such employ!—in ghoulish darkened rooms, amidst the perpetually mourning! My dear girl, it is a most
piteous
fate!”

Whereupon Deirdre of a sudden brought both hands to her face, and, in a curious gesture, pressed the gloved fingertips against her closed eyes: at first lightly, and then with more force. It may have been that the agitated young lady was attempting to suppress tears, or a similar untoward response; but when at last she spoke, her voice was not greatly changed, and her manner retained its semblance of glacial calm. “And shall I inquire, Dr. Stoughton, what a fate might be, that, in your professional assessment, is
not
piteous?”

Dr. Stoughton's stolid cheeks burnt yet a richer crimson, as he spake, in a voice somewhat quavering, yet withal assertive: “The joyous fulfillment of your sex: the sacred duties of belovèd wife, and helpmeet, and mother. In opposition to the vulgar and mercantile hurly-burly of the great world, the idyllic pleasures of the domestic hearth—the which, I firmly believe, make of one small room an everywhere, indeed; and provide us with that small measure of bliss, which is, if we are greatly fortunate, and deserving, Our Lord's promise to us, of the Heaven to come.”