A Bloodsmoor Romance (97 page)

 

THUS IT IS
most instructive, to return to the Golden Oak room of Kidde­master Hall, where Mr. Basil Miller, his healthsome cheeks grown ruddy from the recent contretemps, and, doubtless, in anticipation of the gravity of the scene now to unfold, under his professional direction, casts his solemn gaze out amongst the assemblage, and declares the hour arrived: for all the requirements of Miss Kidde­master's Last Will and Testament have been met, in spirit if not precisely in letter. And now the great waxen seal must be broke, and the contents of the massive document revealed, in compliance with the law of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, and with the custom of the land.

The reader will sympathize, I hope, with those divers persons—including, I am bound to say, Miss Deirdre Zinn and Mrs. Samantha Hareton—who, tho' far beyond hoping, or expecting, that any monetary or other reward might come to them, nonetheless found themselves, ah! so very like children!
halfway
surrendered to the wish:
Pray do not let me be forgotten.
Possessed of enough worldly sagacity, to know themselves thoroughly undeserving, and, in fact, to know the fantastical absurdity of their wish, these young ladies yet trembled inwardly, in anticipation of Basil Miller's pronouncements, with near as much dread and euphoric apprehension as Mrs. Zinn, whom both tradition and common sense—nay, and justice above all—would choose as the heiress, of the greater share of the fortune. It would be indeed a cruel sport, indulged in, doubtless, by many novelists, in their fictive fancies, to visit the secret hearts of each of the principals, in turn, to divulge their prayers, their fears, their wild baseless yearnings, whilst they retain masks of sombre decorum: or offer, even at this advanced date, countenances still sickl'd over, with mourning for the deceased woman. How the pale, drawn, subdued Malvinia, now but the wraith of her old beauteous self, clenched her gloved hands in secret, in her lap, the while staring at her cousin Basil (for whom, it should be said, she felt no rancor, or elemental dislike, for the part he had so whimsically played in her fall) as he opened the document, with elaborate ceremony; how poor Octavia, tho' giving every semblance of calm, and no longer breathing so laboriously, stared at her cousin with glassy eyes, praying
O Dear Aunt, please do not forget me: do not scorn me, and my child, another time!—for I fear my heart shall break.
And it would be remiss, to peer into Mr. Fox's heart, where, in all defiance of his impudent external form, and the bemused stoicism of his countenance, a child's blunt wish defined itself thusly:
Please!—and I will be good, forevermore.

The atmosphere having grown most unpleasantly strained, Basil Miller cleared his throat, somewhat nervously, and, adjusting his spectacles, began to read, weakly at first, and then gaining strength, as, it would seem, the spirit of Edwina Kidde­master was evoked, and certain of her voice rhythms observed. “ ‘Now that you are all, at last, assembled together, in our great ancestral home, as God has intended you to be—by ties of blood, as well as sentiment and loyalty—I will resist chiding you, my dear nieces, for your divers acts of ingratitude' ”—thus read Mr. Miller, glancing up, of a sudden, at the drawn faces of the principals, and all the rest, who stared at him most blankly, “ ‘resist chiding you, and come directly to the point: I have passed many a month in torment, communing daily—nay, hourly—with Almighty God, Whose will, in every particular, I am bound to confess I did not always scrupulously observe, in my long life: I have humbled myself upon my knees, in the privacy and sanctity of my bedchamber; I have made many a surreptitious visit to churches, as the bells of midnight lugubriously tolled; I have sought the wise pastoral counsel of divers gentlemen of the cloth, ofttimes veiled, and under an assumed name. I have, in short, plumbed the depths of my own heart, to discover there not a malevolent, nor even a wicked, demon, but ah! how more humiliating! a
crabbèd and penurious creature,
not unlike a humped dwarf, luridly ugly of visage, and of an odor redolent of Dr. Eupep's Black Draught and Rhubarb Compound, left o'erlong in the bottle.' ” At this point Basil Miller paused, to draw breath, and, doubtless, to steady himself, for, tho' we must remember that, as Edwina Kidde­master's attorney and confidant,
he knew all,
he was, nonetheless, greatly affected by the arduous tension in the room, which seemed to be increasing minute by minute; nor was his refined sensibility oblivious, to the poignancy of the words he was reading aloud.

So he drew breath, and dabbed at his warm forehead with a handkerchief, and resumed: “ ‘And it was also the case that Almighty God, in His infinite compassion and mercy, allowed me to realize certain Truths, the which, in my worldly vanity and frippery of prose, I had oft
presented,
with but a modicum of inward conviction: alas, oft with very little conviction at all, but much secret jesting, and mockery! These are the sacred and fundamental Truths of our abode here on earth, and must not be sported with, else God's wrath is a terrible thing, as it rains upon our incredulous heads. Had I time, my dear nieces, I would instruct you with greater wisdom, and greater patience, than I did, in my lifetime: but this can be neither the time, nor the place, and I am obliged to insist upon brevity, in the matter of
penury,
and
generosity;
and
Christian charity;
and the
sacred obligations of the nobility
(by which, I hasten to explain, I mean a nobility of the spirit, as well as one of the blood); and the riddling question with which I have wrestled, both as an authoress, and a woman, upward of seven decades,
What constitutes a lady?
Ah, the fool responds with alacrity, to declare that a lady is no less, and no more, than what we have been taught from the cradle onward: a Lady is this, a Lady is that!—she
is
not this, nor does she
do
that! Jabber, jabber, jabber like monkeys in liveried vests, their furry tails atwist about their heads! Chatter, and gibber, and prattle, and rattle, and babble, repeating by rote all we have been instructed! A Lady embodies all that is high, holy, and pure in strength of intellect, clarity of heart, uprightness of moral principle; and that winning grace which makes every word and action seem “wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, and best” (to quote the Bard), to the beholder. All this, freely granted. We cannot subscribe to the vulgar
arriviste
notion, so promiscuously held, by those barbarian millionaires in our midst (whose names, do not fear, shall not appear in this sacred document, to sully it), that wealth, ostentation of dress, abode, and manner of living, and station (of a coarse political and financial type), make the Lady: or even, I insist, make her
possible.
Nay, this is repulsive. This is blatant ignorance. This cannot be allowed. . . .' ”

The pretty French clock now striking the half-hour, Basil Miller again paused, tho' halfway dreading to glance up, to see the rigid countenances of his kinsfolk, and those others, who, seated immobile in their chairs, continued to stare with unblinking eyes, in whose glazed depths a curious commingling of
fatigue,
and
anxiety,
might be beheld.

Nevertheless, this sensitive gentleman did feel obliged to pause, and to inquire of a servant, whether he might have a glass of iced water—nay, perhaps a small glass of sherry, the hour now being well past noon—and again he wiped decorously at his dampening brow, and at his handsome curled mustache, before resuming his professional duty: all the while, I should make clear, standing proudly erect, behind the escritoire, in a fashionable but by no means gaudy black dress suit possessed of four cloth-covered buttons, and admirably wide lapels, the which crossed over very high on his chest, to hide, unfortunately, the black silken waistcoat he wore, and to reveal little of the plaster-of-starch stiffened shirt, which announced to the eye, at collar, and cuff, a most remarkable dazzling whiteness.

The servant bringing him his glass of sherry, he sipped lightly from it, and, again adjusting his spectacles, drew breath, to resume: “ ‘This
cannot
be allowed. Nay, is not a Lady one who, tho' being of the female persuasion, ne'ertheless feels, in her pulsing veins, the
moral strength
(if not the physical), of the male? Nay, and is not a Lady one who, tho' dwelling in a humble rustic cottage, or in a marbl'd palace, ne'ertheless submits to Our Saviour's enjoinders, as to charity, and love, and compassion, and giving alms to the poor—“alms,” it may be, of the
heart,
and not merely of the pocketbook? Does not a Lady exhibit symmetry of character? nobility of purpose? refinement of taste? generosity to all? virtue in its broadest respects? Is not a Lady one who, tho' perhaps lacking a splendid equipage, and showy finery, and all the idle pretensions of wealth, ne'ertheless displays to the world a
richness
of sentiment? I believe it is not an exaggeration to say that
personal merit alone,
should be the sole test by which to try the pretensions of all “Ladies,” and water will not more certainly find its own level, than will the numerous classes of society, when subjected to so searching a test! (By which bold utterance, I am not pleading for a leveling system, of that invidious sort known as “socialism,” or “communism,” which shall break down all necessary distinctions in society; and reduce them to a common mass of insipidity, and vulgarity. Nay—the Bible itself recognizes these distinctions; and they are as essential to the order and harmony of the Body Politic, as are the divers members of the human frame, to form one perfect whole.)
Personal merit alone
then being our measurement—' ”

Poor Basil Miller was interrupted, of a sudden, by a fit of coughing: and was able to calm himself only after some troubled minutes, during which Narcissa Gilpin, and one or two other of the elder ladies, hovered about him, greatly concerned for his well-being. It was feared that his throat was being scraped raw, by both the protracted speech, and the profound import of the words, which could not fail to instill apprehension in the speaker. But, the coughing spell abating, and another glass of sherry quietly supplied, Basil regained his attentive posture, and continued, in a voice only slightly enfeebl'd.

“ ‘
Personal merit alone
then being our measurement, I believe it is not remiss to state that a Lady is one who, in defiance of the opinions of conformist society, and even in defiance of the wishes of her own family, is courageous enough—nay, Christian enough—not only to acknowledge her sinful failings, but to make redress for them, to the best of her ability. That I have been guilty for upward of three decades of a lamentable
penuriousness
of spirit, is my secret sin: the which, I have reason to know, Almighty God will forgive me, if I truly repent; and if, as He has bade, I offer a public confession, posthumous if needs be (for, I feel, I am not altogether strong enough, to step forward with the Truth, in my own lifetime). Thus—' ” Basil Miller read, his voice breaking suddenly, so that he was forced to clear his throat, and drain his glass of sherry, and, now alarmingly red-faced, plunge forward, to the heinous part: “ ‘thus I declare this document to be my sole Will and Testament, executed by me, with no coercion, in the seventy-eighth year of my life, and, being of sound mind and body, and animated throughout these proceedings with a bounteous love for Our Lord and His Only Begotten Son, and all His creation, excepting of necessity the villains, blackguards, communists, reprobates, anarchists, gamblers, immoralists, Free Thinkers, unnatural Suffragettes, divers members of the Popish Church, and, indeed, all manifestations of the Antichrist, in our time—I do hereby, on this 23rd day of September 1898, declare that I wish to divide my estate, including all its moneys, properties, and investments, in this wise: to my niece Mrs. Prudence Zinn, and her husband John Quincy Zinn, I shall
erase
the debt owed to me, of some several thousands of dollars, lent by me, from my estate, over a period of years: this
erasure
to constitute an outright gift, bearing with it no obligations or responsibilities, on the part of the heirs.' ” (Basil Miller hurried onward, not daring to draw breath, and certainly not daring to glance up at his kinswoman Prudence Zinn—nor could anyone else look her way, out of very shock and mortification. Poor Prudence! It is not for me to say, the consternation that flooded her heart at this moment; it is not for me even to hint, the mingled rage, shame, bafflement, nausea, incredulity, benumbedness, and simple animal desire for violence, that churned within her upright figure, even as Basil Miller made haste to proceed!—save only to remark that,
from this instant forward,
she was to be a changed woman.) “ ‘To my four nieces, Constance Philippa, Malvinia, Octavia, and Samantha—' ” and here, tho' Basil did not pause, a decided ripple ensued, throughout the room, and one might have observed the stiffening of Deirdre's slender frame—poor Deirdre realizing, in such wise, that her great-aunt by adoption had not, evidently, considered her a niece: nor even—for so her shamed, fluttering thoughts ran—a rightful member of the Zinn family! “ ‘—to my four belovèd nieces, I hereby leave, to be divided equally among them, all my personal possessions of a literary and bibliographical nature: by which is meant,
original manuscripts
of my books;
drafts; revisions; note-cards; galleys;
and other valuable matter, the which has been, over the decades, meticulously filed and indexed, and stored against harm, by humidity, heat, solar rays, the incursions of insects and other natural phenomena, in a vault adjacent to my bedchamber, and kept under strict lock and key—' ”

It was an involuntary intake of breath, a sharp hissing sound, from one of the sisters, that, for a moment, disconcerted Basil Miller: coupled with, but a scant moment later, the muttered words: “The deuce! The
hell!
”—which, no one wishing to acknowledge, was passed by in silence; nor did these unfortunate eruptions repeat themselves. (It may have been the case, judging from Octavia's stunned and slack expression, and Samantha's quizzical green stare, that these two sisters failed entirely to absorb the import of the words, which Basil Miller had read.)