A Bloodsmoor Romance (28 page)

At this period in her troubled life, Constance Philippa was not yet so lost to every semblance of decency, as to consult her mirror,
unclothed;
nor did she give herself license to glance down upon her corporeal being, any more than was necessary, while being dressed by the servant girl. (I hardly need state that, like all her sisters, and, indeed, like all ladies of wholesome upbringing, Constance Philippa was never in that unfortunate state termed
nudity:
she was always partly clad while doing her toilette, and bathed whilst attired in a muslin gown, that she might be spared the exigencies of her own flesh, the which would certainly have surprised and disgusted her.) Even as a very small child, at an age when such anomalies have been known to occur, she had never sought to touch herself, and had, indeed, evinced very little curiosity, as to the morbid nether regions of her body: to her credit be it said!

Yet, with a perverse instinct, she seemed to comprehend quite clearly, that her dressed self, which was Miss Constance Philippa Zinn, was not her; the figure molded by her corsets was not her own; and, might it not be the case (for thus her febrile brain ran on and on, in the folly of protracted solitude), that, if this was so,
Miss Constance Philippa Zinn,
as an entity, was not, despite all the laws of logic and custom,
hersel
f
?

“I am, yet am not,” the ponderous young lady murmured, the while picking at the glued paper, until, all unwittingly, she had so loosed the strip, that the dummy's smooth surface was seriously marred. “And yet, where
am
I to be located, in this puzzle? Nay, it is most worrisome—it has made my head spin—I am dizzied by the very deviousness of my own thoughts!”

 

BY LATE MAY,
both households were greatly pleased that, by Dr. Moffet's prescription, and her own tentative wish, Great-Aunt Edwina had sufficiently recovered from her illness, to come downstairs from her invalid's chamber, upon occasion; and, if the weather did not disturb, by sudden vagaries of temperature, or wind, even to venture outdoors—for this excellent lady dearly loved Nature, and ofttimes went too boldly forth, to partake of it, forgetting the delicacy of her constitution.

She declared herself resolutely cheered, and enlivened, by a renewed
gaiety
about Kidde­master Hall, difficult to explain. (Even poor Sarah Kidde­master, despite her enfeeblement, was brought downstairs on her most healthsome days.) For one thing, it now seemed that the scandalous abduction might be interpreted as a
willful absence,
since no ransom had ever been demanded; and it might even be hypothesized (tho' not before the elder Zinns, of course) that a collusion betwixt abductor and victim was likely—to which the name
elopement
might even, at some discreetly later date, be given. So, it would seem, protracted grief was somewhat misplaced, in such inappropriate circumstances.

(Thus did Edwina's circle of lady friends comfort her, reporting to her, with diligence, all that was whisper'd, in Philadelphia: the very
criminality
of the situation, and its
shameless aspect,
granting a sort of respite, from mourning.)

It was the happy case, too, that Edwina was encouraged to leave her invalid's bed, by the resounding success of her new book: the which had attracted a gratifying amount of attention in the papers, and had received a respectful notice in the
Atlantic Monthly,
a gentleman's journal that did not, by custom, usually condescend to take note of female literary endeavors. Thus, tho' she scorned material wealth, and cared not a whit for fame, or posterity, Miss Edwina Kidde­master did admit to being pleased, for, like any author, of either sex, she hoped to reach the multitudes, that they might be instructed, and elevated, in accordance with their capacities. (At this time, too, she did not shrink from the numerous responsibilities, of a cultural nature, which her social station, and her celebrity, pressed upon her: but, despite her sensitive nerves, acted as a dominant presence in the Philadelphia chapter of the
Women's Christian Temperance Union,
and of the
Philadelphia Grand Opera Association,
and the
Ladies' Society of Trinity Episcopal Church;
and, as the history books have noted, the fledgling
Daughters of the American Revolution
might have foundered at its start, and sunk into a tragically premature oblivion, had it not been for Edwina Kidde­master's tireless devotion.)

Yet, her attention to her familial duties was such that the primary cause of Edwina's convalescence, and to a certain grim gaiety in her manner, was her recognition of her responsibility, pertaining to Constance Philippa: for chaperonage, tho' crudely despised in later decades, was an art like any other: and Edwina was most anxious that
nothing go amiss,
in the crucial months leading to the autumnal wedding.

“For what if,” Edwina said, in a voice whose sternness was somewhat tempered by a quavering apprehension, “what if, through an unlook'd-to accident, or her own headstrong behavior, or, God spare us, a renewed assault by the villainous abductor,
the eldest Miss Zinn fails to become the Baroness von Mainz?
”

And so, sometimes by herself, and sometimes in the pleasant company of Miss Narcissa Gilpin, or one or another of her lady friends, Great-Aunt Edwina industriously oversaw those hours when Miss Zinn and the Baron were in each other's presence, whether strolling at a leisurely pace along the river's path, or through the luxuriant Kidde­master gardens, meadows, and woods; or sitting quietly in the pretty white gazebo, out of the sun's direct rays, in order to observe the pacific flow of the river, and the picturesque changes wrought in the sky by the action of wind upon clouds of varying shapes, textures, and hues. At such times Miss Zinn wore one of her Sunday dresses, with an attractive train, and carried her prettiest silk parasol, and took pains that her near-opaque veil, liberally festooned about the rim of her hat, and draped across her face, should not be disturbed by the breeze; and her fiancé, attired in fashions rather more American now, and less flamboyantly “foreign,” was usually observed to be wearing a dark gray frock coat with a boiled shirt, a handsome hat whose pronounced height added agreeably to his own, and pearl-gray trousers with impeccably ironed creases. A
most
attractive affianced couple, in short—and possessed of perfect manners.

Yet chaperonage was desirable—nay, necessary—as Great-Aunt Edwina well knew, scrupling to keep her gaze always alert, and her attention, though frequently directed toward her companion, or toward the intricate demands of her sewing, never lapsing into indolence or indifference. It was not the case, I must hasten to explain, that Great-Aunt Edwina and the other chaperons distrusted Constance Philippa's modesty, or the depth of her discretion; they knew, and were profoundly grateful for the fact, that they had no such headstrong
flirt
to oversee, as Miss Malvinia Zinn!—and they respected as well Baron von Mainz's maturity. (For he was not precisely a
young
man, and he had been married before—one must assume that the smoldering passions of late adolescence were well behind him.) Yet the elder ladies were obliged to respect the gentleman's expectation of being observed, and, as it were, restrained, by their quiet vigilance and indefatigable concern. More than one Philadelphia engagement had been terminated, within Edwina Kidde­master's memory, by a profoundly disillusioned man, when, given license by his fiancée's innocence or indelicacy, or by the laxity of her chaperons, he was free to seize his young lady's hand, or, more distasteful yet, to slip his arm about her waist, or brush his lips against her cheek. . . . No matter what turbulence might follow such a breach of custom, no matter the tears, hysteria, and repentance, the injury to the young lady's reputation was such that only the most liberal (or infatuated) of gentlemen could see their way clear to
forgive;
only the most Olympian of temperaments would care to continue with the engagement, as if nothing had happened. So the chaperons comprehended well the gravity of their function, and never strolled farther than some twenty-five or thirty yards behind their young charges, or sat more than fifteen yards away, at an angle almost but not precisely perpendicular to the affianced couple. The elder ladies watched over Constance Philippa and the Baron without seeming to “see” them, and Constance Philippa and the Baron, tho' aware of their chaperons' presence, rarely gave evidence of “seeing” them in turn. In this way many an idyllic afternoon was passed in Bloodsmoor, before the pleasant interruption of tea, when one of the Kidde­master servants approached Great-Aunt Edwina with deferential grace, to announce the imminent commencement of that event.

On those golden afternoons Edwina Kidde­master and her companion were kept busy with their sewing, for this was the season of the much-publicized return of the Reverend Hopkins K. Bice from the South Seas, with his tales of heathen infamy, expurgated for ladies' ears, but disconcerting nonetheless, and the Philadelphia circle was much absorbed in its challenging activity, to provide for Reverend Bice, before his return to that part of the world, in mid-September, enough shirts, trousers, vests, and Mother Hubbards, as might clothe the natives under his jurisdiction—for it was a great scandal, and, more than that, in the empathetic words of Edwina Kidde­master herself, a
pity,
that the South Sea Islands, in addition to being a region of shameless
heathenism,
was a region of rampant
nudity
as well.

The ladies' lace-gloved fingers moved rapidly, then, with the industry of their virtuous needlework, and they conversed together in decorous tones, rarely disturbing the peace of the afternoon—and their young charges' near-unbroken silence—with any sound so jarring as laughter. They talked of the family; of old friends and acquaintances; of Philadelphia society (which was becoming looser with every season—as a consequence, it hardly needs to be said, of the great wealth being accumulated by persons without breeding or education, in some cases of doubtful
ancestry
and still more doubtful
religion
); of weddings and funerals and births (necessarily lowering their voices on this particular topic); of European tours, and illnesses; of Dr. Pennington's Osteopathic Method (for the cure of numerous ailments including nervous dyspepsia, locomotor ataxia, ovarian neuralgia, and general neurasthenia—each of which plagued the ladies from time to time); and Professor Lupa's School of Cognition; and rumors of a new trance medium said to have made a brilliant
début
in Boston, known only as “Deirdre of the Shadows.” (The reader will be alerted by the name
Deirdre,
and should be informed at once that a group of Boston relatives attended a séance given by this young lady, soon after her
début;
and Mrs. Zinn herself, accompanied by Octavia, journeyed to Boston to attend a séance—with what disappointing results, the reader shall learn below.) They talked of the stolid granite-and-limestone town house on Rittenhouse Square which Judge Kidde­master was quietly planning to give to Baron von Mainz and his bride, well within walking distance of Cobbett Square: for the old man, as Edwina Kidde­master frequently said, with a dry, fond twist of her lips,
could
be generous when the spirit moved him. And, perhaps most enthusiastically of all, they talked of the bridal gown of exquisite China silk, and the green velvet suit, and the dresses and hats and shoes and other necessities of the trousseau, granting, of course, that Constance Philippa Zinn was a Zinn, and not an heiress like most of her cousins, and her honeymoon wardrobe could not be expected to be
brilliant.

“Your niece has done passingly well, under the circumstances,” Great-Aunt Edwina was told, by one or another of her companions; and, not at all taking offense (for these elder ladies
did
speak one another's language flawlessly), Edwina merely nodded, and pursed her lips, and said: “We shall see, my dear—the wedding is, unfortunately, still distant.”

By contrast, the affianced couple spent most of their romantic moments in silence, tho' they were intensely aware of each other. From time to time, shyly peering through her thick gauze veil, Constance Philippa was startl'd to see the Baron watching her in an extraordinarily keen manner: which was disturbing, and yet gratifying as well, for Constance Philippa knew that gentlemen should stare at ladies in this way, with that mysterious dark urgency, tho' she could not really comprehend why; nor did she feel the slightest inclination to reciprocate. To a limited extent, she could understand Malvinia's mercurial interest in
her
suitors, who were usually handsome young men, if rather vapid; she supposed she might be capable of feeling an “attraction” for Mr. de Nemours, for instance, if the situation arose, for his conventional good looks, his loud boyish laughter, and his sandy mustache argued forcibly. And there was Sean McInnes, the Irish boy whom poor Octavia was said to be secretly sweet on. (Everyone spoke of Sean as Irish tho' he had been born in Bloodsmoor, and was consequently as American as any of the Kidde­masters; and they commonly referred to him as a boy, despite the fact that he was now well into his twenties, and had made a possibly imprudent bid for independence, by leaving Judge Kidde­master's employ.) He was tall, broad-shouldered, robust of spirit, with striking red hair and blue eyes that shone with unfailing good humor. Constance Philippa supposed she might feel a girlish enthusiasm for this young man if he had been born to her own social rank; but, as he had not, the situation was hopeless, and she rather supposed silly Octavia deluded herself, in fancying an interest where, in fact, there was none. And yet, if one set Sean McInnes beside old dry-as-dust Lucius Rumford—!