A Bloodsmoor Romance (6 page)

“Yet Grandfather, I have been told, is greatly displeased,” Malvinia said slowly, “with what he calls Father's
perversity:
a word that rather puzzles me, since it is so rarely used.”

“And Great-Aunt Edwina is said to be skeptical,” Constance Philippa said.

Octavia gave her patchwork toy a vigorous shake, and said: “It is wrong of you, Malvinia, and Constance Philippa, to discuss our elders like that, out of their presence. It makes me distinctly uneasy.”

“You are right, of course,” Malvinia said, “and yet, how I wish we Zinns were not poor! That is our problem, at bottom; there is the origin of all our unhappiness. Four dowries—I mean
five
— Four grown girls—that is,
five:
or do I truly mean four, since our beloved Constance Philippa is, after all, betrothed to her Baron? Alas, it is all so troublesome!”

Doubtless there is some error, in ascribing to past events, certain logical interpretations that come to mind only after time's ineluctable passage; nevertheless, it may have been this rash speech of Malvinia's that, entering the heart of the youngest of the Zinn sisters like a blade, did some mischief there, with the immediate consequence that Deirdre raised a startl'd and incautious gaze to Malvinia's blithe countenance; and a near-inaudible gasp was heard, tho' issuing from which of the sisters, I cannot say.

Whereupon poor Octavia, all ablush, murmured: “Malvinia! You forget yourself.”

Yet Malvinia continued, briefly meeting Deirdre's childlike gray gaze (in which simple
hurt
had not yet begun to be o'ercome by
reproach
): “Yes, I have thought long upon the subject, and have come to the conclusion that the origin of our unhappiness—for we
are
unhappy, tho' we are Zinns!—lies in our impoverishment. For, only consider,” the bold young lady said, lowering her voice, and now leaning toward those three sisters whom, it is to be supposed, she considered her
true
sisters, “only consider, how, almost alone in Bloodsmoor, amidst so many excellent families, we are forced to a fortnightly wash!—with the shameful result, that all the households know the exact limits of the Zinns' changes of clothing.”

Constance Philippa sighed loudly, and fanned her warm face with her fancywork, having mislaid, or forgotten, her fan, and said: “Malvinia, I cannot tolerate this subject any further, from you: and you know that Mother has forbidden it.”

Octavia's plump cheeks now resembled lovely cream-hued peonies, upon whose petals a scarlet blush had just begun to bloom, for this warm-hearted young lady was most distressed, both that the outlaw topic was introduced, and that Deirdre had been injured—albeit quite innocently, and, as it were, only in passing. Thus she said in a flurried voice: “It is an unspeakable subject, to bring up at this time, and in this wondrous place, after the Kidde­masters' great generosity to us!—a magnificent tea in honor of Constance Philippa, and, too, in honor of Father, that his candidacy to the Society is being considered so seriously. Nay, it is an impossible subject: we will not hear of it!”

“The Gilpins and the Martineaus and the Ormonds, and many another household, do their linen each quarter-year,” Malvinia said boldly, “and it is hardly a secret, that the Broomes, tho' once poor, have, as a consequence of the railroads, I believe, enough wealth, and enough good linen, to do but a half-year wash: or so it is whisper'd. And the Whittons, and the Millers, and the house of Du Pont de Nemours, and—”

“Hush, Malvinia!” Octavia said. Her moist startl'd eyes were turned upward to the great house, not one hundred yards away; and then to poor Deirdre, who continued to sit, stiffened, and blankly staring, at the floorboards of the gazebo, her crochet hook now stilled in her hands. “Hush, hush, we will not hear of it, how you would injure Father if he knew, and how you injure
us,
with your cruel utterances! Nay, hush, we will not hear!”

“
Four
Zinn sisters, and, indeed, the talk of the Valley, as 'twas: and then
five,
” Malvinia said, most impulsively, “which is of course a credit to Mother and Father, and not to be questioned, or ridiculed. Nay, I will
not
hush, I
will
speak, there is no stranger near, not anyone who might pretend to be surprised, by anything that is said. Indeed—”

Constance Philippa, now tugging with unconscious force, and vexation, at the fashionably tight sleeves of her piqué dress, interrupted forcibly to say: “You are correct, Malvinia; and yet you are improper. And so—do as Octavia and I, your elder sisters, say, and
pray be still.
”

There then ensured some moments of ill-natured silence, during which, naught was to be heard, save the distant lowing of a cow; and the melodic queries of the bright-feather'd creatures in the stately elms nearby. Octavia broke the quiet with nervous chatter, the which was greeted with relief, tho', perhaps, scant attention: “The blackberry tea as well—I thought quite successful—and the fresh honey, from Uncle Rhinelander's hives—and—and—I must say, Constance Philippa, I do not truly think Delphine Marti­neau is to be censored for her gaiety and high spirits for she
is
so winsome, and quite pure of heart, I am sure. And the gentlemen from Boston—Professor Lyndon in particular—and Father's eloquence—and the great promise of the
perpetual-motion machine
. . . Perhaps, Samantha, we might beg of you, a helpful description of that amazing device?”

“Nay, I will make no serious attempt, for you are all distracted, and Mother will shortly be summoning us. The machine upon which Father has been working since last spring is, properly speaking, the
new machine
, for he felt of a sudden obliged to scrap virtually everything he had done beforehand—a heartrending decision, yet, I must believe, a necessary one. Alas, poor Father!” Samantha said fiercely; “how very hard he labors, and yet the ignorant world presumes to judge him!” She paused for a moment to calm herself, and then continued: “The new machine is designed with a copper pendulum involving not the swinging motion, with which you are familiar in household clocks, but a part-rotation, clockwise 180 degrees
precisely,
and then counterclockwise, 180 degrees
precisely.
So far as I comprehend the source of energy, it derives from the coordination of
magnetic fields, gravitational tides
(exerted by both the sun and the moon simultaneously), and
odylic force;
and the great difficulty at present is, how to release, yet inhibit, the energy thus summoned, that it will not rush into the mechanism with such force that the mechanism is destroyed—nor will it flow haplessly into the air. To this end, Father has been experimenting with magnets of various dimensions, and strips of lead, and putty, and silk threads, that the magnetic field may be more closely controlled. We are greatly anxious,” the young lady said, in an abruptly lowered voice, and with a covert gaze around her, “that no spy from Menlo Park discover this latest experimentation: for you know that it would destroy Father utterly, not only the theft of another of his discoveries, but the theft of
this,
his greatest work—nay, when it is brought to fruition, it will be one of the greatest works of all time. Thus, if Father spoke at times circumspectly with the Boston professors, it was with the sad knowledge weighing upon his heart, that, for all their evident sincerity, and scientific objectivity, they might be spies in Mr. Edison's employ—or innocent dupes in his web. Alas, who can know!” Samantha concluded, with so profound a sigh, it might have issued from a woman twice her age.

Malvinia then inquired, in a somewhat subdued voice, as if she felt a modicum of regret for her rude words: “Yet work is progressing, I assume? And when does Father predict the mechanism will be perfected?”

“Father does not predict such things,” Samantha said, crinkling her brow in startl'd disapprobation, at her sister's ignorance. “You know him very poorly, if you imagine his thoughts stray onto such notions!”

“Not in time for Constance Philippa's wedding?” Octavia inquired, with wistful regret. “Nay, I suppose not: it is ignorant of me, to ask.”

“Not in time for Constance Philippa's wedding!” Malvinia exclaimed, in such alarm, she allowed her sunshade to fall to the floor. “Why, that cannot be possible, surely that cannot be possible, for the wedding is set for over a twelve-month from now! Surely, Samantha, you do not know everything, and may be mistaken in this issue?”

“Indeed, I may well be mistaken,” Samantha said, with unlook'd-for humility, “yet, pray do not make these inquiries of anyone else: not of Mother, and, of course, not of Father.”

“Then Grandfather must pay for Constance Philippa's wedding, and many another expense, and perhaps Octavia, too, will become engaged, and what of me, what will be my fate, ah, how wretched!
I shall not think along these degrading lines,
” Malvinia continued hotly, “not that they are
forbidden,
but that they are
degrading.
Nay, I shall not think—yet—yet—”

Several of the sisters exclaimed at once this young lady's name: and it might have been observed, how visibly poor Deirdre shrank back, out of apprehension, that, in Malvinia's outburst, she might again figure. Whereupon, with admirable alacrity, and poise, Constance Philippa turned to Samantha and inquired: “Not
months,
then, until the new mechanism is perfected; but—perhaps—”

“Years,”
Samantha lowly intoned.

Again there was a strained silence, the which was broken by Samantha's postscript, in a somewhat more casual voice: “Of course, as I have said, I may well be mistaken.”

“In any case,” Octavia murmured, “it is not anyone's fault—it cannot be anyone's fault—I scarce know, of what we are speaking, save that it is no one's fault and, surely, not to be laid at the feet of anyone
here,
amongst
us.
”

“Of whom, pray, are you speaking?” Malvinia inquired, with a show of startl'd incredulity. “Your words are most ill-considered.”

“I mean only—I mean—it was my intention—alas, why does my tongue trip over every other word today!—and I am so very, very warm—and quite unhappy— Indeed, Malvinia,” Octavia said, in a tremulous, hushed voice, “I believe it altogether unnecessary, for you to speculate aloud, and to vex yourself, with the possibility of
my
engagement. Please do not concern yourself with that eventuality again, Malvinia. You are
cruel,
in pretending to be
kind.
”

“I was not aware,” Samantha said, “that Malvinia
pretended
to be kind. Did I, perhaps, misunderstand a word or two, in the course of the past several minutes?”

“How very odd a thing to say!” Malvinia exclaimed. “Are you in alliance against me? You and
she,
sharing a bedchamber, and a bed—” (This reference being in regard to the fact that Samantha and Deirdre enjoy'd, in the Octagonal House, a common room.) “Nay—it is most unfair.”

The impetuous Samantha then said: “
You
are most unfair, Malvinia! If we are poor—and I do not say that we are—it is surely not Deirdre's fault—nor is it Father's—and, in any case, one would have to be uncommonly ignorant, not to know that poverty is but a relative state: for there are innumerable families, in Bloodsmoor alone, beside whom we are quite wealthy, indeed!”

Malvinia snapped open her fan, and fanned herself energetically, and said: “You need not sermonize
me,
Miss! You are very much mistaken, to attempt to sermonize
me!
”

“Dear sisters, please,” Octavia pleaded, “
please
do not quarrel, on this wonderful day. We all know that poverty, and wealth, and any
secular condition,
are of very little significance, set beside Our Heavenly Father's abiding love for us; and the love of our dear Father and Mother, here on earth and—”

“I believe I will go home,” Samantha boldly said, groping about for her mislaid gloves. “Octavia, you may make my excuses to Mother; simply tell her that I became faint, and hurried away home.”

“That is impossible,” Octavia cried. “You will
not
go anywhere on foot, unaccompanied, and in your new dress—alas, what would happen to your beautiful train alone! Nay, Constance Philippa and I cannot allow it.”

“I shall do what I please,” Samantha said. Her small pale face was aglow with feeling, and her green eyes fairly flashed; yet, once she had caught up her gloves, and squeezed them on her hands, she did not rise from her chair, but remained sitting—as if a great weight suddenly pressed upon her.

“Fancy such a notion!” Malvinia marveled, staring the while at her sister, and continuing to fan her face. “To talk wildly of hurrying away home, through the woods, no doubt, trotting like a horse! Why, it would be amusing, if it were not repulsive: I am only grateful that all our guests, and our dear cousins, have departed.”

“Why cannot I go home by myself,” Samantha said, in a vexed voice, “for surely it is not dangerous? And I promise to carry my skirts, and train; and I will not—alas, I
cannot
—run.”

Octavia shook her head so earnestly, her plump cheeks quivered. “But it is dangerous, Samantha. Alas, indeed it is.”

“Dangerous in what sense?” Samantha asked. “I do not understand you. Deer there may be, in Grandfather's park; and smaller creatures like rabbits, woodchucks, raccoons, and opossum; yet I am reasonably certain that there are no
bears
any longer, and have not been any for many years—”

“Hold your tongue, Samantha,” Constance Philippa commanded. “You are very young, and very silly; and know not whereof you speak.”