Thus, Prudence had secretly believed that the creature was a gift from Miss Brownrrigg, tho’ never acknowledged. But now, confronted with her child’s innocent question, and having in mind (she knew not why!) some vague dim memory, o’ertinged with melancholy, and some guilt, of the eccentric Mr. Guiteau, Prudence found herself thinking hard, her brow furrowed, and her breath somewhat short. Where did little Pip come from? And what did the gift of him mean?
It occurred to Prudence, with a flash of certitude that rocked her being, and left her quite faint, that the prankster had certainly not been one of the young Philadelphia ladies: it had been no one other than Charles J. Guiteau.
Ah, yes! The absurd little man! The monkeyish little man!—who had known beforehand, or sensed, that John Quincy Zinn, once wed to Prudence Kiddemaster, would disappear into pastoral Bloodsmoor, and into domesticity, and sacred fatherhood, and his destiny: never again to have time to spare for his disciple of carefree bachelor days.
Of course, Prudence thought, a blush o’ertaking her face, the gift was Guiteau’s: and it was meant to insult.
“And yet,” she murmured aloud, a knotted handkerchief pressed to her heaving bosom, “and yet, as God knows, the triumph was mine.”
FOURTEEN
All doubt in love is swallowed, and lovelier now is she
Than a picture deftly painted by the craftsmen o’er the sea;
And her face is a rose of the morning by the night-tide framed about,
And the long-stored love of her bosom from her eyes is leaping out.
—WILLIAM MORRIS
Know, O Reader, that, after upward of twelve months’ agitation, during which time poor Prudence oft questioned herself, as to whether, in the fever of her own heart’s adulation, she might not be imagining all, the dread impasse betwixt the young lovers was resolved!—resolved, I am happy to say, most agreeably for all, and, as Chance would merrily have it, in the very house in which Prudence had initially met her “fate.”
And, that night, Prudence knelt by her bed, in sobbing disarray, so eager to give thanks to Our Maker, for His sudden mercy, that she could barely speak: nay, it was all the weeping maiden could do, to whisper these words: “O Lord! To think that I had oft doubted You, or doubted Your love for me!—as, alas, I had, so ignorantly, doubted his! But will You not forgive this sinner, and bless our impending union?”
The which heartfelt plea, I cannot think but that Our Maker heard, with a most kindly ear!
DEEPLY SADDENED IN her heart, as a consequence of John Quincy Zinn’s most exasperating silence, on any matter pertaining to affection betwixt them, Prudence Kiddemaster made the decision (not, I am certain, out of childish spite, or a longing for martyrdom) to betake herself to the country, that she might force her reluctant suitor to feel the pain of her absence. This action came, too, following some weeks of irascibility, lethargy, and distraction, in her classroom, and a growing repugnance for her position, as an instructrix of some repute: for, of a sudden, Miss Kiddemaster bethought herself, that she did not greatly care whether her girl pupils learnt their Latin, and did their sums, and memorized the English kings and queens, and perfected their handwriting: nor was it any longer self-evident, that Independence was more valued than Romance.
Thus, the proud young woman fled Philadelphia, for a certain space of time, accompanied by Mrs. Kiddemaster (who, feeling somewhat enfeebled, as a consequence of the brusque changes in temperature, in the autumn, considered that a retirement to the country might be salubrious); and there Prudence spent some hours daily in prayer, and meditation, and the perusal of philosophical literature: such sombre volumes as Dr. Philipp’s Sacred Annotations of the Seasons, and Mrs. Wyatt’s Dashes at Life with a Free Pencil, and the handsome kidskin-bound Poetical Remains of the Late Lucretia Maria Davidson, running to some five hundred close-printed pages. It was her intention to purge herself of her morbid love-thoughts for John Quincy Zinn, but, alas! his presence there haunted her, as she strolled in solitary repose along the picturesque Bloodsmoor River, or encircled the gazebo, or, with an involuntary sigh, leaned far over the granite rim of the wishing well, to stare into the sepulchral depths below.
(There in particular she saw him, as she gazed, and blinked, and wiped a surreptitious tear from her eye: his handsome strong-boned face; his thick blond hair, and full blond beard; his declamatory voice; his impassion’d gestures. Behind the pulpit of the Cobbett Square Unitarian Church—in the company of little Guiteau—in one or another of the Philadelphia drawing rooms, in which he was so welcome—and, alas! in the company of Miss Honora LeBeau, who lifted her flowerlike face to his, in a pretense of intelligent concentration. Poor Prudence tried to summon forth an image of herself, beside his manly frame: but she could not. She tried—and could not. John Quincy Zinn loomed large, in the lightless depths of the old wishing well: but no one stood beside him.)
I SHALL NEVER forgive you, John Quincy! the hapless young lady wept.
IT WAS REPORTED to Prudence that Mr. Zinn came to call, in the city, and expressed some surprise that Miss Kiddemaster was not in. He inquired after her health; he inquired into the probable length of her stay, in Bloodsmoor; and, upon one occasion, left a missive for her, of substantial length—some seven handwritten pages, on inexpensive but tasteful stationery. (This document was, of course, hastily brought to Prudence, by a servant on horseback: and, Reader, you can imagine the young woman’s disappointment, when, in perusing it, she discovered no words of love, affection, esteem, or marital union! but only a sort of complaint, about the Brownrriggs’ treatment of him, and his pupils’ lustreless imaginations, and his conviction that a true destiny might be his, if only he were free to pursue it. Tho’ God culminates in the present moment, Mr. Zinn wrote, with, doubtless, a droll twist of his handsome lips, it is not always evident, within the high brick walls of the Brownrrigg Academy!)
Prudence read and reread this letter, and clutched it to her bosom, and halfway wondered—did it not contain, in its very circumspection of language, a declaration of sorts?—a confession, a plea, a proposal?—of sorts?
She then made her decision, to return to the city, unannounced, and to attend a Saturday reception at the Bayards’. If Fate decrees that we must meet again, Prudence wrote in her diary, I cannot resist. I am but a plaything in the hands of God.
Upward of two hours went into the preparation of Prudence’s hair, which was somewhat coarse, and lacking in natural curl or wave, but, with the adroit aid of switches, braids, combs, and velvet ribbons, it was beautifully fashioned into a new Parisian style, which very much flattered her wide forehead. A considerable space of time was required, too, for the ordeal of dressing: for Prudence’s striped satin gown, of the previous season, which all the family agreed was most flattering, had now become somewhat tight about the midriff and bosom; and had to be let out, by one of the servants.
Yet the toilette was completed, with gratifying success; and, wearing a new satin-and-wool hat, with a comely arcing egret feather, and a long ermine scarf pressed upon her by Aunt Edwina (who knew well, I have reason to believe, the agitated heart hidden in her niece’s bosom), and carrying an exquisite Japanese fan, of rainbow hues, and an ivory-handled pink silk sunshade: fortified by nothing more substantial than several cups of black China tea, and a small portion of Miss Emmeline’s Remedy, and a negligible breakfast, and lunch, Miss Prudence Kiddemaster stepped forth, to be taken by one of her cousins, to the Bayards’ home—and thrust into her fate.
PRUDENCE WAS USHERED into the Bayards’ crowded drawing room, there to espy, with frightening alacrity, the object of her passion: John Quincy Zinn himself, so tall, and broad-shouldered, and husky of frame, and, it may have been, so abash’d, by society, that he stood out with prominence—nay, it seemed to Prudence, whose breath was very short, and whose heart fairly tripped, that the young gentleman stood somewhat apart from the other guests: as if in anticipation of a new arrival.
And, unless her moisture-brimm’d e
yes greatly deceived her, Mr. Zinn had bought a new frock coat for the occasion!—in itself most remarkable, being of a very dark blue, and skillfully tailored, unlike the near-shapeless preacher’s coat he commonly wore. And, too, he had exchanged his greasy cravat for a new tie; and wore a pale gray waistcoat; and—
Of a sudden, the gentleman’s head turned, and his eyes fell upon Prudence, with so swift and, as it were, unlook’d-to, a potency, that the breathless young woman could not help but step backward, and clutch at her strained bosom. Across the agreeably murmurous room, the lovers exchanged a look of such intricacy, in Prudence’s assessment, that, in her very dawning triumph, she felt a kind of despair, that she might never comprehend him, nor the untrammeled mystery of Romance!
Prudence saw how alarm, and guilt, and apprehension, and love, flowed most rapidly across John Quincy’s reddening face; she saw how his eyes shone; and his movement to step forward, that he might approach her, tho’ so many ladies and gentlemen separated them. She was too astonished, being greeted by that expression of naked love, to turn aside, in confus’d modesty; and is to be excused, I hope, if she remained stock-still, staring at her belovèd.
And then, a most inexplicable event occurred: Prudence gasped, and lost consciousness, and, before any startled gentleman could impede her fall, she sank swooning to the carpet.
So it happened that Mr. Zinn, in great haste, made his way to her, calling her name, and fairly tearing at his hair, in his consternation. With no mind for how all gaped at him, he knelt boldly above her; and lifted her somewhat, so that her helpless back rested against his knee; and ah! how his manly voice rang, with alarm, and startl’d love, for all to hear: “My dear Prudence! My love! Oh, do awaken, Prudence! O my belovèd!”
I understand not the paradox of the stricken young woman’s mental state: that she was unconscious, and yet, to some degree, conscious. All unresisting, with no more muscular volition than a dressmaker’s dummy—and yet, at the same time, was she not capable of seeing, through her shut, flushed eyelids, and hearing, with more than ordinary acuity?
John Quincy Zinn continued, the while, to address her, in a veritable paroxysm of tenderness, tears now starting out of his eyes, and his broad-boned face ashen-white. “My dear, my love, oh, my bride! Do awaken, dear Prudence! You shall not come to harm!” Thus the stricken gentleman spoke, as Prudence’s pretty feathered hat unpinned itself, and fell slowly, and with an exquisite grace, from her head, and to the carpet below. All this while, Prudence was awake, yet in a swoon; she saw and heard everything, yet could not respond, not even to assure her lover that she was out of danger, tho’ it racked her heart, to see his agitation.
(I hope I will not prejudice the reader, against Prudence, by stating that it was well for all concerned, not excluding future generations, of Kiddemasters, that the o’erwrought young woman did not enjoy the free use of her arms, at this crucial moment: for I do not consider it an exaggeration, to say that she would have, in full view of the astonish’d assemblage, entwined her arms about Mr. Zinn’s neck; and united herself to him, in a willful ecstasy of love, quite uninform’d by maidenly hesitation, or moral rectitude.)
Fortunately, Prudence could move neither her arms, nor her nether limbs, so the grave danger passed. It seemed, the while her lover leaned over her, that the scene was ablaze with light, and a thousand angels’ voices melodically sounded, in an orison of triumph: and, with that preternatural sharpness of vision, upon which I have commented, she was able to see, past John Quincy Zinn’s head, the exquisite stenciled ceiling of the drawing room, at which she had never gazed with especial interest, in the past; and to rejoice in the aesthetic harmony, of the cloud, vine, and pomegranate designs which, skillfully coupled with the rich turquoise of the background, summoned forth the remarkable effect of the out-of-doors, and of the sky, as if the lovers were alone together, in some wild, natural place, in Tuscany, perhaps, or in some unnamed glen, or glade, or declivity, in the ruder region of Bloodsmoor itself!
Yet she sank still deeper, in her helpless swoon, whilst her lover cried to her, now from a great distance: “O my dear—my belovèd—my bride—ah, do awaken!—my love, my bride—”
III
The Unloos’d Demon
FIFTEEN
The anxious reader will be, I know, gratified to learn, that a formal engagement betwixt Prudence and Mr. Zinn duly followed, upon the heels of this too-tempestuous scene; and that, after the space of a twelve-month, during which time the love of both parties naturally deepened, and acquired a somewhat more sombre tone, and the Kiddemasters to some degree relented, in their prejudice against Mr. Zinn (of which I will speak more, at a later date)—the handsome young couple was married in a most beauteous and solemn ceremony, at our old historic church in Bloodsmoor, the Reverend Hewett presiding: on the morn of 18 November 1855.
How it would ravish your eye, to see the stone church all sumptuously bedecked, with floral glories, of divers varieties!—and to observe how the quaint old church was happily filled—every pew, every seat—with Kiddemasters and their relations, from several states. (Tho’ of the bridegroom’s family there was, I am sorry to say, no one at all.)
SIXTEEN
Though Mr. Zinn had instructed his womenfolk to expunge from their minds all fanciful thought of the occult, wisely teaching that what we know as the Supernatural is but the Natural, imperfectly grasped, it did come to seem as if, on that golden autumnal day when Deirdre was carried off, a demon of some sort—bodiless, but ah, how powerful!—was loos’d, upon Bloodsmoor; it truly seemed as if the sacred mechanism of the universe had been grievously upset, and the highest of civilized values—not only gentility, and Christian morality, but Maidenhood itself—were cast down into the mud.
With what catastrophic results, we shall see: for I scarce exaggerate when I say that, from that day onward, the fortunes of the Zinn family were tragically alter’d.
THE PITY OF IT! Tiny pink velvet rosebuds (with the most beauteous silky-pink interiors) strewn on the trampled grass, of the riverbank.
The pale yellow satin-and-poplin bonnet, its veil hideously torn.
Broken rushes, and sere grass, and a lone branch snapped off a willow tree, from the violent passage of the balloon, in its hasty ascent.
Ah, and the spectacle of the balloon rising, its insensible prey aboard!—a black silken balloon drifting across the wide river—over the line of sentinel oaks—rising, and drifting, and growing ever-smaller—and smaller—the helpless girl aboard, hidden from view—captive, and lost—as her stricken sisters at last begin to scream for help—as the balloon drifts away—now a black sun, against the darkening sky—now a moon, all tremulous and indistinct—and now gone: vanish’d into air!
AND, IN THE confus’d days to come, the onslaught of the dread tribe of journalists, amongst them keen-eyed reporters from the Philadelphia Inquirer, and the Wilmington Globe (the publishers of which dared profess themselves friends of Godfrey Kiddemaster, of old); and the insult of the dignified Kiddemaster name not only printed widely in the common press, but accompanied by illicit daguerreotypes of the great Hall!—and, from time to time, accompanied by crude pencil sketches of the abducted “Miss Zinn” as well, these being entirely fictitious and fradulent drawings, of a young girl not resembling Deirdre in the least.
But tho’ the invidious creatures poked and pried as best they could, not scrupling, even, to make their queries in the poorer regions of Bloodsmoor, they remained as ignorant as the authorities, who confessed themselves quite baffled: how the resisting young lady was abducted from the riverbank; why no one, not even a servant, was near; where the balloon sailed, and eventually landed; who the abductor was (for surely he must have been a skilled balloonist); and why, after the spectacular kidnapping, he chose to make no attempt to contact the grieving family, or the authorities?
“It is an act of singular audacity,” Great-Aunt Edwina said, “an assault of the criminal classes against their betters: for I cannot th
ink that, in any wise, the unhappy girl brought this misfortune upon herself.”
“It is an insult to the Kiddemaster name,” Judge Kiddemaster said, his white-maned, leonine head still held high, tho’ greatly saddened by grief, “but one which shall not go unpunished, while I have strength, and breath, and resources at hand.”
“I fear,” Grandmother Kiddemaster murmured, but very gently wishing to qualify the statements of the others, “alas, I fear that we shall not see poor Deirdre again: for the balloon, as the girls have described it, is surely a balloon out of the darkest regions of the earth; and its pilot, not one to be summarily dealt with.”
Whereupon Great-Aunt Edwina, and Judge Kiddemaster, and Mrs. Zinn, and divers others, primarily of the elder generation, soundly took her to task; with every consideration, of course, of her invalid state, and the weaknesses of her mind. Even Mr. Zinn, by nature soft-spoken and courteous, could not restrain himself from observing, to his mother-in-law, that the balloon and its pilot were naught but natural phenomena, soon to be discovered by the police—there being a goodly number of policemen employed in this case, owing to the Kiddemasters’ importance, and the especial luridness of the event. Indeed, Mr. Zinn near-surrendered himself to some vehemence, in asserting: “Not only is the abduction an altogether natural occurrence—by which I mean, it is not supernatural—but, it is my prediction that, within a very few days, we shall have our belovèd daughter back, uninjur’d, and untouch’d, and quite as she was before.”
Oft the four sisters gathered, in the bedchamber shared by Malvinia and Octavia, or, if no adult or servant was near, in the cozy parlor downstairs, and spoke with tireless melancholy, and not a little continued amazement, of the brute loss of their sister. Ah, and how very strange it was, that the days passed, and the weeks, and no ransom demand was voiced!