Dollenganger 05 Garden of Shadows

by V. C. Andrews

  introduced Mrs. Steiner, the maid. She was a small woman, barely five feet four, and, as I towered above her, I flushed at my thoughts of being carried over the threshold. This woman, fiftyish though she was, would be a better candidate for such shenanigans. But she seemed kind as she smiled up at me. I looked to Malcolm but he was busily directing Lucas to carry in my trunks.

  "I have your bed turned down and a small fire going, ma'am," she announced. "It's a bit chilly tonight."

  "Yes." For a moment I was startled by the mention of bed. Why, it was almost morning! Was my wedding night to proceed now? Somehow I didn't feel ready yet, but I quickly hid my confusion. "I suppose Virginia mountain weather is something I'll have to get used to."

  "It takes some getting used to," she said. "The days can be warm in late spring and summer, but the nights are cool. Come along now," she beckoned to me.

  I hadn't moved from the entryway, but now the time had come to move forward and meet Foxworth Hall.

  All the lights were dimmed, the candles burned low. I walked slowly, like a somnambulist lost in a dream, through the long entryway with its high ceiling The walls were peppered with oil portraits of people I assumed were ancestors who had preceded me in Foxworth Hall. As I walked down the hall I gazed at them, one by one. The men looked austere, cold, haughty. So did the women. Their faces were pinched tight, their eyes saddened by some trouble. I looked in each of the portraits for some hint of Malcolm, some resemblance in the faces. Some of the men had his light hair and straight nose, and some of the women, especially the older ones, had his intense expression.

  At the end of the front foyer, large enough to be used as a ballroom, I came to a pair of elegant staircases that wound up like ruffles on a queen's sleeves. The curving staircases met at a balcony on the second floor, and from there became a single staircase that rose another flight. The three giant crystal chandeliers hung from a gilt carved ceiling some forty feet above the floor and the floor was made of intricate mosaic tiles. The magnificence took my breath away. How drab and gawky I felt in this elegant room.

  As Mrs. Steiner led me forward, I gazed at the marble busts, the crystal lamps, the antique tapestries that only the extremely wealthy could afford. Lucas hurried past us, lugging one of my trunks. I paused at the foot of the stairs, my mind numbed in a trance. I was to be the mistress of this magnificent mansion! Then Malcolm was beside me, laying a hand on my shoulder.

  "Well, do you approve?" he asked

  "It's like a palace," I said.

  "Yes," Malcolm said. "The seat of my empire. I expect you will manage it well," he added. He pulled off his gloves and looked about. "That's the library there," he said, gesturing to my right. I looked through the open doorway and caught a glimpse of walls lined with richly carved mahogany bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes. "I have something of an office in the rear, where you can work on our accounts. The main hallways above," he said, turning my attention back to the staircases, "join at the rotunda. Our bedrooms are in the southern wing, with its warmer exposure. There are fourteen rooms of various sizes in the northern wing--plenty of room for guests."

  "Yes. I believe that."

  "But I tend to agree with Benjamin Franklin, who said fish and guests tend to smell after three days. Please keep that in mind."

  I started to laugh, but I saw that he was serious.

  "Come, you're tired. You can explore and explore tomorrow. I suspect you might find one of my older relatives still living in one of the rooms in the north wing."

  "You don't mean that?"

  "Of course not, but there was a time when that might have been possible. My father was often carefree about such things. Mrs. Steiner," he said, indicating she should continue leading me upstairs.

  "This, way, Mrs. Foxworth," she said, and I began to ascend the staircase on the right, running my hand over the rosewood balustrade as I walked up. Lucas came down the left staircase quickly to retrieve my remaining baggage. Malcolm walked beside me, just a step or two behind.

  We reached the top of the stairs, and when we made the turn to the south wing, I confronted a suit of armor on a pedestal and I really felt I had entered a castle.

  The southern wing was softly lit. Shadows draped the hallway like giant cobwebs. The first door on the right was closed. From the size of the door, however, I imagined the room was a large one. Malcolm must have caught my interest.

  "The trophy room," he muttered, "my room," he added with a definite emphasis on "my," "in which I keep artifacts I have collected during my travels and hunts."

  I was immediately curious about that room. Surely the things within it would tell me more about the man I had married.

  We passed door after door until we reached a set of double doors on the right. The only doors we had passed which were painted white. I paused.

  "No one goes into this room," Malcolm declared. "It was my mother's room." His voice was so cold and hard when he said that, and his eyes so far away, that I wondered what it was about his mother that bothered him so. He spat out the word "mother" almost as if it were poison. What kind of man could hate his mother so?

  Of course, I wanted to know more, but Malcolm took my arm to lead me on quickly. Mrs. Steiner stopped before an opened doorway and stood to the side to allow me to enter.

  The bedroom was large. An ornately carved cherry bed stood in its center. Its hand-carved posts were topped with a white canopy, and the bed was covered with a spread of quilted satin. There were two large white pillows with hand-crocheted pillowcases.

  The bed itself was set between two large paneled windows that faced the south. The windows were draped in light blue pleated antique silk curtains. The room had a polished hardwood floor, but there was a thick light-gray wool rug beside the bed.

  I looked at the dressing table on the left with its oval-framed mirror. There was a large dresser beside it, a tremendous closet beside that, and a blue cutvelvet chair facing the bed. There was another closet on the right and another, smaller dresser to the right of it. The fireplace, now aglow with a dancing fire, was opposite the bed.

  Although the curtains, the bedding, and the rug suggested warmth and femininity, the room had a cold appearance. As I stood there, I had the distinct impression the room had been thrown together rather quickly. In such a glorious house, why would Malcolm want such a bedroom?

  My question was answered immediately. This was not our bedroom.

  This was my bedroom.

  "You'll want to get right to sleep," he said. "It's been a hard day, with all our traveling. Sleep as late as you wish."

  Malcolm leaned over and kissed me quickly on the cheek and then turned and left before I could say anything.

  It occurred to me that Malcolm might just be very shy and made these remarks for Mrs. Steiner's benefit. He probably intended to come to my bed before or in the morning

  Mrs. Steiner remained with me a while longer, showing me the bathroom facilities, explaining the order of the house, how she handled the linens, when she cleaned the rooms, how the orders for meals were made.

  "Of course, it's so late I can't give proper thought to all these things," I said, "but in the morning I'll go over it all again with you and decide what we'll continue and what we'll change." I think she was surprised by my firmness.

  "Every Thursday the servants go to town. We do our own shopping then as well," she said, frightened that I would end that practice.

  "Where do the servants sleep?" I asked.

  "Servants' quarters are above the garage in the rear. Tomorrow you'll meet Olsen, the gardener. He'll want to show you the gardens in the rear. He's rather proud of them. Our cook is Mrs. Wilson. She's been with the Foxworths for nearly thirty years. She claims to be sixty-two, but I know she's closer to seventy," she added. She chatted on and on in her somewhat thick German accent while she unpacked my trunks and began to organize my wardrobe. Finally her words melded into one long, monotonous rhythm, so I could no longer follow. She saw she was l
osing my attention and excused herself.

  "I hope you enjoy your first night's sleep at Foxworth," she said. Of course, it was practically morning.

  I took out the blue dressing gown I had taken such pains to have made for my wedding night. It had a deep cut V-shaped neckline and it was truly the most revealing garment I had ever owned. I remembered when they had first come out with the V neck, it had been denounced from the pulpit as indecent exposure. Doctors said it was a danger to health and a blouse with a triangular opening in the front was dubbed a "pneumonia blouse." Women continued to wear it, though, and it had come to be popular. Up until now, I avoided anything that revealed so much of the bosom. Now I wondered if I should wear it.

  Anticipating the possibility that Malcolm would come to me in the morning, I decided to do so. After I slipped into it, I let my hair down around my shoulders and contemplated myself before the dressing mirror. The glow of the fire put a tint on my skin and made it look as though the flame were burning within me.

  Looking at myself like that made me think of an unlit candle, for that was what an unloved woman was, I thought. No matter how beautiful she was, if she did not have a man to love her, she would never burn brightly. My chance to light my candle had come. I longed to see the flame.

  The desire lit my eyes. I ran the tips of my fingers down the strands of my hair and touched my shoulders. Standing there and thinking about Malcolm coming to my room finally to take me in his arms, I recalled love scenes I had read in books.

  He would press his lips to my shoulders; he would hold my hand between his and gently stroke it. He would whisper his love for me and press me closely to him My size that had always been my burden would arouse him In his arms I would be a perfect fit, as graceful and soft as any woman could be, for that was the power of love--to turn the ugliest of ducklings into a swan.

  I felt like a swan in this dressing gown I had finally become a woman to be desired. The moment Malcolm came through that door, he would see it, and if there were any doubts in his mind about me, those doubts would be blown away like fall leaves in the wind. I longed for him to come through that door. I was ready for him to come through that door.

  I put out the lights and slipped under the blanket. Fiery shadows danced on the ceiling; they looked like shapes that had emerged from the walls. The spirits of Malcolm's ancestors, asleep for years, had been nudged and awakened by my arrival. They performed a ritual of resurrection, excited with the prospect of a new mistress to haunt with the past. Rather than frighten me, the thought fascinated me, and I couldn't take my eyes off the dancing forms brought alive by the red glow of the fire.

  From somewhere down the long, empty hallway, I heard a door close. Its echo reverberated, bouncing between the walls and threading its way through the darkness until it reached my doorway.

  Then there was a deep, cold silence that pierced my heart, a heart so eager to be warmed and loved and cherished. I brought the blanket closer to my chin and inhaled the scent of newly washed sheets.

  I listened hard for Malcolm's footsteps, but I never heard them. The fire weakened; the shapes grew smaller and retreated again into the walls. My eyelids grew heavier and heavier until I was unable to keep them open. Finally, I welcomed sleep. I told myself that when I awoke, Malcolm would be beside me and the bright new life I had anticipated would begin.

  3 The Ugly Duckling and the Swan

  .

  SOMETHING BRIGHT TOUCHED MY EYES AND I AWOKE. IN my half dream I thought it was the light of love shining from Malcolm's eyes, but

  when I opened my eyes I realized it was merely the bright sun. Beside me the bed was cold and empty. Malcolm had not come to me during the night. Tears sprung unbidden to my eyes. I was a married woman; when would I lie beneath the light of love. All my dreams so newly flowered wilted as if from a winter wind. Who was my husband? Who was I now? I drifted toward the window and parted the satin curtains Sunlight spilled into the room.

  Just then I heard the gentle rapping of knuckles on my door.

  "Who's there?" I called, trying to sound bright and cheerful. But it was no use. My voice trembled and shook.

  "Good morning, Mrs. Foxworth. You slept well, I hope."

  It was Mrs. Steiner. And before I could say anything she had swung open the door and stood surveying me. A disapproving smile flitted over her lips.

  "Has Mr. Foxworth risen?" I asked quickly.

  "Oh, yes, ma'am. Some time ago. He's already left the house."

  For a moment I simply stared at her. Left the house? I had to bite back the tears. Didn't he intend to spend my first day here with me? Had he stopped by my room, seen me asleep, and then gone on? Why didn't he finally wake me? Why didn't he come to me?

  I felt like some invited guest, not like a newly married wife. Did the servants sense it too? Was that why Mrs. Steiner had that cold, disapproving look on her face?

  "Did Mr. Foxworth leave any messages for me?" I asked, but I resented that I had to ask a servant for my husband's communication. The least he could have done was written some husbandly note and thoughtfully left it beside me on the bed. That would have given me some warmth. There was only chill in this room. The fire had died down along with my hopes and dreams. My heart felt like a cold ember. Last night it flamed with hope. Today it was coated with ashes. To my servants, I would show only strength and competence.

  With a curt bow, Mrs. Steiner replied, "No, ma'am, he did not leave any messages. Would you want your breakfast brought up this morning?"

  "No. I'll be dressed and down shortly."

  "Very good." Mrs. Steiner went to start the fire. "It's all right. I don't need it. I don't pamper myself in the morning."

  "As you wish. Did you want anything special for breakfast, Mrs. Foxworth?"

  "What did my husband have?"

  "Mr. Foxworth always eats very lightly in the morning."

  "As do I," I said.

  Mrs. Steiner nodded and made a hasty retreat.

  It wasn't true, of course. Some mornings, I woke up ravenous and devoured everything in sight. But I wasn't hungry this morning. Oh, no, I was devastated and determined to find a way to make things better, right away.

  Something was terribly wrong. My father had always taught me that when something was terribly wrong, there was always a reason. And the reason was always hidden. If one wanted to know the truth, one had to search for it. "But Olivia," he had cautioned me, "when you search the shadows to find that truth, often you find things more horrible, more painful than you would have imagined." But I was a strong woman. I was brought up to be a strong woman Malcolm Foxworth was my husband and I would find out why he was neglecting me on our wedding night. I couldn't let my disappointment get the better of my intelligence. I had waited so long for the morning kisses I dreamt would be mine For the cuddling, the whispered words of love and affection. I, too, deserved these, and I wasn't going to give up this easily.

  When I rose and saw myself in the revealing dressing gown that was to bring such pleasure to Malcolm, I felt terribly embarrassed, even though no one else was there. It was as though I had gotten into costume for a play that was never performed, that had never been intended to be performed. I felt foolish, foolish and angry. I took it off and got dressed quickly.

  I'll never forget the first morning I came down those stairs. I stood at the top and gazed out over the huge foyer and felt the vast emptiness within. It was going to be a challenge to make this into a home, a challenge I knew I could meet.

  Yet, as I descended the stairway, I did feel like some queen. Mrs. Steiner had brought out Mrs. Wilson, the cook, and Olsen, the gardener, as well as Lucas to greet me. My servants waited below, anxious and intrigued with their new mistress. Surely, I made an impressive sight that morning. I imagined both Lucas and Mrs. Steiner had described me to the two others. However, none of them had expected Malcolm would bring home a bride so tall. With my hair still pinned up, my shoulders wide and straight, they must have thought some queen of the A
mazon was descending from above. I saw both fear and interest in their eyes.

  "Good morning," I began. "Don't expect that I will be rising at this late hour ever again. As Mrs. Steiner can tell you, we arrived in the middle of the night. Please make the introductions, Mrs. Steiner," I commanded. Malcolm should have been here to do this, I thought. I was sure they could see how disappointed I was about it.

  "This is Mrs. Wilson, the cook."

  "Welcome, Mrs. Foxworth," she said. Unlike Mrs. Steiner, Mrs. Wilson was a big-boned woman, at least five feet ten inches tall. Her hair was yellowishgray and she had large, inquisitive hazel eyes. I thought there was a smile of understanding around her eyes and imagined she thought I was what she expected. From what Mrs. Steiner had told me, Mrs. Wilson had known Malcolm all his life and could anticipate what kind of a woman he would bring home for a wife.

  "This is Olsen, the gardener," Mrs. Steiner said.

  Olsen stepped forward, holding his hat in his hands. He was a bulky, thick-necked man, built like a bull. He had thick, heavy fingers and short but powerful arms. I thought I detected something simple, something childlike in his face. Although his features were large, there was a softness in his eyes. He looked like a terrified grade school boy about to be reprimanded by his teacher.

  "G-g-g-g-good morning, Mrs. Foxworth," he said. There was a stutter in his speech, and he quickly looked down.

  "Good morning." I turned back to Mrs. Steiner. "I will have some breakfast now. Then I will begin my survey of the house and the grounds. Return to your work, and I shall call you when I need you."

  Sitting at the end of that long oak table large enough to accommodate twenty guests, I felt like a little girl in a high chair. This house overwhelmed even me. If I spoke too loudly, my voice reverberated, emphasizing the emptiness. If only Malcolm were beside me I would feel like a normal-size wife, neither a giant nor a child.

  Mrs. Steiner excused herself immediately after serving the tray and went up to do the bedrooms. I didn't mind eating alone; I had done so so often, but this was the day after my wedding and, according to Malcolm, my honeymoon!