Dollenganger 05 Garden of Shadows

by V. C. Andrews

  That afternoon the house was abustle with party preparations. Since Malcolm had made it clear that my help was not necessary, I felt I should stay out of the way. It was sweet, actually, since the party was in my honor, that he insisted I have the day to myself. I hesitated to continue my explorations of Foxworth Hall, fearful now of what I might find lurking in the shadows. But I had already begun, and was it not better to know the whole truth than only part? Now I was determined more than ever to learn about the people who had lived here. As I walked down the hall of the northern wing, I counted fourteen rooms. Malcolm had told me that these were his father's rooms. These hallways were even darker, colder than the rest of the house. Finally I came to a door that was slightly ajar. I checked to make sure that no one was watching me and opened it to a good-sized bedroom, although to me it appeared cluttered with furniture. So far away from the main life of the house, it seemed to be a room for hiding people; for unlike the other rooms in the north wing, with the exception of his father's room, this one had its own adjoining bath. I could just imagine Malcolm condemning one of his more unpopular cousins to these quarters.

  The furniture consisted of two double beds, a highboy, a large dresser, two overstuffed chairs, a dressing table with its own small chair between the two front windows that were covered with heavy, tapestried drapes, a mahogany table with four chairs, and another smaller table with a lamp. I was surprised that beneath all the ponderous dark furniture was a bright Oriental rug with gold fringes.

  Had this room indeed served as some sort of hideaway, perhaps an escape for Corinne? It was most intriguing. I went farther into it and discovered another, smaller door at the far end of the closet. I opened it and broke the intricate cobwebs that spiders had spun undisturbed for some time. After the dust settled before me, I confronted a small stairway and realized that it must lead up to the attic.

  I hesitated. Attics like this one had more than a sense of history to them. They had mystery. Faces in portraits were easy to read. No one cared if you saw some resemblances, and when I asked about the ancestors, only the facts, details, and tales Malcolm wished to tell me would be told.

  Truly though, in an attic hidden behind a small door in a closet, there had to be buried family secrets better kept undiscovered. Did I want to continue? I listened to the house for a moment. From this position it was impossible to hear anyone or anything going on below.

  The moment I took my first forward step and broke the wisp of cobweb drawn across the stairway by some guardian spider, I felt it was too late to turn back. A spell of silence had been broken. I was going up.

  Never had I seen or imagined an attic as big as this one. Through the cloud of dusty particles that danced in the light coming through the four sets of dormer windows stretched across the front, I gazed down at the farthest walls. They were so distant, they seemed hazy, out of focus. The air was murky; it had the stale odor of things untouched for years, already in the early stages of decay.

  The wide wooden planks of the floor creaked softly beneath my feet as I ventured forward slowly, each step tentative and careful. Some of the planks looked damp and possibly weakened to the point where they might split beneath my weight.

  I heard some scampering to my right and caught sight of some field mice that had found their way into what must have been to them the heavens.

  As I looked about, I realized there was enough stored in this attic to furnish a number of houses. The furniture was dark, massive, brooding. Those chairs and tables that were uncovered looked angry, betrayed. I could almost hear them ask, "Why leave us up here unused? Surely there is someplace for us below, if not in this house, then in another." Why had Malcolm and his father kept all this? Were they both hoarders? Were these pieces to be valuable antiques someday?

  Everything of value had been draped with sheets on which dust had accumulated to turn the white cloth dingy gray. The shapes beneath the sheets looked like sleeping ghosts. I was afraid to touch one or nudge one for fear it would awaken and float right to the ceiling of the attic. I even stopped to listen, thinking I had heard whispering behind me, but when I turned around, there was nothing, no movement, no sound.

  For a moment I wished there were voices, for they would be the voices of Malcolm's past and what they would say would prove most revealing. All of the secrets of Foxworth Hall had found sanctuary here. I was sure of it, and it was that certainty that moved me forward to look at the rows of leather-bound trunks with heavy brass locks and corners. They lined one entire wall and some still bore the labels from travel to faraway places. Perhaps one or two of these trunks had been used to carry Corinne's and Malcolm's father Garland's clothing when they went off on their honeymoon.

  Against the farthest wall giant armoires stood in a silent row. They looked like sentinels. I opened the drawers of one of them and found both Union and Confederate uniforms. Because of the geographical position of this part of Virginia, it made sense to me that some of the Foxworth family would go their separate ways and even end up in battle against one another. I imagined Foxworth sons as stubborn and determined as Malcolm, hotheaded and angry, shouting oaths at one another as some joined the northern cause, some the southern. Surely those who saw the value and importance of industrialization and business went north. Malcolm would have gone north.

  I put the uniforms back and looked at some old clothing like my mother used to wear. Here was a frilly chemise to be worn over pantaloons, with dozens of fancy petticoats over the wire hoops, all bedecked in ruffles, lace, embroidery, with flowing ribbons of velvet and satin. How could something so beautiful be hidden away and forgotten?

  I put the garment back and moved across the floor to look at some of the old books left in stacks. There were dark ledgers with yellowing pages, the ends of which crumbled when I opened the covers. Beside them were dress forms, all shapes and sizes, and birdcages and stands to hold them. How wonderful! I thought. I should bring these cages back downstairs and bring back the music of birds. Surely that would enliven Foxworth Hall. I slapped my hands together to rid them of the dust and started back toward the stairway, when a picture left atop a dresser caught my eye.

  I went to it and looked down at a pretty woman, perhaps no more than eighteen or nineteen. She wore a faint, enigmatic smile. She was ravishingly beautiful. Her bosom swelled out suggestively from a ruffled bodice. I was mesmerized by her smile, a smile that seemed to promise more and more right before my eyes. Suddenly it occurred to me who this was. I was looking at Malcolm's mother! This was Corinne Foxworth! There were clear resemblances in the eyes and in the mouth.

  Could Malcolm have brought her picture up here to hide away with the rest of his past? But there was something even more unusual about this picture: it sparkled unlike anything else in the room. Everything went to the Foxworths many years ago," he said, "and they were cloistered there for a time."

  "It looked like a place for someone to hide from the world," I said. He grunted, not keen to tell me more about the cousins or why they were kept living there. When I told him I had wandered up to the attic and found the birdcages, which I wished to bring down, he became rather annoyed.

  "My mother had them all over this place," he said. "At times it sounded like an aviary. Leave them where they are. Think of more dignified things to do when you re-decorate the house."

  I was not about to argue any matter that concerned Malcolm's mother. We talked a bit about Charlottesville and he described his offices and why he was so busy. He blamed it on a number of slipshod practices and poor decisions his father had made just before beginning his travels and going into semiretirement. But then he returned to a happier note.

  "I made a rather good move in the stock market today. I bought one thousand shares at twenty-four and by late afternoon it was up to fifty. A brilliant move, if I do say so myself. Do you know much about the stock market, Olivia?"

  "No, not really," I said. "I kept track of my father's investments, of course, but I couldn't advise him as to whe
re to place his funds and where not to."

  "Precisely why you ought to reconsider what you do with your own fortune, Olivia. In my hands it could be developed, increased, grow the way it is meant to grow."

  "Must we talk about that tonight, Malcolm? There's so much for me to get used to."

  His eyes clouded over, and he picked up his water and drank the entire glass down. "Of course, dear. As a matter of fact, I have to be going now anyway. I have some business to attend to. But I shan't be late. I'll return just after you retire for the day," he said. Then, to be sure his meaning was clear, he added, "Olivia, don't bother to wait up for me."

  5 My Wedding Party

  . THE GUESTS FOR THE RECEPTION BEGAN TO ARRIVE A LITTLE after one, fashionably late. Alone, with a few minutes to contemplate myself, I stood before the mirror and studied the image I presented. With my hair up in its usual manner, and the bodice of my blue dress somewhat tight and adding to the uplift in my bosom, and the fullness of the skirt, I thought I looked gargantuan. Because of the way the full-length mirror had been hung, I actually had to step back a few extra feet to see my entire body, from head to toe, in the glass.

  Was there any style I could wear that would make me look dainty and lovable? I could have let my hair down, but I was always so self-conscious about that. It made me feel rather undressed.

  I wondered if I was wrong to hope that this dress, the one that had attracted Malcolm, was dignified enough. Would Malcolm's friends and business acquaintances find me impressive? I closed my eyes and imagined myself standing beside him. Surely, this was something he himself had imagined before he took me as his bride.

  He must have been happy with the picture that formed in his mind, because he married me and he wanted to introduce me to fine society here. I tried to convince myself I should be more confident, but I couldn't keep that small bird from fluttering its nervous wings inside my chest.

  I pressed my hand against my breasts, took a deep breath, and started down the dual winding staircase to the foyer. Even though it was a bright day and we had more than the usual amount of sunlight pouring in the windows, Malcolm wanted to be sure that Foxworth Hall felt cheerful and gay, so he had ordered that all five tiers of the four crystal and gold chandeliers be fitted with candles and lit.

  The room was brilliant, but my nervousness made my face feel so hot, it was as if I were descending into a pit of fire. I was breathing so quickly, I had to pause to catch my breath. My legs actually trembled and for a moment my feet felt glued to the steps of the winding staircase. I thought I would be unable to go any farther. I took a firm hold of the balustrade. My eyes filled with tears. The light from the lamps and the candles blurred, and the reflections that emerged from the giant crystal fountain spraying its pale amber fluid, and the silver receiving bowl at the center of the foyer, looked like threads forming a cobweb of light across the room. The mirrors reflected the light from the silver cups on trays, and sent it to be caught by the polished frames of chairs and sofas lining the walls.

  Finally, I got hold of myself and continued down.

  "This is to be a festive occasion," I overheard Malcolm commanding the servants. "Make people feel comfortable and relaxed. Watch for emptied glasses and plates. Get them up and out of the way quickly.

  Circulate with the caviar, the small sandwiches, and petit fours continually. Guests should merely feel an inclination and then find you there beside them. But always, when you serve, smile, look pleasant, and be ready to be of some assistance. And carry napkins, do you hear? I don't want people looking about for a place to wipe their fingers."

  Malcolm saw me descend the stairs. "Ah, Olivia, there you are," he said. I thought I saw a flicker of disappointment pass over his face. "Come with me; we'll greet all our guests at the entrance, just after Lucas announces them."

  I laced my arm through Malcolm's, feeling nervous, tense, but doing my best not to show any of that. He looked remarkably cool and collected, as though he did this sort of thing every day. He looked handsome, in control, dashing. I hoped that on his arm, I would too.

  The bell rang. The first guests had arrived! "Mr. and Mrs. Patterson," Lucas announced. Mr. Patterson was a short, rotund man with a pink flush blushing his cheeks. Mrs. Patterson, however, was dainty, thin, rimmed in lace, and wearing a dress that barely covered her knees! Her hair was worn down in ringlets, held into place by a daring bejeweled headband. Why, I didn't know people actually wore such costumes. I'd seen them only in fashion magazines.

  "I'd like to present my wife," Malcolm said. And as I moved to greet Mrs. Patterson, I saw her eyes climb up to the summit of my head; then slink once again to my feet, then climb again, this time to Malcolm, where they rested on his blue eyes as a wry smile formed on her lips.

  Mr. Patterson broke the tension by grasping my hand warmly and saying, "Olivia, welcome to Virginia. I hope Malcolm is showing you all the pleasures of our Virginia hospitality."

  Mrs. Patterson, finally tearing her eyes from Malcolm's, merely looked at me and sighed, "Indeed."

  The remainder of the guests followed in a steady stream, and soon the party was in full swing.

  The men were correct and pleasant, but I was shocked to see that all the women wore sacklike dresses that ended just below or even above the knee and were either waistless or belted at hip level. The fine thin fabrics were all pale--creams, beiges, whites, and soft pastels. I thought they looked more like little girls than dignified women. Their largescale accessories, huge artificial flowers of silk and velvet, and heavy ropes of beads, emphasized their diminutive size and added to their childish

  appearance.

  Beside them, I was a veritable giant, Gulliver in Lilliput, the land of the tiny people. Every gesture, every move I made seemed exaggerated. There wasn't a woman I didn't look down on, and almost all the men were shorter than I was.

  I must say the crowd was extraordinarily gay. Whatever inhibitions they possessed were

  immediately dropped as they moved from the punch bowls to the trays of food. The sound of chatter and laughter grew with every passing moment. By the time Malcolm thought it best we begin to circulate among our guests, the foyer roared with laughter and loud conversation. I had never been at such a gathering of exhilarated people.

  My first reaction was to feel happy about it; it looked like my reception was off to a wonderful start, but as I began to circulate amongst the guests, my exuberant feelings fizzled, for I felt a chill in the air between me and these gay, lighthearted, and surprisingly whimsical people.

  The women were drawn into small groups, some of them smoking cigarettes held in long ivory cigarette holders. All of them, I thought, looked very sophisticated and worldly. Whenever I joined a group of them, however, they ended their line of

  conversation and looked at me as though I were an intruder. They made me feel like an uninvited guest at my own party.

  They asked how I liked living in Virginia, and especially, how I liked living in Foxworth Hall. I tried to give them intelligent answers, but most of them seemed impatient with my responses, as though they didn't really care about my opinion, or as though they didn't really expect me to make such an elaborate response.

  Almost immediately after I finished speaking, they began to talk about the latest fashions. I had no idea what some of the things they were referring to were.

  "Can you see yourself in one of those middy blouses?" Tamara Livingston asked me. Her husband owned and operated the biggest lumber mill in Charlottesville.

  "I--I'm not sure what they are," I said.

  The group stared at me and then they carried on as though I weren't standing there. As soon as I walked away, there were peals of laughter.

  These women were so silly, I thought. All they talked about was clothing styles or ways to redecorate their homes. None of them said anything about politics or business and in none of my conversations did I hear mention of a book. As the reception went on, they looked sillier and sillier to me, laughing and
giggling, flirting with their long eyelashes, their shoulders and hands.

  I expected Malcolm would become outraged at the loss of decorum as time passed, but whenever I looked for him, he was standing among a group of these women, laughing, permitting them to put their hands on him, letting them rub up against him, petting him rather suggestively.

  I was shocked. These were the kind of women he despised--vapid, frilly types without an ounce of self- respect. But there he was, rushing to bring a glass of punch to this one or that one or feeding a petit four to a woman who let him press the small cake through her lips. One even licked the crumbs off the tips of his fingers.

  When I heard Amanda Biddens, the wife of one of Malcolm's business associates say, "I simply must see your library, Malcolm. I want to see where you sit and dream up all those schemes to make millions," I was appalled to see him take her arm and lead her through the heavy double doors. I felt as if I'd been publicly _ slapped in the face. My cheeks stung and tears sprang to my eyes. It took all of my strength not to follow them, but to remain dignified and in control, wandering about the party, giving the servants orders from time to time, eating and drinking very little myself. No one sought me out for any prolonged conversation. Some of the men asked me questions about my father's business, but when I began to give them detailed answers, they seemed bored.