The driver, who had been waiting, leaped down and opened the door. There was one unfolding step.
“This is Lucas,” Garland said. “Lucas, this is Miss Corrine Dixon. You might see quite a bit of her over the next few days, if we’re both lucky.”
Lucas was a slim man with dark-brown hair, the strands going every which way. I didn’t think him to be much older than I was and not much taller.
“Evening, ma’am,” he said, touching the brim of his hat and bowing slightly. He glanced at me and looked away quickly, as if a glance was all he was permitted. Getting into this carriage made it easy to feel like royalty.
Garland held my arm firmly as I stepped up and in. The seats did smell new.
“Open it up when we’re out of the city, Lucas. Miss Dixon likes to go fast,” Garland told him, and got in smiling. He sat beside me and unfolded the rose-colored blanket that had a lion embroidered in black at the center. It was captured in motion as if it had just leaped to seize its prey.
“What do you think?” he asked as we started away.
“Striking,” I said. “Beautiful work.”
“Yes, I have someone from New York City working on this, a true artist. I like the sense of movement, power, and confidence in the lion’s face.”
“Is that how you see the Foxworths, see yourself?”
“As reflected in the faces of the people I meet,” he said. “Am I overstating?”
“I’ll let you know,” I said.
“I imagine you will.”
Looking through the front window, I could see that the streets of the city were still quite busy. Like Alexandria’s, Charlottesville’s streets were increasingly lit by electric rather than gas lamps. They were brighter and for me gave the city more excitement at night. There was wave after wave of voices, people shouting and laughing, and music spilling out of bars and restaurants along the way.
“Busier than usual tonight,” Garland said, nodding at other carriages. “Kind of festive, don’t you think?”
“Yes.” My eyes were going everywhere, seizing on the women in scant clothes who were openly flirting with men, and men drinking from bottles of whiskey. I saw even women doing that here and there. Children who struck me as orphans were scurrying about offering to do favors and begging for change.
“My mother would call it Sodom and Gomorrah. She’d be absolutely overwhelmed by it now.”
“My mother would be in a faint if she were in this carriage,” I said, and he laughed.
The carriage picked up speed the moment we left the city streets. It bounced over the rough road. Garland put his arm around me.
“For your own protection,” he said, smiling. “Just call me insurance.”
He held me firmly, his handsome face closer to mine. If I turned completely, our lips would surely meet. My mother’s eyes would widen with such astonishment that she could tear her lids. But truthfully, I liked his being this close, liked the sense of strength I could feel in his arm. Some women, especially my mother’s close friends, complained about how domineering men were, but I would gladly bathe in this warm, firm protection.
After we had left the city, I saw houses occasionally, but there were mostly trees and empty fields. As the twilight sky darkened, Lucas slowed the carriage. The half-moon cast a wide amber glow over everything in front of and around us. I didn’t question Garland’s comment about Foxworth’s personality changing when the sun went down. I always felt that night changed the world in subtle but occasionally startling ways. An ordinary maple tree looked more spidery. Sometimes gaps between leaves with some stars behind them resembled eyes. As a child, I always wondered where the birds went at night. There were night birds and often bats, but where did the other birds go to sleep, and why was it so hard to see them? My mother fled from such questions, but my father smiled and made up answers, saying things like “They flew to the other side of the world where there was light. Where else would they go?”
However, at the moment, I worried about whether nighttime was best to see Foxworth Hall for the first time. Maybe I wouldn’t like its evening personality. Even houses, especially large ones, were often gloomy, washed in deep shadows, looming rather than looking majestic and regal the way I had imagined Garland’s family home to be. I had told myself I was on my way to see a castle gleaming with gold and light, a romantic place in which a young prince lived.
The road wound upward. As we drew closer to the hills, I noted how the trees paraded up and down between them. I mentioned it to Garland.
“The Foxworths planted many of them,” he said, “to serve as windbreaks. They also hold back the heavier drifts of snow.” He smiled. “It’s as if we had the power to control nature itself, don’t you think?”
Once I set eyes on Foxworth Hall rising against the night sky as we drew closer, I understood Garland’s arrogance. His home sat above and looked down on the far smaller houses splattered almost randomly beneath it. For a part of the day, Foxworth literally blocked the sun and cast long, seemingly ever-creeping deep shadows over so many of these homes and their residents. Even my father would be intimidated as he approached and then entered this mansion. How powerful and rich must be the man who owns all this, he would surely think. I know I did.
“Do you live by yourself in such a house, Garland?” I asked.
“I have servants, of course,” he said. “But since I lost my immediate family, I have lived alone. One can get used to it if one has grown up amidst the echoes rolling through the hallways. You will see that I have many rooms to wander in and out of. I am never bored with my home. It seems like every day when I’m there, I discover something to change, something to add, and something to, shall we say, retire. The vast attic is more like a cemetery filled with discarded furniture, portraits of relatives I never knew or even heard of, and old toys, antiques, as well as closets of clothes once thought to be elegant. There are coats and shoes, busts and mannequins. It’s a virtual gold mine of relics. It wouldn’t surprise me to find actual skeletons.
“When I was a little boy, maybe not that little, I’d go up there and explore. My mother worried about rats and spiders and even ghosts. Once you spend time in Foxworth Hall, you’ll understand why I often think it’s alive. Somewhere in some dark part of it, its heart beats.”
When he spoke, he seemed hypnotized, talking like someone dreaming. Although his arm was still around my shoulders, I could almost feel him drift away. I was speechless, of course, maybe even a little shocked. I looked closer at Foxworth Hall and thought I had never had even an inkling of such a feeling for my house. I could move out of it tomorrow and not miss a corner, a step, or a window. My father talked about houses in the same way he spoke about investments. The only emotion he seemed to have was joy when its value rose.
And yet I would have to admit that it was intriguing to think of a house as central to who you were, to your family’s identity. Only a Foxworth could feel it in this one, perhaps. Garland certainly seemed to.
“How many rooms are in the house?” I asked, more to bring him back to earth than to educate myself about it.
“Thirty-six, but there are closets in some rooms as big as rooms in other people’s homes. I have my favorite ones, of course, and I’ll be interested to see which rooms you like the most. Of course, you’ll love our ballroom and that new piano I described.”
“Do you play?”
“No, but it’s easy to hire someone who does when I want to, when I want the music in the house, when I have a reason to use the ballroom.”
He smiled but did so facing the mansion more than me. It was as if he believed the house could hear him talk about it in such favorable terms.
“You’ll see that the Wexlers’ ballroom is closer to a closet compared to the one in Foxworth Hall.”
“And servants?”
“I have a very good cook, Mrs. Wilson, a few gardeners, as I told you, and a maid, Myrtle Steiner. She’s plain-faced, with what I call a roly-poly figure, but she runs the place like it’s her
s.”
“Only one maid in so big a mansion?”
“Obviously, I don’t use all the rooms on a daily basis. The doors are closed. No need to dust them until just before they’d be used. However, to be sure, there’s my bedroom, a guest bedroom, a living room I frequent, the kitchen, dining room and bathrooms, all seen to daily.”
“When did you use the ballroom?”
“Truthfully, I’ve had no reason for a gala, but I expect I will soon. Right now, it’s been just a big private party room. Whenever it was used for that, which I haven’t for some time, I bring in a half dozen or so to clean and wash and polish before and after.
“Lucas, who is quite handy for a man his age, serves as something of a house manager, looking after lights and pipes and such. Once we’re inside, he’ll run ahead and light candles and torches so you can have your first tour. It is spectacular to see it at night, isn’t it?” he asked, nodding.
We were pulling up to the large double entrance doors with gaslit sconces.
“Yes,” I said, but tentatively. I hadn’t yet really seen it. To a stranger, it might not have the magic he believed it possessed, but it was obviously very important to him that I be more than impressed, perhaps overwhelmed.
We stopped.
“There, that wasn’t too long, was it?” Garland asked.
“No.”
“And the ride was fine. Of course, being beside someone as charming as you, time flies anyway.”
“Not too fast, I hope. I don’t want to be left behind.”
He roared. “A wittier young woman I have yet to meet.”
“And hopefully won’t,” I added.
He laughed again. Lucas opened the door for us and waited to help me step down. He then hurried to open the front doors, which were so thick and tall that it seemed he was opening the portals to some netherworld.
“M’lady,” Garland said with an exaggerated bow, “my humble home is at your disposal.”
And we entered Foxworth Hall. The entryway was well lit, but the lights were low inside. Seemingly out of the shadows, a small woman, perhaps five foot four at most, approached us. She wore a dark-blue dress and black shoes that looked more like men’s. They had a thick heel and sole, probably to add a half inch or so to her height. Nevertheless, I felt like I towered over her. Her plain face told me who she was before Garland had stepped forward to introduce us. She had patches of redness on her cheeks and forehead and dull dark-brown hair pinned back.
“This is Mrs. Steiner,” he said.
Mrs.? I thought. Because of the way he had described her and how she looked, I couldn’t imagine her being married, and if she was, where was her husband? There was no mention of him.
“Mrs. Steiner, Miss Dixon.”
“Good evening,” she said. “Welcome to Foxworth Hall.” She turned to Garland. “I thought you might want a fire in the living room, Mr. Foxworth. It seems a bit chilly tonight.”
“It’s always a bit chilly to you, Mrs. Steiner,” Garland said, smiling. “But thank you. I’m going to be giving Miss Dixon the two-cent tour of Foxworth Hall. The dollar tour will occur in the daytime.”
“Would you like some tea or . . .”
“Nothing, thank you, Mrs. Steiner.”
He turned to Lucas.
“Light some candles for us upstairs, Lucas.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, hurrying ahead.
I gazed up at the high ceiling. Scattered along the walls were portraits of people I assumed were Foxworth ancestors. I was surprised at some, because the men looked so austere, cold, and not at all like Garland. But then I thought they might have wanted that look, believing it made them appear more powerful, authoritative. The women I saw weren’t attractive and weren’t portrayed as happy. Their faces were pinched and tight like the faces of women who had been forced to pose perhaps for hours.
“I’ll introduce you to some of them at a later time,” Garland said, seeing how I was studying some of the paintings. He leaned over, smiling coyly, and said, “I like to tease them. They’re all dying to know who you are.”
“What?”
He laughed, took my hand, and led me to the end of the long foyer, where there was a pair of elegant staircases that wound upward to join a balcony on the second floor. From the balcony, there was a second single staircase rising to another flight. Three giant crystal chandeliers hung from a gilt carved ceiling some forty feet above the floor of mosaic tiles.
“Impressive,” I said in a whisper. Somehow I thought I shouldn’t speak in tones any louder. It was as if I had entered some temple.
“Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet, Corrine.”
As we approached the stairway, I gazed at the marble busts, the crystal lamps, and the antique tapestries. There were museums that didn’t have as much as this house, I thought. The wealth displayed along the walls and on them would take anyone’s breath away. I hadn’t been in a home this majestic. Garland didn’t rush me through it, either. I thought he was relishing the way I reacted, wide-eyed, to everything I was seeing.
“My father believed that Foxworth Hall could charm any woman more than any Foxworth man could. ‘Bring the woman you love here, and she will love you,’ he would tell me.”
“Was he right?” I asked coyly.
“I have yet to find out,” he replied. Few men I had met could hold their smile in the glint of their eyes as well as he could. Was he telling the truth? I doubted it, but I liked the fact that he wanted me to feel special.
“With all due respect to your father, a woman doesn’t marry a house,” I said.
“Maybe,” he replied. “You have yet to feel all its magic.”
We walked on, Mrs. Steiner remaining close behind as if she was there to catch whatever new request Garland tossed over his shoulders.
Before we reached the stairway, he nodded to his right. “That’s our library,” he said. He paused. “Turn up the lights a bit, please, Mrs. Steiner.”
She charged into the library and increased the illumination. Garland led me to the doorway, and I gazed at the walls lined with richly carved mahogany bookshelves crowded with leather-bound volumes. The ceiling was at least twenty feet high, the shelves of books almost meeting it. A slim portable stairway of wrought iron slid around a track curved to the second level of shelves, and there was a balcony from which someone could reach the books on the top level.
“I have something of an office in the rear. I can show you that later, perhaps in the daytime tomorrow if I can steal you away again. There’s a nice view of the property from the windows there.”
“It’s the most beautiful home library I’ve ever seen,” I said. “Have you read any of these books?”
He laughed. “One or two. I don’t sit still long enough these days to finish a book. Are you a reader?”
“Of volumes I like.”
“I’ll have to learn what those are and get more of them for you if they are not here now. You can spend hours checking titles, but many have to do with history and legal matters. It would take months to peruse all this. But I think you’d enjoy every day.”
I loved to hear him say things that foresaw a future for us, for me.
“Our bedrooms, the family’s,” he quickly corrected, “are upstairs in the southern wing. There’s warmer exposure. There are fourteen rooms in the northern wing, all various sizes. My parents had frequent guests.”
“And you don’t?”
“Occasionally. Who knows? This house is so large there might be some still left from months ago.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Of course,” he said. “But we’ll see.”
He turned me to the stairway, and we started up. As I walked, I ran my hand over the smooth rosewood balustrade. Lucas came hurrying toward us when Garland turned us toward the south wing. Right there stood a suit of armor on a pedestal. Now I really thought I had entered a castle.
“Oh. Another relative?”
“Still inside,” he joked.
<
br /> Lucas had softly lit the hallway ahead, giving me the sense that he had done this before when Garland had brought in a young lady for a tour. I caught a quick smile. He was more like a fellow conspirator.
I looked to my right and down. “I’ve never been in a house with bedrooms so high up.”
“Yes. My father used to say our stairways either conditioned us to live longer or killed us off younger than expected. There were definitely a few heart attacks up here,” he added.
“Really?” I said with nearly a gasp, even though he didn’t sound upset.
“Have you heard about elevators? I’m seriously thinking about getting one installed.”
“Yes. I heard my father mention them when he was talking about investments in new commercial buildings, but I had never heard of a house having one.”
“Exactly. I’d probably be the first in Virginia. Shall we continue?”
We walked a little farther before stopping at the open doorway of a large room.
“Take a peek,” he said. I stepped in through the doorway.
There were at least a dozen heads of various animals on the walls.
“Not much here yet. I haven’t been at it as much as my father, but I intend to add to our collection in the foreseeable future. Hunting,” he added when I didn’t respond.
“Oh.”
“It’s sort of a trophy room.” He studied my reaction to some of the heads, the eyes frozen in what I thought was anger. “You don’t look like you approve.”
“They look like they’re all staring at us with rage.”
He laughed. “Who could blame them?”
He took my arm again, and we continued until we reached a set of open double doors.
“This is my room.”
It was at least two, maybe even three, times as large as my parents’ bedroom. An ornately carved cherrywood bed was at the center. It had hand-carved posts topped with a white canopy. The bed was covered with a spread of quilted satin. There were two large white pillows with hand-crocheted pillowcases.
The bed was set between two large paneled windows, which 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.
Beneath the Attic Page 9
