I saw myself embracing my soft, oversized pillow and, as a little girl, falling to sleep with a smile on my face in my bedroom at home.
I drifted off, driving down the thought that I would see that warm comfort again only in my dreams.
Garland woke me, not by shaking or touching me but simply with his overbearing presence, a shadow moving over me. I had the feeling he had been standing there beside the bed staring down at me for a while. Was I always to awaken with him looming?
The impishness in his eyes that had teased and drawn me to him was smothered by the dark intensity of a man who looked like he had no memory of me. Who was this girl sleeping in one of his beds?
I ground the sleep out of my eyes and sat up.
“What’s happening?” I asked. “Have I overslept?”
He stepped back, his arms folded across his chest. The expression on his face was so firm that it looked chiseled out of granite, the face of one of the statues in the halls. It drew away all the warmth in his eyes, turning them into cold glass. His silence was the most disturbing thing of all. Did I imagine myself speaking? Hadn’t he heard me?
“What is it, Garland? Why are you just staring at me?”
“Is this your way of getting some subtle revenge?” he replied in a voice I didn’t recognize, a voice that seemed to echo from a darkness deep inside of him. He resembled one of his austere, grim ancestors frozen in a portrait hung high enough in the hallway to glare down with disapproval at anyone who dared enter Foxworth Hall. It was as though his family’s ancient anger and madness had been passed down from generation to generation wrapped in a ball of fire and was now emerging in him.
“What?” I asked in a voice barely above a whisper. “Why do you ask such a thing?”
“You chased Dora out with my mother’s dress, my mother’s dress, balled and crushed in her arms!”
“I didn’t chase her.”
“I’m trying to make our first dinner as a family special, unforgettable. I thought by bringing back some of the Foxworth history together, we’d have fun, too. You frightened the poor girl so badly she’s been crying in her quarters. Mrs. Steiner came running to tell me. She was quite upset herself.”
He stepped closer, his hands on his hips, his face softening as I felt my own begin to crumble into sobbing.
“I know you didn’t mean to do it. I’m sure it was because you were tired, and being tired makes anyone a little irritable. But we have to remember that if we don’t treat our servants properly, we won’t get the best out of them. People are just as much an investment as anything, any land, any business, anything, and when you put something in, you want to get the most out. Now, about the dress . . .”
“I’d look like an idiot in that dress,” I said as firmly as I could.
I never could tolerate a lecture from my mother, and I wouldn’t start tolerating his. Too many young women simply shifted their parents’ authority over them to their husbands almost before their vows were spoken. Not me. I had made up my mind about that long ago.
“An idiot? In my mother’s dress?”
“I’d be swimming in that dress. And a bustle? I’ve avoided wearing one, Garland. I’d feel so silly starting to do so now.”
“My mother never felt silly wearing it.”
“That was because it was highly fashionable then. It’s fallen out of style. I’ve studied fashion closely. Remember the beautiful dress I wore at the Wexlers’? I chose that myself. I know what is the rage now and what is passé. Besides, as I recall, you were quite impressed with how I looked, weren’t you?”
“Yes, yes,” he said, waving his right hand as if he wanted to chase my words away as he would an annoying fly.
“I had my father take me to the department store as soon as we received your invitation for the weekend, and I have something very much up-to-date that is quite proper for a family dinner. I thought you’d be proud of me, proud that I had the knowledge and the taste, and that despite my age, you’d never be ashamed or . . .”
I stopped because I felt myself choking up. Where was the gentle, loving man who had come begging for my hand in marriage? I felt myself flinch with anxiety. Was there something about this grand house with its yet-to-be-explored shadowy corridors and rooms, its attic and its closets that harbored the ghosts of unhappy and dreadful times? Was all the natural beauty I had seen surrounding it forbidden entrance? Was my soon-to-be husband one man to the world outside of it and another when the grand doors closed behind him? Could something similar happen to me?
He looked down, shook his head, and sighed before he looked up. “Wear what you brought tonight. Tomorrow I’ll have Dora show you my mother’s entire wardrobe, and you can choose whatever you think can be updated, altered.”
“But—”
“It would mean a lot to me if you could bring some of her beautiful things back to life,” he said sharply, and then smiled. “At least try. Please. Besides, Corrine, you can’t look foolish in anything. You’re far too attractive. Gorgeous clothes, even expensive jewels, will only embellish what is already there, provided by generous Nature herself, Nature who has given me a great gift.”
His gentle, handsome smile returned, rushed into his cheeks and his eyes, and softened his beautiful, perfect, and manly lips. This was the face that had captured me so quickly at the Wexler gala. I felt the chill and dread recede.
“As long as I don’t have to wear a bustle,” I said, relenting.
“Whatever. I so want this to be a memorable evening for you, for everyone. It’s important to me that you are comfortable and happy at Foxworth Hall. Embrace it, and it will embrace you.”
He stepped forward to kiss me. He wanted it to be short, a father’s kiss, but I held on to his shoulders so firmly that he laughed and then kissed me the way a man should kiss a woman, his lips letting me clearly know that he wanted to touch me deeply in my sex. I was moved and even moaned. Did we have time? He heard my thoughts.
“Later,” he whispered, with the seductive eyes of someone proposing a secret assignation. He stepped back. “I’ll have Dora return to help you prepare yourself. She’s very good at attending to the needs of another woman. You’ll see. Only, be a little nicer to her. You might have noticed that she’s a little fragile.”
“She has a limp.”
“Born with one leg shorter than the other,” he said. “But she can do all she has to and more. See you in a while.”
He left, and I realized what he had just said. She’s very good at attending to the needs of another woman. How would he know that? What other woman? Where?
Minutes later, there was a knock on my door. Realizing the size of this house and how far off the carriage stables were, I suspected Dora had been hovering in the wings somewhere nearby, nervously awaiting Garland’s assurance that all would be fine. I felt a mix of sorrow and power. Having authority over other young women wasn’t something new to me. They sprawled at my feet during my womanly talks and later hoped for some acknowledgment when they saw me. Something my father once told me rose to the surface of my thoughts, however. “Kings and queens have power,” he’d said, “but it doesn’t take them long to realize that power traps them.” I didn’t quite understand it when he said it, but I thought I did now. It adds responsibility and widens the reach of your conscience.
“Yes?”
Dora peered in gingerly. “Ma’am?”
“Please, just come in,” I said. “I’m sorry I raised my voice.”
She smiled and entered. “You’re wanting a bath after such a long day, I’m sure. I have the water ready for you,” she said. “My aunt gave me some powders to soften the water and give it a scent. It’s very nice.”
“Where are you from, Dora?” I asked, rising.
“Richmond, ma’am.”
“Do you have brothers and sisters?”
“An older brother. He works in one of Mr. Foxworth’s factories. He lived with my parents, who were both quite sickly. They had us late in life. My moth
er was in her mid-thirties, and my father was forty.”
“I see,” I said. Although she answered shyly, her eyes down, I thought if I continued to ask her some personal questions, she would relax and not be as afraid of me. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
“Oh no, ma’am,” she said, actually blanching at the idea.
“You can’t be much younger than me.”
She looked confused.
“What?” I asked.
“I’m almost five years older,” she said. It sounded like a reluctant confession. “But unlike most girls my age,” she continued, “I had to spend most of my time caring for my parents.”
“You weren’t a servant for any other family?”
“No, ma’am. Until most of last year, I was at home. When my mother passed, I cared for my father, and then when he passed, my aunt told Mr. Foxworth about me. I was at home, caring for my brother’s needs.”
“I thought you were only just hired. How long have you been here?”
She thought a moment. “Since October tenth of last year, ma’am.”
I stared at her. Why didn’t I see her when I was here? Surely she knew I had been here that night. Why hadn’t Garland mentioned her?
“You stay in the carriage house?”
“In rooms above it, yes, ma’am.”
“Your brother never brought a young man home to meet you?”
“No, ma’am.”
I nodded, but in the back of my mind, I was thinking that despite her good looks, her limping might have driven some romances away before they had a chance to start. Or worse yet, her brother might not have wanted to lose his personal maid, her future be damned. My mother would say that just like any other selfish man, he wasn’t at all concerned about her needs, her dreams, only his own comfort.
“I mean,” she quickly added, “I wouldn’t count Mr. Foxworth that way.”
“Your brother brought him to your house?”
She nodded. “When he was visiting his factory, he mentioned that my aunt had recommended me, and he asked to meet me. I suppose my brother couldn’t refuse him. When Mr. Foxworth came, it was like an interview for a job. It was a surprise, but I had our home in good order.”
“Yes, I suppose it was quite the surprise.”
I wanted to ask more questions, but I was afraid of the answers I might be given. I couldn’t imagine any young woman not having a crush on Garland the moment she saw him.
“I’ll take that bath,” I said.
I went to my suitcase and took out the dress I had bought just for this night. It had a flared and gored skirt and a tiny boned bodice with elbow-length sleeves. My hourglass figure wouldn’t be well hidden. I doubted Garland’s mother’s wardrobe had anything like it.
“I’ll be wearing this.”
She nodded and smiled. “Very pretty, indeed, ma’am.”
I considered her a moment. I didn’t like her calling me ma’am even though I realized a servant should address the mistress of the house this way, but somehow, even though I was younger, the way she said it made me sound much older. There was too much forced deference. I was more comfortable with girls who were envious. I guessed I’d have to get used to it and let it go. I imagined Garland would not approve of her calling me Corrine. Soon she could call me Mrs. Foxworth anyway.
It was curious how I hadn’t thought of that until this very moment. Could I get used to it, to being known as Mrs. Foxworth? Right now, it seemed more like a shoe that wouldn’t quite fit, a shoe that squeezed my toes. I supposed it was the same for any young girl about to change not only her name but her whole life.
Dora surprised me by remaining in the bathroom preparing washcloths and towels. I looked at the filled tub. It had a sawn-oak trim rail and sat on a cast-iron frame and legs. There was a decorative scroll design on the legs.
“Are all the bathrooms this nice?” I asked.
“All I’ve seen, ma’am.”
“You mean, you’ve been here since October and there is still a lot more for you to see of this house?”
“Oh yes, ma’am. Mr. Foxworth doesn’t like anyone wandering about the house. We do what we have to where we are sent, and that is that.”
I wondered if she had ever seen the Swan Room, but I didn’t ask. I started to get into the tub, conscious of the way she was looking at me when I disrobed.
“Oh, please be careful, ma’am,” she said, moving to help me sit in the water.
The water was a light-blue color and did have a delightful, fresh sweet scent. As soon as I sat, she moved quickly to begin washing my back with a soft washcloth. I turned and looked at her, her face so close. Except for those freckles, she had a complexion that definitely rivaled mine, and her lips, which were straight and full, had a natural orange-red tone. I admired her teeth as well, because they were so straight and white.
“You’ve taken good care of yourself, Dora,” I said.
“I had to,” she said. “I couldn’t get sick with my parents as they were.”
“I meant more than health,” I said. “Your beauty.”
“Oh. Thank you, ma’am, but I’ve done nothing special.”
I studied her a moment, my suspicions triggered by how carefully she touched me and how concerned she was.
“You know about me, right, Dora? You know about my current state?”
She was silent. According to Garland, all the servants knew about me, so I assumed she did, but she had also obviously been told to keep it so buried in her mind that it was as if it wasn’t true. That was fine for now, I thought. Servants gossiped, and the gossip could leak out and find its way to my mother’s ears during these two days.
I closed my eyes and let her massage my neck and shoulders. She ran the washcloth gently over my shoulders and down my arms. When she reached around and glided them over my breasts, I was a little shocked, but she continued as if she was washing the tub and not me in it. I lay back so she could go farther down my stomach, and then she came around and gently lifted each of my legs separately to softly scrub over my calves and thighs. I looked at her face as she washed my body. She wore a soft, simple smile, as if she was washing the body of an infant, a baby, but I didn’t complain. This, I thought, was a life I might very well enjoy, the life filled with pampering and comfort.
When she was done, she stood there with a towel in her hands, quickly wrapping it around my shoulders. Even before I could think of it, she was drying me. As she knelt to dry my rear and reached in and between my thighs, I felt a part of me wanted her to stop. It made me feel ridiculous to be treated like real royalty, but another, stronger part of me settled back to enjoy it. I think I even moaned. My eyes were closed.
“You are very beautiful, ma’am,” she suddenly said, when she was on her knees wiping my legs and looking up at me.
“Thank you,” I said. I had never been good at saying that so it sounded like I meant it and had not expected it, but the appreciation I heard in her voice touched me.
She began to attend to my underthings, dressing me. I might as well be a storefront mannequin, I thought. So this was what Garland meant when he said she was good at looking after the needs of a young woman. I wondered for a moment if that grew out of her having to care for her mother, who was probably incapable of dressing herself at one point. I didn’t want to think that; it made her seem more like a nurse than a servant. Would she tell me more about her past? I wondered how truthful she would be, how revealing. Were we far from trusting each other? How long would it take?
“You’ve attended to other women guests here at Foxworth since October, haven’t you?” I asked.
For a moment, she looked like she was going to choke on the answer.
“It’s all right,” I said. “I’m quite aware of the fact that I’m not Mr. Garland’s first woman friend.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said.
I thought about it for a moment. “Were any of them permitted to sleep in the Swan Room?”
Her whole body seemed to freez
e.
“Don’t be surprised I know about it. Surely you’re aware that I was here at Foxworth.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Mr. Foxworth showed me the Swan Room. Haven’t you seen it?”
She shook her head. I thought she would start trembling and run out.
“But you know about it?”
“Yes, ma’am. My aunt told me. She had to prepare it after . . . I mean . . .”
I quickly smiled. “That’s quite all right, Dora. It’s nice for me to know that Mr. Foxworth shows that room only to someone for whom he has some regard. Maybe after the wedding, I’ll show it to you myself. I might even sleep in it occasionally, since no one else ever will.”
She nodded, looking grateful and astonished.
“Let’s go finish my preparations for dinner,” I said.
After I had put on my dress, she brushed my hair. I looked at the perfume on the vanity table and realized it was not there before I had taken my bath.
“Did you bring this?” I asked, holding up the small bottle.
“No, ma’am.”
“Well . . . perhaps your aunt.”
“Oh no, ma’am. She is very busy working with Mrs. Wilson on dinner preparations and looking after your mother’s needs.”
I smelled it. It was interesting but not exactly appealing.
“Have you seen this anywhere in the house?” I looked at her in the vanity mirror.
Why was it that some of my questions put such fear in her eyes?
“Have you?” I demanded forcefully. I was growing tired of all this hesitation. Either she was my personal assistant or she wasn’t. She would come to know things about me that I didn’t want shared; the same had to be true for her.
“Yes, ma’am. I believe that is from Mr. Foxworth’s mother’s possessions. His parents’ bedrooms are unchanged from how they were before they passed. The brushes still have his mother’s hair in them. There is even a scarf on the floor where his mother dropped it years ago.”
“And no one will pick it up?”
“No, ma’am.”
Beneath the Attic Page 20
