Garden of Shadows (22 page)

I was waiting for him in the doorway of the library when he came home early that evening. He would have been home earlier, but he had gone to a shop specializing in infant wear and purchased five new sleeping outfits for Corinne. With the packages in his arms, his face lit with excitement, he entered Foxworth Hall intending to rush right up to the child.

I was amused by the way he spoke to her whenever he did go to her. It was as if he expected her to understand his words, his promises, his plans for her education and training. Sometimes, when I overheard him speaking to Corinne, I got a chilling feeling. It was as if he thought she was his mother who had been fed goblets. of liquid from the mythical fountain of youth until she had been returned to this infant state. In his mind she was a baby, but she had a grown woman's comprehension of things said to her, especially things said to her by him.

"Malcolm!" I called as he passed by me on his way to the spiral staircase. He often ran up those stairs like a boy of sixteen, drawn to the south wing by a love that was absolutely magnetic and overwhelming, driven by worship for his child.

"What do you want?" he demanded, impatient with my presence. During the last month he had ignored me anyway. Whenever he was home, he was with Corinne; and when she was sleeping, he was at his work. Sometimes, when he did look at me, he looked right through me, as if I weren't even there.

"I want to talk to you immediately," I said. "It cannot wait."
"What is it that cannot wait?" he asked, grimacing. He juggled the boxes in his arms. He hadn't even shaken the snow from his shoulders and back. The white flakes were melting on his golden hair, making the strands glitter under the lights. But he didn't seem to notice or care.
"Please step in here," I said, and backed up. I heard him groan in impatience, but he came in quickly. He put the packages down on his desk.
"Well? What is this new emergency?" He shook his head and brushed the melted droplets of snow off his shoulders.
"I want Mrs. Stratton let go.
Now,
Malcolm."
"Mrs. Stratton is a professional. A professional when it comes to taking care of infants. Corinne will have only the best."
"Am I not the best? I am her mother. I am also the mother of your sons!"
"It's different with boys," he said, looking at me as if I were an idiot who understood nothing. "Why? How?" I demanded.
"It's just different!" He hated being
contradicted. I imagined that it was only here, in his own home, that he was ever contradicted. None of his employees and stooges would dare. It must have been a source of bitter irony to him that his wife challenged him the most. Malcolm's attitudes about women left little room for equal treatment and respect.
"It's wasteful extravagance," I said, shaking my head. "The woman will grow bored here if she's as professional as you say. Most of the time, I will be--"
"You will be doing nothing," he snapped. "Leave Corinne entirely to her. That's why I am paying her. She has my instructions; let her carry them out."
"What mistakes did I make with your sons?" I wasn't about to let him have his way. If he was going to make things difficult and unpleasant for me, I would do the same for him. He tried to ignore the question. "Malcolm, what mistakes?"
"Mistakes." He sneered. "Look at the boys." "What's wrong with them?"
"What isn't wrong with them, you should ask. They're weak; they're lazy; they're not interested in the business world, a world that has provided them with all this," he said, making a wide gesture. "You've poisoned them so they can't stand being in my presence--"
"That's your own fault," I interrupted. "You terrorize them."
"Simply because I demand things of them," he continued. "I want them to be men, not mama's boys. Mal still sneaks around that piano when I'm not at home. Don't deny it," he added quickly. "And Joel . . . Joel is still as fragile and meek as a little girl."
"But all that has nothing to do with--"
"Enough!" He pounded his desk. "Enough," he said in a lower but much more threatening tone of voice.
"Mrs. Stratton will remain until I want to dismiss her. It's what I want; it's my money I'm spending. Don't interfere."
"Corinne is my child too!"
A wry smile twisted his lips. "Really, Olivia? Did you forget? She's my daughter. Did you forget? She's a complete Foxworth," he added, as if by sending away Alicia he had stripped Corinne of all of Alicia's heritage. In his deranged thinking, Corinne was solely his creation. "She deserves the best and the best is what she will have, from now on. You can't understand this," he added, shaking his head and looking at me as though I were someone to pity. "Your father treated you more like a son than a daughter. Anyway, it should not concern you. Go about your business and let Mrs. Stratton do her job. Look after the boys," he said. "They are certainly enough for you," he added bitterly. He picked up his packages again.
I did not know how to win this argument. I was temporarily silenced.
He started toward the library door.
"Wait," I called. "What about this new nursery you are creating for her?"
"What about it?"
"I must insist," I said, "that you inform me of these decisions before you make them. I won't be embarrassed like this again."
He turned and contemplated me as if I were some annoying insect that just wouldn't go away. He tucked in the right corner of his mouth and shook his head.
"When I agreed to go along with your plan about this child, it was under the terms that from now on I would be in charge of this household and things would be run the way I saw fit. You also agreed that the child would be mine, and indeed she is mine. It is only God, not you, who could take her away from me now." I paused long enough to catch my breath and bore my eyes into him like daggers. "I'll let you have your new nursery, Malcolm, but only on one condition. Mal and Joel will each be given a new room, too, one of their own, for them to use however they wish when they are home from school. And each of those rooms will have a grand piano in it."
"Very well," he said with a look of complete contempt and disgust on his face. "I don't care anymore how you raise your sons. They've already been sissied and ruined." He stalked from the room and I heard his feet pound the stairs as he ran up the steps to his daughter.
I, too, couldn't wait to get to Corinne's room every day. Every day Corinne grew more beautiful and my heart filled more and more with love for her. The first time her lips smiled, she was looking at me, and I knew she felt my love and care for her. When her silken golden hair was long enough, I tied pretty pink ribbons in it. She looked like a fairy tale princess child. Oh, now I understood the sort of love everyone always seemed to feel for those dainty, pretty girls I had watched in my youth. Their beauty seemed to pluck a special string in the heart, leaving a sound as lovely and resonant as an angel's harp.
During the summer when Corinne was almost three years old, Malcolm againdeg did something without my approval. He replaced Mrs. Stratton with someone he imported from England.
Her name was Mrs. Worthington and she was a fifty-four-year-old spinster, who, according to Malcolm, had been governess to the children of the Duke and Duchess of Devon. I didn't like the woman from the start, and she didn't like me. Malcolm had obviously made it perfectly clear to her that I was of little or no consequence when it came to decisions pertaining to Corinne. She didn't pay any attention to me; she tried to take control of Corinne's life as if I were dead. She never asked me before she did anything with her. She set up a schedule for the child and followed it religiously.
For the first week Corinne rebelled and begged me to send Mrs. Worthington away. "I want to stay with you, Mommy," she cried tearfully. "I don't like that other lady."
"Corinne darling, you know I would rather it be only the two of us. But your father insists. Your father thinks it's important that you have a governess, and even if I don't agree, your father will not back down. The best thing for you to do is obey Mrs.
Worthington."
Despite my dislike of Mrs. Worthington, I quickly began to admire her talents, and I did so want Corinne to have all those graces that could never be mine. Mrs. Worthington's program consisted of lessons in etiquette, elocution, and dance. Ironically, Corinne was to be taught how to play the piano as well.
She was a confident and somewhat arrogant woman, standing nearly five feet seven. Although her clothing was conservative and Victorian, she did have some very fine dresses, blouses, and skirts made from fine cottons, silk, and taffeta. I never saw her once without her hair neatly pinned. She rose very early in the morning and prepared herself each day as though she were going to have an audience with the queen.
She wore no makeup and spent all her personal time either in her room reading or taking solitary walks over the grounds of Foxworth Hall. Unless the weather was inclement, she walked daily as a form of exercise. She was very careful about how and what she ate and maintained a rather trim figure for a woman of her age.
Actually, I became something of a student of hers myself because she did nothing without turning it into a lesson for Corinne, whether it be holding her fork correctly, reaching for food correctly, walking with the proper posture, greeting people--whatever it was, she always turned to Corinne and made sure the child understood and appreciated her actions.
It was Malcolm's decision that Corinne, unlike the boys, who couldn't come to the dinner table to eat with us until they were at least five years old, should join us at meals, as a learning experience.
This was the source of one of many arguments Malcolm and I had about Corinne's upbringing. The first time Corinne was brought to the table with Mrs. Worthington, she was only three years old. The boys and I looked up in surprise as Mrs. Worthington appeared holding Corinne's hand. Malcolm beamed and patted the chair beside him. Corinne started to run to it, but Mrs. Worthington stopped her instantly.
"Corinne," she said, and the child hesitated. I was amazed at such obedience. Mrs. Worthington had been with us only a week, and despite Malcolm's feelings about Corinne, I had observed a willfulness in her already. She was like a baby bluebird, flitting from this thing to that without much concentration.
I thought her bright blue eyes were full of mischief. There was something impish about her beauty and the way she had learned early on to twist and turn Malcolm. He couldn't resist any of her demands. She needed only look toward something to have him go fetch it. Whenever he took her for rides, her arms would be filled with new toys or dolls when she returned. Sometimes, she was dressed in a brand new outfit or wore new shoes. She would come skipping into the house, her tiny laughter echoing through the foyer. Malcolm insisted her golden hair be brushed a hundred times each day and it did gleam with a richness that made her look angelic. It was kept down in long, flowing strands that reached below her shoulders. She never lost the rich complexion with which she had been born. If anything, she grew more beautiful and pleasing.
I was fascinated with her every movement, whether it be the way she flew through the house, birdlike, her little feet barely touching the carpets, or the way she brought food to her lips, touching them ever so gently, acting as though she knew she was some kind of little princess.
I thought she was very bright and understood immediately that her father wanted her to obey Mrs. Worthington, and that if she mastered whatever Mrs. Worthington set out for her to do, she would have even more control over Malcolm. He doted on her every movement, and if she did something the way Mrs. Worthington told her to do it in front of him, he beamed.
And so right from the start she was a perfect little pupil. She stopped and looked back at Mrs. Worthington, who stood solid and correct, her hands clasped before her, waiting for Corinne to return to the dining room doorway, which she did immediately.
"We walk to the table," she said, "like a lady should. And remember how you take your seat," she added.
Corinne straightened her little posture, lifting her head high with the characteristic Foxworth arrogance. The boys and I watched in fascination. Malcolm got up and pulled her chair out, something he had never done for me, not even during the first week of our marriage. Corinne turned quickly to Mrs. Worthington, who nodded, and Corinne said, "Thank you, Daddy."
It was as though the sky had opened and all the light and glory of the heavens poured down into this house. Malcolm was positively illuminated. He looked at Mrs. Worthington with an expression of gratitude and respect. Corinne took her seat at the table and her education had begun.
Afterward, when all the children were put to bed and Mrs. Worthington had retired, I went down to the library and interrupted Malcolm.
We were having a terrific summer
thunderstorm. The raindrops pounded the windows and the thunder rattled the glass. Our lights flickered and the wind threaded in and out of shutters and through cracks in window casings, creating a symphony of discordant sounds. Behind Malcolm I saw the coal-black sky sizzle with lightning, but he, as always, remained indifferent to anything around him when he worked. My appearance did more to disturb him than did this terrific storm.
"What is it now?" he asked, looking up impatiently. His forehead creased with annoyance. Undaunted, I continued across the library to his desk.
"I understand what Mrs. Worthington is trying to do by bringing Corinne to the table to eat with us, but how can you permit it after forbidding the boys to eat with us until they were five years old? Don't think they don't see and understand this . . . this unnatural favoritism."
"Unnatural favoritism? What are you talking about? Must you oppose everything I do?" he asked. He sat back in his seat and feigned a look of reason and control to make me feel as though I were the one at fault. "How many times do I have to tell you? Girls must be brought up in a different manner. Socially, more is expected of them. Just because you weren't provided with these opportunities does not mean that Corinne won't be.
"Didn't I provide the boys with a private tutor?" he asked quickly, before I could respond. "Until you twisted things around so I had to dismiss him."
"I twisted . . ." I could barely get my words out, I was so angry. "It was your doing that ruined that for them, and I never approved of that man anyway."
"Precisely my point," he said, sitting up quickly. "You conspired against him until you found an opportunity to get rid of him.
You
denied the boys their special opportunity, not I," he insisted. "I told you once before and I am telling you again, when it comes to Corinne, whether it be her education or her clothing . . . whatever, I will make all the decisions. Now, stop interfering."
We had similar arguments when Mrs. Worthington began Corinne's musical education, but no matter how I pointed out the inconsistencies between his treatment of Corinne and his treatment of the boys, he refused to acknowledge them. He always managed to end the arguments by accusing me of jealousy.
To some extent he was right. As I watched Corinne grow into a beautiful young girl receiving all the benefits and opportunities Malcolm's huge fortune could provide, I couldn't help but compare myself to her when I was her age. Of course, I saw much of Alicia in her as time went by. I imagined Malcolm did, too, and whenever he looked at her, he couldn't help but think of his adoration of his father's bride.
When she reached ten, it pained him to have to send her off to private school because it meant she wouldn't be there in the house when he returned home from work. And truthfully, it pained me just as much. With Corinne gone, it was as if the sun had moved permanently behind the cloud of Foxworth Hall. I was lonelier than I'd ever been before. Malcolm spent hardly any time at home, except during school vacations. He was out "doing business" most every night. Oh, I knew what sort of business he was doing, I heard the tongues wagging in town, and although I really had no friends (how could I, when everyone knew what my own husband thought of me, and how he treated me?), I was ashamed of Malcolm and for Malcolm, and determined to protect my children from the worst in him.