"You live here only with your father?" I asked as we drew closer. "It must have been lonely for you since he began his traveling."
Malcolm said nothing, just looked ahead, as if trying to see his mansion through my astonished eyes.
"How many rooms are in this house?"
"Somewhere between thirty and forty. Maybe one day, to pass the time, you'll make a count." He laughed at his own joke, but I couldn't put aside my awe.
"And servants?"
"My father had too many. Since he's been traveling, I have cut, back somewhat. We have a cook, of course, and a gardener who complains constantly that he needs an assistant, a maid, and Lucas, who serves as butler and driver."
"Can that possibly be enough?"
"As I said, now there is you too, my dear."
"But I'm not coming here to be a servant, Malcolm," I said. He didn't reply for a few moments. Lucas pulled up in front of the house.
"Obviously, we don't use all the rooms, Olivia. At one time there were dozens of relatives ensconced within. Fortunately, the parasites have been removed." His face softened. "After you are settled in, you will evaluate our staff needs and do what is efficient and economical, I'm sure. The house is to be your responsibility. I don't have the time for it anymore, and I needed a woman like you who could manage it properly," he said. He made it sound as though he had gone shopping for a wife.
I said no more. I was terribly eager now to go in and see what such a mansion looked like, a mansion that was to be my home. It both thrilled and frightened me. I was sorry that we had come to it at night, for at night it had an ominous air about it. It was almost as if this house had a life of its own, as if it could make judgments about its inhabitants while they slept and cause those it did not like to suffer.
Also, I had learned something from my father about the places people lived. Their homes always reflected their personalities. He himself was evidence of that. Our home was quite simple, but genteel. There was warmth to it as well.
What would this house tell me about the man I had married? Did he dominate people as much as this house dominated its surroundings? Would I become lost within the vast structure, grow lonely as I wandered from room to room through the long hallways?
Lucas rushed up to open the large double entrance doors and then Malcolm led me into my new home. As he guided me through the grand entrance, with his hand resting on my back, my heart sank. I knew it was foolish but I had hoped he would carry me over the threshold into my new home, my new life. I wanted for just this one day to be one of those charming, delicate women men cherish and look after. But that was not to be.
A small figure emerged from the gloom, and my fantasy popped. "Welcome to Foxworth Hall, Mrs. Foxworth," a voice greeted me, and for a moment I couldn't respond. It was the first time anyone had called me Mrs. Foxworth. Malcolm quickly
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 losing 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.