The Shadows of Foxworth Read online

  “But I wasn’t permitted to mention it. I almost did once at dinner, and Effie spilled a glass of water on my lap.” She studied me a moment and then said, “Beau would never let her do things like that. Daddy did. He didn’t care by then. He was getting old fast and sometimes drank so much bourbon that he couldn’t get up the stairs and had to sleep on the floor in here. He even peed on a rug we had to throw out.”

  “And she calls him the perfect father. They should rename this house the House of Lies,” I muttered.

  Jean-Paul once had told both Yvon and me that if you refused to correct a lie or face up to it, you were a liar, too. Why didn’t Yvon remember that?

  Aunt Pauline was suddenly very quiet, stuck in one of her more troubling memories, I was sure.

  The twins came to tell us dinner was ready.

  “And Mrs. Trafalgar made Miss Pauline the chocolate cake she likes,” Emma said.

  “With the cherries on top,” Minnie added.

  Aunt Pauline was all smiles.

  “Marlena likes that, too. Right, Marlena?”

  “Oh, very much,” I said.

  For a while, at least, we should be happy, I thought. Aunt Pauline obviously wasn’t as mature as a woman her age should be, but she was sensitive enough to feel when I was sad. Besides, being with her and laughing at silly things were good medicine for now.

  After dinner, I read to her as I’d promised and then helped with her jigsaw puzzle until she was falling asleep in her chair. The twins were quite attentive. It was remarkable how well they knew her, knew when her energy was running low. They came to take her up to her room and help her to bed.

  “Don’t lock her in tonight,” I said. “I’ll do it when I go up.”

  “Oh, but—” Emma began.

  “I’m the mistress of this house when my aunt is away,” I said sharply, so sharply they both widened their eyes and then looked at each other. Neither said another word.

  “Are you going to sleep, too, Marlena?” Aunt Pauline asked.

  “Soon,” I said. “In fact,” I added, looking at the twins, “I’m going to come into your room to say good night to you.”

  “Oh. That would be very nice,” she said. She thought a moment. “Effie never does.”

  “Well, I won’t be saying good night to her. That’s for sure,” I said, and Aunt Pauline laughed.

  “She won’t be saying good night to her,” she told the twins as they walked her out. She was still repeating it as they went up the stairs.

  I sat for a while thinking about everything, and then I took out the ticket I had hidden inside my dress and looked at it. Why shouldn’t I go? I was no longer a child in any sense of the word. If I was to be a woman, I would have to be in charge of my own life. Right?

  I knew that question would roll around in my head all night, but I was also sure I would answer it before I fell asleep.

  After I grew what I thought was tired enough to fall asleep, I went up and did say good night to Aunt Pauline. She told me this was the most fun night she could remember and asked me to promise we’d do it again.

  “Oh, we will,” I said. “We will. I promise.”

  When I stepped out, I considered leaving the lock undone, but then I realized Aunt Effie would only take it out on the twins. And there was that possibility that Aunt Pauline would walk out in her sleep and again fall down the stairs. Maybe one of these days, I’d come up with a way for us to sleep in the same room, I thought, and went to bed.

  As I anticipated, I tossed and turned, moving from outright rage at Yvon to sadness and then to the sense of adventure and romance Malcolm Foxworth dangled in his handsome smile and dazzling eyes.

  “Mon coeur,” I whispered. “Mon couer.”

  I finally fell asleep with those words on my lips, and I knew what they would mean.

  When I woke, I hurriedly dressed. I was eager to see if Yvon was sorry for the way he had treated me yesterday. Of course, he knew I had walked out angry. I had tried to stay up as long as possible in case he would stop at my room when he had returned with Aunt Effie from their dinner with an investor, but either he didn’t, or I was already in a deep sleep and he didn’t want to wake me. That was my real hope.

  When I rushed downstairs, however, all that I found was a note on my plate. Emma said Yvon had left it for me. Minnie told me he and my aunt had needed to leave early to make an auction outside Richmond. The note read, I hope you’re over your tantrum. We’ll talk about it later.

  Over my tantrum? This was so unlike him. Aunt Effie had her claws in him. She was turning him inside out.

  “Usually, Miss Effie doesn’t bid on those properties,” Emma said.

  “But she told us this one was worth their consideration,” Minnie said.

  Both looked so proud at being able to share business information. Anyone would think they believed they worked for the queen of England. A small favor, a smile, an appreciative nod made their day. How pathetic and sad, I thought. They reinforced each other’s worship of my aunt.

  “Where is my aunt Pauline? Why isn’t she up and dressed?” I snapped at them. Whatever patience and understanding I once had was drifting off like smoke.

  “She was sleeping so soundly,” Emma said.

  “That we didn’t have the heart to wake her,” Minnie explained.

  “We didn’t tell,” Emma said.

  “Tell what?”

  “That you let her have two glasses of that wine at dinner last night,” Minnie replied.

  I stared at them both for a moment, the rage swirling in my chest. “You can tell my aunt Effie anytime you want,” I said through clenched teeth. “This isn’t, as far as I know, a prison, and you are not prison guards. You’re maids. Or do you think you are hired to spy on those who live here? Do you think this is a palace full of family intrigues? You’re both driveling with your need to please her. I don’t need your protection. Mon Dieu.”

  Flustered, they both retreated to the kitchen, probably to cry on Mrs. Trafalgar’s shoulder. I sat there steaming. Whenever Jean-Paul had seen me like this, he would shake his hand and blow on his fingers, pretending that the vapor coming out of my ears had burned him.

  Suddenly, as if something had exploded inside me, I slammed my palm so hard on the table that the dishes and glasses jumped. Then I stood, paused, and hurried to the stairway. I knew the dress I wanted to put on. I had secretly bought it for myself and had yet to wear it.

  There would be no better time than now, I thought. I had seen the way other customers were looking at me when I had tried it on. It was a white eyelet dress with a fitted waistband, lace detail throughout, and a button-down front. The sleeves were cuffed a few inches below my elbows, and the hem was at least six inches above my ankles. With my hair down and my mother’s black-pearl bracelet, I thought I made what the saleslady said was “quite the statement.” I had the white shoes to go with it.

  Before I finished dressing, I heard Emma and Minnie getting Aunt Pauline up and dressed for breakfast. I also heard her ask for me. I knew she was disappointed to hear I had already had breakfast, so I rushed out to meet them as they were starting down the stairs. The twins were very surprised at what I was wearing.

  Aunt Pauline clapped and said, “You’re so pretty. She’s my niece, you know,” she told Emma and Minnie.

  “Thank you, Aunt Pauline. Have your breakfast. I have to go. I’ll see you tonight.”

  “When we’ll read?”

  “Yes. Choose a new book,” I said.

  She smiled and started down the stairs. Why she paused I couldn’t say, but she did and then turned around and asked me for a hug. I did hug her and then watched her descend. I rushed back to my room to get a scarf and quickly went down the stairs.

  Serendipity, I thought, when George pulled up to the front of the house. My aunt had sent him home to get a folder she had forgotten on her desk.

  “Can you drop me at the train station?” I asked as he came rushing to the door.

  “Oh. Sure ’nuf, Miss Marlena,” he said. “It’s on my way back. Give me one minute,” he said, and hurried into the house.

  I got into the automobile, clutching my train ticket. Less than a minute later, he was out and got into the car.

  “Ya picked a beautiful day ta go somewhere,” he said.

  “I hope so, George. I hope so,” I said, and sat back.

  My heart was pounding all the way to the station.

  “Ya be all right by yerself?” he asked when he helped me out.

  “Oh, yes, George. I’ll be fine,” I said. “Thank you.”

  He nodded and then hurried off. I wondered if he would volunteer the information that he had brought me to the train station. I didn’t want to ask him to keep it a secret. It would be unfair to put him under that sort of pressure. My aunt was capable of firing both him and his wife.

  I hadn’t been on a train since we had first arrived in Richmond. This one looked and was a lot more comfortable, with softer seats and more legroom. There were many more passengers than I had anticipated, most of them looking like businessmen. I sat beside one of the only women in the car. She was a grandmother going to visit her son and his family. She was so excited about her trip, her first on a train, that she hardly asked me any personal questions. And then, about twenty minutes later, she fell asleep.

  I was too wound up to close my eyes for anything longer than a blink. By now, so far into my journey, I imagined both Aunt Effie and Yvon had realized I wasn’t coming to the company offices. I wondered if they would think I was simply staying home. After a while, Yvon was sure to call the house and ask if I was sick or something. He’d learn I had left, and then he would ask George, unless George had already told them both.

  Of course, at first he would be angry, but
I was confident that after a while, he’d be more worried than mad. Perhaps he would question Doris to see if she knew anything. Poor Doris. She was so fragile now that she’d probably cry if my aunt was listening. I couldn’t envision him doing anything else. Maybe he’d check with Emma and Minnie again to see if I had come home. I hoped that before the day had ended, he would feel sorry he had spoken to me the way he had.

  When we pulled into the Charlottesville station, I feared there would be no car waiting, and he had not been serious about it. But Malcolm Foxworth’s vehicle stood out clearly from everything else that was waiting there. It looked brand-new and quite impressive. The driver was leaning against the vehicle and watching the passengers come off the train. He was a slim man, not very tall, with graying dark-brown hair, the gray strands heavier on the sides. The moment I appeared, he stood straighter. I smiled at how quickly he had recognized me. Malcolm surely had given him a very detailed description. Of course, it was true there weren’t many other unaccompanied young women coming off the train.

  “Miss Dawson?” he asked, approaching.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Lucas, the Foxworth chauffeur,” he said. He gestured toward the car and then hurried to open the rear door. After he was in, too, he turned to ask if I had a good trip.

  “Much nicer than I had expected,” I said. “Have you worked for the Foxworths long?”

  “Oh, yes. More than twenty years,” he said.

  We started off. I could see that Charlottesville wasn’t as big and as busy as Richmond, but the streets didn’t look all that different. In no time, we were out of the city proper and on our way to Foxworth Hall.

  “How far away is Foxworth Hall?” I asked.

  “Oh, it’s about an hour from the city,” he said. “Those are the Blue Ridge Mountains ahead.”

  “Are they?” I said. We passed so much unattended land with few houses in between. “I wonder what brought the Foxworths so far out.”

  “Oh, you’ll understand once you see where the house is located, miss.”

  Soon we were driving upward, where there were more farms and small houses, and then suddenly, as if it rose from the earth knowing I was coming, this enormous house came more and more into view. The mountains rolled along the horizon in the distance, and the forest was a sea of green on our right and left. Lucas was right. What a beautiful setting, I thought. It didn’t surprise me that someone living in this mansion would feel special, even superior, being so high up and looking down on so many smaller houses, much smaller houses, some half the size of the Dawson House.

  “How big is Foxworth Hall?” I asked Lucas as we drew closer and the size of it became clearer and clearer.

  “Oh, it’s big, miss. There are thirty-six rooms, a ballroom, and a lobby bigger than any house’s lobby in the state, I’d venture. The Foxworth property is hundreds of acres, too.”

  “Do you live on the property?”

  “I do, miss. As do all the servants.”

  How exciting, I thought. Malcolm Foxworth, the Foxworths, were so much richer than the Dawsons. They could probably swallow up the Dawson company. Maybe Yvon’s fear of Malcolm Foxworth wasn’t only because of his reputation with women. Maybe he thought he’d gobble up the company.

  As we went past the fields and the forest, climbing closer and closer toward the mansion, I wondered why a man with such power and wealth would be at all interested in someone as young as me. He surely could have his pick of sophisticated older women. Then again, I thought, smiling, perhaps I was underestimating myself. Now was the time for self-confidence, not self-doubt. Only a child would fear being courted.

  We pulled up to the large double entrance doors, and Lucas got out quickly to open mine and help me out. I looked up at the roof, which seemed to rise higher and higher before my eyes. Smaller windows suggested an attic. From where I stood, it looked like it ran the length of the house.

  The moment I stepped down, the double doors opened as if by magic, and Malcolm stood there smiling. He was holding two glasses of champagne.

  He looked even more handsome than he had at the business event, wearing a white shirt, the collar opened, and a pair of black pants. When I started forward, he stepped to hand me my glass of champagne.

  “Welcome to Foxworth,” he said.

  “How did you know I would come?”

  He shrugged with that small, wry smile.

  “I didn’t, but what was the risk, Lucas driving to the station and back and opening a bottle of champagne?”

  “I fear you’re a scoundrel,” I said.

  He laughed.

  Lucas drove the car to the multicar garage on the left.

  “I am and more,” Malcolm said. “But being French, you’ll love it.” He tapped his glass to mine. “To a wonderful day at Foxworth Hall.”

  We both sipped, our eyes fixed on each other’s over the edges of our glasses.

  “I like your dress.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I just knew there was something special about you,” he said. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since we accidentally met at the Jefferson. I’m sure I’m right when I say ‘accidentally.’ ” He stepped back and gestured. “Shall we?”

  I nodded, and we walked through the impressive doorway. As soon as we entered, a woman, perhaps five foot four at most, approached us. She wore a dark-blue dress and black shoes that looked heavy and uncomfortable to me.

  “This is Mrs. Steiner,” he said. “She cares for Foxworth Hall as she would a child.”

  “As I cared for you,” she said to him without smiling, and he laughed.

  “Mrs. Steiner, may I introduce Marlena Dawson?”

  “How do you do?” she said. She studied my face when she took my hand, inspecting my features as my father would consider a subject for a portrait. “You’re a very pretty young woman,” she said, as if that was a fault.

  “Thank you.”

  Oddly, she held on to my hand a little longer than I had anticipated, her eyes fixed so strongly on mine that I had to smile inquisitively at Malcolm.

  “Mrs. Steiner is a little bit like a worrying mother,” he whispered, loudly enough for her to hear, of course.

  She let go of my hand. “I’ll have your lunch on the rear patio, Mr. Malcolm. Mrs. Wilson has prepared everything as you wished.”

  “Delightful,” he told her.

  She turned and walked off.

  We continued into the massive lobby. Scattered along the walls were portraits of people I assumed were Foxworth ancestors.

  “Are all those people your family?”

  “They are. A sad lot. A smile was a sign of weakness to them.”

  “Maybe they wanted to look regal.”

  He laughed. “That they did.” He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. “I told my father they all must have had hemorrhoids. He thought it was disrespectful, but I’ve heard him tell people that, especially after he’s had a little too much to drink.”

  “Is he here?”

  “No. He’s still abroad.”

  He 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.

  “It’s… amazing,” I said. “Such high ceilings.”

  “And you’ve seen less than ten percent of it, if that.”

  As we approached the stairway, I gazed at the marble busts, the crystal lamps, and the antique tapestries.

  Before we reached the stairway, he nodded to his right. “That’s our library,” he said.

  I gazed through the doorway 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 movable 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. It made the sitting room and library in the Dawson House look puny. No wonder he had joked about what I had thought was an enormous mansion. As I gazed about, I realized the entire Dawson House could fit in only this section of Foxworth Hall.

  “Our bedrooms, my father’s and mine,” he quickly added, “are upstairs in the southern wing. There’s warmer exposure. There are sixteen rooms in the northern wing, all various sizes. I’ll show you something special later.”