Garden of Shadows

FROM THE NIGHT OF THE CHRISTMAS PARTY ON, MALCOLM never hesitated to show that his love of Corinne had no boundaries. The boys knew this, and it really hurt them and I tried and tried to compensate, to reassure them that all children were precious to their parents, that they would always be cherished by me and by Malcolm, too, even if it wasn’t so easy for him to show his affection for his sons. I think the boys were actually happy to return to school after the New Year, so displaced did they feel by the fuss Malcolm continually made over Corinne. He was home most evenings now, where before he almost always went out. He endlessly crowed and crooned over Corinne, while, as usual, criticizing and overly disciplining Mal and Joel. My heart went out to them. They were good boys, sweet and loving, and I know they felt lost amid the attention Malcolm lavished on Corinne. After they left, I felt free to turn more of my attention to her too.

But Malcolm insisted that the nurse whom he had hired in the beginning remain. Every time I went to feed, or even to lift Corinne, that woman was hovering behind me, trying to take control, frowning disapprovingly at the way I handled my daughter. This really angered me.

One morning, while Mrs. Stratton was giving Corinne her bottle, I blew up. “I told you time and time again that I am to be the only one who feeds Corinne. How dare you disobey my orders.”

“Ma’am,” she countered snidely. “I was never told I was to follow your orders. On the contrary, Mr. Foxworth instructed me in detail exactly how he wanted every aspect of the baby’s schedule to be executed.”

“What?” I was flabbergasted. “I want you out of this house this afternoon. Services such as yours will no longer be necessary.”

“I’m afraid there’s some confusion, Mrs. Foxworth,” Mrs. Stratton persisted. “When Mr. Foxworth hired me, our agreement was that the child would remain under my care indefinitely.”

I was furious, but I didn’t want my rage to infect my sweet innocent child, so I quickly turned and stormed out of the room. All that morning I paced the corridors of Foxworth Hall, filled with agitation and determined once again to take control of this situation from Malcolm.

That afternoon I had my second surprise: the decorators arrived. Again it was something Malcolm had contracted to do without my knowledge. They proceeded to the room adjacent to his and began planning out the construction of Corinne’s personal nursery. It was Malcolm’s decision that she not use the boys’ nursery. New furniture had been ordered, and I saw from the intensity with which the decorators worked that Malcolm had demanded everything be completed post haste. Again, no expense was too great when it came to Corinne, and I was to have no input about the colors of the new wallpaper and rug or the style of the furniture. The decorators barely acknowledged my presence.

I sat fuming all day. I tried reaching Malcolm at his offices, but Malcolm rarely, if ever, spoke to me on the telephone. During Corinne’s first few weeks, he did call once in a while to ask about her, but usually he spoke to Mrs. Stratton. If I ever did phone him, his secretaries told me he was in a meeting or away from his desk. It mattered not that I left a message for him to return my call. Whenever I asked him about it, he told me he was just so busy, he never got to call me back; so I stopped calling him.

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 again 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.

Perhaps that is why I found so much comfort in God, the Bible, and, later, in the church. It was my one consolation, my companion, indeed, my salvation. It was my cousin John Amos who led me back to religion. His own mother had died, and he, like myself, was all that was left of his family. He came to visit, and encouraged me to pray with him, and as we sat quietly meditating in the guest parlor, I indeed felt filled by the holy spirit, as John Amos promised me I would. He insisted I start attending church more often, and before he returned up north, he left me with a stirring program of daily Bible readings. I had refused for so long to surrender my will to Malcolm that it was with relief and gratitude that I learned to surrender my will to God.

Malcolm grew annoyed with my devotions. He missed Corinne every bit as much as I did, but the only comfort he took was the visits he made to her at school. He never visited the boys at their boarding schools. I did visit them whenever I could, and they wrote me long letters describing their activities. Malcolm didn’t know, of course, but Mal was taking an instrumental course and Joel was in the orchestra.

The boys also adored Corinne. They were just as fascinated with her beauty and charm as was Malcolm, but they couldn’t help being jealous of her relationship with him. By now she was very spoiled, whereas the boys, even though they lived with great wealth, had grown up relatively unaffected. Malcolm never gave them things with the ease and full heart he gave things to Corinne. When they were teenagers, he insisted they work summers in one of his banks, serving as messengers and doing other menial tasks.

Still, despite all the reason they had, the boys never resented Corinne. They, too, spoiled her, were eager to do things for her and buy things for her. They took her sailing and horseback riding, and when Mal was old enough to drive, he drove her anywhere she wanted, anytime she wanted. Joel, especially, was at her beck and call whenever the three of them were home together. There was nothing he would refuse to do for her and she knew it and took advantage of it.

One Thanksgiving holiday, when they were all home from boarding school, I took the boys aside in a front salon and discussed it with them. Malcolm had taken Corinne to Charlottesville for a shopping spree because she told him all her clothing was out of date, and that was important to her even though she was only eleven years old.

I sat Mal and Joel on a settee and stood before them, not unlike one of their lecturers at school. We were having an early winter snowfall. It was a light one, however, with the sky remaining quite bright. It had the effect of putting everyone into the holiday mood, anticipating the coming of Christmas. The boys and Corinne had begun to decorate our tall Christmas tree, only Corinne spent most of her time sitting in one of our tall-back French provincial chairs dictating to them what she wanted where, and Joel scurried about like a slave, stretching and straining to get this ornament here and that ornament there.

“Mal,” I began, “you will be eighteen on your next birthday, and as I told you boys years ago, each of you at eighteen will have access to a trust fund. It will provide each of you with a great deal of independence, but independence requires a well-developed sense of responsibility,” I said, and paused to see how they were listening to me.

Mal, as usual, stared up intently, sitting as quietly and as still as a statue. He was so long-legged, he looked uncomfortable on that soft light-blue cushioned settee, but he didn’t utter a word of complaint. Joel, on the other hand, fidgeted about, strumming the arm of the settee, running his hand through his thin gold hair, leaning forward then bouncing back.

“I know, Mother,” Mal said. “Father has been talking to me about that very thing lately. We had a discussion right after I arrived yesterday, as a matter of fact,” he said. He had Malcolm’s strong, deep voice.

“Yesterday? What has he been telling you?” I asked.

“He’s asked me to sign the money over to him so he can continue to invest it properly.”

“What did you say?” I asked quickly. Joel stopped fidgeting and looked up, concern in his face. The boys were always very sensitive to my feelings.

“I told him I would discuss it with you,” Mal said, and smiled wryly. How like Malcolm he looked, but oh, how like me he was. I smiled back at him and Joel smiled widely.

“Good. Good boy, Mal. You should never turn that money back to your father. He might just take it and spend it all on Corinne,” I said. Joel started to laugh, but my look stopped him. “I don’t mean to be facetious, boys. I’ve called you in here because I think you’ve got to stop pampering your sister. She’s using you, taking advantage of you. And I don’t think she appreciates the things you do for her. Your father has spoiled her so. I’m telling you this for Corinne’s good as well as for your own. Your father won’t listen to reason. He’s blind when it comes to her, but you two can be of inestimable help if you won’t be so eager to do anything she wants whenever she wants.”

I started to pace before them.

“It’s not too late to help her, but you can just imagine what kind of a woman she is going to turn out to be if this continues. She has no sense of money and its worth; she thinks everyone exists to be her servant, especially you two, and I don’t like the way she takes advantage of you.”

I peered over my shoulder to see how they were taking my little lecture. Both boys looked serious and thoughtful, although Joel did look more unhappy.

“I love your sister. Don’t misunderstand me,” I said. “But I wasn’t kidding about your inheritances. Your father is capable of assigning everything to her, and don’t for one moment think she is not a bit conniving. I know she wears that innocent, childish look, but behind those eyes, Corinne thinks like a Foxworth.” I stopped and stared at them. Mal nodded and Joel sat back, his arms folded across his narrow chest. He still had difficulty gaining weight and looked thin and fragile.

“What should we do?” Joel asked. His voice was thinner, softer, more high-pitched and feminine. I often thought Joel would have made a much prettier little girl, although perhaps not as pretty as Corinne.

“Give more consideration to what she asks of you. Teach her some abstinence and patience. Help her become a better person,” I added. Mal nodded and then Joel nodded. “As for your father and his demands on your trust funds, continue to tell him you’re discussing it with me. Let him come to me,” I said.

“Why did he give us these trust funds if he wants to take them back?” Mal asked.

“It was something he and I decided a long time ago, and there are some decisions that cannot be broken. The reasons are not important right now. Just understand that you’re not as defenseless as you might sometimes feel, not as long as I am still mistress of Foxworth Hall,” I added. Mal nodded thoughtfully, but Joel continued to look worried.

I was sadly aware of the fact that I could create two opposing camps in Foxworth Hall—Mal, Joel, and myself against Malcolm and Corinne. I knew it was distasteful to the boys and to me, so I didn’t harp on it.

“Everything will get better in time,” I concluded, smiling. Of course, I knew it wouldn’t.

The holidays continued to be festive occasions for us. It meant the children would be home, and for Malcolm it meant his princess would arrive. Despite the way I felt about Malcolm’s relationship with his daughter, and his hard relationship with his sons, I couldn’t wait for her arrival either. She brought light and life to Foxworth Hall. By the time she was thirteen, she was quite the little lady and very popular with her peers. I could tell that all her girlfriends vied for her attention and favor. There was little that they valued more than an invitation to spend the night or to attend a holiday party at Foxworth Hall.

Our Christmas parties continued to be lavish affairs, only now with Corinne a little lady, Malcolm conducted each one the way he would conduct a debutante’s ball. Every Christmas Eve Corinne was presented to our high society. The parents of all of Corinne’s girlfriends and peers were invited. He always bought her an expensive new dress for the occasion. Her girlfriends knew what was expected of them. Everyone came formally dressed, fathers in tuxedos and mothers in gowns. There was always a great deal of glitter and glamour. Women and teenage girls wore expensive jewelry. People drove up in expensive cars, costly flowers grown in hothouses were everywhere, and the feast was as varied and as rich as it was at the Christmas Eve party when Malcolm had introduced the newborn Corinne.

Malcolm screened Corinne’s friends carefully, inviting only those he believed were “good enough.” Our guest list was pruned more vigorously every Christmas, until Corinne reached eighteen, for during that year, a great many things changed.

But until then, Malcolm’s adoration of his beautiful daughter increased daily. He not only had photographs taken of her continually, he had her portrait painted, something he still hadn’t done for me. The picture of Corinne was placed in his trophy room for his private viewing. In his eyes she was perfect.

One evening Malcolm and Corinne were alone at the dining table. The boys had not returned from their boarding schools yet. Corinne was home because Malcolm had made a special trip to get her. She was sitting like a little lady, a graduate of Mrs. Worthington’s tutorship, describing events at her school. Malcolm was entranced, his chin on his hand, propped up on his elbow, a constant smile on his face. He was mesmerized by her sparkling blue eyes and her musical laughter. I watched them through a crack in the doorway. They seemed so far away from me, in more than actual distance. It was as though they were in their own private world. I envied them, envied the way Corinne held Malcolm’s attention.

When she finished her story, she leaned forward, as if by instinct, and kissed him on the forehead. She did it so quickly and so unconsciously, it was a perfect heavenly act.

He caught her hand in his.

“You like your daddy?” He looked serious, as if he really weren’t sure.

“Oh, yes, Daddy.” She pulled her lips back gently to tease him with her smile.

“Then promise to stay with me forever and I promise that all this will be yours.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand and Corinne looked up at the high ceilings. She giggled. “I mean it,” he said. “Everything I own will go to my princess. Will you stay with me forever?”

“Of course I will, Daddy,” she said, and he kissed her on the cheek. “But will you do a favor for me now, Daddy?”

“Anything, princess, anything your little heart desires.”

“Do you know that special room upstairs, Daddy? The one that’s always locked? I want that to be my room. Can it be mine? Oh, please say yes right now and I’ll move all my things myself,” she said, clapping her hands together. Her face was red with excitement.

“What room?” Malcolm asked. He looked up, a half smile on his face, not anticipating what she was about to say.

“The room with the swan bed. Oh, how beautiful it is.”

Malcolm turned crimson, but his lips turned white.

“No, no,” he said through clenched teeth. “You must not go into that room. It’s not a room to be used.”

“But why?” Her face crumpled with disappointment, something she was unaccustomed to. She clenched her hands into little fists and pounded them against her thighs. Corinne’s hands always betrayed her emotions. Sometimes they seemed to be separate creatures, turning and twisting of their own will.

“It’s a bad room, a tainted room,” Malcolm said, not realizing that by saying such a thing he would make the room even more enticing for her.

“Why?” Corinne asked.

“Because the ghost of my father’s second wife lives in there,” Malcolm said, hoping such a statement would terrify her. Her eyes did get big and she pressed her hands against each other in prayer fashion. “And she was not a nice woman.”

“Why wasn’t she a nice woman?” she asked almost in a whisper.

“It’s not important. There are some things you are too young to know,” he said.

“But, Daddy, I’m a big girl now. We know there’s no such thing as ghosts. I don’t believe that room is haunted by a ghost. Let me move in there, and if you’re worried that there’s a ghost there, silly Daddy, I’ll scare it away for you.”

“I want this subject dropped now, Corinne. I want it dropped right now,” he shouted.

“But I want that room,” she insisted. “It’s the prettiest room in the house; I want it to be mine.” And she fled from Malcolm, tears streaming down her pretty cheeks.

From that time on, whenever Malcolm was gone for the day, I let Corinne visit the Swan Room. I found her interest in the room fascinating. She loved to sit at the long vanity table and pretend she was a grown woman, the mistress of Foxworth Hall preparing for an extravagant ball.

I knew what she was doing in there because I used the peephole behind the picture in Malcolm’s trophy room. Of course, Corinne never knew I spied on her. She would sit at the vanity table, brushing her hair with Alicia’s own brush. One time, after she had locked the door behind her, she stripped off her clothing and put on one of her real grandmother’s nightgowns. She tied the lace strings of the bodice extra tight so the garment wouldn’t slip off. I saw how much she enjoyed the feel of it, how she ran the palms of her hands down over her budding bosom and onto the small of her stomach. She closed her eyes and wore a look of ecstasy I thought far beyond what someone her age was capable of feeling. She paraded about like the princess Malcolm had turned her into and then crawled onto the swan bed. She actually fell asleep there, wearing the silver silk nightgown.

I studied her little chest lifting and falling and thought about Alicia making love with Garland in that bed. Perhaps Malcolm was right; perhaps there were ghosts in there; perhaps there was something evil drawing little Corinne to it.

I didn’t stop her from sneaking in; I didn’t prevent her from using some of Alicia’s and some of Malcolm’s mother’s things. In my heart I worried that it was not the ghost of Alicia or Corinne that inhabited that room—it seemed to be the devil himself, come to corrupt any innocent young girl who lived there.