Garden of Shadows (16 page)

She looked down. There was something more, something more terrible for her to add.
"He wants the baby," she said.
"What?"
"The child is to be his, yours." She spoke quickly. "He said if I didn't agree, he would accuse me of being a fortune hunter. He said that because I've become pregnant after Garland's death, he will be able to have his lawyers drag me through the courts and prove I am a woman of little virtue who married an elderly man to gain wealth, and after he died, I gave myself to Malcolm in order to blackmail him for even more wealth. He said he didn't care what kind of publicity it brought to the Foxworths. Publicity couldn't hurt him; it could hurt only me.
"He said he would drive me out of here penniless, and put me through a scandalous court trial. I would have a reputation and no one would want to be seen with me. The headlines and publicity would kill my mother, who, as you know, is already deathly ill.
"I wouldn't even know how to fight him. I have no lawyers, no contact with that sort of person. Garland took care of all that, and after he died, Malcolm has been handling my legal affairs. Here I would be, a widow with a three-year-old child, at the mercy of the cold world."
"He wants the child?" I repeated.
"Yes. He says he knows it will be a girl. I am to live in the north wing, secluded until after the birth. Then I will be free to leave with Christopher and my money intact." She wrung her hands and looked at me with plaintive eyes. "Oh, Olivia, what shall I do? You must help me decide! You must!"
I stared at her, and for a long moment, I felt helpless. Malcolm Neal Foxworth always got what he wanted, one way or another. He wanted a daughter. Now he had gotten one. In my mind I had no doubt Alicia's child would be a girl.
All this had been going on right before my eyes. I had sensed and suspected, but I had refused to permit myself to believe it, and now I had to swallow the bitter pill of truth. I couldn't close my door or look the other way. I was as much a part of it as she was because I had not prevented it. I was like a mother who had to take responsibility for the actions of her child who knew no better. Malcolm had used and abused her in the worst way a man could abuse a woman, and she had been helpless to protect herself.
Perhaps worst of all, she was now pregnant with the child that should have been mine. If a daughter was indeed to be born to the Foxworths, it should be my daughter, not hers.
I envied her, but I didn't respect her. In that moment I felt all sympathy for her slip away.
"Olivia," she repeated, "what should I do?"
"Do?" I said. "I think you've done enough." I looked at her and her eyes skipped guiltily away. She knew she shouldn't have let it get this far; she knew that now, but she was hoping I would come up with some sort of solution that would save her.
I looked at my own reflection in the mirror above the dressing table and saw that I had already taken on the hardness that was to characterize me for the rest of my life. I was looking at myself with flinthard gray eyes. My lips, pressed tightly together, formed a thin, crooked knife slash, and my breasts looked like twin hills of concrete.
"Olivia?" Her voice was filled with pleading.
"There's nothing for you to do," I said, "but what Malcolm wants. Start to gather your things together. Plans and preparations must be made. Begin to tell people that you are intending to leave Foxworth Hall, so that when you go into hiding, no one will miss you."
"But what about Christopher? Someone's bound to see Christopher."
"Christopher won't be with you," I said, inventing the ideas as quickly as I spoke.
"What? What are you saying?"
"You will give it out that you are going on a prolonged trip, during which time Christopher will remain here. When you return, you will be leaving Foxworth Hall for good. This trip is to make preparations for your new life. No one need know the details, especially the servants. If anything, we will leave them with the suggestion you are finding a new husband," I added, satisfied with that touch. Her face was a study of shock and dismay.
"Shut away from my child? All these months? But he's a little boy, just three years old. He's already lost his father. He needs his mother. I know that he is close to Mal and Joel and he'll enjoy their
companionship, but . . ."
"They won't be permitted into the north wing," I went on, ignoring her objections. "You'll take the room at the end, the one that has the adjoining bath. The one," I added, "that you thought was so exciting because of the doorway in the closet that led up to the attic."
"But much of it is dusty and cluttered. It's no place for me to live."
"You'll make the best of it," I said. I had to make her see that she bore some guilt and
responsibility for what was happening to her and her child.
"But what about the classes for Malcolm and Joel held at the far end? Mr. Chillingworth?"
"That will have to stop now, won't it?" I said, happy to have a reason to do so. "Obviously, Malcolm will have to agree to that. The boys will have to be sent to school. It will be better that they are away from the house anyway. There will be much less chance of their discovering anything."
"The maids, the servants," she said. She was grasping at anything to stave off her fate. I was amused by her frantic questions, her hope to find a reason why Malcolm's plan couldn't be carried out.
"The ones we now have will all be dismissed. They will leave thinking you are leaving, even thinking that I am pregnant," I added. I couldn't help but like the fact that they would think that. It was almost as if I really were pregnant.
"Even Mrs. Wilson?"
"All of them. Maybe not Olsen. Olsen is not in the house that much and is somewhat slow-witted. I don't think it matters much about Olsen, and I rather like the way he handles the gardens."
"But a new maid will still have to come up to me, Olivia. She'll know."
"No maid will come up to you. I will come up to you."
"You?"
"I will bring you everything you need," I said. She would be entirely dependent on me for everything-- her food, her clothing, her soap, even her toothbrush.
"The doctor," she chirped, thinking she had found a way out.
"We won't need the doctor. Later, we'll get a midwife. You're young, healthy. There'll be no problem."
"I'm afraid," she said.
"What alternative do you have?" With each sentence, I felt my power increasing, as my mind worked quickly to solve every detail. For the first time since I'd come to Foxworth Hall, I felt in control, in command. Yes, now I was true mistress. "You were right to think Malcolm would carry out his threats. And how would you feel having Malcolm's child to care for after all that he has done to you? You couldn't help but take out your frustration and pain on the poor thing," I said.
"I would never . . ."
"A penniless woman with two children to care for, rather than one?"
"I don't know if I can do what he wants." She looked down at her hands in her lap and then looked up at me, resignation settling in her expression. "Only if I know you are here to help me."
"I said what I would do, but I won't spend all my time in the north wing baby-sitting you," I added. "You must not go into a dream world about this too."
She nodded, now resigned to her fate. Speaking to her like this made me feel even more powerful. I couldn't be as slim and as beautiful as she was, but finally, her beauty had proven to be a weakness and a fault. It had led her down a painful path, a path I would never choose for myself.
In a strange way I thought of her the way I used to think of the miniature dolls in the glass-encased house. I used to feel frustration because I couldn't move them about physically. I could only imagine their movements. But I could move her about. I could put a smile or a grimace on her face. I could make her laugh or cry. She was in my hands and as helpless as a little doll.
"I shall speak to Malcolm," I said. "And demand he explain everything and tell me everything, even the monetary details." She looked up hopefully. It was happening already. Her heart was beating in anticipation. I had sent the blood pounding through her veins with the utterance of a simple sentence.
"Maybe you'll change his mind. Maybe you'll get him to see it would be better if I just left now."
"Maybe. Only don't put too much faith in that.
Malcolm has never changed his mind about anything." "But he listens to you."
"When he wants to; only when he wants to, and only if it will suit his purpose."
"Without your cooperation, this can't work. You could refuse to go along with it."
"I could, but the alternative is not a good one for you, is it, my dear?" I said. If there was one thing I wouldn't tolerate now, it was her making my decisions for me. "He'll simply carry out his threats. You have to look at it another way now. Without me, you will leave this house penniless."
The smile of hope evaporated. I felt like a puppeteer. I had pulled a string and turned her back into a state of depression. From this day forward, she wouldn't go singing and skipping through Foxworth Hall unless I wanted her to. She wouldn't be bubbly and alive unless I wanted her to be.
She fell back on the bed and started to cry.
"I wouldn't do that either, Alicia. You must keep yourself strong and healthy. If you went through all this and something happened to the baby . . ."
"What?" She looked terrified, her eyes wide, her lips pulled tight.
"I don't know what Malcolm would do, but he would believe you hurt or killed the baby on purpose."
"I would never, could never do such a thing."
"Of course you wouldn't, but Malcolm would think you had. Don't you see? You will have to eat well and keep your spirits high."
"But Olivia, I will feel . . . imprisoned."
"Yes," I said. "I know. But we are all imprisoned in one way or another, Alicia. Ironically, your beauty has imprisoned you." I started away.
"But someday it will set me free," she said defiantly. I turned back to her, smiling.
"I hope so, my dear Alicia. But for now, you might as well consider it your lock and key. Who knows what Malcolm might do next time he looks at you? We know what he sees and we don't want him to have his way with you anymore. When you are secured in that room in the north wing, you'll be even more defenseless than you are now, won't you?" I thought aloud. The realization put more terror in her face.
"What should I do? I won't scar my face. I can't become fat and ugly overnight."
"No, you can't. But if I were you, I'd cut off my hair as soon as possible."
"My hair!" She brought both her hands to it quickly, as if it were already being cut. "I couldn't do that. Garland loved my hair. He would spend hours beside me running his fingers through it, stroking it, smelling it."
"But Garland is dead, Alicia. Besides, someday you can grow it back. Right?" She didn't reply. "Right?" I insisted on being answered. I would always insist on that.
"Yes," she said, nearly inaudible.
"After we give it out that you're leaving and you go into the north wing, I'll bring the scissors. even cut it off for you."
She nodded slowly, but that was not enough. "I said I would do it for you."
She looked up.
"Thank you, Olivia."
I smiled.
"I'll do what I can," I said. "But you must always understand that I am in a peculiar and uncomfortable position too."
"I know. I'm sorry for that. Believe me."
"I believe you," I said. "Take a nap now and later we'll talk more about what has to be done."
She lay back and I left the Swan Room, closing the door softly behind me. I went to the top of the spiral staircase and looked down at the foyer of the great house. I remembered the first morning I had stood up here and started down, how I had felt myself growing in stature with every step. I was to be the mistress of this mansion. So much had happened since that morning to threaten my authority and position, but ironically, as I began to descend now, I felt I had grown taller, stronger, wiser.
Mrs. Steiner, coming from Malcolm's bedroom, where she had straightened and cleaned, surprised me. She walked so softly, I almost suspected her of eavesdropping at the Swan Room door while Alicia revealed all to me.
"Is Mrs. Foxworth feeling ill?" she asked. It was always difficult for the servants to refer to Alicia as Mrs. Foxworth when they spoke to me. I knew they wanted to say "the young Mrs. Foxworth," or even to take the liberty to use her Christian name. I glared at her and she shrank back. "I mean, I want to know when I should go to do her room."
"You won't do her room today," I said.
"Very good, ma'am," she said. She started to go past me.
"She has a headache," I added, "but it's nothing serious."
Mrs. Steiner nodded. I watched her descend the stairs quickly, eager to make distance between us. She really won't mind being let go, I thought. Even though she has been here so long and we pay her well. Malcolm will see to it that she and the others get good severance pay. And afterward, I would tell him how many new servants I wanted. Of course, they would have strict orders to stay out of the north wing.
There would be many things he would have to do now. In many ways he would be taking orders from me. I was looking forward to his explanation of things later, for I would confront him with Alicia's confessions as soon as he returned home. I was sure he was choosing his own time and place to tell me how things were and how they would be. But I would upset his strategy, and I would do my best to get my pound of flesh.
All would be dependent upon me, even Malcolm, in ways he didn't understand or anticipate. I would be in firm control. It was little enough compensation for the things I didn't have, things I had always dreamt of having; but I was not lying to Alicia when I told her we were all imprisoned in one way or another. What I had decided after Alicia had told me about all that had happened between her and Malcolm was that I would accept my imprisonment, and in accepting it, I would become the master of my own prison house.

ARROGANT AS EVER, MALCOLM SHOWED NO REMORSE, NO guilt, no shame. When he arrived home that night, I followed him into his private study, a study into which he retreated every evening before dinner, a study that was off limits to everyone in the house save Malcolm and the maid who cleaned it once a week. As I opened the wide oak door without knocking, Malcolm looked startled and angry. "What are you doing in here, Olivia?" he asked sternly.

I made my face like stone, and put the haughtiest sneer in my voice. "I'm here to talk about your new little baby," I said. Then I confronted him with Alicia's story. I spit every detail at him as I raged against his lust and audacity. The sky was shrouded by a spring storm, furious and dark, with angry bruised clouds hovering outside the windows beyond Malcolm's desk, threatening to come in and consume us. But the clouds were not as bruised and angry as I, and if anyone would consume today, it would be me.