Beneath the Attic

by V. C. Andrews

  “Get hold of yourself, Corrine Dixon. Don’t be such a . . . such a little girl,” I muttered.

  “Hi,” I heard, and turned to see Garland. Had he heard me chastise myself?

  “Hi.”

  “Sorry about yesterday and last night,” he said, hurrying over to kiss me. “Were you all right? I sent Lucas back to check on you.”

  “Lucas? I never saw him.”

  “I guess everything was fine, then.”

  “Where have you been? Why didn’t you come home?”

  “You have no idea what planning all this involves. I certainly didn’t. I was with providers until dinner, and then I had this very important investment dinner meeting I had nearly forgotten. It went on and on, with a little too many toasts to our success, so I finally decided to stay over at the Caroline House. It was recently built, and I thought I should see what one of these modern hotels is like anyway. Someone is trying to get me to invest in a hotel chain all over the United States.

  “Most important of all, however, is everything is falling into place. Just as I promised, we will have quite the gala wedding, my dear.” He looked at the book on the table. “What are you reading?”

  I turned it over to show him and opened the cover to display the inscription.

  “Who was Claudette?”

  “Ah, Claudette.” He smiled. “She wasn’t much older than you. Someone I met in Paris.” He looked at the book. “We did exchange telegrams. I really never read the book, though. Is it good?”

  “Did you love her?” I asked.

  “Maybe for a minute,” he said. “That was at least three years ago. Now, don’t go searching Foxworth Hall for love letters and notes. What was in the past remains in the past. We are the future,” he declared, took a deep breath, and looked out at his property. “What a beautiful day. Lucas will take you to Charlottesville to shop when you are ready. I was very pleased to hear you’re making use of some of my mother’s wardrobe.”

  “How did you find out? Did Dora send you a telegram?”

  He laughed. “She was downstairs when I came in. Perhaps in time, you’ll choose other things as well.”

  “I doubt it,” I said.

  He glanced at me, his eyes cold for a moment, and then he laughed. “We’ll see. Right now, I had better check on the construction of our stage. I promised your mother there wouldn’t be a single blemish on this spectacle.”

  He kissed me again.

  “Don’t bankrupt me today at the department store,” he joked.

  “Garland?”

  “Yes?” He paused.

  “I want you to show me the attic one day.”

  “The attic? Why?”

  “You told me a little about it, but I discovered a bedroom with a stairway that goes up to it. I thought that was odd.”

  He shrugged. “It’s not that interesting. Maybe a skeleton or two is all.”

  “Nevertheless, I want to know everything about this house.”

  “Do you? Good. That will take decades. We’ll have a long, wonderful marriage. I’ll be like Scheherazade and tell you a different story about something in the house every day. That way, you won’t chop off my head to marry another handsome young man.”

  He laughed, turned, and left.

  It was the king who was cutting off heads, not his bride, I thought. I decided to skip lunch and go right to my shopping. Visiting a department store with my unlimited budget to buy whatever I chose would surely cheer me up. I rose, hurried in, and told Dora not to have any lunch prepared for me.

  “But Mrs. Wilson already prepared some egg salad the way you like it,” she said.

  “You eat it,” I told her. “You’ll like it, too. But first, go tell Lucas I’m coming out in ten minutes.”

  I hurried up the stairs and checked myself at the vanity table before sweeping up a shawl that had been Garland’s mother’s, conveniently left there, and hurried down and out to the waiting carriage. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask Lucas about Garland’s escapades last night, but I was sure whatever I said would quickly find its way to Garland’s ears. When we approached my great-aunt Nettie’s house on our way to the department store, I was tempted to have Lucas stop, but then I thought it would only be a waste of time. She wouldn’t recall my having been there, and even if she did, I wasn’t in the mood to hear her rant about how terrible Garland’s father was.

  When we arrived at the department store, the salesladies at Miller and Rhoads were primed and ready for me, having heard from Garland that I had carte blanche. I spent hours trying on the newest fashions, shoes, and hats. I thought I should have something different for every day of the week and then special weekend clothes. Not once did anyone mention a price, nor did I ask. My father would have had heart failure, I thought, but what I wanted to ensure was not having the slightest need to wear anything more from Garland’s mother’s wardrobe than necessary. I was still dreading getting into that wedding dress.

  Lucas looked shocked at the number of bags and boxes when I was finished. There was barely room for me, and some had to be put above with him. I sat back, imagining myself even more spoiled than Kate in The Taming of the Shrew. Garland was determined I would be. Was that out of love or guilt? Then again, I thought, what difference did it make as long as I got what I wanted?

  But look what happened to Kate, I reminded myself when we started back to Foxworth Hall. Maybe my world would come crumbling down, too, but until then . . .

  I loved the look on Dora’s face when she came out to help bring my new things to the Swan Room. Lucas, feeling sorry for her, rushed to help. Garland was sequestered in his private office and didn’t come out to see the parade up the stairway until it was almost over.

  “Is there anything left for anyone else to buy?” he asked when he walked up to see Dora unwrapping everything and hanging up clothes, organizing my new shoes and my hats.

  “Not much,” I said. “But I will need some of this for our honeymoon.”

  “Oh, that,” he said. “I’m afraid we’ll have to postpone it.”

  “Postpone it? Until when?”

  “I’ve just completed the plans and the investments for a new textile factory in Charlottesville. The construction will begin this coming week. To keep the cost under control, we have to meet deadlines. I simply must be here to oversee it all. It could cost me tens of thousands more than it should.”

  “How long will it take?”

  “Four months,” he said.

  “Four months! According to Dr. Ross, I’m well past two. That will be six or so. How can I go on a honeymoon if I look so pregnant?”

  “We’ll go where no one sees us or . . .”

  “No one sees us? What would that be? A cabin in the woods?”

  He laughed. “Okay. We’ll go as soon as you’re able to go after giving birth. How’s that?”

  “What will we tell people now when they ask where we’re going?”

  “The truth. I’m too busy at the moment, but I couldn’t wait to make you my wife. I was afraid someone else would sweep you off.”

  He kissed me and stood back, smiling.

  I didn’t smile. The gossips who were coming would have reason to say mean things about me. She married a man like her father and will become her mother.

  “Hey, hey, hey. We have a whole life to spend together, Corrine. Let’s not worry about a ten-day holiday. There’ll be plenty of those.”

  “Not if you’re anything like my father,” I muttered.

  “Oh, I’m not. You can bet Foxworth Hall on it,” he said.

  But later, at dinner, his conversation was all about his new textile factory, the markets, both domestic and international, and what he would like to see politically to help build his business. The talk was as boring as my father’s dinner conversation could be. Where were the romantic and dramatic descriptions of faraway places, the awe-inspiring sights he wanted me to see? The only part that seemed at all interesting was his plan for us to go to London, partly, prob
ably mostly, to set up some new markets for his factories and do some sightseeing. But that was at least a year or so off. Finally, seeing how bored I was, he talked about the musicians he had hired to play at our wedding reception.

  “We’re paying top dollar for the best.”

  After dinner, he went to his office for some “last-minute business details,” and I sat in the living room reading the novel this Claudette had given him. At least, I tried to read it. Every once in a while, I recalled what he had told me about being in love with her for a minute. Visions of him with some French girl kept coming between me and the words. I finally cast it aside, rose, and went to his office. He was scribbling on some chart and didn’t even hear me enter.

  “I’m going up to bed,” I said.

  He turned and looked at me with the oddest expression. It was as if he had forgotten who I was or that I was here.

  “Oh,” he said after a moment. “I’ll stop in,” he added, with that coy, sexy smile I loved.

  “Good,” I said, and left.

  As I expected, Dora was waiting for me. She had probably been listening for my footsteps on the stairway.

  “Where do you keep yourself up here?” I asked when she stepped out of the shadows.

  “Mr. Foxworth told me to take his mother’s bedroom while I tended to your needs, ma’am. I hope that’s all right.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be? I want nothing to do with that bedroom or any more of the clothes left in it,” I emphasized.

  She nodded and followed me to the Swan Room. After I prepared for bed, wearing one of my dozen new nightgowns, I lay back under the swan and waited anxiously for Garland. Perhaps he would spend the entire night with me. If we couldn’t have a honeymoon right away, at least I could pretend to be having one here.

  The bed was as soft as I imagined it would be, the pillows like balls of cotton, pieces of a cloud. I recognized the scent, too. His mother’s scent, dabbed on the bed earlier, perhaps. How could it last that long otherwise?

  So much time went by, I nearly fell asleep. Every time my eyes closed, I snapped them open, fearing he would peek in, see me asleep, and go to bed in his room, claiming he didn’t have the heart to wake me. When he finally did open the door and peered in, I sat up quickly, folding my arms under my breasts. Why had he waited so long? Where was that romantic desire? Were we doomed to become another boring married couple after all? I could see his reaction to my look. As my father often told my mother, “The expression on your face could stop a clock.”

  “I can see you need more proof, more assurance, that I’m not simply the man who brought you here and ravished you.”

  “I am hoping you can’t keep yourself away from me,” I said, lowering my nightgown off my shoulders.

  I saw his eyes go from me to the swan.

  “It won’t bite you, but I will,” I said.

  His smile looked timid, which for him was quite unusual. He stepped forward and closed the door softly behind him. He didn’t move toward me, however.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “It’s just . . . so unexpected for me to see someone in that bed.”

  “Good. It gives me confidence that you brought no one else to it and makes it more my bed.”

  He nodded but didn’t move.

  “At this rate, I think I’d rather be ravished,” I said, finally bringing a smile to his face.

  “Oh no. It will always be different now. I promise,” he said, walked to the bed, and leaned over to kiss me.

  I seized his shoulders when he started to pull back.

  He sat beside me to stamp smaller kisses on my cheeks and my closed eyes, holding me confidently in his arms. I lowered my head against his chest, and he kissed my neck before he rose, pulled back the thin blanket, and undid his pants. Naked from the waist down, he slipped in beside me.

  “My swan,” he whispered. “My own precious swan.”

  “Yes, yes,” I said. This was what I had waited all day to hear, to feel.

  As he carefully removed my nightgown, taking his time to kiss and stroke me, pausing to kiss my neck and whisper his love, I glanced up at the swan. Its red ruby eye seemed fixed on us. I felt as if we were making love under its wing. His gaze followed mine, and suddenly, I felt his hesitation.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Dr. Ross told me to be careful,” he whispered.

  “Graceful, not careful,” I said, and he laughed and then kissed me the way I wanted him to kiss me, romantically, lovingly, his lips wet with passion, his tongue grazing mine.

  Nevertheless, he hovered above me and moved almost like someone I imagined doing this for the first time, tentative all the way. I didn’t sense that overly self-confident manner. For a moment, I thought he was in some pain. He looked like he was frightened, agonized. Instead of looking at me and bringing himself closer to kiss me, he gazed up at the swan, pausing and seemingly mesmerized. For a few moments, I felt as if it didn’t matter if I was there or not.

  “Garland,” I whispered.

  A puzzled look came onto his face. He looked like he had just realized what he had been doing. I could feel his hardness softening. It was an odd feeling, like his phallus was losing air.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. He started to pull away.

  “No, I’m not complaining,” I said, my hands reaching for him. I seized his arms. “There’s nothing wrong, no pain.”

  He continued to retreat, breaking my grip. “It’s all right. I understand,” he said.

  “Understand what? What did I do?”

  He nodded as if he had heard a different voice, different words. “We’ll be fine. I need to give you some time. I understand.”

  “What? No. There was no discomfort. It was exactly the opposite.”

  He wasn’t listening. Instead, he was dressing quickly.

  “What are you doing? Where are you going?”

  “It’s all right. I’ll let you sleep. You need your sleep. My mother had a miscarriage, you know, after I was born. They worried about her getting pregnant again.”

  I sat up, holding my nightgown against my naked body. “But there was nothing wrong,” I said. “I had no pain. You were so calm. It was becoming wonderful.”

  He nodded. “And it will be. You’ll see. I’m just a bit nervous and afraid that I might not be as careful and calm if I continued. I did drink too much wine while I worked tonight. My head’s spinning a little. I want no more problems between us. Never,” he said, getting his shoes on. “Get some rest. The minister is coming over tomorrow afternoon to meet you, Reverend Chase. He likes to make his ceremonies personal.”

  He stood.

  “And he doesn’t know you’re pregnant, so no worries about being embarrassed or anything.”

  He glanced again at the swan, flashed a smile at what was surely my expression of total confusion, nodded, and left without looking back.

  “Garland?” I cried when the door closed behind him. I anticipated his opening it again, but he didn’t. There was only silence.

  I was stunned. What had just happened? Why did he retreat just as we were reaching a climax? At least, I was. What had I done to frighten him? I didn’t even moan. Maybe he did drink too much wine. Maybe he was having trouble, man trouble, caused by too much alcohol, and it had embarrassed him. A man like my soon-to-be husband could never tolerate any criticism of his manhood. Did he think I was going to do that? I had to tell him, make him understand I wasn’t, that nothing like that had even occurred to me.

  I slipped on my nightgown and went to the door. By the time I stepped into the hallway, Garland was gone. It was deathly quiet. The shadows down the hallway looked like they were moving toward me. The lamps flickered, the light more like sparks falling against the walls and the corridor floor. He had rushed away so quickly. He is ashamed, I decided. Should I stop by his room to see if he was all right?

  I paused at his door and listened. It was very quiet. I knocked softly an
d waited, but nothing happened. I tried the doorknob. It was unlocked, so I entered. The room was pitch dark. Even the curtains were still drawn shut. Only the dim glow from the hallway cast any illumination, but it was enough for me to see he wasn’t standing by his bed or lying in it. I heard nothing coming from the bathroom. Where was he?

  I stepped back and looked down the hallway.

  “Garland?” I called. “Garland, where are you?”

  Only silence replied. He must have gone back downstairs, I thought. I returned to the Swan Room, put on one of my new robes, and walked out and down the stairs slowly. The lights were very dim. When I reached the bottom, I paused to listen, but the sounds I heard came from the heavier winds that were piercing every crack and crevice in the great house. I heard footsteps way up, the sound surely coming from what had to be that attic, but it might have just been my imagination, I thought when it grew still again, that or the wind, which surely found it easier to invade those walls and windows.

  I could see there were no lights on in the library. None of the downstairs rooms looked occupied. Why would he come down here to sit in the dark? It was stupid of me to think so. I turned to go back up to the Swan Room. I decided that I might as well just go to sleep and talk to him in the morning.

  I paused when I reached the first landing. There was the distinct sound of a door closing.

  “Garland?” I cried. When there was no response, I hurried up the remaining steps and stopped at the top.

  At first, I thought it was my imagination or the wind again, but when I looked to my left, Garland came out of the shadows. His hair looked like he had been running his fingers through it repeatedly, and his shirt was unbuttoned.

  “What are you doing?” he asked when he saw me.

  “Where were you? Why did you leave me like that? I called for you and went downstairs to look for you.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry,” he said. He paused and looked down, shaking his head. “I was overwhelmed with the memory of my mother’s miscarriage. I was there when it happened, not a nice sight. I still have nightmares occasionally, and then,” he continued, looking up at me, “you know my younger sister died in childbirth. I don’t talk about it all. Mr. Bravado. So there you have it, another Foxworth secret revealed.”