Newport: A Novel

by Jill Morrow

  “Come in,” he said, cracking the door just enough to peer through.

  Adrian tapped the door open and entered the room. His gaze flickered across the mound of clothing on the floor, traveling upward to rest on Jim’s face. Jim unconsciously raised a hand to smooth his ruffled hair.

  “Late night, Mr. Reid?”

  “Somewhat. You know how it is.”

  Adrian closed the door behind him. “Possibly,” he said. “But perhaps you’d best tell me all the same.”

  Jim shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

  “Well?” Adrian waited.

  “Sorry. There are some things a gentleman just doesn’t divulge.”

  Adrian winced. “Oh, Jim.”

  “What?” It was hard to appear cool while clad in an old blue bathrobe, but Jim did the best he could. “There’s nothing to worry about. We’re still welcome here. It was only a walk.”

  “With Amy Walsh, I presume?”

  No matter how casual his nod, Jim couldn’t prevent the hot flush that burned his fair Irish skin. He squared his shoulders. “Yes.”

  Adrian left a long pause. Jim kept his mouth shut.

  Adrian finally turned toward the window. “Would you be so kind as to draft Mr. Chapman’s will this morning? I want to leave for Boston immediately following tonight’s séance.”

  “No matter what its outcome?”

  “No matter what.”

  “What of Nicholas Chapman?”

  “Damn Nicholas Chapman.”

  The tightness in Adrian’s voice was new. Jim unconsciously stroked his chin, considering. “He could ruin you.”

  “I’ll take my chances.” Adrian’s gaze remained fixed on the distant horizon. “It’s time we left this place.”

  Jim studied the other man for a moment. Adrian looked as well turned out as usual, dressed casually in cuffed white flannel trousers and a pale-green argyle sweater. But the lines bracketing his mouth were more pronounced this morning, and a slight puffiness around his eyes made it clear that he’d gotten even less sleep than Jim had himself.

  Unbidden, one of Granny Cullen’s favorite sayings sprang to his mind: Even a small thorn causes festering.

  With a sigh, Jim knotted the bathrobe cord more firmly about his middle. “Adrian. Do you remember that infamous night just before my first-year law school exams?”

  A dry smile flickered across Adrian’s mouth. “The night I opened my front door to find you in a drunken heap on the doorstep?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “That would be a hard night to forget.”

  They hadn’t talked about that incident in years, but it still had the power to make Jim cringe at his own stupidity. He’d studied until he was cross-eyed, yet emerged from the library with a sickening premonition of failure. Drinking the night away had seemed a perfectly logical solution at the time. He’d then compounded the error in judgment by giving the cabbie Adrian’s address instead of his own.

  “I was mortified,” he said, shaking his head. “I still can’t believe I showed up in that state after you’d done so much for me. You probably wondered why you’d even bothered.”

  “Nonsense. You were overwhelmed, that’s all. You needed no more than several cups of strong coffee and a soft bed.”

  Jim crossed the room to stand by Adrian’s side. “The sympathetic ear and dose of reassurance you provided didn’t hurt, either. The point is, you listened without judging. Your faith in my character got me through a rocky time. I’ve never forgotten your kindness in the face of my idiocy.”

  “It wasn’t idiocy, Jim.” Adrian buried his hands in his trouser pockets and turned to face him. “It was a youthful mistake, that’s all.”

  “Which we all make on occasion.” Jim rested a tentative hand on his mentor’s shoulder. “Adrian, please. I can never repay the kindness and trust you’ve invested in me all these years, but let me try. I could never judge you harshly.”

  Adrian held his gaze. “I’m not sure I know what you mean,” he said evenly.

  “Oh, I think you do.” Jim plucked his spectacles from his nose, suddenly absorbed in cleaning them with the cord of his terry cloth robe. “You’re not in fighting form, and that’s unusual. I’m guessing the K.O. has something to do with Catharine Walsh.”

  “Are you now?” Adrian’s face remained an immobile mask.

  “Perhaps I can help. You should at least let me try.”

  Adrian returned his attention to the window, staring so hard that it took everything Jim had not to peer outside as well. Instead, he lifted his spectacles up to the light for inspection, aiming for nonchalance.

  “And what if the situation requires information from Miss Amy Walsh?” Adrian asked quietly. “You’re a good man, Jim. I’d hate to compromise your loyalties.”

  Jim returned the spectacles to their proper perch on his nose, blinking until Adrian’s profile wavered into focus. “It’s a little late to think about that, isn’t it? I already compromised my virtue on your behalf at last night’s séance.”

  For the first time since they’d arrived at Liriodendron, Adrian’s smile was warm and genuine. “So you did. Very well, then. I’ll have the auto brought around after breakfast. Some conversations are best had off premises. Which reminds me: our little eavesdropper from the ferry is here.”

  “The kid?”

  “The same. I’ve made a few discreet inquiries but have no information.”

  A clatter of footsteps in the hallway made them both jump. Chloe Chapman Dinwoodie flung open the bedroom door, not even bothering to knock. “Come!” she cried.

  “What’s wrong?” Adrian hurried to her side.

  “It’s Miss Amy. We were chatting in the dining room—she, Father, and I—and all of a sudden, Mother broke through.”

  “I don’t understand,” Jim said. “Do you mean that . . . out of the blue . . . the late Mrs. Chapman has arrived? Without the trappings of a séance?”

  Chloe’s nod was almost lost in a flurry of hair and fabric as she turned on her heel and raced back down the hallway. “Mother sent me to fetch you both, along with Catharine. But I can’t stay—I don’t want to miss a thing!”

  The frenzied pounding of her feet faded as she ran toward Catharine’s room.

  “Well,” Adrian said in a low voice. “Either Elizabeth Chapman is a very real entity with a mind of her own, or the Walsh ladies are every bit as calculating as Nicholas claims they are. What’s your opinion?”

  Amy? Calculating? Someone so soft and sweet—someone who kissed the way Amy did—could never be calculating . . . could she? Arguments jumped and reeled through Jim’s mind, twisting themselves until he could not determine where one ended and another began.

  “I thought we believed in the Walshes’ veracity,” he said. “That Bennett Chapman isn’t nuts . . .”

  “Oh, I believe our client is perfectly sane. But greater men than he have been taken in by well-woven schemes. Bennett has been given every reason to believe that the spirit of his wife is real. That doesn’t make him incompetent; it merely proves he’s a human being with an Achilles’ heel. It’s time we got to the bottom of this, don’t you think? Dress quickly; I’ll meet you in the dining room.”

  Another of Granny Cullen’s sayings cut through the din in Jim’s mind as he turned from the door: Put silk on a goat, and it’s still a goat.

  Deep in thought, he shut the door with a solid thump.

  CHAPTER

  21

  Catharine burst through the dining room door, hoping to stem the chaos before it could careen into disaster. “What is the meaning of this?”

  Her words faded as she absorbed the scene before her. Seated at the foot of the table, Nicholas wore his customary sneer, but a curious twitch plagued his mouth. Chloe sat to his left, the rapturous expression on her face a throwback to the Romantic portraiture of saints. Beside her, Adrian managed neutrality worthy of Switzerland.

  But it was Bennett who caught her attention,
causing her to stop halfway to the dining room table.

  “Catharine!” Bennett’s voice, strong and hearty, belonged to a man at least thirty years younger. His cheeks glowed with more than good health. He seemed lit from within by an inexplicable glow, infused with vim that hadn’t before been there. He stood, walking stick clattering to the ground as he left his place at the head of the table to stride to Catharine’s side. “Take your place. Elizabeth has come to call.”

  Puzzled, Catharine allowed him to hook a firm hand beneath her elbow and guide her toward her usual seat at his right. She hazarded a brief glance at Adrian as she settled into her chair. He gave a nearly imperceptible nod across the table toward Amy.

  Catharine’s gasp echoed in the quiet room. Amy’s skin, usually so creamy and smooth, had the sallow, dry look of paper. Dark circles rimmed her blue eyes, and she slumped in her chair as if the weight of the world had become too great to carry. “Amy, what’s happened?”

  “I don’t know,” Amy said in a monotone.

  “Mother has come.” Chloe’s words tumbled over themselves. “She has much to say, but doesn’t want to begin until we’ve all gathered. Where is Mr. Reid?”

  “He’s on his way.” Adrian’s gaze traveled from Catharine to Amy, then back to Catharine again.

  “Congratulations,” Nicholas drawled. “An impromptu conversation with Mother—it’s a clever move, however unbelievable. You ladies are more ingenious than I thought. Unfortunately, I’m hungry. Surely we can either eat breakfast first or begin our spectral conversation without Mr. Reid?”

  Amy tilted her head, listening. “Mrs. Chapman would prefer that we all be present.”

  “And we are.” Jim hurried across the threshold, peering into Amy’s face as he slid into the chair beside her. “Good grief, Amy. Are you all right?”

  She turned glazed eyes his way. “I’m not sure,” she said.

  He searched her face for another moment, then laid a gentle hand atop hers. “I’m no expert, but it seems to me you shouldn’t do this right now. It’s not agreeing with you.”

  “No, she must!” Chloe leapt from her chair. “Mother is here waiting . . . perhaps she’s brought my Margaret as well.”

  Amy swayed in her chair, glassy gaze now riveted on Chloe’s trembling form.

  “Fine lot any of that will matter if Amy keels over.” Jim raised his eyebrows in Catharine’s direction, his open stare more commanding than expected. “Miss Walsh. Surely you share my concerns about your niece’s well-being.”

  His words jolted Catharine from her shock. “Of course I do, Mr. Reid.”

  “Then perhaps you could escort her up to bed.”

  “No!” Chloe’s desperate cry pierced the air. “Don’t listen to him! He just doesn’t want to hear from Mother again, that’s all. After last night, he’s afraid she’ll reveal even more about his sordid personal life!”

  “That’s uncalled for,” Adrian said firmly. “I’ve known Mr. Reid since he was a child. I can vouch for his sterling character.”

  Chloe snorted. “Nevertheless, Mr. de la Noye, since you want to hear from Mother just as much as I do, I suggest you silence your associate. You’re the one who wanted another séance in the first place.”

  “That’s correct, Lady Dinwoodie. I did. But I don’t need to compromise Miss Walsh’s health in order to obtain the information I seek.”

  Jim placed a firm hand on Amy’s shoulder. “Go with your aunt, Amy. This can wait until you’re feeling up to it.”

  “Coward,” Chloe spat as Catharine half rose from her chair. “You’d deprive us all of Mother’s company just to prevent more of your grimy past from surfacing. But I’m not surprised. You didn’t even have the guts to fight in the Great War, did you? Unlike my Margaret, you stayed home and let others die on your behalf!”

  Jim’s jaw tightened as protests from Adrian and Catharine erupted around him.

  “Enough.” Catharine stood so suddenly that her chair nearly tipped over. “Amy, come with me. We’re finished here.”

  “Blossom, you are behaving badly.” Amy’s flat tone cut through the hubbub.

  Nicholas froze. “What did you say?”

  “Blossom,” Bennett repeated. “Chloe. Only your mother ever called you that.”

  Chloe dropped into her chair. “My God,” she breathed.

  Amy’s voice grew stronger, its force contrasting with her stony face. “Lady Dinwoodie, your mother says that Mr. Reid does not deserve to be maligned in this way. He had good cause not to fight. His vision is so poor that the military wouldn’t let him enlist. Why, he can hardly see at night.”

  Jim grabbed the edge of the table, cheeks scarlet. “Amy! You promised—”

  “Mrs. Chapman has called you all here for a reason,” Amy continued. “She says that she’s waited long enough for you to accept responsibility for your past actions. She’d hoped that an intimate weekend gathering such as this would inspire you all to set things right, but since that does not appear to be the case, she will say what needs to be said. Time grows short.”

  “Elizabeth, my dear.” Bennett looked crestfallen. “I’m trying my best to do all you ask.”

  “She says she understands this and recognizes your efforts. The fact remains, however, that you have yet to marry Catharine Walsh and that your will remains unchanged. These matters must be amended as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, Mother seems to have a rather one-track mind where marriage to Miss Walsh is concerned.” Nicholas shifted in his chair. “Why? Ask her why.”

  “You may ask her yourself,” Amy said. “She’s passed over, not deaf.”

  “Where is she?” Chloe swiveled her neck to scour the room.

  “By the sideboard,” Bennett said, eyes misting in awe.

  “Good,” Nicholas said. “Ask her to fetch some toast while she’s standing. I’m famished.”

  “Nicky!” Chloe rapped her brother’s hand.

  “I have a few questions for Mrs. Chapman, if she’ll allow the imposition,” Adrian said.

  Catharine stiffened at the steel wire that ran through his words. “I don’t think that wise under the circumstances, Mr. de la Noye. I have my niece’s welfare to consider.”

  “I certainly understand, Miss Walsh. But since it seems Mrs. Chapman plans to stay until she’s had her say, perhaps it would speed the process if I—”

  “Mrs. Chapman would be delighted to answer your questions, Mr. de la Noye,” Amy interrupted. “She wonders what has taken you so long to ask.”

  “Don’t, Adrian.” Catharine swung around to face him, gripping the back of the chair to keep her balance. It was no use. Her legs turned to rubber as she sank into her seat.

  “Ah.” It was Amy’s voice, but the expression on her face was one Catharine had never seen before. The pinched look about the nose . . . that slight narrowing of the eyes . . . for a brief moment, it was as if someone else had borrowed Amy’s facial features for their own use. “You’d prefer I set matters straight in your own house, Miss Walsh? That’s certainly part of what must be done. I can start there if you’d like.”

  “‘I’?” The rest of the room fell away in a hush as Catharine stared across the table at the young woman she knew so well. “Amy . . . please. You can’t possibly understand what you’re saying.”

  Amy’s eyes widened with confusion as she stared back, but at least she was thoroughly Amy again. One hand fluttered to her stomach. “Aunt Catharine, Mrs. Chapman says . . . Mrs. Chapman says . . .”

  Catharine threw a quick, panicked glance in Nicholas Chapman’s direction. To her left, Bennett’s chair creaked as he leaned forward, eagerly awaiting his late wife’s words. To her right, Adrian’s gaze pierced her straight through, searching for answers. She dared to meet it. The detachment in his dark eyes made her stomach roil. She’d once kindled a most wonderful fire in that gaze. It seemed a blasphemy that it held nothing but emptiness for her now. Suddenly, her fingers itched to trace the line of his chiseled jaw, to pull
him so close that nothing could separate them ever again.

  Letting him go had been the biggest mistake of her life. And in another moment, the reasons she’d done so probably wouldn’t even matter anymore.

  She lifted her chin like a prisoner facing a firing squad. “Very well, Amy,” she said. “Out with it. I’m ready.”

  Amy obliged, her words a relentless wave. “Mrs. Chapman says . . . that despite what you’ve told everyone for years, you’re not my aunt at all.”

  “Catharine!” Bennett twisted toward her, startled. “Is this true?”

  The shock on Amy’s face tore at Catharine’s heart. “You’re my mother.”

  CHAPTER

  22

  Voices converged in utter pandemonium as Adrian stared at the young woman across the table. A vein in his neck throbbed; he raised a hand to shield it from curious eyes. At least no one could hear the booming thoughts racing through his mind. With difficulty, he made himself concentrate through the din. Bennett Chapman was still a client with interests to protect, no matter how topsy-turvy his own world had just become.

  “You’re my mother,” Amy repeated, her small voice fading away like a vapor.

  “Catharine. What does this mean?” Bennett bent toward his fiancée, brows lowered over eyes so piercing that any other woman would have cowered in her seat.

  “Oh, I think that’s obvious,” Nicholas said. “It means that one way or another, your intended has led you astray. Either she’s a proud mama who has neglected to mention the fact, or the dearly departed ‘Elizabeth’ isn’t as accurate as an all-knowing spirit should be. Which is it, Miss . . . Mrs. . . . Walsh?”

  “‘Miss’ will do,” Catharine said, skewering him with a look so full of hatred that it seemed blood should be pooling at his feet. Her voice softened as she turned toward her fiancé. “Bennett, you deserve an explanation, and I will answer your questions in private, away from the inquisition.”