Authors: Jill Morrow
A
drian pulled away from Catharine Walsh’s magnetic stare, forcing himself back to the business at hand. His mind rapidly sifted through facts. He’d spoken to Bennett Chapman via telephone only last week. The man had seemed perfectly sane then, had even relayed his corporation’s stellar quarterly financial figures.
“Crossed over, perhaps, but certainly not gone,” Bennett said now. “Is it so difficult to believe that my Elizabeth would stay in touch with the husband she adored?”
“It’s difficult to believe she’d stay in touch with anyone at all.” Chloe fumbled for the flask in her garter, apparently thought better of it, and reached for a cigarette instead.
As his client looked dreamily out at the horizon, Adrian recalled that there had indeed been something unusual about that last telephone conversation: Bennett Chapman had been very
nearly pleasant. In fact, he’d sounded so different from his usual dour self that Adrian had mentioned it to Constance just before dinner that evening.
He suddenly remembered her response. “He’s in love,” she had said, carefully lighting the dining room candles as she did every night.
“Ah, women.” He’d smiled as soft candlelight enveloped them. “Always ready to assume romance in any situation. What makes you so certain that our Mr. Chapman has a paramour?”
“Oh, nothing so tawdry as a paramour, Adrian. A sweetheart, perhaps.” Her brow had puckered in concentration over the last stubborn wick. A wisp of pale hair escaped a hairpin to rest against her cheek. Adrian reached out to tenderly tuck it behind her ear, breath catching as she caught his hand and pressed it firmly against her heart. Caught off guard, he’d pulled her closer, the insistent echo of his own heart more than pleased to give away the depth of his longing.
“Why, darling!” Constance had curled against him. “Shall I hold dinner?”
He’d pulled in a deep breath, regaining his composure before dropping a soft kiss onto her lips. “Constance, my dear—the children,” he’d whispered, raising her gaze with a gentle finger beneath her chin. “They’ll be down at any moment.”
Constance had squeezed his hand before releasing it. “My dearest Adrian,” she’d said with a sigh. “You keep so much bundled up inside. You needn’t, you know; you’re perfectly safe with me. Anyway, Mr. Chapman’s romantic state is obvious. Do men honestly believe they achieve contentment on their own? Without good women behind you, you’re a troubled lot, always searching for
peace. Mr. Chapman has been an unpleasant blowhard for years. You say that today he was jocular, eager to make conversation—he’s in love.”
As usual, Constance would not be surprised to learn she was right. But as Adrian watched Bennett absently pat his fiancée’s hand, he was willing to bet that Catharine Walsh was not the cause of the anxious longing etched into the old man’s face.
“Need we continue this conversation?” Nicholas asked in a low voice. “My father’s state of mind should be obvious to you both.”
“Sir.” Jim Reid set his coffee cup on the table and crouched before the wheelchair until he and Bennett Chapman were nearly eye to eye. “When was the last time you . . . spoke . . . to Mrs. Chapman?”
“When was that, Catharine? Two nights ago?”
“Where did this conversation take place?” Coming from Jim, the question verged on innocent. With his long limbs and open Irish face, he was as unthreatening as a puppy.
Bennett Chapman inched himself forward in his wheelchair, eager to share. “In the parlor. How Elizabeth would have loved that room had she lived to see it! I don’t know how they bring her to me, Mr. Reid, but it’s a miracle . . . amazing.”
“‘They’?”
“Catharine’s got something to do with it, but it’s her niece, Amy, who really accomplishes the feat. She just has a way about her that calls Elizabeth back to speak.”
Both Chloe and Nicholas had turned a chalky shade of white. This time Chloe did draw out her flask, and nobody made a move to stop her.
Jim set a reassuring hand on the old man’s knee. “Are we talking spiritualism here, sir?” he asked.
“I don’t know what you’d call it. I don’t even care. It brings Elizabeth back, and that’s all that matters.”
“It’s . . . it’s a séance, then.” Chloe gulped.
Adrian drew back, stunned. This was an old trick. False spiritualists had delivered messages from “the beyond” for decades, feeding eager patrons exactly what they wished to hear in exchange for profit.
He turned slowly toward Catharine, pinning her with a cold stare. “Miss Walsh, I’d like to pursue this matter further with you. Privately, if you’d be so kind.”
Her face remained an exquisitely controlled mask. “I’ve no doubt that you would, Mr. de la Noye.” She pronounced each syllable of his name with studied precision. “But I’m sure you’ll understand when I refuse your request.”
For a moment her features wavered in his vision, contorted by a slow, simmering anger that started somewhere behind his eyes and threatened to boil over. He pulled in a deep breath and, through sheer force of will, harnessed his tongue.
A small whirlwind of yellow and pink flew between them, coming to a stop at Catharine’s side. “So sorry I’m late,” it trilled.
“Father, who is this?” Nicholas demanded sharply.
“Why”—Bennett Chapman broke from his daze—“it’s Amy. Amy Walsh. She’s Catharine’s niece. Weren’t you listening, you dolt? I just mentioned her name.”
Amy Walsh looked as if she’d fallen from a doll maker’s shelf. She was a tiny fairy of a young woman with wide blue eyes and delicate
skin. Despite the current rage for bobbed coiffure, her blond hair cascaded over her shoulders in whimsical curls. She wore a smart pink frock and white T-bar shoes, which showed off her neat figure and pretty legs to perfection.
“I’m a houseguest,” she explained guilelessly, rounding Bennett’s wheelchair.
Jim rose to his feet, accepting her hand before it could become obvious that Chloe and Nicholas were snubbing her. “Charmed, Miss Walsh,” he said. “James Reid—Jim—at your service.”
“Any other houseguests, Father?” Nicholas asked. “Any chance we could buy some snake oil or swampland in Florida? Have you filled all of Liriodendron’s guest rooms with charlatans and frauds?”
“Nicky!” Bennett Chapman frowned. “Curb your tongue or I’ll thrash you.”
Nicholas turned from his father, apparently well used to the barbed words thrown his way. “Mr. de la Noye, need we say more? You may return to Boston at any time.”
Adrian reached for his pocket watch. “We’ll leave either late this afternoon or tomorrow morning. It depends on how long it takes to complete your father’s will.”
“But you can’t change the will.” Chloe’s words floated doubtfully out to sea on the wind. “Nicky says our father is crazy.” She crumpled against her brother as Bennett Chapman half stood, eyebrows lowered. Catharine placed a calming hand on his shoulder. He took the cue and settled back in his chair.
“Handle the matter, Adrian,” he commanded.
Adrian acknowledged the order with a curt nod. “I’m not convinced of that, Lady Dinwoodie,” he said.
“How can you say that?” Nicholas asked. “I’m aware that your
firm gains a great deal of profit through my father—I can see why you’d want to remain in his good graces. But the man actually believes everything these charlatans tell him. If that’s not insanity, I don’t know what is!”
“This is America, Mr. Chapman. We’re allowed to believe as we choose.”
“Have you ever attended a séance, Mr. de la Noye?”
“No.”
“I have. Knocks and whistles, disembodied voices . . . only the most gullible and unhinged could possibly believe that such communication is real. The very fact that my father trusts these quacks is proof of his incompetence.”
“Your father is not a danger to himself or to others. He successfully manages both his business and his household. I see no signs of incompetence in that.”
Nicholas took a slow, deliberate step away from his sister’s chair. “Perhaps you choose to misunderstand me, sir. I’ll speak plainly. You draft that will and I’ll contest it. Believe me, Mr. de la Noye, I have the connections to make you look as unbalanced as my father really is. By the time I’m through, you’ll be lucky if you can get a clerking position, let alone maintain a profitable law practice.”
Adrian calmly returned his watch to his vest pocket. “Are you threatening me, Mr. Chapman?”
“You may interpret my words however you wish.”
“But what if it’s all true?” Jim’s comment sliced through the uncomfortable silence. “What if Elizabeth Chapman really has come to call?”
Even the seagulls’ screeches overhead sounded incredulous.
“I suggest you rein in your associate, Mr. de la Noye,” Nicholas Chapman said.
Adrian dismissed his words with a raised hand. “Please, Mr. Reid, continue.”
Jim shrugged. “My granny believed such things. Not a day went by that she didn’t pass on some pearl of wisdom she’d ‘heard’ from my departed grandad. And there was nobody more solid and down to earth than my granny, I can tell you that.”
“I am not a quack,” Amy said in a clear little voice. “I am not something to belittle. I merely help Mrs. Chapman say what she can no longer say on her own.”
“And how do you—” Adrian turned toward her, accidentally catching Catharine Walsh’s gaze along the way. That vulnerable curve of the neck . . . the way one of her eyeteeth slightly overlapped the tooth beside it . . . Somewhere in the distance he heard Jim Reid clear his throat, an obvious prompt for him to continue. But Catharine Walsh looked away, taking all his words with her.
Jim filled the breach. “I’ve a proposition,” he said. “Mr. Chapman, am I correct in assuming that you and Lady Dinwoodie allege your father’s incompetence based on his willingness to believe the inconceivable?”
“Of course. That shouldn’t require any further explanation.”
“I am not a charlatan.” Amy’s pink cheeks made her appear even more doll-like than before.
Jim studied her for one long moment before folding his arms across his chest. “I believe you have a right to prove that to us, Miss Walsh. I suggest a séance.”
“Oh, dear God,” Nicholas Chapman started, reaching for the flask in Chloe’s hand.
“A séance?” A broad smile lit Bennett Chapman’s face. “You mean . . . we would all be present for a conversation with Elizabeth? Splendid! How I’d like for you to meet her, Adrian!”
Adrian forced himself back into the moment, quickly catching Jim’s intent. “An excellent plan, Mr. Reid, and, Mr. Chapman, one that I believe you and your sister may find more suitable than you think.”
“Why would we acquiesce to this stupidity?” Nicholas demanded. Catharine winced as his hand slammed down onto the table.
“Because it may prove the easiest way to get what you want,” Adrian said. “Here are the terms: if Miss Amy Walsh presents reasonable evidence that one could believe she communicates—”
“Preposterous,” Nicholas snapped.
“—with your mother—”
“We could give it a whirl, Nicky,” Chloe said. “Séances are all the rage in New York.”
“—then you must accept that your father is in his right mind.”
Nicholas grunted.
Adrian’s voice grew hard as steel. “If that is the case, you will allow me to draft his will in peace. There will be no public complaint on your part, no repercussions whatsoever against either myself or Mr. Reid.”
“And? Do continue, Mr. de la Noye. Tell me the part I most wish to hear.”
“If we deduce that Miss Walsh offers your father no reason at all to believe, then the will stands as is. Mr. Reid and I will pack our bags and return to Boston immediately.” He turned to the man in the wheelchair. “Mr. Chapman, you are my client. It’s your decision. Are you agreeable?”
Bennett Chapman rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Oh, absolutely. I look forward to it.”
“And you, sir?” Adrian faced Nicholas.
Nicholas slowly withdrew a gold cigarette case from his pocket. He flipped it open with studied calm, examining the contents carefully before choosing a brown-papered cigarette. “The risk is more yours than mine. The agreement will be written and signed, of course.”
“Of course.”
The cigarette case slapped shut. “And, in the event fraud is uncovered, Miss Walsh shall be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”
Amy gasped. “I—”
“Not you.” Nicholas pointed a long finger at Catharine Walsh. “Her.”
Catharine drew herself up to her full height. A slight tremor ran down her left arm. She clenched her fist to stop it, but the gesture was not enough to curb her fury. Adrian watched her lips compress into a tight line and recognized the feverish glint in her eyes.
His words tumbled out as if released from years of captivity. “I hardly think that necessary, Mr. Chapman.”
“Oh, I think it very necessary indeed, Mr. de la Noye.” Nicholas delivered a smile stolen directly from the serpent in the Garden of Eden. “Those are the only terms I’ll accept. Otherwise, you go right ahead and draft that new will. And I’ll go right ahead and employ every contact I have to contest it. Win or lose, I’ll see to it that both you and Miss Walsh are dragged through the mud.”
“Accept his terms, Adrian,” Catharine said quickly. An inadvertent hand flew to her mouth, partially concealing her bright red blush. Jim’s eyebrows rose above the wire frames of his spectacles.
When she spoke again, her tone was cool. “I’ve nothing to hide, Mr. de la Noye. Accept his terms.”
Adrian veiled his own surprise at her slip before turning toward Nicholas Chapman. “Very well, then. Mr. Reid will draft the paperwork. When do we meet?”
Amy blinked. “Mrs. Chapman comes in her own time, not at my bidding. I can’t just command her to appear.”
Nicholas reached for his cigarette lighter, flicking up the flame with one sharp motion. “Then I suggest you put in your request for her appearance now. Send her an invitation. A telegram. Do whatever it is you do to summon her, for we shall all be waiting with bated breath to see her after dinner tonight.”
“Tonight?” Amy squeaked. “But—”
“Splendid!” Bennett Chapman beamed. “Of course, Mr. de la Noye, you and Mr. Reid will remain at Liriodendron as our guests.”