Authors: Jill Morrow
Chloe’s fingernails scrabbled against the table as she again struggled to her feet. “I must hear . . .”
Nicholas rose as well, clamping his fingers around his sister’s wrist in a grasp so tight it would surely leave a mark. “Not a word, Chloe.” His head snapped toward Amy. “Tell us, then, Miss Walsh,” he said. “What words of wisdom does Chloe’s deceased son have for her today?”
“Nicholas!” Bennett Chapman’s voice cut through the challenge. “For the love of God!”
Chloe’s face contorted.
Amy’s eyes opened wide beneath Nicholas’s penetrating stare. She raised her gaze to meet his. “Why, Mr. Chapman,” she said, surprised. “I should think you’d know that your sister did not lose a son in the Great War.”
The lines around Nicholas Chapman’s mouth grew deeper. His jaw clicked as he clenched his teeth.
“She lost a daughter,” Amy finished.
Nicholas remained rigid as Chloe’s shoulders shook with sobs.
A
drian quickly rearranged his features into bland neutrality. Nicholas Chapman was correct: fatalities conjured from the Great War were safe bets. But it was harder to explain Amy’s knowledge that Chloe’s loss had been a daughter rather than a son. Of course, it was nothing that a little research couldn’t uncover. Catharine Walsh had certainly ingratiated herself into Bennett Chapman’s confidence and could have easily received such information. But Catharine looked just as startled as everyone else at the table. Her cheeks had flushed scarlet, and the fingers of her left hand now fanned across her swanlike neck. Bennett, too, looked slightly ill, as if he’d stashed away this family tragedy with no intention of ever revisiting it again.
“My poor Margaret,” Chloe whimpered. “My poor, poor baby. She felt such a strong calling to nurse the wounded. She was a
British citizen through her father, you know, and when Britain went to war . . .”
“No more, Chloe.” Nicholas placed both palms firmly on the table and leaned in, an inquisitor in search of a victim. “This is information anyone could discover. Don’t let it deceive you.” His chin jerked in Catharine’s direction. “How much more family knowledge have you coaxed from our father, Miss Walsh?”
Burgundy glints shone in Catharine’s hair as she straightened in the dim glow of the candlelight. Her mouth curled into a sneer. “I’m sorry to deflate your insufferable ego, Mr. Chapman, but the subject of you and your sister rarely comes up.”
“Catharine!” Bennett sounded as if he might send his fiancée to bed without dessert. “They’re boorish brats, but they are still my children. There’s no need to insult them.”
Nicholas folded his arms across his chest. “Very well, then, Miss Walsh. Have your little acolyte tell me something you couldn’t know.”
Adrian started as Catharine’s fingers intertwined with his. He felt anger quiver through her like an electric current. He doubted she was even aware that they still held hands. The proud set of her shoulders . . . that flare of delicate nostrils . . . Somewhere deep inside him, a long-closed door finally burst its safety locks, creaking open with an invitation as teasing as a siren’s song.
He carefully extricated his hand. “I believe that Amy—rather, Mrs. Chapman—has more to say.”
Amy’s eyes flickered beneath her closed lids. “She does indeed, Mr. de la Noye.”
“Please, are the words for me?” Chloe asked anxiously.
“Your Margaret wishes you peace,” Amy said. “She wants you to
know that she was able to bring great comfort to many brave boys, and that she would do it all again if given the opportunity. She felt no pain in her death and sends great love to you.”
Chloe laid her head in her arms as deep sobs wracked her body. Neither her father nor her brother made a move to comfort her. Bennett merely stared into space as if awaiting celestial orders, while Nicholas glanced impatiently at the clock on the fireplace mantel.
Jim rose from his place and circled the table.
“Stay seated!” Bennett cried. “You’ll break our chain and Elizabeth will leave us!”
“No.” Amy’s eyes flew open. “No, she’s still here.”
Jim placed an awkward hand on Chloe’s shoulder and bent toward her. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said. “The sacrifice was too great to ask of either of you, but I am grateful for your daughter’s selflessness. She was a true hero, Lady Dinwoodie.”
Chloe gazed at him through wet eyes. Slowly, she reached up to squeeze his hand. Jim waited until her breathing sounded less ragged before turning back toward his chair.
Amy did not speak until he’d returned to her side. “Mrs. Chapman thanks you for your kindness,” she said, reclaiming his hand. “You have a stout heart, boyo.”
Jim blinked. “And who says that?” he asked, his voice light.
“I don’t know.” Amy frowned. “But Mrs. Chapman says that you will.”
“It’s what my granny always called me.”
Nicholas Chapman groaned. “You’ve the map of Ireland splashed across your face, Mr. Reid. Here’s another lucky guess that has hit its target.”
Jim sank into his chair as if underwater, his brow furrowed in thought.
“I believe we’re finished here,” Adrian said quietly.
“We are in agreement at last, Mr. de la Noye,” Nicholas said. “I’m afraid you’ve most likely missed the last ferry off the island tonight. You can catch one early tomorrow. As for you, Miss Walsh . . . I’ll give you one last evening with your niece before I make good my promise to call the authorities.”
“There’s no need to call anybody.” Adrian rose to his feet, frowning slightly as he brushed a speck of lint from the sleeve of his dinner jacket. “This matter has been settled in your father’s favor, not yours. Mr. Reid and I will draft his will according to his wishes.”
A vein pulsed in Nicholas’s temple. “You must be joking. You can’t possibly believe that ‘Mrs. Chapman’ is real.”
“That was never the question. We don’t sit here tonight to prove the existence of life after death. We need only agree that your father has reason to believe such existence might be possible.”
“Anybody of right mind can see through the fakery here!”
“I don’t think it’s fake, Nicky,” Chloe said in a tiny voice.
“And why should your opinion matter, Chloe? You’re a lush.”
She did not look up from the tablecloth. “I haven’t had a drop this evening. And I must confess that this isn’t my first séance. I’ve been to several since Margaret died, dreadful spectacles filled with parlor tricks and silly spirit voices. But this . . . this feels different. I believe that my Margaret’s words have come through Miss Walsh.”
“My dear girl.” Bennett Chapman’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I always knew there was a good egg beneath that foolish shell.”
Adrian did not retreat from Nicholas’s cutting stare. “You considered your father incompetent because, in your mind, no sane
person could believe that the words Amy Walsh delivers might come from any source other than herself. Yet here’s another who believes that very thing. Is she incompetent as well?”
Nicholas rounded Chloe’s chair until he stood face-to-face with Adrian. He was the taller of the two, but Adrian didn’t even blink as the other man’s angular figure bent toward him.
“What about you, Mr. de la Noye?” Nicholas asked. “Do you believe?”
“What I believe, Mr. Chapman, is irrelevant.”
“A lawyer through and through, aren’t you?”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, sir.”
Nicholas whirled toward Amy, long finger pointed at her nose. “Very well, then. No more vague pronouncements. No more information inveigled by your aunt from my father. Tell us something you could not possibly have known before.”
Amy shrank against the back of the chair, her wide eyes and tousled blond hair making her resemble a grade-school girl instead of an adult. Her breathing came in short little gasps.
“Behave yourself, Nicky,” Bennett Chapman commanded. “I won’t have my guests harassed. You’re frightening the girl with your loutishness.”
“Oh, her type doesn’t frighten easily, I guarantee. Let me guess: ‘Mrs. Chapman’ is no longer with us . . . there are no more messages to be had for this evening, and it’s all my fault.”
Amy bit her lower lip. “No,” she whispered. “She is indeed still with us. I don’t understand at all. I thought she required a solid chain, that she needed things to be done just so . . .”
“Has she more to say?” Bennett Chapman and Chloe spoke at the same time.
“You needn’t speak further if you’re tired, Amy,” Catharine interjected.
“I am tired. But Mrs. Chapman is so eager tonight. I can’t deny her the voice. Lady Dinwoodie—for Margaret’s sake, she begs you to love your husband. He is a good man at heart and suffers his own grief over the loss of his beloved daughter. You should grieve together rather than alone. He will take care of you if you let him, and you will not feel so lonely.”
“Again, tell us something we don’t know,” Nicholas muttered beneath his breath.
“And you, sir . . .” Amy’s eyes fluttered shut. “Your selfish, loutish nature has denied you the company of your child . . .”
“I have no children.”
“You do indeed, your mother says. One.”
Catharine, Chloe, and Bennett sat in shocked silence as, for the first time that evening, Nicholas fumbled for words.
“I am not aware . . .” he began, genuinely surprised.
Amy’s voice dropped in both tone and volume. “Your mother says that you should be.”
Catharine recovered first. “There you have it,” she said, breathing hard. “You asked for information you did not know before.”
“Obviously, I meant information that could be proven. This is insanity. What am I to do, travel the world in an attempt to prove that I’ve no offspring?”
“That shouldn’t take much, boy,” Bennett Chapman said. “You’ve never been much of a lothario, after all.”
“Stop.” Jim leaned toward Amy, who was swaying unsteadily in her chair. “Miss Walsh—Amy—are you all right?”
“There’s a bit more, I think.” Her voice was barely audible. Her
cheeks, so pink only moments ago, now looked unnaturally pale in the candlelight. “I have to say it; she’ll be most displeased if I don’t.”
“I disagree.” Jim kicked his chair from beneath him and dropped to one knee beside her. “It’s time for you to stop.”
Amy’s head lolled to one side as she struggled to find the words. Catharine half rose from her chair.
A warning jab gnawed in the pit of Adrian’s stomach. He covered Catharine’s hand with his own and gave it an urgent squeeze. The expression she turned his way was just as startled and helpless as he himself suddenly felt.
“You must stop her,” he said softly, fighting back an unexpected sense of unease.
“Dear God, don’t I know it.”
The intimate tone of her voice nearly robbed him of breath. Decades fell away as he stared from those chocolate-colored eyes to her full lips, noted the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the deep-rose dinner dress she wore.
Their eyes met. Catharine’s breath caught.
She tugged her hand from his to hurry to Amy’s side. “Amy,” she said, giving her niece a gentle shake. “Enough. You must stop.”
Amy opened glassy eyes and stared unseeing into her aunt’s face. “The message is about a girl named Cassie and . . . and someone in this room. Mrs. Chapman is most insistent that it be delivered.”
Then her eyes rolled back as she crumpled into Jim’s waiting arms.
T
he contours of the parlor floated before Catharine’s eyes. She watched Jim carry Amy to the sofa, but the action was something from a dream, disjointed and barely rooted in reality. Chairs rattled as Bennett, Chloe, and Nicholas rushed across the room. Jim’s voice rose above their babble, a touch of calm in the midst of a verbal storm.
“Back away,” he ordered. “Give her space to breathe.”
“Does your niece faint often?” Adrian’s breath felt soft against Catharine’s ear.
She gave an inadvertent shiver as his shoulder brushed hers. “No,” she said. “This is the first time.”
She felt him study her for a moment and turned toward the insistent gaze. She could read his face so easily. The combination of concern and distrust in his eyes embarrassed her, gave her the impetus she needed to turn away and rebuild her defenses.
Her heels clicked against the hard oak floor as she hurried toward the sofa. “Amy!” Everyone cleared a path as she approached except for Jim, who remained crouched beside Amy, her small hand wrapped in his.
Catharine gently cupped Amy’s chin. “Amy. Wake up!”
“Should we ring for a doctor?” Chloe twisted the handkerchief she still held in her hands.
Catharine ignored her. “Amy!”
The young woman moaned and turned her head to one side, nestling her cheek against Jim’s chest.
“Are you all right?” Jim asked.
Amy slowly opened her eyes. Color returned to each cheek as she struggled to sit. “What happened?”
“You fainted,” Jim said.
“Goodness! How embarrassing.” She winced as she swung her legs over the side of the sofa. “That’s never happened before.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Nicholas said. “Really, it was a most effective addition to your act. I must applaud your sense of drama.”
Catharine forced her words through clenched teeth. “My niece is not a liar, Mr. Chapman.”
“You lack the credibility to make that assessment, Miss Walsh.”
She advanced toward him, right hand raised to strike his smug face. Suddenly Adrian was between them, the familiar spice of his cologne making her head reel.
“We recognize a legal presumption of innocence in this country, Mr. Chapman,” Adrian said, calmly lowering Catharine’s arm. “So, unless you’ve evidence to the contrary, I must believe that Amy Walsh is telling the truth.”
Chloe pushed between her brother and her father, coming to
a halt at Jim’s side. “Miss Walsh . . . may I call you Amy? Were there further messages? Did you hear anything else before you swooned?”
“Yes, do tell us.” Bennett sank onto the sofa. “Is Elizabeth still with us?”
“No.” Amy pressed her palm against her forehead. “No, there’s nobody here now. But there were other messages . . . I remember . . .”
Catharine’s words tumbled out, halting Amy’s hesitant flow of words. “You needn’t worry about this now, Amy. You’ve done enough tonight.”
“I agree,” Adrian said. “I think it best that you retire for the evening.”
Amy frowned. “No, it’s all right. It’s coming back to me now. The first message is for you, Bennett. It’s from Mrs. Chapman. She urges you to marry Aunt Catharine as quickly as possible.”
“What a surprise,” Nicholas said. “And does ‘Mrs. Chapman’ offer any reason why this marriage must take place?”
Amy either did not catch his sarcasm or chose to ignore it. “She hasn’t told me why,” she said. “But she is most insistent. She says it’s extremely important.”
“How very like Elizabeth.” Bennett smiled. “Still looking out for my welfare despite our distance from each other. We should set a date, Catharine.”
If hatred alone could ignite fires, Nicholas’s stare would have sent Catharine through the ceiling in a ball of flame. A torrent of blistering words fought to leave her lips. It took all her will to bite them back. “Yes, Bennett,” she said evenly. “I’m willing. Why, we
could do it now, if you’d like. Call the clergyman of your choice; I’m ready.”
Chloe’s insistent whine chopped through the tension. “Amy, had Margaret anything more to tell me?”
Everyone turned toward her, startled by her myopia. Her desperation almost inspired pity.
“No,” Amy said. “Not this time.”
“But you said there were other messages.”
“There’s one other. But it’s not for you. It’s . . . it’s for a man, I think. Someone a bit profligate who should have known better and . . . geez, I’ve an awful headache.”
Adrian’s hand froze midway to his cigarette case. His expression remained serene, but a vein pulsed in his forehead.
Catharine hooked a determined hand beneath Amy’s elbow and guided her to her feet in one smooth, even motion. “That’s enough for tonight,” she said, avoiding Adrian’s eyes. “Everyone, please excuse us.”
“Wait a minute.” Nicholas’s fingers curled around her upper arm as she passed by. Catharine gasped and wrenched her arm away, leaving his hand poised in the air like a set of claws in search of a victim.
“Don’t touch me,” she snapped. “Ever.”
“Oh, Nicky, stop behaving like a Neanderthal,” Bennett chided from his spot on the sofa, but it was Adrian who once again appeared at Catharine’s side.
“Mr. Chapman,” Adrian said, “suppose you tell us what’s on your mind from several steps back on the carpet?”
Nicholas speared Catharine with one last glare before allowing his hand to drop to his side. Her eyes narrowed in response.
“I apologize,” Nicholas said smoothly, reaching for his cigarettes. “But let me point out that we still disagree about my father’s state of mind.”
“You are the only one in disagreement.” Adrian did not offer a light. “The rest of us—including your sister—understand that reason enough exists for your father to believe this communication might be real.”
“Our written agreement says nothing about a majority decision.” Nicholas cupped one hand around the end of his cigarette as he lifted a flaming match to its tip.
“But, Nicky,” Chloe started, “Amy knew so much about Margaret. You can’t possibly believe that she could create all that from thin air.”
“I do not deny that Miss Walsh is a very convincing young lady. And her aunt”—he exhaled the cigarette smoke in Catharine’s direction—“is too clever by half. However, since ambiguity does indeed exist regarding unanimous agreement, I propose another séance, to take place tomorrow night.”
“I hardly think that necessary,” Adrian said.
“I didn’t expect you would, Mr. de la Noye.”
Catharine drew herself up. “I don’t understand, Mr. Chapman. What do you hope to gain by this? You’ve made it quite clear that we’ll never change your mind.”
Nicholas took another long drag of his cigarette, then crossed the room to the Tiffany lamp on the sideboard. “That you won’t,” he said, flicking its switch with a resounding click. Light pooled across the dark wood of the sideboard as he continued toward the next lamp.
“Then what’s your point?” Jim asked, planting himself a little closer to Amy.
Nicholas turned on another lamp. “I may not understand how anyone could be drawn into such stupidity, but I do understand that most people are motivated by material gain. Miss Walsh would not have initiated this spiritualist scheme unless there was something she wanted. It’s quite clear what she wants from my father. I even understand what she wants from my sister and me. The upper class has ever been a target for hoi polloi. But why draw Mr. Reid into it? And, if my suspicions are correct, why Mr. de la Noye?”
“Mr. Reid and I have arrived merely to fulfill a request from our client,” Adrian said. “Nobody has drawn either of us into anything.”
“Really?” Nicholas lit the final lamp and turned toward him. “Let’s consider, Mr. de la Noye. Each one of us here tonight got a . . . message, shall we say . . . from the great beyond. Pure claptrap, of course, but messages all the same. Husband heard from wife, mother from daughter. I received information regarding a child who most assuredly doesn’t even exist. Why, even Mr. Reid here was given words purported to come from his grandmother, who I can only assume is now part of the heavenly choir.”
Amy shrugged. “The spirits are always grateful for the opportunity to speak to those they love.”
Nicholas ignored her. “And now it seems that there was one message left—one message that could not be delivered due to Amy Walsh’s human frailty. I’m betting, Mr. de la Noye, that the message is for you.”
A deep red flush flooded Catharine’s face. “And what would that prove?” she demanded. “I’m quite sure that Mr. de la Noye is willing to forgo confirmation of your theory. You don’t care about the message at all, do you, Mr. de la Noye?”
Adrian’s mouth twitched. “No,” he said. “Of course not. There’s no need to revisit the spirit world on my behalf.”
“Then do it on mine,” Nicholas said. “Allow me the chance to enlighten you, Mr. de la Noye. You may not be able to sway me to your way of thinking, but perhaps I can sway you to mine. If I am correct, perhaps
you
will be the one to call the authorities and end this charade once and for all.”
“Why would we do this?” Jim demanded. “It has nothing to do with our original agreement.”
“I disagree. If these women are perpetrating a blatant fraud, then only the most incompetent—my father, perhaps—would allow themselves to be swept into it. Perhaps if you’d drafted our agreement a bit differently . . .”
“This is ridiculous,” Catharine said. “I’ve Amy’s health to think of. She’s not a trained monkey, able to perform on demand. She—”
“No, it’s all right.” Amy shook Catharine’s hand from her shoulder. Her blue eyes glittered in a too-pale face. “Mrs. Chapman would very much like an opportunity to speak with you all again. Tomorrow night is fine.”
“Elizabeth has returned?” Years fell away as Bennett struggled hopefully to his feet.
Amy listened for a moment. “She’s gone again,” she said finally.
“How convenient,” Nicholas murmured. “I don’t remember Mother being quite this peripatetic when she walked the earth.”
“Then we shall meet again tomorrow night.” Chloe flushed pink. “Father, let me help you to your room. I want to hear everything—everything!—Mother has told you.”
Bennett enclosed his daughter’s hands in his own, his face glowing with delight. “Catharine, you don’t mind if I spend some time with Chloe, do you?”
“No, Bennett, of course not.” Catharine’s smile looked as if it might shatter.
“Chloe.” Nicholas extended a warning hand toward his sister, obviously no more comfortable than Catharine with the upcoming father-daughter tête-à-tête.
“Oh, leave me be, Nicky.” His sister offered their father a steadying arm. “I’m not your puppet; I can have a conversation with my own father if I please.”
Catharine stood quite still as Bennett’s papery lips scratched against her cheek. “Good night, my dear,” he said. “I shall see you at breakfast.”
“I need air,” Amy said as Bennett and Chloe left the room. “I’m going for a walk.”
Catharine automatically took her hand. “Give me a moment to fetch my wrap.”
“No.” Amy’s little hand slid from Catharine’s and into the crook of Jim’s elbow. “Mr. Reid, may I prevail upon your protection for half an hour or so?”
A crimson blush painted Jim’s face as he straightened from his slouch. “You bet. Of course. Delighted.”
Catharine opened her mouth to speak. Adrian stiffened. But neither Amy nor Jim spared the slightest glance behind them as they left the room.
Nicholas stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray by the door. “Tomorrow, then,” he said.
Adrian pulled his attention back to the tall man before him. “I will not be held hostage here indefinitely, Mr. Chapman,” he said. “If we are unable to conclude this matter tomorrow night, I shall refer you to Clause Eight of our agreement, which allows a neutral third party to decide the outcome of our dispute.”
Nicholas nodded. “Very well, Mr. de la Noye. But I very much doubt it will come to that. You are ultimately a man of reason. I trust your level head will prevail. Good night.”
Catharine closed her eyes in an attempt to make sense of the situation. Why on earth had Amy agreed to another séance? The atmosphere at Liriodendron was too explosive. A hornet’s nest of questions floated about these posh rooms, and the mix of sitters was decidedly volatile.
“We must talk.”
Adrian’s low voice cut through her reverie. Her eyes opened wide as she faced him. She’d expected anger from him, indignation at the very least. But his stare seemed more mournful than malevolent. He made no effort to move toward her, did not so much as extend a hand in her direction. It was as if he’d placed her under quarantine.
An anxious flutter ricocheted through her stomach.
“Please, Cassie,” he said, and the ache in his voice cut a swift incision through her heart.
She turned and bolted from the room.