Authors: Jill Morrow
Silently, Bennett Chapman turned the back of the watch toward Catharine so that she could read it. Her eyes absorbed the words.
“Yes,” Bennett said slowly. “How did you . . .”
“Elizabeth says that if you remember the essence of your life together, you will listen to her advice and marry Catharine. She bids you farewell, now. Until next time.”
Bennett Chapman visited frequently after that, mostly to talk to Elizabeth but, after a little more than a week, to begin courting the woman his late wife had directed him to wed. Bewildered, Catharine allowed the courtship to unfold. It was, after all, a brilliant idea. But how had Amy come to it? How did she know the personal details Elizabeth shared visit after visit? And did she even realize how neat a package she was wrapping? But her questions yielded no answers. Either Amy kept her secrets well, or she honestly didn’t know why the thoughts—why Elizabeth Chapman—had suddenly arrived in her head.
C
ATHARINE PULLED HER
attention back to the dining room and stared at the young woman before her. “Amy. Notwithstanding Mrs. Chapman, the marriage idea is still incredibly good. But the
door is rapidly closing here, and I don’t wish to get caught in its slam.”
Amy stood, her smile serene. “I understand,” she said. “I’ll meet you in the parlor shortly before nine.”
Catharine watched her go, thoughts buzzing through her head like bees set free from a hive.
A
drian glanced at the library clock as he waited for the telephone operator to connect his call. 8:20. Jim would join him in ten minutes, and together they’d make their way to the parlor for the evening’s séance. His fingers drummed against Bennett Chapman’s desk blotter: ten minutes left to steel himself for yet another potential disaster.
“Adrian!” Constance’s voice through the telephone wire was like velvet wrapped around his heart. “I’ve been looking forward to your call all day.”
He sank into the leather chair behind Bennett’s desk. “And you, Constance, are my lifeline. Sometimes it feels as though I’ll never be allowed to leave Newport and come home to you.”
“Oh, but you must.” He caught the teasing note in her voice. “The egg man happened to bring me the most wonderful gift today.”
Adrian raised an eyebrow. “Gift?”
“A thank-you for the almond croissants I gave him last week. I’m afraid he’s quite addicted to them, and between you and me, they do nothing for his figure. Anyway, he’s brought me a bottle of wine—purely for medicinal purposes, of course; I wouldn’t dream of breaking the law—and I won’t open it without you. Work hard and come home, my darling, so that we can enjoy the pink of health together.”
He couldn’t help but smile. “Believe me, there’s nothing I want more. I have so much to tell you when I get home.”
“More than I’ve heard so far?”
“Much more. If I believed in such things, I’d say this whole house is bewitched. And Mr. Reid! Even our sensible Mr. Reid has fallen under the spell. Traipsing through the evening with a young woman who could prove our client’s undoing . . . he has lost his head entirely.”
He pictured her reaching for her teacup, tucking her feet up beneath her as she settled more comfortably against the plush chair pillows. “Would this young lady be Miss Amy Walsh?”
“The same. I can’t imagine what he’s thinking.”
Her low laugh made his blood run warm. “Oh, yes, you can, Adrian. I’ve spent enough time alone with you to know you can. But let’s politely assume that he’s thinking he’s finally met a pretty woman who sees his worth. Have they kissed?”
“Now, how would I know that?” he asked lightly.
“You’d know,” Constance said, and it occurred to him that she was right. For better or worse, a change came over a man once he fancied himself desired by a pretty woman. He walked with squarer shoulders, his head held higher than before. Although Jim and Amy
had returned to Liriodendron quite late last night, Jim’s general demeanor remained more cub than lion.
“No,” he said, “I don’t believe they have. There’s still hope. If we can finish our business here quickly enough, perhaps they’ll never get the chance.”
“Oh, but perhaps they should. He’s a good man, our Jim. It may take a little romance to help him realize that.”
“My sweet Constance. You are ever the romantic.”
“As are you, my darling. Heaven only knows why you try so hard to hide it.”
“Perhaps. How are the children?”
She sighed. “They miss you, Adrian. And so do I. Hurry up and come home.”
It was time to finish the call, but he picked up the hesitation on the other end of the line. Constance seemed to expect something more. He waited, knowing that she would ask her question soon enough. There had never been anything reticent about Constance de la Noye.
“Adrian—tell me about Mr. Chapman’s fiancée. Will Catharine Walsh be good to him, do you think, or is she nothing more than a callous gold digger?”
There was no logical reason for his jaw to tense the way it did. “Why do you ask, my dear? Is your finger itching?” His wife swore by her pinkie, which she claimed itched whenever her intuition sensed something amiss.
“Yes,” she said. “It itches like mad, although I don’t think that has anything to do with Mr. Chapman. It’s just that he’s an old man. Rapscallion or not, he deserves to live his last years in peace. I hope you’ll see to it that nobody takes advantage of him.”
Anyone who tried to take advantage of disagreeable Bennett Chapman would return carrying his own head. “Of course, Constance. He’s my client.”
“Do it because he’s your fellow man. Look after him, Adrian.”
It was not a reminder he cared to hear. He could brush away his own doubts about Catharine Walsh, chalk them up to suspicions born of a mistake long past. But Constance’s concerns were not so easily dismissed. She had a way of making him feel accountable for his actions. He had no desire to tarnish the shining vision of him she held so close to her heart.
“Yes, sweetheart,” he said quietly. “I will look after Mr. Chapman as if he were my own father.”
“Better than that,” she said, and he was pleased to hear some tartness return to her voice. “You and your father are barely civil to each other. Well. As it appears you’ll be delayed another few days, I’ll have fresh clothing for you and Jim sent first thing in the morning.”
“You are an angel.”
“More like a goddess. Good night, my love. Sweet dreams.”
He cradled the telephone receiver in his hand for several minutes after the line went dead. Constance knew him so well, often understood his thoughts before he could even articulate them. Did she sense that there were still parts of his life he’d never shared?
A sudden breeze fluttered the library curtains. Outside, a branch snapped. The telephone receiver clattered atop the desk as Adrian realized he was not alone.
He was on his feet in a flash, leaning out the window in a matter of seconds.
But all he could see was the small figure of a boy, sprinting across Liriodendron’s manicured lawn as if there were a race to be won.
February 1898
A
drian Delano,” Cassie purred, gliding into the train compartment as if she belonged there. She tossed two new carpetbags onto the seat across from his, eyes glittering. “I thought I’d surprise you, dear, keep you company on this inconvenient trip. Surely you didn’t expect me to stay away!”
Adrian looked up from his prone position across the plush seat, arm draped against his still-pounding head. He’d stayed in Poughkeepsie just long enough to bathe and make arrangements to have his baggage sent to Newport. He had, in fact, escaped the house only minutes before the time his parents usually awoke. Since avoiding confrontation had been of paramount importance, there’d been no time for what he needed most: sleep.
But here was Cassie Walsh, bathing him in a gaze so adoring
it seemed as if he must have dozed off and entered dreamland after all.
The conductor followed her into the compartment. “Your wife is most persuasive, sir,” he said, chuckling.
“Wife?” Adrian struggled to sit upright.
“I’ve told him everything, Adrian.” Cassie cast a demure glance toward the floor. Her cheeks, rosy from the cold, gave the perfect imitation of a blush. “I simply couldn’t help it. I told him all about our secret wedding, how we mean to announce it properly once you return from this trip, how you’d let only a journey of the utmost importance separate us . . .”
“Wife?” The word trailed into the air.
“You’re a fortunate man, sir.” The conductor smiled. “She adores you. You can take it from an old veteran of marriage: such devotion is hard to find. Congratulations on your wedding.”
Cassie reached for Adrian’s hand as she slid into the seat beside him. “Please don’t be angry with me, darling. I know we didn’t plan it this way, but I just couldn’t bear to be away from you.”
“But . . .”
She squeezed his hand, hard. Surprised, he stared her full in the face. Her pink lips parted slightly; her eyes widened. Beneath the veil of bravado, he recognized the same pleading expression that had led him to rescue her from jams so many years ago. He drew back, startled.
“A fortunate man,” the conductor repeated. “Now, if you’ll just pay her fare, sir, I’ll leave you to each other’s company.”
Unable to extricate his gaze from Cassie’s, Adrian slowly reached for his billfold.
Cassie’s hand slipped from his arm as the train conductor closed
the compartment door and left them alone. She moved to the opposite end of the seat, the lingering warmth of her body the only evidence that she’d ever sat beside him at all.
Adrian cleared his throat. “I believe you owe me an explanation.”
She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the seat cushion. “My family has served yours for decades. This is simply a small favor in return.”
It was baffling. Had he not felt so incapacitated from his revels the night before, he’d have gotten to the root of this situation before it could spiral so out of hand. “Your mother—like her father before her—is not an indentured servant. She’s paid fair wages for her services, as you will be should you choose to remain a part of our household staff.”
“Choose?” She grimaced but did not open her eyes. “A fine lot you know about my choices. Go to sleep. You’re in no condition to speak of this now.”
He’d been dismissed, and on his own nickel. There was little he could do about it now. All the privilege he’d been born into, all the Harvard law degrees in the world couldn’t help him until the alcohol-induced fog cleared from his brain.
Cassie’s eyes remained closed. A small furrow creased her brow, and pale lilac crescents shadowed the delicate skin beneath her lowered lashes.
She was obviously running away. Did he really need to know the reason why? She was old enough, after all, and despite earlier years of escapades and games, she was none of his concern. It was a compliment that she trusted him enough to include him in what was surely the biggest adventure of her life.
He glanced at her again, this time catching the vulnerable curve
of her cheek as it rested against the fur collar of her too-big winter coat. The image of the spirited girl he’d known merged with the wilted waif before him until he could not quite tell where one left off and the other began.
He cleared his throat. The world was a far more ruthless place than Cassie Walsh could possibly imagine. At the very least, he had a moral obligation to see her safely onto the next train.
“We’ll continue this conversation later,” he said firmly, if only to be the one to officially end the exchange.
But the only response was the deep, even breathing of sleep.
W
e’re here as before, Mrs. Chapman.” Amy’s clear voice broke through the stagnant parlor air. “We do hope you’ll join us.”
“Yes, please do, Elizabeth.”
Jim opened his eyes at the desperate tinge in Bennett Chapman’s voice. From across the table, Adrian met his inquiring stare with a small nod. They were in agreement: even if Bennett was sane, his nearly tangible yearning for his late wife’s presence made him appear more foolish than was wise in this situation.
Adrian’s eyes closed again. Jim suspected that he should follow suit, but the parlor felt claustrophobic tonight, and he was loath to return to the cloying darkness that waited behind closed lids. Instead, he allowed his gaze to travel around the table, studying each séance participant in turn.
Nicholas Chapman shifted in his chair. Jim narrowed his eyes,
wondering how anyone could direct such ill will toward his own kin. Nicholas, who’d been given every advantage, had a chip on his shoulder so big he should have been walking with one set of knuckles grazing the ground.
“Is Mother coming?” Chloe’s hopeful voice drew Jim’s attention her way. For the second evening in a row, she had refused all alcohol at dinner. She reminded him of a cave animal emerging into sunlight after a long period of hibernation.
“She’s probably powdering her nose in anticipation of her grand entrance,” Nicholas said.
“Stop it, Nicky. She won’t come if we’re disrespectful.”
“Oh, she’ll come. The Misses Walsh wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Please.” Amy frowned. “I can’t concentrate.”
Adrian and Catharine Walsh sat beside each other, as cool as two strangers on a streetcar. Jim glanced at their loosely held hands. Amy’s echo of his own hunch had been a relief, proof that his intuition wasn’t off after all. Somewhere, somehow, those two had met before. He’d need to stay sharp if he wanted to catch the details of their story, though: Adrian sure wasn’t talking.
He didn’t need to look at Amy. Where she was concerned, it was better to finally close his eyes and let images from last night flood his mind. She’d been beautiful with the moonlight dancing through her hair, and she’d fit perfectly in the crook of his arm. They’d stood at the base of the Forty Steps for quite some time, gazing out at the sea, exchanging the occasional word but mostly just savoring the sensation of having each other so near. For the first time since he could remember, Jim had felt practically debonair. Amy had laughed at his jokes. She’d listened intently when he
spoke, sharing her own thoughts with an endearing confidence that no other woman had ever entrusted to him before. It had been she who’d initiated their first embrace, tucking herself against him as if she’d belonged there all along.
He’d resisted the urge to kiss her at least three or four times, leaning toward her only to draw back before she could catch the drift of his intentions. What if she pulled away, utterly appalled by his misinterpretation of sisterly affection? His minutes with her were too wonderful to muck up with eager stupidity; it was better to wait until he had a clear read on the situation. Besides, there was something delicious about the anticipation.
“Elizabeth!” A smile wreathed Bennett Chapman’s tired face. “You’ve come!”
“Has she, Amy?” Chloe asked eagerly.
“She has indeed.” Amy remained serene, although Jim felt her hand tense in his. “Do you see her, Bennett?”
Jim winced at the question. He’d have to find a tactful way to advise Amy that the fewer details she coaxed from Bennett Chapman, the stronger their case would be.
But Mr. Chapman’s answer surprised him. “No,” he said. He sounded like a child whose long-awaited Christmas gift had failed to appear beneath the tree. “I don’t. I just feel her presence, that’s all.”
“Sometimes,” Catharine suggested, “that can be enough.”
“Has she something to tell us?” Chloe’s pitch edged up half an octave. “Did she bring Margaret with her tonight?”
Amy paused, a stenographer taking dictation. “She greets you on Margaret’s behalf, Lady Dinwoodie, but no, your daughter is not with her. Mrs. Chapman says that this was her decision, not Margaret’s.
There is much of importance to say tonight, and she fears for my stamina.”
The hair at the back of Jim’s neck prickled. Someone’s stare had raked past him, and he was willing to bet a week’s pay that the scrutiny wasn’t ethereal. He opened his eyes a slit. Sure enough, Nicholas Chapman’s eyes were wide open. Although he still held hands with Chloe to his right and Adrian to his left, he leaned forward in his chair, his glare now boring a hole through Amy’s forehead.
“I have a question,” Nicholas said. “Surely my mother will deign to answer it.”
Amy hesitated. “You must understand that Mrs. Chapman no longer focuses her attention on the physical plane. She has moved on. While certain earthly recollections remain strong in her consciousness, others have been pushed aside for thoughts of more cosmic consequence.”
Nicholas snorted. “Oh, of course. Nevertheless, I will ask my question. When I was a small boy, I had a favorite toy. What was it?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Nicky.” Chloe rolled her eyes. “You’re enough to make me need a drink. It’s hardly important.”
Nicholas continued as if his sister hadn’t spoken at all. “It’s important to me. Our mother would know this.”
Amy chewed her bottom lip for a moment, listening. Catharine’s mouth twitched. Bennett Chapman relaxed in his chair, a look of such dreamy contentment upon his face that it appeared he’d happened upon a glorious symphony nobody else could hear.
The silence stretched for what seemed an excruciating length of time, although no more than a minute or two passed. Finally Amy shrugged. “Your mother doesn’t say.”
Nicholas wrenched his hands away from both Chloe and Adrian. “I have proved my point. This young lady delivers only information she’s been fed by her aunt. If Catharine Walsh has not supplied a particular fact, then ‘Mrs. Chapman’ is incapable of responding.”
Catharine’s eyes flew open. “That’s a lie!”
Nicholas raised his voice. “Mr. de la Noye, only the most gullible fool would allow these women to manipulate him like this. Admit that my father is incapable of managing his affairs, and we can bring this unpleasant matter to a close.”
Amy wandered into the fray, undaunted. “Mrs. Chapman has a message.”
“Of course,” Catharine said quickly. “Amy, Mrs. Chapman’s message must surely be for Bennett. Right?” She squeezed Bennett’s hand, but the old man remained in a state of blissful reverie, eyes closed, small smile hovering about his mouth. He seemed not to have heard her at all.
If Catharine’s words were meant as a hint, Amy chose to ignore them. “No,” she said. “Mrs. Chapman sends her deepest regards to her husband, but these words don’t concern him.”
“Then whom do they concern?” Adrian’s words were calm, but his knuckles were white.
“I’m not sure. Mrs. Chapman says that the recipient of the message will know. I can only hope she’s right, because I don’t understand it at all.”
“Then why say it?” Catharine yanked her hand from Bennett’s tepid hold, knocking her forearm against the table. “Really, Amy, what purpose could this possibly serve?”
Amy’s eyes remained closed. “Mrs. Chapman says that there was
more to Cassie’s story than met the eye, and that honor must be restored. Does that make sense to anybody here?”
Nicholas swiveled in his chair, steely gaze resting on Adrian’s face. “Does it, Mr. de la Noye? I have little doubt that the so-called message is for you.”
“So you remarked last night, sir,” Adrian said, face immobile as he met the stare.
“Everyone else here has received a little drop of otherworldly wisdom. It’s your turn.”
“Mrs. Chapman has more to say.” Amy continued like a small steamroller, oblivious to anything that might stand in her way.
“Go on,” Nicholas ordered.
“Something happened here, in Newport,” Amy said slowly. “But it wasn’t recent, and I don’t understand what Mrs. Chapman is trying to tell me. I see the image of a train . . . an alliance, perhaps . . . ‘reputations are nothing more than masks we’re forced to wear,’ Mrs. Chapman says.”
Across from Jim, Catharine’s palm slapped against the top of the table. “Amy, this doesn’t seem to concern anybody here. Perhaps you aren’t hearing correctly.”
But Amy’s eyes remained closed, her low voice merciless in its recitation. “This Cassie Mrs. Chapman mentioned before was . . . expecting a child when she left Newport.”
Catharine’s hand flew to her mouth, but not in time to prevent her gasp.
“Oh, dear God,” Nicholas groaned. “Is that the only thing ‘Mrs. Chapman’ can think of to say to people? That they’ve somehow involved themselves in procreation?”
Jim squinted in the dim light of the room; every ounce of color had drained from Adrian’s face.
“Mr. de la Noye,” Nicholas continued, “do you have the slightest idea what she’s rambling about? Because if nobody here understands these words, then you must admit that your client is a raving loon.”
Adrian sat so still that he might have been carved from ice. Jim leaned forward, anticipating a logical explanation, but his mentor was clearly incapable of finding words, much less saying them.
“Well?” Nicholas prodded, a grim smile of satisfaction shadowing his face.
Jim stumbled to his feet. “I understand Miss Walsh’s words,” he said, clearing his throat. “The message is for me.”
Adrian’s head snapped toward him. “Jim . . .”
Jim stared him down. “The words make perfect sense,” he said.
“They do?” Nicholas sounded genuinely surprised.
“Absolutely.”
“Mr. Reid,” Nicholas continued, “would you care to explain?”
Jim glanced from Nicholas to the rest of the table. Even Amy gaped at him, her mouth wide open. “Um . . . no,” he said. “It’s . . . a personal matter.” He sank back into his chair.
“Mr. de la Noye.” Amy’s eyes didn’t leave Jim’s face. “Mrs. Chapman says that you should draft the new will as quickly as possible.”
“There’s still no proof!” Nicholas shouted. “None!”
“And Mr. Chapman . . .” Amy dragged her gaze from Jim to Nicholas. “Your mother says that your favorite toy was a dapple gray rocking horse that once belonged to your father. You called it Clover and rode it until the bow rocker cracked.”
Chloe sprang like a coil from her chair. “She’s gotten it, Nicky.”
“Clever deceit, that’s all it is!” Nicholas too shot to his feet, rigid finger pointed at his sister. “You will lose a fortune if you believe her, Chloe! How can you let that happen?”
“Because the words are true. You know they are!” She pushed his hand away, breathing as hard as if she’d just run a race.
Catharine tugged at Bennett Chapman’s sleeve, guiding him back into the present. “Bennett, is it still your intention to change your will?” she asked.
Her fiancé roused himself from his dream, caught in a cloud of irritation as he rejoined his guests in the parlor. “Of course, Catharine. Whatever Elizabeth wishes is my wish as well.”
“Not yet,” Adrian said.
“Mr. de la Noye, I’m not quite sure I follow.” Catharine drew each word from the icebox. “Bennett Chapman is your client. You have a responsibility where he is concerned.”
“Precisely.” Their gazes locked. Jim averted his eyes, suddenly embarrassed to observe so closely.
“Tell me of your hesitation, Mr. de la Noye,” Bennett Chapman said, and his lucid tone brought a welcome touch of reason to the proceedings.
Adrian nodded. “Certainly. I assure you, Mr. Chapman, that there is nothing I would rather do than follow your directive and draft your will to your satisfaction. I still have every intention of doing so. But I would like to attend just one more séance first.”
Bennett smiled. “I can’t blame you for that, Adrian. They’re rather addictive, aren’t they?”
“And, with your kind permission, sir, I would like to speak privately with your fiancée. Since I assume my firm will handle her
legal affairs as well as yours once you’re married, I would appreciate the opportunity to become properly acquainted.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Catharine snapped.
“Catharine!” Bennett looked puzzled.
Catharine burned red. “I’m sorry, Bennett. It’s just that I already have an attorney back in Sacramento.”
Bennett placed a solid hand on her shoulder. “Mr. de la Noye has taken care of my legal concerns for a very long time now. I consider him more than simply my attorney. He is a friend; I trust him implicitly.”
Nicholas cut through their exchange like a runner suddenly back in the race. “May I ask why you’ve suddenly changed your tune, Mr. de la Noye?”
“No.” Adrian rose from his chair. “You may not. Miss Walsh, shall we walk?”
Catharine stared from his drawn face to the rigid arm he offered her. Then she lifted her chin and sailed past him from the room.