Newport: A Novel (10 page)

C
atharine’s pace remained smooth and dignified until she reached the top of the stairs. There she took a sharp right and raced down the hallway, her breath coming so hard that she had to lean against the doorjamb outside her bedroom for a moment to keep from fainting.

She gave the doorknob a firm twist and slipped into her room, locking the door behind her. Hardly thinking, she dragged a suitcase from beneath the bed, tossed it atop the mattress, and began to sweep the contents of her bureau drawers into it.

How on earth had Adrian found her here? No, that was stupid. He couldn’t have been searching for her. Adrian was sharp, had always been sharp. If he’d really wanted to locate her, he’d have done so years ago. As for her own inability to uncover any information about him these past twenty-some years . . . well, now she understood why. Adrian Delano had become Adrian de la Noye.

Only four drawers emptied and the suitcase wouldn’t close. There were still dresses in the closet to pack, as well as shoes and toiletries.

She threw herself back against the soft pillows of the bed, flinging an arm across her face to stop angry tears from falling. She was usually so good at keeping images from the past locked firmly away, separated from day-to-day consciousness like snakes trapped in a wooden crate. Now she was so rattled that she couldn’t even pack properly.

Of course, she hadn’t run away from anything in a very long time.

Even steps sounded in the hallway, coming to a stop outside the guest-room door.

“Miss Walsh.”

Catharine hoisted herself upright on the bed at the sound of Adrian’s voice. She heard the click of his cigarette case, followed by the scrape of match head against striking surface.

“I will wait here all night if need be,” he said.

She knew that he would. For all his flaws, Adrian had always kept his word. She’d recognized a man of honor lurking beneath his disreputable façade twenty-three years ago when he hadn’t immediately tossed her from his train compartment in a fit of righteous rage. There was no need to doubt that the Adrian here at Liriodendron, fully grown and respectable, was any less reliable.

She rose wearily from the bed, scooping up the ashtray from her nightstand on her way to open the door.

He stood just across the threshold. The tip of his cigarette burned bright above one cupped hand. Wordlessly, Catharine extended the ashtray. Adrian took one last drag of his cigarette before stubbing
it out. Years fell away as she stared into his dark eyes. As if of their own accord, her fingers reached out to stroke his cheek. He flinched at her touch.

“Oh, Adrian,” she murmured, pulling her hand away. “Do you really hate me so much?”

“No,” he said, and his pain caught her off guard. “Not anymore.”

She swung the door open all the way and motioned him into the room. His gaze fell on the bed, and she knew that he hardly noticed the suitcase atop it. He shook his head and offered his arm instead.

Catharine hesitated for a moment. Then she set the ashtray down on the bureau and slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow. Closing the bedroom door behind her, she allowed him to lead her toward the stairs.

February 1898

C
assie shivered as she followed Adrian Delano from Newport’s train depot out to Marlborough Street. The air was cold, damp with moisture from the nearby harbor. The chill cut straight through her wool coat, raising prickles on her skin. Worse, Adrian’s stiff posture pointed more toward irritation than she’d anticipated. He hadn’t made a move to carry even one of her carpetbags when they’d changed trains earlier, and he did not offer to carry them now. This was not a good sign. Adrian may have slipped into disgrace, but he was still a gentleman at heart.

She measured her steps to his, following close enough behind him to be his shadow. Sooner or later he’d have to acknowledge her presence.

A minute or two passed before he stopped at Thames Street. “I can pretend I never saw you, if you’d like,” he said, not bothering to turn around. “I’ll even give you train fare home if you need it.”

“Home?”

“You’re running away, aren’t you? I assume nobody knows about this little trip.”

“Of course not.”

“I won’t tell anyone, either. You can give your family whatever excuse you choose to explain your absence. Hopefully they’ll be kind.”

Apparently she’d been deluded by the quick wit she remembered from her childhood, by his willingness to listen and help her through precarious situations as she grew up. This version of Adrian was dimmer than she’d expected.

“Don’t be silly,” she said. “Why would I go home?”

He turned to face her, confused. “Do you have friends here then?” he asked.

“Who would I know in Newport, Adrian Delano?”

A combination of comprehension and disbelief splashed across his face. “Oh, no, Cassie, I can’t help you. My family summers on the Cape, remember? I’ve only visited Newport on occasion. I don’t know anybody here well enough to recommend your services.”

She could not prevent the harsh tone that crept into her voice. “Of course you’d assume I want to tie myself down to a lifetime of menial labor.”

His brow creased. He’d slept off his drunkenness only to awaken to an entirely different problem, and she almost felt sorry for him. Almost—but not quite.

“How long will you stay in Newport?” she asked.

“I don’t know yet.” He lifted a tired hand to massage the back of his neck. “Cassie. What do you want from me?”

“I want to stay here with you. I want you to introduce me to your friends.”

He stared as if a cat had spoken.

She let both carpetbags drop with a thud to the hard ground. “Don’t you understand? I’m leaving Poughkeepsie.”

“Why would you want to do that? You’ve got a home in Poughkeepsie, a position . . .”

“I’m trapped in Poughkeepsie. I’ll work myself into the ground for other people there, and my mother will make me marry the housekeeper’s horrid son. If I’m to be scuttled about like chattel, I may as well tie myself to a wealthy man. Introduce me. I’ll do the rest.”

It took a moment for her words to sink in. Then Adrian turned and started up Thames Street as if walking quickly enough could expunge the thought from the air. “As I said, Cassie, if you need train fare home, I’ll give it to you. But I want no part of this lunacy.”

She grabbed both carpetbags and hurried to catch up with him. “You needn’t act shocked. It’s not like you’re untarnished, you know. Your reputation is in shreds after all your tomfoolery in Europe. Who knows? I might even be able to help restore your honor. I can be very charming.”

“You can’t seriously believe that introducing our cook’s daughter as a marriage prospect will enhance my status.”

“No. But introducing your delightful cousin might.”

He stopped. “You’re in over your head. If there’s one thing
this circle knows, it’s pedigree. You wouldn’t last a day with that ruse.”

“Oh?” Her voice was acid. “I’m a better actress than you think. I’ve plenty of fodder. Observing the Delanos is the only way to break the monotony of tidying up after them. I’m your second cousin Kate. On your mother’s side.”

“I don’t have a second cousin Kate.”

“You do now, and I know enough family background to make it sound real.”

“That’s daft,” Adrian said. “Even if your scheme actually worked, what would happen after the wedding when the truth came out?”

“It wouldn’t matter then.”

“Of course it would. There’s my reputation to think about, your honor . . .”

To her own chagrin, she actually stamped her foot. “We’ve already discussed the state of your reputation, and my honor is my own concern. I’ll handle it. I’ve already thought all that through.”

His sigh contained more weariness than anger. She was startled by his sadness. The Adrian she remembered was lively and intelligent, so full of potential that an occasional fall from grace could be considered merely mischievous. The man before her was still handsome, but his dark good looks had taken on a sallow cast, and new lines had formed about his mouth.

“What’s gotten into you, Adrian?” she whispered. “You used to have so much promise.”

“And look where it’s gotten me,” he said beneath his breath. “Wedged securely under my parents’ thumbs. They’ve got my life
all planned, right down to the sort of woman I’ll marry and the Supreme Court seat they’re sure I can add to the family’s list of achievements.”

“Well then.” She set down her carpetbags and laid a gentle hand on his coat sleeve. “Your situation is not so different from mine. Unlike you, however, I have no intention of escaping by drinking myself to death.”

He stood still before her, his coat flapping in the wind as he studied her face. She stared back, raising her chin to meet his gaze.

“You may stay with me until tomorrow,” he said quietly. “Then I’ll give you train fare to any destination you choose. Do you understand?”

“Where are we staying?” she asked, careful to keep any touch of eagerness from her voice. “Which grand house has offered hospitality?”

“It’s off-season. One of my friends has a small cottage on his family’s summer property. The gardener usually lives there, but he’s visiting his daughter for the duration of the winter. I’ve arranged to stay there.”

“Small cottage?” Cassie’s voice squeaked. That meant no constant whirl of society, no chance meetings in the hallway with wealthy gentlemen in celebratory moods.

“Rustic.” Adrian’s lips curled around the word with a little too much pleasure. “I’ve come here to think, Cassie. I need some peace.”

She frowned. “Fine time for you to locate your conscience, Adrian Delano.”

She thought she detected the start of a genuine smile on his face. “Why should it matter to you?” he asked, and there was a glimmer
of the boy she remembered from long ago. “You won’t be here beyond tomorrow morning.”

Her hand brushed against his as she bent toward her carpetbags. “Of course,” she said.

He plucked the heavy bags from her grip and continued up Thames. She pushed through the silence and fell into step beside him.

A
my flounced from the parlor, leaving Jim to stagger after her like a kite tail caught in a wicked crosswind.

“Amy! Wait!” One didn’t need prior experience with women to recognize that this one was steaming mad. Jim’s long legs made short work of the space between them, but it was harder to penetrate the nonphysical distance. He’d never imagined that pink satin evening slippers could click so loudly against a marble floor.

“Amy.” He spoke to her profile as she yanked open Liriodendron’s front door and sailed down the porch steps. This time she didn’t wait for him to maneuver the stairs. Instead she barely touched ground before turning right and heading toward the back of the house.

Jim picked up his pace, praying that his feet would instinctively make solid contact with each individual stair. Using Amy’s pale curls as a guide, he quickly closed the gap between them.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded, sliding his arm around her waist.

Amy jerked away. “You are,” she said, not breaking stride. “I don’t ever want to talk to you again, Jim Reid. You’re a bounder, nothing but a cad.”

He stopped short, wondering how someone who’d had so few chances at romance could possibly be in such hot water with a woman. Then the analytical portion of his brain took charge.

“Wait a minute. Amy! You’ve got it all wrong.”

She headed toward the rocks of the coast, a part of Cliff Walk that came with no promise of safety. Jim raced across the grassy lawn, stopping when the soles of his Oxfords pounded stone.

“Okay.” He raised his voice above the crash of the waves. “I’m relying on your decency here, Amy. I can’t see.”

She wasn’t that far ahead of him. He watched as she stopped short, poised on the rocks like a bird about to take flight. Her dress rippled about her like gossamer, exposing her slender legs as it undulated in the chilly night air.

“Don’t think I don’t know that you did that on purpose,” she said, but she turned toward him, skimming back across the rocks as if the craggy surface were the smoothest dance floor. “Why did you follow me out here, anyway?”

Jim waited until she’d alighted in front of him before reaching out to grasp her shoulders. “That message at the séance tonight . . .”

Her brows lowered, and he saw that he was on the right track. “Yes, that message was most illuminating,” she said. “Who is Cassie, Mr. Reid? Mrs. Chapman was clearly most anxious that someone know of her delicate condition, and you’re the only one to whom the message made sense.”

If ever there was a time to lie, this was it. Telling the truth would
be the ultimate act of disloyalty against Adrian. But as he looked at Amy’s pouting mouth, at the hurt in her eyes, a stab of annoyance flashed through him. He’d signed on as Adrian’s associate, not as his sacrificial lamb.

Always tell the truth, his Granny Cullen had said. But would she have said that even if telling the truth left his friend vulnerable?

He cleared his throat. “About that message, Amy.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “Yes, Mr. Reid. About that message.”

“I’ve never been to Newport before, kiddo, remember? I didn’t understand that message any more than you did.”

Amy blinked, eyes widening as she absorbed the meaning of his words. “Then why did you say that you did?”

“I don’t know. It seemed the right thing to do at the time. Where’d that message come from in the first place? Where do you get this stuff? I thought you were supposed to be clairvoyant. Why couldn’t you—or Mrs. Chapman—figure out that I was lying through my teeth?”

His hands slipped from her shoulders as she turned away. “I’m not in the business of detecting lies,” she said. “And I don’t understand Mrs. Chapman any more than you do. She comes when she pleases and says whatever she wants.”

“You don’t even choose the topic of conversation?”

“Of course not. What do I know about the workings of Elizabeth Chapman and her family?”

He stepped cautiously across the rock, coming to a stop by her side. “That’s something I’d like to know myself,” he said.

She swung toward him. “What are you implying?”

“What really brings you and your aunt to Liriodendron, Amy?”

“You already know that. Mr. Chapman invited us.”

“After an acquaintance of only several weeks? That trek from Sacramento to the East Coast isn’t exactly a Sunday jaunt to the park. Nobody travels that distance without some solid assurances. It sounds like you and your aunt have followed the Chapman family for quite some time now.”

“Why on earth would we do that?”

“That’s what I’m dying to know.”

He had to admit that she looked stricken, her pretty mouth a shocked little O and the hint of tears shimmering in her blue eyes.

With a sigh, he reached out and tugged her toward him, stroking her silky hair as she sobbed against his chest. “Tell me, Amy,” he said.

Her muffled voice floated up from the depths of his white shirt-front. “There’s nothing much to tell. I owe everything to Aunt Catharine. She’s taken care of both of us for such a long time, seen to it that I’ve had all I need even when times were tough. Yes, sometimes that’s involved telling a fortune here and there, but what’s the harm in that? It makes people happy.”

“Did you conduct many séances back in Sacramento?”

She raised her eyes to his. He looked away, not ready to lose himself in the sweet abyss of her gaze. “Mrs. Chapman is the only . . . person . . . I’ve ever spoken for,” she said. “And I don’t like it very much, I can tell you that.”

“You don’t?”

“Of course not. There’s something creepy about it, don’t you think?”

She lowered her head back to his chest, leaving him to stare out
at the sea as her words flowed through his mind. If Amy didn’t like feigning Mrs. Chapman’s words, then why did she do it?

The answer smacked his brain before he could even ask the question out loud.

“Amy,” he said warily, “are you telling me that Mrs. Chapman is real?”

There was nothing sweet and needy in her gaze this time. She backed away from him, scowl replacing the quiver of her lip. “Of course. Did you think I’d made her up?”

Jim’s arms dropped to his sides.

“I told you,” Amy said. “I am not a fraud.”

He swallowed hard. The thought of an ectoplasmic Elizabeth Chapman floating through the parlor seemed insane. But, then, Granny Cullen’s pronouncements had always felt real enough, so much so that he’d always accepted them without question. After all he’d experienced growing up, he owed it to Amy to at least let her try to prove that she wasn’t off her rocker.

“All right,” he said, trying to organize his thoughts. “All right. So Bennett Chapman invited you and your aunt out here from Sacramento, and you came along with Mrs. Chapman in tow.”

She shrugged. “If it makes you feel any better, Aunt Catharine and I are used to traveling. Aunt Catharine lived in New York City when I first came to stay with her, you know. We moved to Chicago when I was three, then on to Denver, and finally out to Sacramento just before I turned thirteen.”

Jim stroked his chin, trying to arrange the random snippets of information into some recognizable pattern. Adrian had obviously understood Mrs. Chapman’s message—nothing outside of extreme shock would have caused his mentor’s uncharacteristic loss for
words and subsequent need of rescue. Nor was it an absurd leap to presume that Catharine Walsh might have gone by the diminutive “Cassie” at one point in her life. But the rest of the story . . . how was he supposed to fill in the details when Adrian closed up as tight as a speakeasy every time the subject arose?

“Don’t blame me,” Amy said primly.

“Huh? For what?”

“For the fact that you never thought to ask Mr. de la Noye any questions.”

She looked awfully smug. Jim made a face at her before turning his attention back to his thoughts.

Adrian had been a fixture at the Reid home for decades, included by Jim’s father and later his mother in both family celebrations and heartaches, willing to lend a hand during dark days. Jim had never questioned why. Like everyone else in his family, he could recite by heart the story of how his father had risked his own life in Cuba during the Spanish-American War, dragging a wounded Adrian to safety under a barrage of enemy fire. He understood implicitly that repaying that debt was one of Adrian’s greatest joys. Yet with all that, he had to admit that Amy was right: he knew very little about the life Adrian had led prior to his adoption by the Reid family. Why had he never considered that strange?

Of course, it was no odder than the idea that the late Elizabeth Chapman would interrupt her eternal rest to deliver messages about two people she’d never even met.

Amy’s small palms rested against his chest. “Jim.”

He glanced down to meet her gaze.

“Will it always be this way?” she asked. “Will we constantly waste beautiful moonlit evenings with dry interrogations?”

His stomach flip-flopped as she nestled closer. “Aren’t you curious about Mrs. Chapman’s message?” he asked, cradling her in a loose hug. “Don’t you want to know what it means?”

“Yes.” Her voice was velvet. “But not all the time.”

Jim jumped as her soft fingers stroked his cheek. She felt small and delicate in his arms, a Dresden doll come to life. One inch closer and he’d vow to slay the Minotaur for her.

“Jim. You’re still thinking, aren’t you?”

The reproach stabbed his heart.

Amy sighed. “Silly,” she murmured. “For a smart boy, you sure can be thickheaded.”

She wrapped her fingers around his lapels and pulled him down toward her. He thought briefly that the whirling of the rocks might make him lose his balance and plunge them both into the sea. Then he realized that the rocks weren’t moving at all.

Amy stood on tiptoe, so near that he could feel her soft breath against his cheek. He bent instinctively toward her, lips tingling as they drew closer to hers. “Amy,” he whispered in her enticing little ear.

“Yes, Jim?”

“Do you think your aunt could be Cassie?”

Amy groaned. Then her mouth landed on his, and anything else he’d meant to say floated out to sea on the ocean breeze.