Newport: A Novel (17 page)

A
drian brushed a speck of dust from Liriodendron’s library desk blotter before setting his Corona 3 on top of it. Just unfolding the portable typewriter inspired hope. The Corona’s presence meant that Bennett Chapman’s Last Will and Testament would be typed in short order. Once typed, it was only a short step to the will’s execution tomorrow evening, after which the town car could be called from the garage and pointed toward home. The Corona 3, inanimate though it was, held the golden promise that life might soon return to normal.

Fingers grasped his forearm. He swung to face his adversary, every muscle tensed.

“At ease,” Catharine Walsh said. “It’s only me.”

He steadied his breathing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you come in.”

Her hand brushed his sleeve before dropping to her side. “Good grief, Adrian. Are you always this jumpy these days?”

“No. But you must admit, these circumstances encourage one to remain on edge at all times.”

She cracked a small smile. “I know what you mean. Chloe’s blotto state of mind seems downright appealing.”

He thought she looked pale. In general, she appeared more fragile than he remembered, but that might have been due to the library backdrop of massive wood furniture and rich colors. “Would you care to sit?” he asked, gesturing toward the chair behind the desk.

Catharine shook her head. “No. I’ll be brief. Bennett is determined that you handle my legal affairs as well as his. I don’t care what he tells you—I don’t want our assets merged in any way. Do you understand?”

“Assets?” Adrian leaned against the edge of the desk.

“I have a few.” Her finger traced the first bank of the Corona’s keys. “I own my home in Sacramento, and there are some small bank accounts in my name.”

“How have you managed all these years? How did you support both yourself and a child?”

A slight shrug made her gauzy dress shimmer in the sunlight that streamed through the window. “I’ve always been practical. You know that.”

“What I know is that you’ve always mistaken scruples for jetsam and have never seen anything wrong in tossing them overboard whenever you deem it necessary.”

Her hand froze above the typewriter keys. “I suppose you’re entitled to that comment, Adrian. I may even deserve it. Say whatever you wish; just promise me that my current will can remain intact.”

He tempered his tone. Surely the time for rancor had passed long
ago. “I couldn’t change anything without your consent anyway. You’d need to sign any final document I drafted.”

“Give me your word all the same. I want everything I own to go to Amy. Nothing to Bennett.”

The flush on her cheeks deepened as he studied her. “My word still matters to you?” he asked. “All right, then. I promise. But you shouldn’t let it concern you so much. Bennett Chapman is nearly eighty years old. Chances are good you’ll outlive him by decades.”

“You never know. Life is full of unexpected surprises.”

He didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. The fact that those words had fallen from her lips crossed so far into the realm of irony as to border on the ridiculous. Her gaze dropped to the carpet as the meaning of the sentiment sank in. He watched the motion of her throat as she swallowed, but it was hard to tell which emotions fueled her current silence.

When she finally looked up, her gaze was clear. “I’ve missed you, Adrian. How have you been?”

He caught the wistful note in her voice. She stood close enough that he could see the fine crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes, the delicate lines framing her mouth. Occasional strands of silver threaded through her dark hair. As he’d noted before, they’d both grown older. But in the depth of her eyes, in that gentle curve of her jaw, she was still Cassie Walsh.

“I’ve been well, Cassie,” he said, and this time, she did not flinch at his use of the diminutive. “But I won’t lie to you: it took a very long time.”

“I’m sorry.” Her words trailed away. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“Well then, what did you mean to do? What happened? Where did you go?”

She reached for his hand. “Does it even matter anymore? For what it’s worth, I did come back to try and find you.”

“You did?”

“Yes. I traveled to Poughkeepsie in early May after I . . . after we . . . parted. Rosie—the upstairs maid—was a friend of mine, and I tried to send you a message through her.”

Adrian flinched as if struck. “I wasn’t there.”

“I know.” Catharine squeezed his hand. “You’d gone to war. Rosie had to tell me at least three times before I understood the words. I couldn’t believe it. Oh, Adrian, I wanted to see you so badly.”

She might as well have kicked him in the stomach. If he’d only known that she needed him. So many of his decisions might have been different. “I . . . had no idea.”

“No, of course you didn’t. How could you? After the war, I couldn’t find you. Now I know why. Rosie never said that you’d changed your name.”

“Rosie didn’t know. I first used de la Noye when I enlisted.”

“Why?”

Her brittle shell had vanished. She stood before him so honestly vulnerable that there seemed no reason to keep his own defenses raised. The walls of the library slipped away as her hand nested in his.

He covered her fingers with his own. “I had to discover who I was without the patina of the Delano name. I needed to be taken at face value instead of sought after for my connections and wealth. And after our little escapade, you must admit that I owed my family a clean slate.”

She stiffened. “Adrian, you do know that I never used you for your name.”

“Now, how could I know that? I only knew that I’d apparently served your purpose and was no longer necessary.”

“That isn’t so!” she said fiercely. “It was never so. I knew very well what I was losing when I left you behind. Why do you think I tried to find you again? I never wanted to leave you!”

“Then why did you, Cassie?”

She stared at him, unable to speak. He recognized at once that any explanation would take much longer than the few minutes they’d allotted each other now. He thought of the thorny path she must have walked these past decades, all alone with a child to raise, and regret threatened to overwhelm him. If only he’d known. He could have made her way so much easier.

“Cassie, please. Tell me about Amy.”

“There’s so much I want to tell you,” Catharine murmured.

A loud crash sounded from outside. Caught off guard, Adrian stood paralyzed for a moment before dropping Catharine’s hand to rush toward the open window.

“What’s happened?” Catharine appeared at his side.

“I’m not certain, but I have my suspicions.” He leaned across the sill, scanning the landscape with a slow, practiced eye. A chair lay overturned on the grass below them. Farther down the lawn, a familiar figure darted in the direction of the garage.

Same jacket and knickers, same cap—spotting this character was becoming a habit that had to be broken.

“Please excuse me, Cassie,” Adrian said as he hoisted himself through the window and dropped to the grass below. “We’ll have to continue this conversation later.”

J
im emerged from the garage, stepping straight into the path of a rocket in tweed. His eyes widened as the tie pin he’d just fetched from the Pierce-Arrow slipped from his fingers. No doubt about it, this was the kid from the ferry—or, more precisely, the kid who’d been lurking around Liriodendron ever since their arrival, listening to conversations he wasn’t meant to hear.

Hardly thinking, Jim took a step back from the boy’s trajectory and stuck out his foot. The small figure tripped over it, stumbling into Jim’s waiting arms with enough momentum to knock them both back against the garage wall.

“Caught!” Jim spun the boy around by the wrist, twisting his arm behind his back in a viselike grip. The kid struggled for a moment, then slumped in defeat. Triumphant, Jim yanked the concealing cap from his head.

Long blond curls tumbled down from beneath it.

“You’re kidding,” Jim groaned as Amy peered over her shoulder.

“Save me,” she whispered, her face the color of paper.

He pushed her into the garage, then ducked in behind her. They pressed themselves flat against the inside wall as footsteps pounded past the door.

“Who’s after you?” Jim whispered.

“I think it’s Mr. de la Noye,” she whispered back.

He stifled another groan. Just when he’d thought things couldn’t get worse. “Ah, no, Amy, find another chump. I won’t double-cross Adrian. He’s not only my boss, he’s my friend.”

“It’s not a double cross! Will you at least hear me out before you turn me in?”

He could barely make out her features in the dim light of the garage, but he sure could feel her shiver. Her slender fingers threaded through his.

He could see the face of his tombstone now—pudgy little cherubs hovering around one big fat word:
Sucker!

Resigned, he dragged Amy toward the Pierce-Arrow, opened a rear door, and propelled her into the back seat. He closed the door behind them both with a quiet click. Together they slid down against the back of the seat.

“So, I was right before,” he said beneath his breath. “This
is
how you do it. You listen in on private conversations and gather pertinent information to feed ‘Mrs. Chapman.’ Darn it, Amy, every time I accept the fact that she’s real, you give me a reason to think otherwise.”

“She
is
real.” Amy’s fists clenched into tight little balls. “I haven’t lied to you, Jim Reid. Not once!”

“Oh, is that so? Then I suppose it’s merely part of your daily
routine to dress in disguise and tail people? You were on the ferry the night Adrian and I crossed from the mainland, weren’t you.”

“Yes, but—”

“And just yesterday Adrian caught you listening in on one of his telephone calls to his wife. Oh, yes. He noticed. I can only imagine how many other times we
haven’t
caught you.”

“It’s not what you think!”

“What interests you so much, Amy Walsh? What information are you hoping to unearth by shadowing us?”

“I’m not interested in you at all!” Amy’s voice rose.

Jim covered her mouth with his hand. “Shhh!”

She shoved his hand away. “You’ve got quite an ego, Mr. Reid. Did it ever occur to you that my reasons for sneaking around have nothing to do with you? I’m not tailing you and Mr. de la Noye. I’m tailing
them
. . . Nicholas Chapman and Lady Dinwoodie.”

Jim blinked. “You are?”

“Yes! Catharine and I have been on the lookout for information ever since Bennett told us that his children were coming to Liriodendron to battle us over the will. I was on the ferry because I knew the chauffeur had orders to fetch Lady Dinwoodie when the boat docked. The reason Mr. de la Noye caught me outside the library is because that’s my usual haunt. That’s where the most private telephone in the house is located, so I can usually count on getting my best information there.”

He felt as if a surprise witness had just undermined his case. “If you’re not following us, then why did you listen in on Adrian’s conversation with his wife?”

“Constance?” she asked brightly. “She seems quite nice.”

Jim glowered at her.

“Oh, don’t be a stick-in-the-mud. I listened because I was there. I listen to just about everything that goes on in that room. You wouldn’t believe the things I know.”

“Try me.”

She twisted in her seat to face him. “All right. Nicholas Chapman is in debt up to his ears.”

“No joke, Sherlock. I already knew that. It explains why he’s so adamant about not changing the will, but it doesn’t change much else, does it?”

“It does if you know the names and telephone numbers of his creditors, like I do. He’s got some pretty shady characters on his back.”

Jim dropped his head against the back of the seat. “Believe me, Amy—you don’t want to get involved with that element.”

“No, of course I don’t. But Nicholas Chapman hates me and Catharine. He’d be thrilled out of his gourd to see us behind bars. You don’t think I’m going to sit around and just let that happen, do you? If he pulls something on me, I’m going to pull something right back.”

“Not above a little blackmail, then, are you?”

“You got that right. A girl’s got to live defensively.”

He was silent for a moment. In truth, Amy’s tactics weren’t all that different from the ones he’d used to thwart neighborhood beatings while growing up. What God hadn’t granted him in brawn, He’d more than supplied in brain.

“Can’t judge you when I’ve done it myself,” he said. “What else do you know?”

“And why should I even bother to tell you?”

“So I don’t turn you in, you bird.”

Amy hesitated. “Do you want to know about the Chapmans, or about Cassie Walsh and Adrian de la Noye?”

His skin prickled in the dim light of the garage. “Come again?”

“You heard me, Jim. We’ve both wondered about that association, haven’t we?”

Was it fair to gather information behind his mentor’s back? After all, if Adrian wanted him to know something about his past, surely he would mention it himself.

On the other hand, everyone occasionally needed protection from himself.

He stared up at the automobile ceiling. “Okay, Amy,” he said. “Spill.”

February 1898

C
assie shivered as Adrian knelt to lace her ice skates, but she had to admit that the bitter wind whipping across Almy Pond wasn’t entirely to blame for the chill. She snuggled more deeply into her coat, searching for a spot of warmth. The boulder she sat upon felt as frigid and unyielding as the ice itself. Still, even that could not account for the cold lump of coal that had taken up residence in the pit of her stomach.

She jumped as a jolt of pain snaked through her toes. “You’re lacing too tightly,” she said, tapping the top of Adrian’s glossy black head.

“Marjorie’s skates are too small for you.” He didn’t look up. “Not unlike this entire situation.”

She winced as he gave the lace another yank. “The skates aren’t
that small. I’ll manage just fine. Besides, I don’t plan to stay on the ice for long.”

This time he did look up, cheeks nearly the same color as the scarlet earmuffs he wore. “What, pray tell, do you mean?”

“Ahoy there, you two!” Peter Phillips’s voice, jolly in the extreme, floated across the ice as he skated toward them from the bluff where he and Marjorie had donned their own skates.

“Cassie, what do you mean?” Adrian hissed again as Peter weaved gracefully between other skaters on the pond.

“It’s none of your concern, Adrian Delano. Ouch! Loosen the lace, will you?”

He untied the offending lace, easing her right foot into a more comfortable position within the skate shoe. “Everything about you seems to have become my concern,” he said. “How did that happen, do you suppose?”

She opened her mouth to retort, but Peter had skimmed to a stop before them, hands clasped loosely behind his back. He seemed impervious to the cold, fueled perhaps by the fact that he was an excellent skater on a familiar pond, but probably more by the flask protruding from his pocket. “I know there’s quite a crowd here today,” he said, “but that’s no reason to be unsociable. Marjorie and I would have gladly made room for you both on our roost over there.”

“Appreciate it, Peter,” Adrian said, frowning as his fingers nimbly looped Cassie’s skate lace. “But why huddle together when there are so many other boulders and bluffs available?”

Peter bent toward Cassie, gloved hand framing one side of his mouth as he stage-whispered into her ear. “I’ll tell you a secret, Miss Weld. Your cousin speaks of elbow room, but the truth is that he’s
given to fits of melancholy and far prefers to keep to himself. He’s welcome to his solitude but, please, don’t let him drag you into the cave with him.”

Cassie ignored Adrian’s scowl. “This isn’t news to me, Mr. Phillips. And, please, do call me Kate.”

“Peter, then. Adrian, I see you’re already laced up and ready to skate. Why don’t you go help Marjorie? She’s painfully slow. I can help Kate finish here.”

Adrian cleared his throat. “No, that’s quite all right. I feel responsible for my cousin, you see, and—”

Peter’s good-natured shove sent Adrian sprawling on the ice. “I promise to take excellent care of her,” Peter said, crouching before Cassie. “Scat, my friend. Your cousin is safe with me.”

Cassie rewarded Peter with a radiant smile as Adrian picked himself up and skated off, his clouded expression matching the ominous skies. Peter acknowledged Cassie’s smile with a beam of his own, but it was hard to harness her attention to his gaze. He was handsome enough in a well-fed, florid sort of way, but a certain vacuity on his face made her wonder if his family had endowed Harvard in some fashion to ensure his graduation from its law school.

“Poor Kate,” Peter said, enclosing her ankle in a firm grip. “I can’t believe your family thought a visit to Mr. Misery would cheer you up. Might as well string up a noose for your use, or leave a cordial glass of strychnine lying about the house. Don’t worry, I’ve come to rescue you. We’ll remedy this sad situation at once.”

“I count myself fortunate that you’ve arrived,” Cassie said, allowing her gaze to stray above his head as he removed his gloves and bent over her skate. Adrian glided slowly across the pond, hands jammed deep into his coat pockets. Silhouetted against the
silvery gray sky, his slouching figure conjured images of a prisoner meeting a firing squad at dawn. He straightened as he approached Marjorie, who offered him a sunny smile from her perch on a blanketed bluff.

Peter finished lacing and glanced up to follow her gaze. “My sister has been sweet on your cousin for years. Has she any hope at all, do you think?”

Cassie considered. Marjorie was nice enough, she supposed . . . getting a bit old to be a dewy society bride, but still attractive in a practical, capable sort of way. Still, Adrian could do better. “My cousin and I haven’t spoken of it,” she replied.

“Ah. That’s not a good sign. If Adrian hasn’t said a word, then he isn’t smitten.”

Adrian settled himself before Marjorie. His tug on her skate lace evinced more stoicism than ardor.

Cassie forced her attentions back to Peter. “And what about you?” she asked. “Do you babble incessantly when smitten?”

He glanced up, grin playing about his lips. “That all depends. Have I more reason to hope than my sister does?”

“Perhaps,” she said, eyes downcast.

His hand rested lightly on her shin. “Then I might become very loquacious indeed.”

Cassie cast a gaze from beneath lowered lashes. “I’m all ears,” she said.

Peter’s eyebrows disappeared beneath a shock of blond hair. “Are you, now. You’re not as gloomy as your cousin, are you?”

She tossed a quick glance in Adrian’s direction just as he rose to his feet. His eyes met hers. Her cheeks grew warm as she realized that Peter’s hand still rested on her limb. “I’ll let you be the judge of
my disposition,” she said, rising to her feet so that his hand slipped to the ice.

“I look forward to finding out.” Peter stood as well, and the teasing note in his voice made it clear that the bait had been taken. Her heart skipped so erratically that she nearly lost her breath. She grasped the arm he presented, for without its support, she hadn’t the strength to remain upright on the ice.

Peter squeezed her hand. “Have you never skated before? Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.”

Her cheeks flamed. Of course she’d skated before. She’d spent childhood winters racing Adrian, who now narrowed his eyes in answer to the stare she sent across the ice. A slow, grim smile spread across his face. She watched as he turned to Marjorie and offered his arm with a graceful flourish. Marjorie blossomed under the unexpected attention, her face nearly glowing with delight.

“There. It’s not so hard, is it. You’re doing quite well.” Peter’s words made her realize that they’d begun to move. They glided between the other skaters on Almy Pond, Peter supporting her with a firm arm about her waist.

“I learn very quickly,” she murmured.

Across the pond, Adrian squired Marjorie along the ice with exaggerated courtliness, beaming down at her as if she’d just said something terribly clever.

“Perhaps Cupid has heard my sister’s pleas.” Peter’s lips were quite close to her ear. “Our Adrian seems to be paying a little more attention than before.”

“Yes,” Cassie said absently. Adrian didn’t care for Marjorie in a romantic way. What was he doing?

Her train of thought came to a thudding halt as Peter pulled her
even closer. His breath came in short little puffs. “Let’s skate away from the crowd,” he said. “It will be easier for you to learn if you’re not tripping over other people.”

Adrian’s retreating figure flattened like a paper doll against a turbulent sky. Cassie allowed herself one last lingering gaze as Peter guided her toward a quiet cove.

“They skate quite well together,” she said in a monotone. Then, swallowing back an unexpected swell of nausea, she drew in a bracing lungful of air and twisted artlessly toward the man beside her. Her lips brushed his. His brushy mustache tickled enough to inspire a nervous giggle but, fortunately, she didn’t need to do much more to encourage Peter further. His arm tightened around her waist as he pulled her firmly against him, and his own lips pressed so hard against hers that she knew he’d been hoping for this opportunity all along.

The kiss was acceptable, urgent enough that she knew he’d welcome more, but not so passionate that she was in any danger of losing her head. She let it continue a few seconds longer than the rules of respectable coquetry allowed before pulling away.

“Oh!” she cried, hands flying to cover her mouth. At least the expression of raw longing on Peter’s face made it unnecessary to feign her blush. “Oh, Mr. Phillips, you must forgive me!”

Peter tamed his own emotions quickly, arranging his face into a properly respectful mask as he reached for her hand. “No, please, I’m the one who must apologize. I quite overstepped.”

“What you must think of me!”

“I have only the utmost admiration for you. You mustn’t fret. Please. If you do, I’ll live with the burden that I’ve behaved more monstrously than can ever be forgiven.”

“That’s never happened before,” she said. “I can’t imagine what came over me.”

She checked for the expected hint of smugness in his pleased smile and found it. That did not surprise her; in her experience, most men thrived on flattery. But there was something else in Peter’s smile, and she recoiled slightly as she realized what it was: Peter Phillips honestly believed that she’d been unable to resist the superior wonder of his masculinity.

“I can’t speak to what came over you,” he said. “I can only hope the impulse finds you again.”

She rested her gloved fingertips atop his coat sleeve. “And . . . if it does, may I trust that you’ll keep this matter confidential . . . a secret between us alone?”

A bright flush of anticipation colored his face up to the roots of his hair. “Oh, of course! Upon my honor. I would rather die than do you harm, Kate.” He stroked her hand. “Perhaps, then, we have an agreement? I may come to call?”

“I’m afraid I won’t be in Newport very much longer,” she said.

He leaned toward her mouth again, but she turned her head. “I understand,” he said, patting her hand in deference to her modesty. “But perhaps you will give me the opportunity to convince you that affection such as ours doesn’t require much time to grow after all.”

Cassie shot a glance across the ice as Peter led her from the cove. The spot where she’d last seen Adrian and Marjorie had filled with strangers. She craned her neck to find them in the crowd, but they were nowhere to be seen.

A fist tightened in her chest. “I would especially not want my cousin Adrian to know of this,” she murmured.

Peter’s arm stiffened as he drew her closer. “Believe me, Kate,
neither would I. You may rest assured that the secret is safe with me. Shall we skate?”

Damn Adrian. Where had he gone?

“No,” she said quietly, pulling herself back to the task at hand. “Could we perhaps sit in your sleigh for a bit? I’ve a chill.”

Peter’s voice turned to warm maple syrup. “Of course,” he said. “Anything for you, Kate. Anything at all.”