Newport: A Novel Read online

  “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.”

  CHAPTER

  33

  February 1898

  Cassie 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.”

  CHAPTER

  34

  Jim hoped that the dinner parties over which Mrs. Chapman had presided during her lifetime were more agreeable than the ones her spirit inspired now. He paused at the threshold of Liriodendron’s dining room, reluctant to wade through the invisible waves of tension to take his place at the table. There was nothing new about the general disdain that emanated from Nicholas like a shriveled aura. Jim even understood Chloe’s peripatetic dislike for the world at large. But there were new undercurrents at play here. It was hard to miss the poisonous glances Amy sent her mother. And here came a glare especially for him, as dripping with venom as the one Amy had just lobbed at Catharine. Of course, given the way their conversation in the Pierce-Arrow had ended, this wasn’t a huge surprise. And if that was the way little Miss Walsh wanted it, he could take it.

  But Adrian . . . Adrian, his friend and mentor . . . was it his imagination, or had Adrian become distant and overly polite toward him as well?

  It was downright disconcerting, especially when any rancor between Adrian and Catharine Walsh seemed to have vanished. Was that an accidental brush of hands as Catharine reached for her water glass? It was hard to tell, especially when Adrian made no effort to move his own hand from her path.

  “Mr. Reid.” Adrian turned a level glance his way. “Do you plan to join us at the table?”

  Jim lifted his chin and strode toward his chair. “Sorry to have kept you waiting,” he said, staring Adrian directly in the eye. If the air between them had grown chilly, he had a sneaking suspicion he knew the reason why . . . and damned if he’d shoulder all the blame himself.

  He’d half expected trouble when he’d knocked on Adrian’s bedroom door earlier that afternoon. “Amy said she’d allow Mrs. C to attend the wedding,” he’d announced as his colleague swung open the door.

  An expression of surprised approval had crossed Adrian’s face. “Good for you, Mr. Reid. You’ve outdone yourself with your powers of persuasion.”

  Truth was, persuasion had played a very small part in Amy’s acquiescence. After listening to her account of Adrian’s conversation with Catharine, Jim had simply turned the tables by offering to keep her spying expeditions a secret if she’d agree to let Mrs. Chapman through for the wedding ceremony. The use of blackmail in this situation had not sat well with him. Neither had the fact that after his chat with Amy, he now had secrets of his own to keep from the man he’d trusted all his life.

  He’d shifted his weight from one foot to the other, eager to end the exchange. “Yes, well, at least that’s taken care of. Let’s go. We’ve got Mr. Chapman’s will to finish, right?”

  Adrian’s searching gaze had practically seared a hole through his forehead. “Would you step inside here for a moment, Mr. Reid?”

&
nbsp; “Sure.”

  The aroma in Adrian’s bedroom was a soothing combination of vetiver oil and tobacco. Jim had breathed deeply and waited, a fraternity pledge bracing for a hazing.

  “I caught sight of our little friend again today,” Adrian had said.

  “The boy? Where?” Jim’s nonchalance had bordered on ennui.

  “Listening at the library window. I took up chase this time, but he had a sizeable lead and I couldn’t catch him.”

  Jim had nodded, marveling at how easily sins of omission seemed to come to him. “Do you think the kid heard anything he shouldn’t have?”

  Adrian’s hesitation had not passed unnoticed. “No,” he’d finally said.

  Perhaps it had been unfair to push, but after hearing Amy’s account of the conversation in the library, it had raised Jim’s hackles that Adrian wasn’t more forthcoming. “Another conversation with Constance, I suppose?” he’d asked casually.

  “No. I was speaking with Catharine Walsh.”

  “Ah. I see.” He’d paused for more, but it hadn’t come. “Did the conversation turn up anything you’d care to share?”

  Adrian had coolly met his gaze. “No.”

  “Nothing at all?”

  “Nothing at all. And did you happen to catch a glimpse of the boy as he fled?”

  For the first time he could remember, Jim had not blushed at an inopportune moment. He’d merely tilted his head in acknowledgment of the question. “No,” he’d replied evenly, and his voice had echoed in the quiet room.

  They’d spent the rest of the afternoon drafting Bennett Chapman’s will, leaving little space for any discussion of a non-professional nature to pass between them. Now, noting the subtle glance Adrian sent Catharine, Jim wondered if that had been such a good strategy.

  “Mr. Reid!” Bennett Chapman’s booming voice reflected his newfound vigor. He alone seemed pleased to be seated at the table that night. “You’ve heard the good news? My Elizabeth will join us for the wedding ceremony tomorrow evening.”