Newport: A Novel (5 page)

Chloe heaved herself up from the chair, catching her brother’s arm even though he’d failed to offer it. “I’m exhausted. Should you need to interrogate me more closely about any of this, Mr. de la Noye, you’ll find me in my room. Alone. Any time.”

“Stop talking, Chloe,” Nicholas ordered, half dragging his sister across the flagstone patio to the French doors.

Bennett Chapman waited until his children had gone. “Greedy little tyrants,” he said. “Have some coffee, Catharine, and maybe a scone. You missed breakfast this morning.”

“No, thank you.” Catharine’s shoulders sagged. “If you’ll excuse me, my headache has returned. I need to lie down.”

“If you say so. I’m feeling rather peaked myself. Damn those children of mine. They can make you old before your time. Roll me back to my room, Catharine, will you? Oh, I’m so looking forward
to the séance! It brings me great comfort to see Elizabeth’s fondness for you.”

Catharine Walsh didn’t answer. She merely gripped the wheelchair handles and pivoted Bennett Chapman to face the house.

Jim turned toward Adrian, eyebrows raised in question, but Adrian was watching as Catharine pushed the chair toward the ballroom doors, her eyes straight ahead and her color high.

“Come along, Mr. Reid,” Adrian finally said, snapping his attention back to Jim. “We’ve work to do.”

T
he séance would be held in the parlor, the Zeus statue presiding. Jim shoved his hands deep into his pockets and longed for the after-dinner brandy he’d just abandoned on Bennett Chapman’s library desk. He’d have preferred to stay in the plush library longer, enjoying both the contraband alcohol and the Gauloise cigarettes his host had provided the men after dinner. It didn’t matter that the air between Adrian and Nicholas Chapman crackled with mutual contempt; Jim had seen worse just strolling around the block in his neighborhood. Besides, the raised hackles in the library were far preferable to the tension they’d all endured at the dining room table earlier that evening, where men and women alike had sat at awkward attention beneath the salty language of Bennett Chapman’s incessant commentary.

But all leisurely enjoyment of Liriodendron’s luxuries had vanished with Amy Walsh’s knock on the library door.

“I’m ready,” she’d said, as cheerfully as if announcing a madcap game of charades.

Bennett Chapman’s face had lit from within like a Chinese lantern. “Gentlemen, you’ve all finished your drinks, haven’t you?”

And, as he’d watched Adrian drain the last of his brandy and set down the glass, Jim had known that, half-full glass or not, he had no choice but to follow their host out of the library and down the hall.

Now Amy Walsh led the men from the library to the parlor, Bennett Chapman at her side. He’d eschewed the wheelchair this evening, choosing instead a fine wooden walking stick topped with an intricately carved ivory elephant. His step seemed sure as he crossed the parlor threshold.

Seven chairs had been arranged in a loose circle about a round table. A candelabra with four lit tapers was set in the middle, placed atop a maroon cloth that covered the table from top to floor on all sides. Nicholas lifted the edge of the cloth and examined the space beneath the table before retreating to stand like a sullen sentinel beside the parlor door.

Amy seated herself in the chair directly opposite the doorway, with Bennett on her right. Cool and composed, Catharine sank gracefully into the chair beside him.

“Are we to sit in any special order?” Chloe’s brittle voice floated from her spot by the fireplace.

“It doesn’t matter,” Amy started to say, then caught herself. “No, wait.” She closed her eyes and tilted her head. Jim exchanged a questioning glance with Adrian, who gave a slight shrug.

“I guess it does matter tonight,” Amy said, eyes still closed. “Mr. Reid is to sit at my left. The younger Mr. Chapman is beside him,
then Lady Dinwoodie and Mr. de la Noye. Aunt Catharine, you and Bennett may stay where you are.”

Bennett leaned forward. “Is that Elizabeth who says so? Oh, she always did love arranging a good dinner party!”

“I suspect it’s Mrs. Chapman.” Amy opened her eyes. “But it’s mostly just a feeling for now. No words.”

“Perhaps the message is from your spirit guide.” Chloe drifted toward her assigned seat. She seemed particularly tired this evening, as if even lifting her fork at dinner had required too much effort. She hadn’t touched a drop of wine during the meal and had refused even the offer of an after-dinner cordial.

“Spirit guide.” Nicholas almost spat the words.

“I’m unfamiliar with that term.” Adrian slid Lady Dinwoodie’s chair out from beneath the table.

She dropped into the offered seat. “To contact loved ones on the other side, most mediums rely on the aid of one who has already crossed over. Have you never heard of Florence Cook and her Katie King? Of Mrs. Piper and the Imperator?”

“When did you become an expert on otherworldly communication?” Nicholas’s words frosted the air.

Chloe’s chin quivered. “I’ve . . . had an interest in séances for quite some time now,” she said faintly.

She brought to mind a cornered doe searching for an escape from the barrel of a hunter’s gun. Jim opened his mouth to save her, but Adrian spoke first.

“I’m not at all surprised that Lady Dinwoodie has an interest in such things,” he said. “She is a sophisticated society woman, after all. It’s her responsibility to stay well informed about the current fads and fashions in entertainment.”

He seated himself in the glow of Lady Dinwoodie’s grateful smile.

“Please extinguish all lamps except for the small one on the bookcase by the door,” Amy said.

“Allow me.” Nicholas Chapman strode through the parlor, turning off every lamp in his path. The room grew dimmer with each click. Amy’s wide eyes gleamed in the candlelight. Catharine flinched as Nicholas swept past her. She sat still as a stone, her face an unreadable blank. Lady Dinwoodie bit her lower lip as her brother extinguished the last light and took his place in the chair beside her.

“Remember,” Amy said, “I’ve no guarantee that Mrs. Chapman will come.”

“She’ll come.” The anxious note in Bennett Chapman’s voice made Jim turn his way. Understanding dawned as he took in the older man’s crisply creased black suit, expertly knotted tie, and freshly barbered hair. Bennett was seeking the approval of the woman he’d married decades before.

“We must all hold hands,” Amy said.

Jim reached for Nicholas’s hand on his left and Amy’s on his right. Her fingers fluttered so lightly in his grasp that he felt they might float away if he didn’t enclose them completely. Across the table, Catharine hesitated briefly before allowing her hand to rest against Adrian’s open palm. He acknowledged her touch with an expressionless nod but did not close his hand around hers.

“Should we shut our eyes?” Chloe asked.

“I have no intention of doing that,” Nicholas said. “I don’t plan to miss a thing.”

An uncomfortable silence descended upon them as all attention
turned toward Amy. She had already closed her eyes, her face in repose reminiscent of a Renaissance Madonna.

“We have visitors tonight, Mrs. Chapman,” Amy said politely. “Won’t you join us?”

Chloe squirmed in her chair. “Oh, dear. I do hope we needn’t worry about anything as odious as ectoplasm.”

“Shhh!” Catharine frowned.

Amy’s cheeks grew exceedingly rosy. Her small hand curled into a fist against Jim’s palm. He resisted the urge to slide his chair a little closer to hers.

Seconds dragged into minutes. The grandfather clock in the entrance hall chimed the quarter hour, each toll an indictment. Outside, the sky darkened a shade.

Nicholas’s chair creaked as he shifted position. “I’ll endure five more minutes of this nonsense. If nothing has happened by then, the matter is settled in my favor.”

“There is no prescribed waiting time written in our agreement,” Adrian said.

“Perhaps you have more hours than I to waste in the pursuit of folly, Mr. de la Noye. Five more minutes.”

“Oh, I’m quite certain they won’t mind at all,” Amy said suddenly to no one in particular.

Bennett Chapman leaned forward. “Is she here?”

“She says that you should be able to sense that by now . . . that if you think about her, you’ll know exactly where she’s standing.”

The candle flames wavered as Bennett obediently closed his eyes. A small smile pulled at one corner of his mouth. “Why, of course. She’s near the fireplace.”

“Very good indeed,” Amy said.

“She’s wearing that blue gown I liked so well, the one she first wore to a ball at the White House. Rud Hayes and his wife, Lucy, were such splendid hosts, even if one had to resort to trickery to get a drop of liquor in their house; excellent practice for this wretched Prohibition, if I do say so myself. Good evening, my sweet Elizabeth.”

“Oh, for the love of God.” Nicholas yanked his hand from Jim’s, slamming it hard on the table. “Are we to believe—”

One candle blew out as a chill laced the room.

“We must clasp hands,” Bennett said sharply.

“This is stupidity!”

“Do as he says, Nicky.” Illuminated by the remaining candles, Chloe’s anxious face resembled a pale, floating moon.

“Mrs. Chapman is approaching the table,” Amy said calmly. “She is very pleased to see you all here tonight.”

Jim’s mind raced in an effort to organize this new influx of information. Granny Cullen had certainly never relied on eerie effects or rituals to dole out the comments she claimed came straight from his grandfather. He remembered her standing in the bright light of the kitchen, paring knife pointed in his direction: “Your Gran’da says you’re to cut your hair and straighten your spine. Stand proud, young man!” He’d grown used to receiving pithy commands from the beyond delivered in the midst of whatever mundane chore Granny happened to be doing at the moment. He’d believed them, too: why doubt when Granny’s pronouncements were nearly always right?

But he’d expected more here—instruments for the spirits to play, perhaps, or the adoption of strange voices and mannerisms as “Mrs. Chapman” spoke. Instead there was simply Amy, looking lovely but ordinary as she sat in her chair with her eyes closed, speaking in her
usual tone of voice while delivering words she claimed belonged to someone else.

“Is this all that happens?” Nicholas demanded.

“Of course not,” his father said. “We talk about old times. And your mother offers the advice she’s been robbed of giving in physical form. You may ask her anything you wish.”

“Ask
who
anything I wish? There’s nobody here. Mr. de la Noye, I implore you to halt this travesty now.”

Adrian sighed. “I’d like to hear more, Mr. Chapman.”

“Your mother regrets that she wasn’t present to temper your rash disposition while you were growing up, sir,” Amy said, and a murmur of agreement from Catharine underscored her words. “She would have remained on this earth longer had she been given the choice.”

“Don’t fret, Elizabeth,” Bennett whispered. “We all understand.”

Amy’s voice softened. “Lady Dinwoodie, your mother brings words meant for you tonight. She recognizes your sorrow and longs to share the burden. She has a message from someone you miss very much.”

Chloe wrenched her hand from Adrian’s, but not in time to cover the gasp that escaped her mouth.

Nicholas half rose in his chair. “Mr. de la Noye. You must stop this at once.”

“No, Nicky. Wait.” His sister struggled to her feet, each tendon in her neck taut. “Please, continue.”

Adrian placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and guided her back into her chair. “Lady Dinwoodie, there is much resting on this session tonight, and it’s necessary to ensure that justice is served. Will you allow me to ask the questions?”

She slumped against the back of her chair, too distracted to return her hand to his. “Please do. I’m not sure I can.”

He turned toward Bennett Chapman. “And you, sir—may I respectfully ask that you remain silent as well?”

“Indeed.” The old man’s eyes shone. “I am content simply to bask in Elizabeth’s presence.”

Adrian faced Amy, who sat quite still with her eyes closed and a sweet smile on her face. “Am I speaking to Mrs. Chapman?”

“You are speaking to Amy Walsh,” Amy said. “But I hear Mrs. Chapman and deliver her words.”

“I’ve heard that some . . . spirits . . . speak through their mediums. You don’t do this?”

Amy gave a slight shudder. “How ghastly. No, Mr. de la Noye. I don’t choose to give myself over to something I can neither see nor control.”

“So, if I ask a question of Mrs. Chapman, you will give me her response.”

“If she so directs, yes.”

“Very well. Mrs. Chapman says she has a message for Lady Dinwoodie. Who is it from?”

Once again, Amy tilted her head as if listening. “Lady Dinwoodie lost a loved one in the Great War.”

“Is this true, Lady Dinwoodie?” Adrian asked gently.

“Don’t offer any additional information, Chloe,” Nicholas interjected. “A skilled swindler will use every piece of information you provide to strengthen her own conjectures.”

Chloe bit her lip. “It’s true, though, Nicky. You know it is.”

“Of course it’s true.
Everyone
lost a loved one in the Great War. If ever a quack wanted to hit a bull’s-eye with a guess, this was the
one to make. Very well then, Miss Walsh. So the generalization fits: the Chapman family endured a loss in the Great War.”

“Mrs. Chapman tells me that it was a beloved child.” Amy continued as if nobody had spoken at all.

This time, both hands flew to Chloe’s mouth. “Please, Nicky, I must hear . . .”

“But your mother tells me that she must speak to you about certain matters before we go any further,” Amy said. “There are . . . habits . . . that must cease. It is imperative that you stop your abuse of alcohol, Lady Dinwoodie.”

“The obvious conclusion of anyone who has observed you for more than five minutes,” Nicholas muttered.

“You cannot continue to live as if your life doesn’t matter to anyone.” Amy’s voice had receded into a mildly hypnotic singsong. “Your mother says that each day compromises your health and well-being a little more. The surest way to honor and remember someone you loved is to live well on their behalf.”

A single tear made its way down Chloe’s cheek, leaving a light trail in her heavy makeup foundation. “I know,” she whispered. “It’s just so hard to go on.”

“The vast amount of money you spend on bootleg and other means of dissolute behavior could be spent in better ways.”

“It was only a matter of time before money entered this conversation,” Nicholas said. “Mr. de la Noye, if you won’t ask the crucial questions, then you must allow me to do so.”

Adrian handed Chloe his handkerchief and turned back to Amy. “Would Mrs. Chapman be so kind as to give us more information about the departed? Where was the place of death?”

The room grew even quieter as Amy paused. Bennett Chapman’s
eyes widened slightly, then tracked a short path along the table to settle on a spot between his children’s seats. Catharine leaned forward, gripping the table as if she feared the room might sway.

“A German artillery shell . . .” Amy began.

Chloe started to tremble.

“Another easy guess.” Nicholas shot a quelling glance at his sister.

“. . . hit an Evacuation Hospital on the Western Front,” Amy continued. “But all is well, Lady Dinwoodie. You’re not to grieve. Your child is happy and at peace.”