Night Spell

By Robert Newman

Tad Harper is determined to find out the truth behind Mr. Gorham’s tragic past, no matter what it takes

Tad Harper believes all orphans develop a sixth sense that tells them when something bad is going to happen. But that doesn’t mean he’s prepared to spend the summer with Martin Gorham, an old friend of his grandfather’s. And since refusing would mean losing his scholarship at school, Tad has no choice. He arrives at Mr. Gorham’s spooky mansion a few days later, but the only people there to greet him are the servants. When he finally meets the old man, Mr. Gorham makes it clear that he doesn’t care what Tad does as long as he stays away from him. With no friends and nothing to do, Tad knows it’s going to be a long, miserable summer.
 
Then he meets Karen Nelson, a girl who lives across the harbor. With Karen to hang out with, Tad thinks the summer might turn out better than he thought. But he soon discovers that Mr. Gorham has a tragic past—and that somehow, Karen is connected to it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Media
• Release date: Dec 30, 2014
• ISBN: 9781497685925

Robert Newman

Born in New York City, Robert Newman (1909–1988) was among the pioneers of early radio and was chief writer for the Inner Sanctum Mysteries and Murder at Midnight—forerunners of The Twilight Zone that remain cult favorites to this day. In 1944 Newman was put in charge of the radio campaign to reelect Franklin D. Roosevelt. He was also one of the founding members of the Radio Writers Guild, which became the Writers Guild of America. In 1973 Newman began writing books for children, most notably the Andrew Tillet, Sara Wiggins & Inspector Wyatt mysteries. The series takes place in Victorian London and follows the adventures of two teenage amateur detectives who begin as Baker Street Irregulars. Newman has also written books of fantasy, among them Merlin’s Mistake and The Testing of Tertius. His books based on myths and folklore include Grettirthe Strong, and he has published two adult novels. Newman was married to the writer Dorothy Crayder. Their daughter, Hila Feil, has also published novels for children and young adults. Newman lived his last days in Stonington, Connecticut.

Book preview

1

Something happens to you when you become an orphan. Though you know that nothing that can happen to you from then on can possibly be as bad, you’ve learned that terrible things do happen—suddenly and unexpectedly—and you develop a special kind of awareness, become sensitive to subtle signs that no one else would notice. And so Tad should have been prepared for a new blow on the day school closed for the summer. But he wasn’t.

There were reasons for it, of course. He’d been busy all morning, packing and moving his things from the dormitory to the Bennetts’ house. His roommate, Tim Foster, had helped him until Tim’s father had come to call for him, as the parents of many of the boys did at the end of the term. Then, after Tim left and after he’d hung up the last of his clothes, he began to work on his magic.

He started with coin tricks, walking a quarter over the back of his hand to warm up. Then, standing in front of the mirror as the book advised, he began practicing making it disappear. Alone in the room, with no fear of interruption, he was able to concentrate as he hadn’t been able to do before. He had palmed the quarter perfectly three times and was going on to the more difficult pass that sent it up his sleeve when there were footsteps on the stairs, a knock on the door.

Yes? Come in.

The door opened, and Mr. Bennett came in.

Hello, Tad, he said. Pretty well settled?

Yes, sir.

As soon as he saw him, Tad began remembering things he’d paid no attention to before. Mr. Bennett had been on the phone when he and Tim had first come over to the house, and he suddenly recalled the way the headmaster had looked at him. He was looking at him that same way now, not quite frowning but clearly not very happy.

He glanced at the coin in Tad’s hand, the open book in front of the mirror.

Practicing your magic?

Yes, sir.

Perhaps you’ll put on a show for us next fall.

I doubt if I’ll be good enough for that, sir.

If you keep at it, I’m sure you will be. Then, abruptly, Tad, how would you feel about spending the summer at Colport instead of here with Mrs. Bennett and me?

There it was; the rocker, the shocker, the catastrophe he should have expected but hadn’t.

Colport?

Yes.

Why?

You mean why Colport? Or why anyplace?

Well, both.

There are reasons why it might be advisable. You’ve been there, haven’t you?

Yes, sir. Several times when my grandfather was still alive. But now I don’t think I even know anyone who lives there.

What about Martin Gorham?

Martin Gorham?

Yes. You know him, don’t you?

Well, I know who he is. He was a friend of my grandfather’s.

He was more than that. His daughter was your grandfather’s second wife.

That’s right. I’d forgotten that. And I did meet him once or twice, but … I’m sorry, sir, I’m afraid I don’t understand. Why should I spend the summer with him?

Because he wants you to.

But why?

I’m not sure. He wrote me last week, wanting to know what your plans were. Then, about an hour ago, he phoned me. And he was quite insistent about it.

But what right has he to be insistent? He’s nothing to me.

That’s not quite true. You feel that strongly about it?

Tad’s concern suddenly became sharper, even more acute. Careful, he thought. There’s something strange going on here; strange and frightening.

Without being too obvious, he tried to read the headmaster’s expression, interpret the overtones in his voice. For almost a year he had thought of the Bennetts as his allies and protectors, the only ones he really had. Was Mr. Bennett telling him now that he had no right to feel strongly about anything?

It’s not that, sir. As I said, I don’t really know him, know why he should want me. And besides, I’d been looking forward to spending the summer with you and Mrs. Bennett.

The headmaster sighed. I know, Tad. We’d been looking forward to it too. Not that it would have been particularly exciting being here just with us.

I think it would, sir. Besides, there was the canoe trip you talked about our taking.

That’s true. But there are other considerations. For instance, I wonder if you realize that since your parents’ death your position here has been rather ambiguous.

Ambiguous?

Yes. Were you aware of everything that went on afterward?

Tad swallowed, feeling his stomach contract into a tight, hard knot. Aware? After the first shock, the feeling that it couldn’t have happened—not to him—he hadn’t been aware of anything except an overwhelming sense of loss.

No, sir. At least, not everything. I just know that you and Mrs. Bennett took over, and I was very grateful to you for it.

There was no reason to be grateful. Your father wasn’t just a colleague—he and your mother were our friends, and so we wanted to do what we could for you. Especially since we knew you had no other relatives. At least, no one close.

No, sir. I’m afraid I don’t have.

Well, Mrs. Bennett and I were willing to assume a certain amount of responsibility for you. But we were in no position to assume financial responsibility. And unfortunately that seemed necessary.

I know. Things hadn’t gone too well with Dad these last few years.

No, they hadn’t. He was very frank about it when he took the post of art teacher here. In any case, there was a financial problem as far as you were concerned. We were reluctant to call in one of the state agencies, have you go to an orphanage or a foster home, and we were exploring other possibilities when Mr. Gorham got in touch with me and offered to pay for your tuition.

Mr. Gorham?

Yes.

I didn’t know that. I thought I was staying on here on a scholarship.

At the time he didn’t want you to know what he was doing, so we let you think that.

But why did he do it?

I don’t know that anymore than I know why he wants you to spend the summer with him—possibly because of his friendship with your grandfather. But, as I said, he was quite insistent on your coming. And, in the light of what I’ve told you, I think you should do it.

Tad studied him. He had always known that someday he would have to think about the future. But until that moment he had felt that he had—if not a home—at least a place to live for the next few years. Was Bennett warning him not to take this for granted? If he didn’t go to Colport—if Martin Gorham didn’t pay his tuition next year—then what? The phrase Naked to mine enemies from Henry VIII came to his mind. Not that they were his enemies—at least Mr. and Mrs. Bennett weren’t. But Martin Gorham was a stranger. He tried to control a sense of panic. This was what happened when you let yourself believe—even for a moment—that things were going to be all right.

Could I think about it, sir?

Yes, said Mr. Bennett. But not for too long. I told him I’d let him know what you’d decided by tomorrow.

2

Salt marshes to his right, cut by drainage ditches and an occasional channel. Beyond the marshes the blue water of the Sound dotted with sails, mostly white but with a few brightly colored spinnakers among them. The train rattled over a bridge, then around a long curve, following the shore line.

It was the day after his talk with Mr. Bennett, and he was—as he had known he would be—on his way to Colport. To preserve some semblance of independence he had said nothing about a decision to the headmaster and his wife at dinner that night—hadn’t he asked if he could think about it?—but he had realized from the beginning that he had no choice. After all, who was he? Not, as he had thought, a scholarship pupil who had been able to stay on at the school partly because of his father’s position there and partly because of his record, but a charity case, dependent—not even on the good will—but rather on the whim of someone he barely knew. And so he had forced himself to eat, talk and even smile once or twice, containing his misery and disappointment as well as he could.

He did not think he had fooled Mrs. Bennett. Even while they were discussing other things, she had looked at him sympathetically. And after he had gone up to his room, he had heard her talking to Mr. Bennett and he suspected that, if she were not pleading his case, she was at least suggesting possible alternatives. Then, when she had come upstairs, he had heard her stop outside his door, and his greatest fear had been that she would come in. Because if she had and had said a single kind word to him, he would have burst into tears. But she hadn’t come in and that morning at breakfast he had told Mr. Bennett that he would go to Colport. Clearly relieved—because he did not want to be burdened with him for the summer?—Mr. Bennett had called Martin Gorham, Tad had packed his suitcase, and that afternoon Mr. Bennett had driven him to the station and put him on the train.

The conductor came through the car, picked up the check he had given him when he took his ticket and said, Colport’s the next stop.

Tad nodded. The train was passing a beach now: a sandy crescent on which the grown-ups sat under umbrellas while children played at the water’s edge or swam in the slowly rolling surf. Isolated at school, he had had no contact with families, and as the train passed one group—a father, mother and a young girl—he turned and watched them until they disappeared behind him. There would be many families in Colport, and he did not know whether that would be a good thing or a bad, whether he would find it painful or not.

He thought back to the last time he had been there. It had been five years ago, when he was nine. He and his parents had driven up from New York and stayed at his grandfather’s house. There had been some coolness between his father and his grandfather that he had been aware of without really understanding, but his grandfather had been very warm to Tad. He had taken him sailing, bought him ice cream cones at the village drugstore. Was it during that summer or the previous one that he had met Martin Gorham? He didn’t remember: his several visits to Colport all blended together like a doubly or triply exposed film. The significant fact was that they were all dead now; his father, his mother, his grandfather. Only Martin Gorham was left, and Tad knew that whatever Gorham’s reasons were for wanting him to come to Colport, this stay there was going to be different from any previous one.

The train slowed, and Tad took down his bag and walked to the end of the car. The conductor opened the door, and he got off. The station was much as he had remembered it: small, somewhat run down and in need of a coat of paint, but still a busy place.

About a half-dozen men and women, most of them dressed casually in jeans or shorts, waited on the platform. Each greeted and claimed someone who had gotten off the train and led the way to a parked car. None of them even looked at Tad. The train whistled and moved off. The bell at the crossing just beyond the station stopped ringing. Only Tad was left on the platform.

As he looked around, wondering what he should do, an elderly man in a battered cap came out of the station.

Cab? he asked.

No, thanks. I think someone’s going to be meeting me.

They’re late then. The train was ten minutes late. He jerked his head towards the station. There’s a phone inside if you want to call.

Thanks. I’ll give them a little more time.

Suit yourself. He started to turn away, then said, Where are you going?

The Gorham house.

Gorham? The cab driver looked at him more intently, with some surprise, but even more interest.

Yes. Do you know Mr. Gorham?

I know who he is.

He looked at Tad again, then went over to a taxi that was parked next to the station, took out a rag and began to clean the windshield.

Tad put down his bag and glanced at his watch. It was almost five thirty. At that moment a car pulled up. It was a vintage—in fact, a classic—car: a Lincoln from some time in the Forties; large and solid looking, its black paint perfect and gleaming. The front where the driver sat was open, and only the rear was enclosed. As