Newport: A Novel

By Jill Morrow

“Newport has it all: intrigue, scandal, and seances to summon a spirit that will not rest . . . will keep you turning pages long into the night.” —Deanna Raybourn, New York Times–bestselling author

Following in the steps of Beatriz Williams and Amor Towles, this richly atmospheric, spellbinding novel transports readers to the dazzling, glamorous world of Newport during the Roaring Twenties and to a mansion filled with secrets as a debonair lawyer must separate truth from deception.

Spring 1921. The Great War is over, Prohibition is in full swing, the Depression still years away, and Newport, Rhode Island’s glittering “summer cottages” are inhabited by the gloriously rich families who built them.

Attorney Adrian De la Noye is no stranger to Newport, having sheltered there during his misspent youth. Though he’d prefer to forget the place, he returns to revise the will of a well-heeled client. Bennett Chapman’s offspring have the usual concerns about their father’s much-younger fiancée. But when they learn of the old widower’s firm belief that his first late wife, who “communicates” via seance, has chosen the beautiful Catherine Walsh for him, they’re shocked. And for Adrian, encountering Catherine in the last place he saw her decades ago proves to be a far greater surprise.

Still, De la Noye is here to handle a will, and he fully intends to do so—just as soon as he unearths every last secret, otherworldly or not, about the Chapmans, Catherine Walsh . . . and his own very fraught history.

A skillful alchemy of social satire, dark humor, and finely drawn characters, Newport vividly brings to life the glitzy era of the 1920s.

“A ripping good read.” —Beatriz Williams, New York Times–bestselling author

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Jul 7, 2015
• ISBN: 9780062375872

Jill Morrow

Jill Morrow has enjoyed a wide spectrum of careers, from practicing law to singing with local bands. She holds a bachelor's degree in history from Towson University and a JD from the University of Baltimore School of Law. She lives in Baltimore.

Book preview

CHAPTER

1

The lighthouse on the shore flashed its beacon in time with each rolling heave of Jim Reid’s stomach. His knuckles whitened around the metal railing of the boat as he leaned forward, willing the wicked water to swallow him up whole and end his misery now. Holy Mother of God, he groaned.

Good grief, Mr. Reid. We’re crossing Narragansett Bay, not the high seas. Adrian de la Noye’s words cut through the nighttime dimness of the ferry deck. Disembodied in the shadows, his silken tone carried the same authority it did when summing up a complicated case before a Boston jury.

For at least the tenth time since they’d boarded Adrian’s Pierce-Arrow town car earlier that day, Jim swore beneath his breath at his own weakness—soft Irish words that he remembered from childhood but could no longer translate.

Sorry to be such a wet blanket, he said. I’m doing the best I can.

There was a pause as Adrian considered. Of course you are, he said. You always do, my boy. You always do.

The smell of phosphorus hung on the air as a match arced through the darkness toward the cigarette in Adrian’s mouth. Illuminated briefly by the flame, his chiseled features appeared almost otherworldly, his dark hair and eyes conjuring images more akin to pirates and gypsies than to prosperous middle age. Jim would have traded even his fresh new Harvard Law School sheepskin for some of that smooth coolness. It wasn’t likely he’d ever attain it without some sort of miracle. He was tall and lanky, with fair skin that blushed at the slightest provocation and a sandy-colored cowlick that doomed him to be viewed as more boyish than manly by nearly every female who crossed his path.

Here. Adrian handed him the cigarette. It will settle your stomach.

Grateful, Jim pulled in a deep drag. Even he could manage some degree of cleverness with a cigarette resting lightly between his fingers. Sometimes smoking felt like the most valuable lesson he’d learned in school. The god-awful queasiness began to subside.

Adrian lit a cigarette for himself and leaned his elbows casually against the ferry’s railing. The lighthouse receded off to the left, leaving the gentle glow of the stars to wash across the deck. Jim pushed his wire-rimmed glasses farther up his nose and let out a long, relieved sigh.

The smoldering tip of Adrian’s cigarette picked up glints in his gold tie pin, making the fine amethyst stone at its center glitter. Jim winced as he remembered one more thing he had to do: search the floor of the town car for his own tie pin, which he’d flung there in annoyance after stabbing himself one time too many that day.

We’ve almost reached Aquidneck Island, Adrian said. Newport is a short drive from the quay. I’ll need only a moment to send Constance a telegram. She’ll want to know we’ve arrived safely.

Do you think we’ll find any place open?

Adrian shrugged. We’ll manage something.

For as long as Jim had known Adrian de la Noye—and that was practically all of Jim’s twenty-five years—the man had never seemed ruffled or out of place. Such ease was to be expected in the sanctified halls of Andover and Harvard, which Jim had attended on Adrian’s dime. Adrian had been born to fit into places like that, and he called both institutions alma mater. As far as Jim was concerned, each school could consider itself darn lucky. What surprised him more was that Adrian was equally at home in the Reid family’s noisy South Boston row house, where a seemingly endless number of Jim’s siblings, nieces, and nephews had tumbled across Mr. de la Noye’s well-dressed knees throughout the years. For all his accomplishments, Adrian seemed to require little more than the comfortable life he shared with his wife, Constance, and their two children back in Brookline.

Jim glumly flicked his ashes into the bay. He himself never quite fit anywhere. Overeducated in his boyhood neighborhood, but not of the usual social class found at Harvard, he was a perennial fish out of water, getting by through the sheer power of his mind.

Ah. A husky female voice behind Jim’s shoulder startled him. Real men smoking real ciggies. Please, darlings, tell me those are Fatimas.

Adrian reached into his coat pocket as both men turned to face the woman behind them. They are. May I offer you one?

I thought you’d never ask.

The woman was of average height, dressed in a light frock well suited to a sweet young thing. She needn’t have bothered. The way she stroked Adrian’s hand as he lit her cigarette marked her as anything but sweet, and it was obvious that she hadn’t been young in years. The stylish dropped waist of her dress could not conceal a matronly thickening about her middle, and beneath her gay cloche and bobbed fair hair, her jawline had begun to sag.

She plucked the match from Adrian’s fingers and tossed it into the water. Then, insinuating herself snugly between the two men, she leaned back against the ferry’s rail and dragged nicotine deep into her lungs. The exhaled smoke wafted into the air, borne on vapors of alcohol. The woman swayed, evidence more of her own intoxication than of the ferry’s movement. Adrian steadied her before she could tumble into his arms and then took a discreet step to his left. Jim didn’t bother to move at all. It didn’t matter that the woman’s arm had just brushed his wrist. He could drop his trousers and jump up and down on the deck were he so inclined; he was sure she’d never notice.

I can’t resist Fatimas . . . or the men who smoke them, the woman said. Virginia tobacco can’t hold a candle to the . . . virility . . . of a true Turkish blend.

Adrian flashed a polite smile. Indeed, he said.

It was the same everywhere they went. Whether the female was a doll or a chunk of lead, she always chose Adrian. Jim sighed, wondering what it would be like to leave every woman in your wake weak-kneed with desire. Granted, this one wasn’t worth it. But how was it that Adrian was never even tempted to slip? Given the opportunity, Jim would have been delighted to slip nearly every time.

The name is Chloe, the woman said. Lady Chloe Chapman Dinwoodie to the rest of the world, but you may now consider yourself my friends. Excuse me. She bent down, lifted the hem of her dress, and withdrew a contraband flask from the garter tied around her pudgy leg. Drinkie?

No, thank you, Adrian said.

Recognition hit Jim like a smack to the side of the head. Say, you’re . . .

Adrian corked his flowing words with one veiled glance. Mr. Reid has perhaps heard of your father, he said. Bennett Chapman’s contributions to the textiles industry are very well known.

Chloe’s expression soured. Damn the old coot. I’m missing a weekend of parties in New York to ossify in Newport because of him. She threw her head back and took a long swig from the flask. Adrian met Jim’s gaze over the swallowing motion of her throat.

Yes, sir, Chloe Dinwoodie said, coming up for air. Let’s drink to good old Pop and his contributions to the textiles industry.

His success is admirable, Adrian said mildly.

Then let’s drink to good old Pop and his contributions to Chloe’s lifestyle. She again extended the flask in a silent invitation. Adrian shook his head. Let’s drink to the family manses in Boston, New York, London, and Newport, she continued. And let’s not forget how that money bought me a titled husband, too. A shame the fool’s a fairy, but he does come with benefits.

She tossed her half-smoked Fatima over the ferry railing. Adrian wordlessly extended another.

You’re a dear man. Chloe waited as he lit a match, then pulled his hand closer to guide the flame toward the cigarette now clamped between her bright red lips.

Adrian did not move away this time. Instead he bathed her in one of those intimate gazes Jim recognized from his mentor’s arsenal of cross-examination techniques.

Of course you’d rather be elsewhere, Adrian said. Newport certainly isn’t the jewel she used to be. What coaxed you away from the glitter of New York?

Chloe’s fingers tightened around his wrist. Oh, only dire circumstances could do that, I assure you. My father wants to change his will.

Jim’s face burned with the flood of a hot red flush. Words bubbled to his lips.

Adrian intercepted them with the graceful stealth of a panther. I assume the change is not to your advantage, he murmured.

Chloe’s round-eyed stare resembled a mesmerized trance. Advantage? It’s a disaster! Nicholas and I—Nicky’s my brother—will be flat out of luck if he goes through with it. Right now we stand to get everything when my father kicks the bucket . . . meets his maker . . . you know. But now Pop wants to marry this . . . this gold digger.

Ah. There’s a woman involved.

Isn’t there always? Anyway, that’s why Pop wants to change his will. And if he goes through with it, Nicky and I get a yearly stipend apiece, and that’s it.

I see your difficulty, Adrian said. But how can you stop him?

Chloe dropped her voice to a confidential whisper. Pop’s got his Boston prig of a lawyer coming up to draft the new will tomorrow. Nicky says that if we can prove our father is nuts, the will must legally stand as is. Nicky’s a dull stick, but he’s smart about things like this.

Adrian’s voice dropped as well. Can you prove that your father is incompetent?

Oh, yes. Chloe stepped forward until only an inch separated the lace of her collar from Adrian de la Noye’s well-tailored vest. With what’s been going on around his place lately? Oh, absolutely yes. You know, I don’t believe you’ve told me your name.

Jim could almost see the noxious alcohol fumes snaking their way up Adrian’s nostrils. Adrian abhorred inebriation, deemed it sloppy and unnecessary. It probably required a supreme act of will for him to stand still, smiling blandly as Lady Chloe Chapman Dinwoodie walked her fingernails up his chest.

A snicker worked its way through Jim’s nose. He quickly turned away, disguising his laughter with an unconvincing sneeze. This tendency to lose his composure at the mere thought of the absurd was yet another bad habit he needed to conquer.

A sudden movement on the deck stopped his sniggering flat. Farther down the rail, a figure crouched, half hidden by a weathered box of life preservers. Startled, Jim leaned forward. The figure jumped under his scrutiny and flattened itself against the box as if trying to disappear. It was too late; Jim had seen plenty. He identified the cap and knickers of a young boy, noted that the figure was small and slight. But, most important, he knew without a doubt that for some reason, this boy had been listening intently to every word.

Hey! Jim lunged toward the life preservers, but the boy was faster. The small figure skittered across the deck and out of sight.

May I offer assistance, Mr. Reid? Adrian appeared instantly at his side.

Jim’s shoulders sagged as he blinked at the empty space before him. I’ll tell you later, when there’s no fear of ears. It’s probably nothing; I’m just a little jumpy.

Any particular reason? Adrian threw a glance toward Lady Dinwoodie, who now slumped against the ferry rail like a deflated balloon, lost in an inebriated haze.

Jim shook his head, hard. This whole trip reeks, that’s all.

In what way?

I don’t know. It just feels . . . off. Taking this trip to the old man’s summer cottage in the first place—

Mr. Chapman has been a valued client of our firm for many years.

—then running across his daughter like this . . .

An admittedly awkward coincidence, although I found her comments most enlightening.

You had no idea that Bennett Chapman’s will might be contested?

Not an inkling. Naturally, we’ll readjust our plans accordingly. We’ll stay in town tonight and visit Liriodendron tomorrow. That will give Lady Dinwoodie an opportunity to compose herself.

Jim removed his spectacles to massage the crease in his brow. You don’t think she’ll remember us the second we knock on Liriodendron’s door?

They turned as one toward Chloe Chapman Dinwoodie, but she had tottered away, presumably in search of new prey.

A corner of Adrian’s mouth turned up. Given the amount of bootleg she’s consumed, Chloe Dinwoodie will be fortunate if she remembers how she arrived at Liriodendron in the first place. I suspect we’ll register as nothing more than a bad dream. Suppose we wait in the car. That will save us from meeting the charming lady again.

With a resigned sigh, Jim followed his mentor to the auto. He was no longer particularly connected to his Irish past, no more so than any other first-generation American born and raised in South Boston. Why was it, then, that he could now hear the lilting voice of his departed Granny Cullen, who’d always claimed that the blood of ancient Celtic soothsayers warmed her veins? He’d grown up with her predictions and warnings, and this one trumpeted as loudly as any of them: Little good ever comes of mixing where you aren’t wanted. Despite Bennett Chapman’s invitation, it was clear that most of Liriodendron’s occupants would be more than happy to slam the front door in Adrian de la Noye’s face.

Adrian . . . Jim stopped still on the deck.

Adrian turned toward him, one eyebrow raised in inquiry.

Jim hesitated. He was indebted to Adrian’s kindness, could never have come this far without his patronage. But it was more than that: dashing, sure-footed Adrian de la Noye was everything he wanted to be. Summoning superstitions from the old country would only further emphasize the differences between them.

Never mind, Jim said slowly. I’m tired, that’s all.

All the more reason for a good night’s sleep before we visit Liriodendron. I’ll need that sharp mind of yours, Mr. Reid. I’ve grown to depend upon it.

Jim followed along in silence, trying to forget that his granny’s predictions had seldom been wrong.

CHAPTER

2

Adrian de la Noye navigated the Pierce-Arrow down Bellevue Avenue as if he’d done so only yesterday, a fact that irritated him no end. His last visit to Newport had been some twenty-three years ago. He’d been around Jim’s age then, recently graduated from law school and just back from a Grand Tour of Europe. It would have pleased him now to find that memories from that time had faded into oblivion.

Newport had changed, and unwelcome memories or not, Adrian approved of the shift he’d noted while driving from the ferry last night. The patina of pretension he remembered from years ago had dulled somewhat, lessened as society wealth siphoned away either to other resorts or to former President Wilson’s reviled income tax. Still, one needed only to look at the lavish mansions lining either side of Bellevue to realize that, despite the more pronounced presence of the navy, despite the increased influx of immigrants and the workingman, Newport would always keep a soft spot for the glittering doyennes of the social order—the ornaments who’d made the town sparkle in its heyday.

Adrian tamped down his distaste and, for the fourth or fifth time since they’d docked the night before, reminded himself that he’d been rescued long ago from that mindset.

In fact, he’d spoken to his favorite personal angel just last night.

You sound worried. Constance’s lilting tones had soothed like honey. He’d have paid the hotel clerk twice over for the privilege of using the telephone. What’s wrong?

He knew his wife well, knew he had interrupted her evening cup of tea and the New York World crossword puzzle she enjoyed working after Grace and Ted kissed her good night and disappeared into their bedrooms. She’d most likely taken a cookie or two up the stairs to enjoy with her tea, probably the rich, buttery shortbread she baked to perfection. The thought had made him smile: wise men did not interfere with Constance and her sweet tooth. In truth, wise men rarely interfered with Mrs. de la Noye at all. Her ethereal prettiness hid a steel trap of a mind, and those who underestimated her once never did so again.

He’d pictured her so very clearly: telephone receiver grasped loosely in one graceful hand, candlestick body of the phone raised close to her soft lips. He’d longed for home so badly then that it had nearly robbed him of breath. He’d ached to envelop his wife in his arms, to brush away the blond tendrils that always escaped the casual twist of her hair, to gently kiss her cheek.

Adrian? Constance’s voice had crackled through the wire.

He’d quickly submerged his yearning. It’s . . . unpleasant . . . here without you. It feels wrong.

You’ve been away on business before.

This is different.

Is it Newport, then?

He’d licked dry lips. It might be.

I see. There’d been silence as she absorbed his words, but it had been a comfortable silence. Constance never required excessive explanation. Adrian, listen to me. I don’t know the source of your unease, but I’ll swear to this: you’re a good man with a good heart. Nothing can change that unless you allow it. Just finish the task at hand and hurry back. I miss you.

He’d lost the line then, listened as Constance receded into a field of sputtering noise. But it had been enough to remind him of the man he meant to be.

Jim’s drawl brought him back to Bellevue Avenue and the midmorning sun. Can you imagine walking through that front door at the end of a hard day?

The chateauesque lines of Belcourt filled the passenger-side windowpane. Adrian remembered seeing that mansion go up back in the 1890s, listening to tongues wag over the eccentricity of its owner.

Actually, Mr. Reid, that’s the back of the place. The entrance is on Ledge Road, around the other side.

Jim let out a low whistle as his gaze took in the massive house. It’s obscene. Is Liriodendron like this?

I’ve never been. But I wouldn’t be surprised. Summer cottages built in Newport were meant to impress.

Summer cottages. Jim’s snort was understandable. One of these summer cottages could have housed his entire family—parents, siblings, nieces, and nephews included.

It’s a different world, is it not?

Jim slid him a sideways glance. But one with which you’re familiar.

Jim Reid had yet to recognize his own many gifts, one of which was an innate sense of observation. Adrian took great pleasure not only in this but in the young man’s ability to effortlessly gather clues and weave them into a fine tapestry of reason. Watching Jim’s mind work was almost worth his own slip into momentary transparency.

Yes, Adrian said simply. I spent some time in Newport in my youth. I had friends here.

Jim left a wide-open pause just perfect for filling. Adrian declined the invitation, guiding the town car into a smooth right turn instead. To their left, the ocean opened out in sparkling ripples of deep blue and white.

Jim turned to study the sea. I noticed you booked the hotel room for another night, he said. How long do you expect we’ll be in Newport, given the unforeseen complications?

Another gift: the young man knew when to change the subject.

I don’t know yet, Adrian replied. It’s hard to tell exactly how much of a complication Lady Dinwoodie will be once sober. And we’ve yet to meet brother, Nicky . . . also known as the ‘dull stick,’ I believe.

Do you think the old man is afflicted, as they claim? What’s he like?

The ‘old man,’ as you so succinctly put it, can be difficult. Still, he’s made more money for our law firm than half our other clients combined. Do you know much about him?

Some.

Bennett Chapman made a fortune in cotton textiles after the Civil War.

Gainfully?

Now that’s a question I’ve never asked. Breathe deeply, Mr. Reid. There are few sensations as cleansing as a lungful of fresh salt air.

Jim obliged, dissolving into a fit of coughing as his chest expanded beyond its usual habit. Adrian gave him a moment to fumble for his missing handkerchief, then passed over his own without a word.

Thanks. Jim made use of the neat silk square, crumpled it up, and shoved it into his pocket. Mr. Chapman must be rather up in years.

Eighty next month.

Hmm. Jim’s fingers tapped out an impromptu jazz rhythm on the dashboard of the automobile as he considered. Well, then, there’s a chance that Lady Dinwoodie is correct. What if the man’s truly not right in the head?

Then I suppose we won’t be drafting a new will after all.

Bennett Chapman might take his business elsewhere.

I know.

Could the firm absorb the loss?

Adrian hesitated. That would remain to be seen.

The younger man nodded, apparently satisfied with the answer.

Jim Reid had been slightly more than a toddler when they’d first met, but Adrian had recognized the boy’s sharp intelligence even then. He’d have funded the child’s education no matter what his ability, but it had taken no more than a few minutes of watching the boy scrutinize him from the safety of his father’s lap to realize that any money spent on the lad would be money well spent. Indeed, what had begun as a favor—compensation for a debt that Adrian had known he could never fully repay—had reaped so much more than expected. Years of shepherding Jim Reid through the halls of academia had provided Adrian with not only a law associate, but a friend.

Jim tugged at his too-short jacket sleeve in a futile attempt to cover his knobby wrist. It was well past time for a trip to a tailor. No man—especially one of Jim’s imposing height—could expect to find well-fitted perfection hanging ready-made on a rack at Filene’s. Adrian filed away a mental note to make arrangements with his own tailor once they returned to Boston.

This is the place, Jim said, staring through his spectacles at a circular driveway to their left.

A large white mansion sat planted at the apex of the drive, a northern paean to southern antebellum architecture. Adrian took in the graceful white columns that guided the eye from porch floorboards to ceiling, the well-manicured lawn with its early summer flowers in riotous bloom, and the expanse of ocean rolling behind the house in an endless carpet of motion. He’d never set foot in this house before, couldn’t even recall what had once occupied this prime ocean-view site. But that didn’t matter. The indulgent opulence of Liriodendron transported him back more than twenty years in time, back to a place where he’d never wanted to find himself again.

You’ve stopped in the middle of the road, Jim said.

Adrian thought of Constance, of the solid dining room table where he, Grace, and Ted enjoyed their breakfasts before departing each morning for the office and school. He thought of the soft quilts on their beds, the worn leather chair just waiting for him by the fireplace in his study. He had a place there, a family eagerly awaiting his return.

Just getting my bearings, Mr. Reid. Eyes steady on the horizon, Adrian gave the Pierce-Arrow’s steering wheel a firm spin to the left.

Newport hadn’t changed nearly enough.

Fortunately, he had.

CHAPTER

3

Catharine Walsh reached for her hairbrush, whacking her hand against a heavy glass bowl of rose petal potpourri on the way. Swallowing back a mild expletive, she flexed her fingers then grasped the handle. The rough tug of the bristles through her dark, bobbed curls felt good. At least it reflected action. The pervasive air of lethargy in the guest room left her cranky and on edge, and she knew from experience that neither state of mind allowed for clarity of thought.

She was staying in Liriodendron’s Flower Room, a bucolic guest bedroom so festooned with floral imagery that staring at the walls too long made her eyes water and her nose itch. She was not given to sentimentality, so the delicate blossoms everywhere oozed more romanticism than she cared to handle at one time. The room faced the sea, which should have offered nothing more than soft breezes and the gentle whisper of surf. Instead, voices floated through the open window—the same quarrelsome voices that had encouraged Catharine to feign a headache that morning instead of joining Bennett Chapman at the dining room table for breakfast. The Chapman heirs had arrived in a flurry of self-importance last night, the plastered Lady Dinwoodie relying upon her chauffeur to keep her upright, her older brother, Nicholas, striding stiffly through the front door nearly an hour later. Catharine had fled to her room before coming face-to-face with either. The meeting she dreaded was unavoidable, but she still had the right to put it off for as long as she could.

She drifted toward the bedroom window to take a peek. Just as she’d suspected, these two neither looked nor sounded better in the morning sun.

I can’t help it if I’ve a delicate constitution! Chloe Chapman Dinwoodie’s high-pitched voice made one ponder the relative benefits of deafness. Her white chiffon frock danced in the breeze as if searching for the adolescent girl it was meant to adorn. Catharine stifled a groan. Chloe was a few years older than her own forty-three. Why had no one told Lady Dinwoodie that clothing and affectations charming on a young woman of eighteen merely made her a frump at forty-five?

But meeting the indisposed Chloe was nowhere near as unnerving as the thought of dealing with her brother. Catharine hung back, determined to ignore the low rumble of Nicholas Chapman’s voice. Yet despite her will, she found herself edging closer to the window, drawn to him like Faustus to Mephistopheles.

You’re a drunk, Chloe, Nicholas was saying. There’s nothing delicate about that. I’d appreciate it if you could reform just long enough to assist me. Employ the same wits you use to circumvent Prohibition, and we can’t help but succeed.

Chloe sank down into a lawn chair, limp hand draped across her forehead. Oh, all right, Nicky. Tell me what you have in mind.

Catharine ducked behind the curtains as Nicholas spun toward the window, his narrowed eyes scanning the façade of the house. But his check was apparently habit, a perfunctory move provoked by a suspicious mind. As brusquely as he’d turned toward the

Reviews for Newport

[cherylk_44 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

As I have mentioned before I like this time period. So any time I come across a book set in this time period I am drawn to check it out. While I thought the author did a good job of describing the setting, I just was not as drawn to the characters a 100%. In fact, I did not engage in the story until about a third of the way in. Then I was intrigued by the story but the romance between Bennett and Catherine was more of convenience then it was of love. Yet again as I stated if you take away everything that I did not like you are left with a pretty good book. There was enough things I did like that I would read another book by this author.

[nicole_a_davis · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Not great, but a very enjoyable book. The blurb about bringing to life the glitzy jazz age of the 20s isn't quite true, though. The book was more thoughtful and meditative with small cast of characters who learn that they can never hide from their past.

[seeword · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I didn't get mush of a sense of place or time with this. It is set in Newport, Rhode Island during the 1920s but it could have been set in any wealthy enclave at any time. Secrets, seances, sinister siblings, and a few surprises. An OK read. Library book

[scenik1 · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

For Library Thing Early Reviewers:Ugh.It isn’t often that I really, completely dislike a book; but I’m afraid that is exactly what we have here. I thoroughly dislike NEWPORT by Jill Morrow.On the back of the book, NEWPORT promises to be “a portrait of a long-lost era, a sophisticated drama, and a gripping mystery.” It also describes itself as “vividly bringing to life the glitzy era of the 1920s… a skillful alchemy of social satire, dark humor, and finely drawn charters.” It delivers on exactly none of those things! The “wealthy families [that] flock to the glittering ‘summer cottages’” of Newport never show up. You’re stuck for the duration with one dysfunctional family and their hangers-on, and you never make it out of the garden! It is no portrait of any era, lost or not; “sophisticated” is the last word I would choose to describe it; and the mystery was boring and no mystery. NEWPORT does not bring the 1920s to life in any way, and to have promised to do so “vividly” sets the reader up for even greater disappointment. This was no social satire, skillfully wrought or otherwise. There was no humor. And the characters? Well, ugh. Not a compelling character to be found. It is a silly spiritualist romance drama without a single likable character.In 1921, Attorney Adrian de la Noye and his assistant, Jim, travel to Newport, Rhode Island to write a new will for his longtime client, the aging Bennett Chapman who is about to marry the much younger Catharine Walsh at the behest of his long dead first wife, Elizabeth. Naturally, his adult children think he has been bamboozled by this gold digger and her “niece”, the medium, Amy. The coincidences fall all over each other in this nonsensical waste of time, and no one seems able to make a sensible decision in response to any of the hokey prompts by Elizabeth’s ghost. I kept hoping the ruse would be revealed in some interesting, lively way; but, no, the ghost is a ghost, and the rest was just melodramatic dribble with its fill of raped maids, drunken playboys, bastard children and contested wills. It was a page turner all right; I was turning the pages as quickly as possible just to be done with it so I could write this review!

[bookmarque · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

The jacket copy for this is a bit misleading, Adrian isn’t out to discover or solve or investigate. Maybe it’s a mistake and the editor meant to say that Jim, Adrian’s junior lawyer, has to get to the bottom of things; that would make more sense. As it is, events happen to them and around them, but neither is directly responsible for a lot of them or information that comes to light. I’ve also seen this book characterized as glitzy or glamorous and it really isn’t. Other than the fact that it takes place in Newport, RI in a mansion and some of the characters come from ‘old money’ (not all, and boy is there ever a distinction with ‘new money’), there isn’t a lot of high-living going on here. In order for this book to work for you, you have to let go of something fairly obvious; that no one apart from one character is skeptical enough when it comes to Amy’s powers as a medium, and even he doesn’t take it as far as he should. The whole medium/ghost thing was really drawn out. Needlessly so and it was glaringly unrealistic. Especially in the wake of the whole Houdini/Conan-Doyle battle which would have been in recent memory. Overall it’s a fairly distinctive story told well, albeit at a slow pace with little to shock or awe. Most of the romantic couplings were overly fraught and kind of soppy and it was good that they didn’t take up even more of the story.Spoiler-sensitive types, should quit reading now. As soon as the Catherine of the 1898 time frame started talking about running out of time, I knew she was pregnant. The whole Newport charade was ill-timed and she pushed it so hard that it couldn’t have been anything else. When she threw herself at the loathsome Peter with such force it was obvious. And that Amy was the likely outcome although she didn’t realize she was C’s daughter, and not her niece, for a while yet. And then when Nicholas revealed that he’d been to the Delano house and even thought about courting Adrian’s sister Edith, the final piece fell into place; dad. And then the rest of the scheme tumbles and makes sense. Revenge. Vindication. Comeuppance. Sort of. As heartbreaking as it was for Adrian, C’s abandonment was a blessing. Sure, she could have pinned the kid on him and he’d have believed her, but Morrow made her do the right thing. Their marriage and its quick annulment don’t go far enough to explain Adrian’s complete estrangement from his family and that remains a mystery, but not an annoying one. Between that and his carousing in Europe, we can fill in the blanks, but it seems a name change would denote some reason that his family perpetrated, not him, so that seemed uneven. One small detail that I liked in terms of characterization was how Morrow didn’t change Chloe completely after she comes to believe her mother is speaking through Amy. She curbs her drinking for a while, but goes right back to it in a short time. I thought that rang pretty true. Whether she’s right to believe goes unanswered though. Is Amy truly channeling the dead? That remains ambiguous, but given the rest of the story and Amy’s own lies, I doubt it.

[2lz · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Many thanks to librarything.com for the advanced copy of Newport by Jill Morrow in exchange for my honest review.Despite a slow start, Newport was an excellent novel, one that I enjoyed very much. It captured my attention and engaged me throughout; I read a great deal and many of the books are just shades of the same story. Newport was not your typical novel; I appreciated its originality and creativity. Although Adrian and Jim reminded me of Sherlock Holmes and Watson, they had distinct personalities with their own interesting back story.Adrian and Jim have come to change the Will of their client Bennett Chapman, a wealthy curmudgeon due to marry a much younger woman, Catherine Walsh. Bennett's children despise his fiancé and question her intentions. However, their motives are suspect as well. The children claim that the Will should remain as is due to their father's lack of mental capacity to legally change it. Bennett claimed that his former wife was sending him messages during seances instructing him to marry this woman and to change his Will as soon as their marriage was official. Ms. Morrow skillfully crafted a well-developed, suspenseful story that was smart and unique. I highly recommend it.

[tututhefirst_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The publisher calls this "A skillful alchemy of social satire, dark humor, and finely drawn characters". It certainly fills that bill.Up front, Newport is one of my favorite cities. My husband and I met there, and subsequently spent several years living there. We returned there about a year ago for a short reunion trip after an absence of almost 20 years. It's still glittering, glamorous, and filled with sights, sounds and smells of the ocean, although now one drives across a huge bridge rather than riding the ferry across to Aquidneck Island as we well remember.Jill Morrow captures that atmosphere using the clever scheme of alternating views from 1898 and the roaring 1920's. Her main characters, adults who come together to observe a rather unorthodox wedding/will signing, find themselves immersed in contact with other-worldly characters from the past.In short, the wedding to be celebrated is one that has been directed by the octogenarian groom-to-be's long-deceased first wife, who appears to the prospective bride's "niece" commanding that this wedding must take place forthwith, and that a new will must be signed immediately, leaving all the groom's sizeable estate to the new bride. Since this essentially cuts the two adult children of the first marriage out of the inheritance, there is some family tension being generated by the interloping new bride.To add even more mystery, the groom's attorney, who has journeyed from Boston to draw up the new will, appears to have been previously involved somehow with the potential bride. There's lots of mystery, several seances, plenty of period fluff scenes of stereotypical rich folks enjoying their inheritances, and spending their considerable wealth on frivolity and ostentatious "summer cottages".It's a well-drawn period piece. The setting is spot-on, but the characters are a bit over the top for my taste, and the story is way too melodramatic. That said, it's been a wonderful summertime read, and one that should be quite popular to readers of romance/historical fiction.

[ltcl_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

1921- An attorney and his assistant are summoned to the elegant and elite Newport to rewrite a will and get the legal house in order for a wedding. The problem is that the wedding is between the patriarch of an old money family and a much younger woman of no means. That would be enough for a juicy story but the potential bride to be has been commanded to wed by his dead wife who communicates everything through the young bride's niece during seances. Sound fishy? Of course Bennett Chapman's two kids from the first marriage don't want the wedding and will changed leaving them with nothing, but it is up to the attorneys to determine Mr. Bennett's sanity. Is it possible that Amy is really channeling the former Mrs. Bennett and this is on the level? The story feels like Gatsby meets Miss Marple and they play an afternoon of Clue. There are enough plot twists and turns to keep you engaged to the last page as well as an interesting take on the interest in the occult during that time and the con artists who played upon the old and their money. Mrs. Plum in the library with a candlestick?

[mchwest · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I really did enjoy this book, the mystery kept me going and the end blew me away. I'm not one to give away any details, I so enjoyed the gifts at the end of the book explaining the Four Hundred, but really would have loved to read more about the mansions and the parties of those days. I will anticipate more to read fro this author!

[gingersnap000 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

"What a tangle web we weave once we practice to deceive." Newport is an historic fiction which explores various deceptions the Chapman family faces during a changing of a will. Bennett Chapman wishes to marry Catharine Walsh, a much younger woman, but his two adult children wish that he be found insane. Bennett is thought to be insane because his late wife has informed him from beyond to marry Miss Walsh. Is Miss Walsh a gold digger, is Elizabeth Chapman's spirit truly communicated through Amy Walsh, the niece of the bride to be and what does Mr. Chapman's lawyer Adrian de la Noye know about the bride's family?This books will keep you guessing through the story and perhaps beyond the pages. I read this book in two days because the suspense of finding the real reason Elizabeth Chapman wanted her husband to marry Miss Walsh. Unfortunately, I did not solve the mystery correct but perhaps you can.

[fictionzeal · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

It’s a common thread – old man decides to marry a young woman and grown children begin to worry over their place in old man’s will. However, this time the story is told with a historical vibe. Attorney Adrian De la Noye is the attorney for Bennett Chapman. After the grown children claim their father has lost his mental capacity to make changes in his will, Adrian must make that determination for himself. The problem? Bennett has been claiming that his late wife, Elizabeth, told him to marry young Catherine Walsh. It seems Catherine’s niece, Amy Walsh, is a medium and they’ve contacted Elizabeth in a séance. In fact, she was not only adamant that he marry Catherine, but that do so very quickly. Jim Reid was Adrian’s associate. He became attracted to Amy. They both begin to sense that Adrian and Catherine already know each other.When I began reading, the time period was Spring 1921. This information was obtained from the back of the book cover and not from the opening paragraphs of the novel. Chapter nine takes us back to February 1898 where the reader begins to learn Adrian and Catherine’s past. I loved the character of Jim. He was a true gentleman and very kindly. There are a few twists in this story and I enjoyed the interplay between the characters who each seemed to have their own secret. The blurb promises “the dazzling, glamorous world of Newport during the Roaring Twenties.” Although I enjoyed the story, I just need to say I didn’t get a “Roaring Twenties” feel from it. Rating: 4 out of 5.

[whitreidtan · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Anyone who has been to Newport, Rhode Island has seen the opulent magnificence of the summer homes there. But even the staggering wealth of the inhabitants could not shield them from death, not from natural causes or those resulting from the Great War or the Influenza pandemic of 1918. With so many people in the country reeling from the loss of loved ones, spiritualism, contacting the dead from beyond the grave, gained wide-spread acceptance. Some of the mediums were charlatans preying on a grieving population while others might have been sincere in their desire to help the living. Jill Morrow's intriguing novel, Newport, is grounded very much in this decadent Roaring Twenties milieu of riches, loss, skepticism, and the spirit world and its adherents. Adrian De la Noye is a lawyer with wealthy clients. He and his young, impressionable associate, Jim Reid, are headed to Newport to revise the will of one of the wealthiest, Bennett Chapman, in advance of his upcoming second marriage. But Chapman's rather unpleasant grown children, Nicholas and Chloe, are convinced he's being scammed and want to prevent their future stepmother from getting her hands on their father's fortune. When Adrian discovers that the prospective bride is Catherine Walsh, a woman he once knew with whom he shares a long past history, and that Chapman is certain that his late wife, speaking through Catherine's niece Amy, a medium, has chosen her as Bennett's next wife, he must get to the bottom of the potentially delicate situation and determine whether Chapman is being taken for a ride or whether Catherine and Amy are above board. As Adrian and Jim participate in the séances to call the late Mrs. Chapman, they are each in turn convinced that Amy Walsh is in fact a legitimate medium and that the truths she exposes do come from the beyond becoming as ensnared in the slowly tightening web as anyone. Morrow does a good job twisting and turning her plot, keeping the reader guessing almost as much as her characters. The eventual revelations and unwinding of the mystery behind Catherine and Amy unmasks the time's terrible disparity between classes, the ease of privilege and the helplessness of the underclass, and the idea of restitution and right. Although this is not a traditional ghost story, the thread of the supernatural weaves throughout the entire story, alternately laced with both skepticism and legitimacy, echoing the way manifestations of the spirit world were viewed at the time. The character of Catherine was very contained but Morrow added just enough of her emotions to allow the reader to question of her motives, flip-flopping between believing that she was an opportunist and that she was honest many times as the tale unwound. Adrian as a character also keeps his cards very close to his chest, not revealing all of his knowledge at one time, patiently waiting to see how much he will be required to expose. The story starts off seeming to head in one way but as the tension rises and the second storyline is added, it heads in a completely different direction. A quick and spell-binding read, the novel offers readers both romance and suspense in its fascinating historical setting.