Uneasy Spirits: A Victorian San Francisco Mystery (26 page)

What am I thinking? I know just what it is like. Spouting out nonsense about the heart line and Mercury to convince a sweet woman she is too ill to travel, or telling a merchant he should invest in timber shares because he was born under the sign of the lion. Am I really any better than she is?

Annie pushed this thought away, leaned over to Simon on her right, and whispered, “Am I going to be able to have a session with Evie May tonight?”

Simon leaned close to her ear and replied, “No, I am sorry, the girl is indisposed. Communing with the afterworld can be a difficult enterprise.”

As he pulled away, Annie realized he had been so close to her that his beard had touched her cheek, leaving her with a terrible itchy feeling, which she couldn’t scratch without letting go of the hands of the men on either side of her.
Bother! Thank goodness Nate is clean shaven
, she thought, shaking her head gently to dispel the feeling. Annie’s husband had sported the usual mustache and beard, even some ridiculous straggly sideburns. As their marriage disintegrated, she had begun to loath the feel of a man’s hair on her face.

A sudden shriek from the other end of the table distracted Annie from that distasteful memory. She peered into the dim light to determine the source, which seemed to be Isobel Larkson, who was still uttering little squeals of distress. Arabella, just a vague white blur, was speaking in an odd whine, her words at first incomprehensible to Annie. Then she began to make some sense of what was being said, over and over.

“
Izzie girl. Don’t you leave me. Izzie girl, you promised. Don’t leave, not tonight. Izzie, a promise is a promise. Don’t you leave, not tonight, not ever. Izzie girl.”

The light in the room brightened.
How did they do that?
Annie could see that Mrs. Larkson had broken away from Mr. Ruckner on her right and had buried her head in her cousin Jack’s shoulder. He appeared to be trying to calm her down, but Annie, thinking about his private meeting with Arabella on Wednesday, couldn’t help but believe this little scene was all his doing.
What he’s getting at?
She also wondered about the identity of the spirit who was speaking. Obviously it was someone from Mrs. Larkson’s past, someone who had passed on, someone whom she had disappointed. Who better to know her secrets than her childhood friend and relative, Jack Sweeter?
I wonder if she is clever enough to figure that out?

Annie heard Mrs. Larkson say, “Jack, I don’t want to stay. Please, let’s go.”

“
Isobel, my dear,” he replied. “We must stay. Don’t you see? If you go now you may anger her even more. Listen, she’s gone for now. Be a good girl, take Mr. Ruckner’s hand and just see what happens next. After all, if we leave this instant, we will be unfashionably early for the Reingolds’ party.”

Arabella suddenly switched to a new voice, this one that of a young child, who was crying out, “Nurse, Nurse, please help me. Nurse, Nurse, I am thirsty, why don’t you answer? Mama said she would come, but she hasn’t. I’m hot.”

Not unexpectedly, Miss Herron sang out, “It’s Vincent. Vincent, I am here. Don’t you worry. I will get your mother for you. She will come next time; I am sure. Please don’t be frightened. You are in a special place, where your heavenly father and mother will take care of you.”

Annie felt ill. Miss Herron sounded sincere. Nevertheless, she was trying to drag another poor bereaved mother into the Framptons’ net. Annie wondered if Miss Herron had replaced the nurse who had lured Sukie to the Framptons, or if they had several nurses working for them at the same time. They had to be stopped, at all costs. If only Nate could convince Pierce this was a story worth telling. He was supposed to have met with the reporter earlier today; maybe he would have good news. When Nate had left the boarding house last night, she had meant to ask if he was planning on coming by the Framptons’ tonight, to escort Kathleen and her home from the séance. For some reason, when he had kissed her, the question had slipped her mind. He had been so considerate, asking permission, and the kiss had been so gentle. John had never been gentle, ever.

“
Mrs. Fuller, are you all right? Your father’s spirit is calling.” Simon’s voice in her ear brought her back to the present.

The light once again had dimmed, and the piano had shifted to a soft hymn. Annie realized that the same male voice Arabella had used on Monday was again addressing her. She had to force herself to treat the supposed spirit of her father seriously. The accent was not bad for a typical New Yorker, but her father had never been typical of anything. He had also never treated her like an imbecile; instead, he had instructed her in the intricacies of the financial world, trusting her to make her own investments by the time she was sixteen.
Yet at the end, he didn’t trust me with his fortune. Left it all in John’s hands as my trustee.

Wishing to end these painful thoughts, Annie broke into Arabella’s monologue. “Father, you are confusing me. Can’t you just write down what my investments should be, with spirit slate writing? That would be ever so easier.” Nate had suggested this plan to her last night. If they could get the Framptons to commit to writing down the investments they were recommending, and it turned out that they had a financial stake in those companies, this evidence would be so much more incriminating than just oral testimony. Beside her, Simon stiffened, and Arabella chose to respond by going into one of her moaning spells again. Annie thought she had better show some distress at the abrupt ending of her conversation with her father, so she uttered a few disjointed phrases asking him to please come back and not be angry. Then she let her head drop, as if in great disappointment.

Just as she began to wonder if this was the end of the evening’s entertainment, Arabella began to breathe heavily, and an eerie bluish light began to illuminate her face. This was a brand new effect, and Annie was impressed. She hoped that if she and Nate were able to explore the house Sunday night, they might at least unravel the mystery of the lights and sound. Perhaps the former medium, Flora Hunt, who had agreed to meet with Annie tomorrow, would have some ideas. If Annie remembered correctly, the one time she had seen Mrs. Hunt on stage back in New York, she had seemed to be bathed in a very similar glow.

“
Harold, Harold, this here’s Buddy speaking. Do ya hear me, you little good-for-nothing?” Arabella’s voice had taken on a rough masculine quality, infused with anger.

“
Harold, why aren’t you answering? Speak when you’re spoken to, got to be polite. That’s all you were good for, mister manners.”

“
What do you want?” Harold Hapgood’s voice slid up to a higher register.

“
What do I want? It’s what Pa wants. He wants to know why you did it? You got everything. All you had to do was do your duty. That’s all. You can go to the devil for all I care.”

Annie looked to see how Mr. Hapgood was reacting, again wondering why he would keep attending the séance if all he ever got was abuse, last week from his father, now from a brother? However, it was hard to read Hapgood’s expression since he leaned as far away from Arabella as he could, putting his face in shadow.

“
I tried, I really tried. Nothing I could do was enough. You were her favorite, you’re the one broke her heart.”

Annie heard a loud crash, and the curtains billowed out into the room, accompanied by a blast of cold air on her face. She noticed that a chair in the corner of the room now lay on its side.

“
You worm,” Arabella’s voice thundered. “You can’t blame me for your failures. You’d better hope she didn’t hear you. She will make your life a living hell.”

Harold Hapgood slumped in his chair, in what looked to Annie like a dead faint.

“
Perfect German Cook wants a situation in a first-class family; no washing.”
—
San Francisco Chronicle
, 1879

The day had flown by as if it had wings, and Kathleen leaned her head on the back of the chair in the Framptons’ front hall, sighing contentedly. Tilly, Biddy’s cousin, had shown up first thing this morning, her cheeks pink, her hair a mass of black corkscrew curls, and her mouth filled with the soft sounds of Gaelic, which reminded Kathleen so much of her own mother’s voice. While teaching Tilly meant every task took twice as long, it had been ever so much fun to be working with someone. Making the beds, dusting the parlor, beating the rugs, washing the dishes, every task had felt more like a game, borne along by Tilly’s shy giggle.

The Framptons’ front doorbell pealed again, and Kathleen turned to see who was coming. The double doors to the séance room were still open, and Kathleen could see that the judge, the banker, the two old ladies, and that sorrowful looking storeowner, Hapgood, were already gathered. Oddly, neither Mr. Frampton nor Mrs. Frampton had made an appearance yet, and Albert had been busy shuttling between the drinks table in the séance room and the front door.

Here he was, bowing slightly and almost grabbing the top hat and cane from that handsome Mr. Sweeter, who had just come in with Mrs. Larkson. Tonight Mrs. Larkson was wearing a luscious, fur-trimmed pelisse. When she took it off, Kathleen saw that she was in a dark-green silk evening dress, with a low-cut neckline and a long train of light-green brocaded satin. Kathleen whistled silently, thinking,
What a get-up, must have cost a fortune! Dressed like that, they must be going to some shindig after. Sweeter sure looks the part of a gentleman in his fancy dress. Wonder if the lady’s husband is meeting them later?

Kathleen thought about the little changes her mistress had been making to her good navy and her best black silk to hide the fact that she only had two fashionable dresses to choose from for evening wear. The men at the séance wouldn’t notice; Mr. Dawson, heaven knows, wouldn’t care if Mrs. Fuller was wearing a sack, he was that besotted. Kathleen would bet that Mrs. Frampton and Mrs. Larkson had observed that the supposedly well-to-do Mrs. Fuller was recirculating the same two gowns. Maybe they would just take this as confirmation of the story her mistress had told Mr. Frampton, that she needed to speak to her father because her income wasn’t enough to make ends meet.

Arabella Frampton came down the stairs and waited until Mr. Sweeter and Mrs. Larkson had moved into the parlor, then came and put her hand on the butler’s arm.

“
Albert, please tell our guests that the start of the circle will be slightly delayed. Then, after everyone’s drinks have been taken care of, you are needed in the kitchen. Oh, and please close the door to the hallway when you go in; I believe everyone is assembled.”

While Mrs. Frampton was dressed, as usual, in an elegant silk gown, this one a dark lilac that somehow managed to complement not clash with her bright auburn hair, she didn’t look quite as collected as usual. A strand of hair was slipping loose from the spray of flowers that held up the curls at the top of her head, as if she had been interrupted in the midst of getting dressed.

Albert nodded and went into the séance parlor, closing the doors behind him. Mrs. Frampton then climbed the stairs and was soon out of sight, although Kathleen thought she heard voices in the upstairs hall. A few moments later, Simon Frampton came down the stairs, accompanied by Mrs. Nickerson, who was clinging to his arm and whispering urgently. Kathleen was amused to see Mr. Frampton replace a sour expression with a fixed smile when he noticed Kathleen sitting on the chair by the front door.

Once he made it to the first floor, a task made more difficult by Mrs. Nickerson’s attempt to lean her head on his shoulder, he said, “Mrs. Nickerson, please, I must leave you now. I have a room full of anxious men and women waiting for me. But here is Mrs. Fuller’s maid, Miss Kathleen, I believe her name is, and I am sure she will be so good as to escort you to the kitchen. You wouldn’t mind helping us out in this fashion, would you, Miss Kathleen? Mrs. Nickerson is indisposed, and I do believe a nice cup of hot tea is very much in order.”

Kathleen had risen as soon as Mr. Frampton had addressed her, and she gave a little curtsy in acknowledgement. She was thrilled to be given license to go on to the back of the house and finally see the kitchen. She would also get a chance to find out what had upset Evie May’s mother so. She moved forward and let Mr. Frampton ruthlessly transfer a now weeping Mrs. Nickerson from his arm to her own. He then opened the doors to the parlor and disappeared.

“
Now Ma’am, let’s get you that cup of tea, and maybe one of Cook’s pastries,” Kathleen cajoled. When Mrs. Nickerson ignored her and turned to follow Mr. Frampton, Kathleen held onto to her and said sharply, “Mrs. Nickerson, you don’t want to be going there, not at leastways until you have had a chance to refresh yourself. Tears can age a woman so.”

That got her attention,
Kathleen thought, beginning to herd the older woman down the hallway.

“
Oh, dear me, I hadn’t thought . . . I just was so upset. I must look a fright. I do believe a cup of tea . . . a cool cloth to my eyes . . . Simon has his work to do; I realize that. What must he think of me? Such a gentleman.”

“
That’s all right,” Kathleen said, patting Mrs. Nickerson on the shoulder.

Then she pushed through the door to the short, narrow back hallway, where the wood floor and wainscoting of the front hallway were replaced by dark, scuffed oilcloth and dingy plaster. Straight ahead she could see the kitchen, well lighted by kerosene lamps, and the German cook standing over a breadboard next to the sink, vigorously kneading. Kathleen pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and urged Mrs. Nickerson to sit.