Bloody Lessons: A Victorian San Francisco Mystery

by Locke, M. Louisa

  Stung by his anger, she said bitterly, “I thought I knew her. But I guess I was wrong. She changed completely, her goals, her values, everything. I thought I was her closest friend, but maybe I was wrong about that as well since she didn’t even tell me about Russell or the threats, much less that…” Laura stopped. She would not reveal Hattie’s final secret, no matter how angry and betrayed she felt.

  Seth abruptly stood up and said, “Don’t be such a child, Laura. Seems she was right not to tell you, given the way you’ve reacted. Seems all you cared about is your future, your plans, not her happiness. Hattie Wilks was a wonderful, caring woman, and she was always a good friend to you.”

  If he said anything else, Laura didn’t hear it as she buried her face in her hands, sobbing. She felt a fleeting pressure on her shoulder, but she just turned away, whispering, “Please go,” and in a moment, she felt rather than saw him leave her side. Eventually, she became conscious that Dandy, who’d jumped up beside her, was digging frantically at her arms, trying to reach her face.

  “Dandy, no, leave her be.” Annie’s soft voice accompanied the removal of the dog’s sharp nails.

  Laura, still hiding her head in her arms, whispered, “Is he gone?”

  “Yes, my dear.” Annie stroked her hair.

  Laura looked up. The night air chilled her hot, wet cheeks.

  Annie handed her a handkerchief and said, “Mr. Timmons came running into the kitchen and said he’d lost his temper and that you were crying. He was quite upset. Wringing his poor hat in his hands. I tried to get him to stay in the kitchen, but he mumbled something about you asking him to leave, and he practically ran out the back gate.”

  Seth’s words reverberating in her head, Laura confronted the reality she had been trying to deny for the past month. She had been a miserable friend to Hattie: selfish, jealous, petty. That last Saturday in Hattie’s room, instead of supporting her friend, telling her how happy she was for her, all she’d done was whine. No wonder Hattie hadn’t confided her troubles to her. Seth was right. She was nothing but a spoiled child, and she didn’t deserve Hattie’s friendship or his respect.

  Annie broke into those thoughts. “Laura, dear. Tell me what happened; I am sure it isn’t as bad as it seems right now.”

  Laura shook her head, not trusting her own voice.

  Then Dandy, who’d been wriggling in Annie’s arms, lunged over to Laura’s lap, put his paws on her chest, and triumphantly began to clean her tears with rapid, delicate licks of his tongue. Laura didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so she threw herself into Annie’s arms and did both.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Wednesday afternoon, February 11, 1880

  "A primary teacher has extra expenses that a servant has not, such as car-fare (to many), $3 per month; extra clothing, to appear well-clad in and out doors, $5 per month; total $8; which, taken from the $46.50, leaves $38.50, which is $13 less than a good girl in the house gets." ––San Francisco Chronicle, 1879

  Annie put down her pen, finished recording the grades from the quiz she had given today in her last bookkeeping class. While she’d only substituted for Hoffmann four times, the students still clapped for her when she said her farewells. She now understood why people dedicated their lives to the teaching profession. Nothing had prepared her for the boost of energy she felt each time students excitedly thrust their hands into the air when she asked a question or laughed when she came up with an example that amused them. Then there was the gratification when the students’ faces lit up once they finally grasped a concept that had eluded them.

  “Mrs. Fuller, may I come in?” Thomas Hoffmann stood at the open door to the office.

  “Of course you may. It’s your office after all. Do sit down, although I feel I should get up and switch sides of the desk, a sort of a changing of the guard,” Annie said.

  “No, no. Swett will return on Friday. That’s when I will come happily back to my domain among the file cabinets.” Hoffmann sat down across from her. “I hear such good reports from the students about your lectures that I am afraid they will be sorely disappointed in my return.”

  Annie smiled and put the quizzes and her records in a folder, which she handed to Hoffmann. “I was just thinking how much I enjoyed the class. Here are the last assignments and my grades. Feel free to call on me in the future if you need a substitute. If I am not otherwise engaged, I would be very glad to help out. However, I do have a few follow up questions I would like to ask before I go.”

  “Certainly. I hope you feel you have made some progress.” Hoffmann leaned forward and fiddled with the folder she’d given him. “I am glad to have the chance to speak with you. I wanted to mention something that rather disturbed me. Andrew Russell, the vice principal at Clement Grammar, stopped by to see me after class on Monday. He was agitated because he said one of Clement’s teachers, a Miss Dawson, indicated there were anonymous notes directed at teachers floating around the district.”

  “Oh my. Did he say why he wanted to know about them?” Annie asked.

  “Russell was vague. He made it sound like he was just curious. I passed it off as inconsequential and made some joke about the dangers of teaching in an all-female school. I assume that the teacher who told him must be some relation to Nate Dawson, the lawyer who is representing Emory.”

  “Yes, she is his sister. I am glad you didn’t confirm the story. The fewer people who know, the better.”

  “I figured as much, and I didn’t want to say anything that might compromise you and your investigation. I did wonder if maybe he, or someone he knew, was on the receiving end of similar letters and that is why he asked.”

  “That’s possible. Let me ask Mr. Dawson what he thinks we should do.” Annie mentally chastised Laura for having said anything to Russell. Thank goodness he didn’t mention Hattie’s name to Hoffmann.

  “But you said you had some questions. I do want to help,” Hoffmann said.

  “Certainly. I wondered if you could tell me a little bit more about Mr. Frazier, the other applicant you interviewed for Mrs. Anderson’s position. Anything that would give me an idea if he could have been angry enough about not getting the job to write a letter.”

  Hoffmann leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. “Well…he was very personable, but it was my impression that he was looking for a full-time position, so I assumed he might not take the job if I did offer it to him. He did have very good credentials, but I could see Miss Thorndike’s point that his lack of theater experience would be a problem, given that a third of the classes we are offering in the arts are drama-related and…”

  “Miss Thorndike pointed that out?” Annie interrupted him. “That’s odd. She implied this was your objection to him and that she felt he was the better person for the job.”

  Hoffmann looked startled. “Are you sure you heard her correctly? In fact, I remember she suggested that the girls’ parents might be uncomfortable with a man in charge of the drama club.”

  Annie, wondering if this inconsistency meant she couldn’t trust Della’s other pronouncements, decided to see if her suggestion that Hoffmann was interested in Kitty Blaine held any truth. She said, “Miss Thorndike does seem particularly concerned about the issue of propriety regarding male professors and female students. Perhaps that is what she meant when she discussed Frazier with me. Have you had any problems with parental concern over your sponsorship of the science club?”

  Hoffmann chuckled. “Beyond the fact that a couple of the parents can’t understand why their daughters would have any use for this subject? I do send a letter home to the parents at the start of every year detailing the benefits of each of the clubs to young women who plan to go on to teach, which is what I found works best at quieting their fears. I don’t mention that both the science club and the Greek study group are important for those girls wishing to attend the California University.”

  Thinking about Nate’s lack of enthusiasm for his sister’s plan to pursue a law
degree, Annie asked, “Are there many girls who are interested in going on to the University? Miss Thorndike mentioned that one of her Normal class students, Kitty Blaine, was planning on doing so.” Annie watched Hoffmann’s face carefully, looking for any sign that he might find her line of questioning uncomfortable.

  “Oh, I expect she might be interested in going on. She is definitely bright enough but awfully shy. She doesn’t say much inside or outside of class, and she certainly hasn’t confided in me what her future plans are or if her mother or father have any difficulty with her extra-curricular activities.”

  “So her parents haven’t contacted you?” Annie asked, noting that he didn’t seem aware that Kitty Blaine’s mother was deceased.

  “Heavens no. She did stop attending the science club this winter, but I think I remember her saying something about it interfering with her practice teaching. I’m not really sure I even know which school she was assigned to, but Miss Thorndike would, and I believe that Miss Blaine is still attending Russell’s Greek and Latin study group.”

  Hoffmann frowned, and he said, his voice sharpening, “Has there been a complaint against me from Kitty Blaine, or any other student, beyond the vague intimation of impropriety in the letter the school board received?”

  Annie shook her head and said, “No, Mr. Hoffmann. I didn’t mean to give that impression. It just occurred to me that it would be fairly difficult to accuse any of the Girls’ High teachers of wrong-doing within the classrooms themselves––too many witnesses––but that after school activities would be more likely to lead to gossip.”

  He appeared to relax and said, “That makes sense. It is one of the reasons I have the science club meet in the lab and keep the doors open. Of course, this upsets Mrs. Washburn, who thinks I am doing it on purpose to make it difficult for her to clean the room.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Washburn didn’t seem too fond of any of the extra-curricular activities when I spoke to her,” Annie said.

  Hoffmann smiled. “No, not at all. And I did mean to mention to you the wrangle she and Mrs. Anderson got into over Mrs. Washburn ‘tidying-up’ some of the student art projects. I suspect she resents the fact that her brother, who I believe works at Clement, gets paid more for keeping up a slightly smaller building. I can’t blame her. One of the unfair aspects of a pay scale that differs for men and women.”

  Annie nodded, for the first time feeling some real sympathy for the janitoress. But the familial connection between Washburn and the Clement janitor was worth pursuing to see if Ferguson had political ties. Maybe Nate’s client, Mr. Emory, would know.

  Later, as she started on the short walk to Clement Grammar, she admitted to herself that, except for discovering she rather liked teaching, she wasn’t sure her two weeks at Girls’ High had revealed much of importance, certainly nothing that led to the discovery of the letter writer. Beyond a number of vague suspicions, there was nothing concrete. Some private investigator I turned out to be. It was interesting that Della Thorndike was proving an unreliable source of information regarding Hoffmann. Annie wondered if this had any connection to her friendship with Russell and the possibility the letters were designed to remove Hoffmann as an obstacle to Russell’s career path. She really wished Laura hadn’t said anything to Russell. If there were any chance at all that Russell was involved in the anonymous letter-writing campaign, this could put Laura in danger. The image of Hattie, broken and bleeding on the floor, came unbidden to her mind.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Wednesday afternoon, February 11, 1880

  "The progress of art education in this country is readily seen in the improved styles of Christmas, Easter and Valentine cards." ––San Francisco Chronicle, 1881

  There was a thump outside in the school hallway, and Laura looked up nervously from her desk where she was carefully pasting four small red hearts onto the front of a card. Yesterday evening when Barbara mentioned that the literature club wasn’t meeting today, Laura told her that she and Jamie should go on home without her since Annie would be stopping by to accompany her after work. She’d expected to spend the time finishing up the valentines with Kitty. The plan had been to complete the decorating today, so all they would have to do before Friday was copy over the little poems that Kitty had been working on for each girl and boy. However, Kitty hadn’t shown up at Clement this afternoon so Laura was all alone in her classroom. Consequently, as the school emptied of students and then other teachers, she felt more and more uneasy.

  The westward setting sun was still bright against the houses across the street, but this left the classroom in deepening shadow, and Laura debated about turning up the gaslights. She assumed that Mr. Ferguson was still cleaning somewhere in the building. He had probably been the one to produce the thump. Given the suspicions she had been entertaining about the janitor and the defaced book of poems, this wasn’t a pleasing thought at all.

  Laura checked her watch again. It would be an hour before Annie was due to arrive. She now wished she’d gone home with Barbara and Jamie. She realized that since the attack on her in the alley, she had never been completely alone, except when she was in her own room. Even then, she had the comfort of knowing that there were numerous other people in the boarding house, just a shout away. She was now reminded unhappily of the months working in the one-room schoolhouse, dreading the afternoons she would have to walk by herself to whichever home she was currently boarding at, dreading the appearance of Buck at the schoolroom door. Another thump, this time next door, made her jump. What if Buck had found out where she lived and where she worked? What if he had left the book in her mail box? Attacked her in the alley? Furious at her for rejecting him. Furious at the humiliation of being beaten up by Seth.

  And would Seth even bother to track Buck down? She hadn’t heard from him since Sunday, and she probably never would. Everyone had been extraordinarily kind, not asking questions about what had gone on in the back yard, why he’d left so precipitously. Barbara did mention the next morning that, in her experience, former Civil War soldiers like Seth, who’d never settled down and who couldn’t control their tempers, should be avoided at all costs.

  Yet, no matter how Laura thought about what happened, she couldn’t bring herself to blame Seth. She’d written and torn up letter after letter trying to explain, trying to justify, and finally trying to apologize to him. Seth, while obviously in love with Hattie, had still been able to put his personal feelings aside and wish her the best in her engagement to Russell. Why hadn’t Laura been able to do the same? She’d pretended to be pleased when Hattie asked her to be maid of honor, but Hattie would have seen right through her. It was Hattie she really needed to apologize to, and she would never get that chance.

  Laura got up, opened her door, and looked down the hallway. All the rooms were dark but her own. She turned the key that increased the gas output in the overhead chandelier, brightening the room considerably, and returned to her desk. Since it was only four in the afternoon and Annie might not be here for another hour, she should be able to get all the cards decorated if she just concentrated. Picking up the valentine she was working on, she used the black pen to draw four lines from the red hearts to come together at the hand of a small child, turning them into four heart-shaped balloons. This made her smile. Kitty would like this. Working on this project was bringing her closer to the younger woman, and Kitty’s absence today worried her. She must be quite ill not to have even sent a note.

  Della Thorndike, who’d stopped by right after classes to tell her that Kitty was missing from her Normal classes this morning, snidely commented that she’d never missed a day of class during her entire teaching career. Laura expressed the hope that this meant Miss Thorndike had the good fortune of excellent health, rather than the willingness to expose her students to illness in order to come to work. Della had smiled icily, stating that she was indeed fortunate to come from good Anglo-Saxon stock. She then swept away, no doubt to console her dear friend, Vice-principal Russell. Lau
ra wasn’t sure whether the remark about her heritage was directed at Kitty Blaine, with her Irish beauty, or Laura’s own Shawnee ancestor. In either case, it cemented Laura’s feeling that Della Thorndike wasn’t nearly as nice as she’d appeared at first.

  A noise from the hallway again startled her, and when she looked up, there stood Kitty Blaine, hesitating in the doorway.

  “Oh, Miss Dawson, I am so glad you are still here. I…I didn’t want you to think I was abandoning you. I…” Kitty’s voice faltered.

  Laura got up and ran to her, shocked at the young woman’s appearance. She was hatless, her hair was windblown, and she didn’t appear to have a coat with her. Her cheeks were bright red, and when Laura took her bare hands into her own, she found them freezing.

  “Kitty, good heavens, where’s your coat and gloves? You’ve never come out without them, not on a cold day like today, not even in a carriage.”

  Kitty shook her head and whispered, “I walked. I sneaked out of the house. I just had to see you. Oh Miss Dawson, my father…my father has pulled me from school. My life is ruined.”

  Seeing that the poor girl was barely holding back tears, Laura drew her into the classroom, shut the door, and sat her down on a student desk in the back row. She went and got her own cloak, putting it around Kitty’s shoulders. Sitting down next to her, she took up the girl’s hands again to rub some warmth into them. “Now, tell me exactly what has happened,” she said.

  What poured forth was a jumbled and tearful story of an anonymous letter that Kitty’s father had received the previous evening, his towering anger and bewildering questions about her relationship to the vice-principal of Girls’ High, and her fear he was going to marry her off to someone she called “that ghastly Patterson boy.”

  Just as Laura was about to ask Kitty for details on the letter, which seemed to have started everything, they both jerked around at the sound of a knock at the classroom door. The door swung open into the hallway, and there stood Annie. Laura had never been so relieved to see anyone in her entire life.