Deadly Proof: A Victorian San Francisco Mystery

by Locke, M. Louisa

Beatrice bustled around, taking down the old brown kitchen teapot and spooning two large heaps of the imported China tea leaves into it. Then she poured in hot water from the kettle that stood at a boil on the back of the stove. While the tea steeped, Annie and Laura told them what little they knew so far about Rashers’ murder and the odd discovery that Seth Timmons was a primary witness.

  Meanwhile, Laura concluded her tale by saying, “It isn’t just the coincidence of Seth being involved that is so unexpected––it’s that he is working for a printer, just as I am. Although, I gather from what Nate said, he is operating a press rather than typesetting.”

  Annie asked, “He never mentioned having any printing experience?”

  “I don’t think so. But during all those buggy rides we took last fall back in Cupertino, I don’t believe he ever said more than one or two sentences at a time—and never anything personal. I knew he was a former union soldier, that he’d run cattle in Texas, and, of course, that he was working to get his teaching certificate, but nothing about him working for a newspaper or anything. Then again, I don’t think I ever mentioned working at the San Jose Mercury, either. Mostly I talked about my students and how frustrated I was with teaching in a one-room school.”

  Annie watched Laura closely. She thought that Nate’s sister had stronger feelings for Seth than she would admit––even to herself. Not surprising, after the heroic role he’d played in the events of last winter. However, as far as Annie knew, Laura hadn’t seen him since he walked her home once from school at the end of last February.

  Kathleen, who had finished washing the pots and pans, came over to the table, drying her hands, and said, “Mebbe it’s fate. Mr. Timmons was there last fall looking after you when that nasty boy you were teaching tried to bother you, then you both turned up teaching in San Francisco so he was here when...you know, and now he’s turned up again.”

  Annie, seeing Laura frown, said quickly, “Well, Nate hopes to interview Mr. Timmons tomorrow, so we will know more of what he has been up to after that. Nate also asked me to see if Mrs. Richmond, who owns the WCPU, has any insight into the murdered man, since they were competitors in the printing business.”

  Seeing that Laura was about to protest, Annie added hurriedly, “I think that in his rush to keep his little sister from playing detective, he’s forgotten his determination not to drag me into one of his cases again.”

  “Oh, Annie, my dear,” exclaimed Beatrice, “you don’t mean you’re going to take on investigating again––not with the wedding coming up so soon!”

  Much to Annie’s relief, the introduction of the topic of the wedding nicely distracted Laura from further discussion of what she should or shouldn’t be doing in regards to her brother’s case. Yet as the three other women began to quiz her about where the ceremony was to be held, what she was going to do about a dress, what flowers would be available in late summer, Annie found herself more and more uncomfortable.

  She simply didn’t know the answers to these questions and found their suggestions of what they imagined she’d want, disconcerting. Laura thought that a pale ivory silk for the wedding dress would be “just lovely,” Kathleen was busy figuring out how many flowers they would need to turn the backyard into a “fairyland,” and Beatrice was calculating how large the cake would need to be to accommodate the apparently hundreds of people who would feel the need to attend such an event.

  Finally she’d thrown up her hands and said, “Enough! I do appreciate your enthusiasm, but these are really questions I need to discuss with Nate. I hadn’t thought about who would be invited––beyond everyone in the boarding house and Nate’s immediate family.”

  Laura burst in, “Oh, Nate won’t have an opinion. Besides, isn’t it up to the bride to decide such things? I know that Violet, who’s married to my other brother Billy, made all the decisions for their wedding. Of course it was her parents who paid. I mean...”

  Seeing the stricken look on Laura’s face when she realized that Annie, whose parents were both dead, would be paying for her own wedding, she quickly said, “Yes, I supposed that Nate might not have an opinion on my dress, but he certainly will on who should be invited. Until you all started talking, it didn’t occur to me that he might want to invite his legal clients as well as his friends––like that reporter, Mr. Newsome, and his wife. Yes, I must work with him to set up a guest list and go from there.”

  And I can only hope that he doesn’t want to turn this wedding into the extravaganza his little sister is imagining. But if that is what he wants, I don’t feel I should discourage him. Just because I had my fairy-tale wedding and it turned out to be a nightmare of a marriage doesn’t mean he shouldn’t get a chance to show me what a real Prince Charming can be like.

  Chapter Seven

  Wednesday, mid-morning, July 7, 1880

  “It is understood that all the journals here (The Chronicle excepted) have agreed not to employ a Union man after a certain date, and several of the leading job offices have also joined in the alliance.” San Francisco Chronicle, August 19, 1870

  Annie’s meeting with Mrs. Lizzie Richmond, the owner of the Women’s Co-operative Printers Union, wasn’t until ten, so she didn’t need to go in to work with Laura. Nevertheless, she decided to get to the WCPU early, hoping that she might find the time to ask the forewoman, Iris Bailor, a few questions before her meeting with Mrs. Richmond. The more information she got, the less temptation for Laura to investigate further. She’d felt hypocritical Monday night, backing Nate up in his admonition to Laura not to get involved, given her own proclivity for ignoring similar advice. Yet she was sincere in wishing to protect his sister from any more dangerous situations.

  These were her thoughts as she stood at the door to the WCPU’s main compositing room. Looking over to where Laura stood working, Annie marveled at the speed with which the younger woman’s right hand darted back and forth, picking out the metal type and sliding them on the compositing stick she was holding in her left hand. The last time Annie visited the firm, Laura showed her how the top rows of the tall type cases held all the upper case letters, numbers and italics, while the bottom case held the lower case letters and punctuation, as well as the spacers, leads, slugs, and quants that she used to separate words and lines. Annie couldn’t imagine composing a line of type, much less a whole page of type, knowing she would be assembling the words upside down and backwards.

  Next to Laura, a fair-haired woman sat perched on a stool, apparently reversing the procedure that Laura was engaged in, since she had a small box of loose sorts that she was rapidly returning to the little square compartments in her cases. Annie assumed that this woman was Nan Freemont, the other full time typesetter, who Laura described as pleasant but reserved. At a long table behind Laura and Nan, Iris Bailor worked with a frame full of type, while a couple of younger women were setting type at cases at the far end of the room and two girls were working at one of the two small printing presses. Much louder noises emanating from the next room told her that the larger press was fully engaged. Suddenly, a young boy rushed into the room and over to Iris, holding out a piece of paper for her inspection. She held it up to the light coming in from the large windows overlooking Montgomery then sent him back to the press room.

  When she turned, Iris saw Annie, smiled, and said, “Mrs. Fuller, so glad to see you. Mrs. Richmond is closeted in her office with her son, going over some orders, so I hope you don’t mind waiting. Why don’t I fix you a cup of tea? One of the girls just brought down a full pot.”

  “I would be delighted, if you have time to join me.”

  Laura looked up at the sound of Annie’s voice and smiled, but she went right back to work. Annie followed Iris into a far corner where a small table and chairs sat.

  “You should be proud of Miss Dawson,” said Iris quietly as she poured out cups of tea for them both. “She is a very steady worker, and her speed and accuracy has increased tremendously in the last month. I do hope we can convince her to continue on w
orking here in the fall, at least part time, even if she gets into the university.”

  “Thank you, Miss Bailor. I am pleased she is doing so well. I don’t know what Laura’s plans are for the fall, but she certainly seems happy working here. I gather that you have been working at the WCPU for most of your career.”

  “Yes, right from the start of the firm. Other printing companies run by women have come and gone in the last ten years, but I believe that one of the reasons the WCPU has weathered several changes in leadership is the continuity I have brought—never having been tempted to forgo the joys of my work for the demands of a husband.”

  There was a time, before she met Nate, when Annie would have whole-heartedly approved of that sentiment. Now, she wasn’t as sure. Nate insisted he didn’t expect her to stop working at her financial business or running the boarding house. But this didn’t mean that if there was a conflict between her work and his needs, he wouldn’t expect her work to give way—if only temporarily. They would have to have that battle if and when it happened.

  “I hope I haven’t shocked you,” Iris continued.

  Annie replied, “Oh no, Miss Bailor. As a woman who has grown used to her independence, I can assure you that I am very cognizant of the dilemmas facing married women who work.”

  Iris smiled ruefully. Then, looking pointedly at the sapphire ring on Annie’s left hand, she said, “Laura mentioned you were to marry her brother later this summer. She seemed to think that your marriage would be the one in a million where the man and woman would be equals.”

  “Well, you could say that we are equally determined to make the marriage work––but I confess I have an advantage in that I am the more stubborn of the two of us.”

  Iris threw her head back and laughed, and Annie noted how the forewoman’s high lace collar attractively accentuated her long neck and the light green voile material of her dress complemented her pale skin and auburn hair. Even in her late thirties, Iris Bailor would have no trouble finding someone to marry––if she wished to do so.

  Iris took a sip of tea and said, “I suspect my visit to Florence Sullivan last night has made me particularly cynical about the benefits of marriage.”

  “So, Miss Bailor, you were able to see Mrs. Sullivan?” Annie leaned closer. “I know that Laura told you that her brother has taken her on as a client, and I can tell you that he is worried because she hasn’t seemed interested in defending herself.”

  “Talk about stubborn! Florence did see me, but all she would do was ask about her mother. She said if I brought up anything else, I would have to leave. Fortunately, I’d gone by her home on the way to the jail, so I was able to report that he has hired a nurse to stay with her mother during the nights when he is at work.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realize that her husband worked nights. What is his job?”

  “Alan Sullivan runs the big steam press for the Morning Call. Normally, this meant that right after Florence got home from work, he left for work, and vice versa. This limited the time her mother had to be at home alone with just the maid.”

  Annie wondered what that did to a marriage—when the couple was seldom in the same place at the same time, but she just said, “I believe Mr. Dawson was going to try to see her mother, Mrs. Tonner, this morning.”

  “Florence isn’t going to like that,” Iris said, shaking her head. “She’s devoted her whole life to shielding her mother from anything that might upset her. Personally, I believe Mrs. Tonner has a lot more strength than Florence gives her credit for. Certainly more strength of will than Florence’s husband.”

  “I gather that Mrs. Sullivan won’t let her husband see her. Do you know why?”

  “I think she just doesn’t have the energy to spend propping him up. He’s such a weakling. I can’t stand his namby-pamby ways. He mooned over her for years before she finally consented to marry him. I’ve always thought she simply got tired of saying no...and he is good with her mother.”

  Given the depth of Iris’s distain for Florence’s husband, Annie was now curious what Nate’s opinion would be of the man. But more importantly, she wanted Iris to keep talking, so she said, “Mr. Dawson is worried that Mrs. Sullivan is so distraught that she has sort of given up. He hoped that you would be able to get her to be more forthcoming about what occurred Friday night.”

  Iris shook her head. “No, once I had reassured her that her mother was being taken care of, she asked me to leave. I heard that she was up for arraignment on Thursday. Do you know what will happen then?”

  “Unless Mrs. Sullivan decides to plead guilty to murder, I understand that Mr. Dawson will try to get the arraignment postponed.”

  “Of course she isn’t going to plead guilty,” Iris exclaimed. “I can’t understand why the police have even charged her. It is absurd. Once she explains what happened, everything will be clear. I think she’s just too proud...maybe too embarrassed...but surely she will have to defend herself.”

  Iris appeared agitated by her own reassurances.

  Annie said, “We can only hope so. However, Mr. Dawson requested that I ask if you or Mrs. Richmond would be willing to meet with him.”

  “For what purpose?” Iris responded, her green eyes narrowing.

  “Well, for one thing, to get another perspective of Joshua Rashers besides what his wife is saying. Right now that is the only testimony he has to go by. He thought that during your long years in the business you might have heard things about Rashers––could suggest other potential suspects who would have had a reason to harm him.”

  “I don’t need to meet Mr. Dawson for that. You can tell him to look at the men he’s put out of business in the last few years. Rashers hires apprentices under a four-year contract, pays them nothing but room and board and a pittance for those four years, then replaces them when they demand a living wage. This way he can keep his cost of labor so low he underbids all the other printing firms for jobs. Thank goodness we have loyal customers who don’t want to do business with a man like him. But not every printing company has been as fortunate.”

  “Can you give me specific names?” Annie pulled out a notebook from her purse.

  “I would find out where the McCorkle Brothers were on Friday night. He pushed their firm to the brink of bankruptcy, then bought them out for a pittance and captured their remaining customers. Then there is J. S. Frost. He went bankrupt last fall.”

  Her voice rising, Iris continued. “And tell him to look into the San Francisco Typographical Union. They’ve never forgiven him for turning on them in 1870, helping break that strike. He still won’t hire a union member in his shop. Although I can’t feel too cut up about this since the San Francisco local still refuses to let any of us women join, even though the national union has changed its rules to permit women. But my point is––the WCPU pays good union wages—but Rashers doesn’t. And as for those women who’ve worked under him...”

  “Iris, Mrs. Fuller, is there something the matter?” Mrs. Richmond said, standing behind her forewoman, looking concerned.

  Annie realized that, with the general noise in the print shop, neither she nor Iris had heard the owner of the WCPU come out of her office. Despite the forewoman’s suggestion that it was her own presence that kept this firm afloat, Annie felt confident that Lizzie Richmond was the driving force behind the Women’s Co-operative Printing Union.

  Mrs. Richmond’s delicate face, framed by a mass of tiny curls, and her impossibly tiny waist gave her a youthful air. And it didn’t surprise Annie to learn that, despite being in her early forties, Mrs. Richmond had recently married a man twenty years her junior. Yet, despite her fragile beauty, the print shop owner’s deep-set eyes radiated strength and determination, and she possessed a razor-sharp mind.

  Not wanting to get Iris in trouble, Annie rose and said hastily, “Mrs. Richmond, I am afraid I have been keeping Miss Bailor from her work. I am sorry. I’d asked her to tell me what she thought of Joshua Rashers. You see, my fiancée, Mr. Nathaniel Dawson, is representi
ng Florence Sullivan.”

  Iris, who stood up as well, added, “Mrs. Fuller, I am sure that Mrs. Richmond would be an even better source of information about Rashers and Company than I am. Now I must get back to work.”

  As Iris walked away, Mrs. Richmond said, “You might want to take what Miss Bailor has to say with a grain of salt. She feels very protective of those young female apprentices in the trade who can be so vulnerable to exploitation. Rashers’ company isn’t the only printer with a bad reputation in that area. But come, we have business to attend to; I am sorry I kept you waiting.”

  *****

  An hour later, Mrs. Richmond dipped her pen one more time in the inkwell on her desk, made a final note, and then said, “Mrs. Fuller, thank you, that was extremely informative. I am afraid I’d not been paying enough attention to the rise in the cost of paper. I knew that our profits had gone down the last six months, but I wasn’t sure why.”

  Annie, pleased, said, “Well, you can thank Mrs. Gordon. I recently read a newspaper report of a talk she’d given to the Pacific Coast Press Association on the need to repeal tariffs on imported paper. She pointed out that there had been a steep rise in the price of paper in the United States in the past year as a result of current policy.”

  “Ah, yes, I’d understood that Laura Gordon, despite her new legal career, has stayed active in the press association. Have you ever met her?”

  “I haven’t, but my fiancé, Mr. Dawson, has. In fact, she is the person who recommended that he represent Mrs. Sullivan.” Annie paused, hoping that Mrs. Richmond might take up this topic on her own.

  “Yes. Iris told me on Monday about poor Florence having been arrested. For murder? That does seem quite improbable. By the time I was managing the Women’s Co-operative, she had moved on to work with Mrs. Pitts Stevens, one of our founders, so I don’t know her personally. I do believe she and Iris have remained good friends, and my impression is that she is a serious and upright individual.”