Deadly Proof: A Victorian San Francisco Mystery

by Locke, M. Louisa

  *****

  Twenty minutes later, Seth watched as Laura walked towards Kearney. There she’d get one of the North Beach and Mission cars that would take her to within a few blocks of the O’Farrell Street boarding house. Damn it all, he’d forgotten how her height and long stride translated into such a bewitching sway. Such a treat to see a woman who was comfortable walking, who didn’t wear one of those dresses that caused them to mince along. She grew up on a ranch so was probably a good horsewoman, too. Maybe if he could find a couple of decent horses in one of the city stables he should ask her...

  Seth shook his head and started back to Rashers. An hour spent in Laura’s company and he started to think like a fool. She did that to him. He began to imagine a future. No good ever came of that for him. But she was all about the future. Even after her grand plans with her friend Hattie were ruined, she recovered. He shouldn’t have mentioned studying for the university entrance exam to her brother. Now he had to go through with taking them. She’d expect it of him. Just like she expected that he’d go along with her intentions to find out who killed Rashers so Florence Sullivan didn’t end up in jail for something she didn’t do. Her brother wasn’t going to be pleased when he found out Laura had gotten the names of Rashers’ most recent flirtations out of him.

  He just plumb forgot how to guard his tongue when he was with her. Like mentioning the war. Something in her response made him think she already knew that he’d been one of the soldiers who fought at the battle at Plymouth, North Carolina. Fought and survived, only to be incarcerated in the deadly Confederate prison at Andersonville. She immediately turned the conversation to the question of whether Seth thought that any of Rashers’ business competitors could have killed him. But her eyes betrayed her.

  Who told her? He never talked about his war experiences. But Baskin, his natural sciences professor at San Jose Normal School, had been a clerk in the capitol right after the war, processing discharge papers, and he was that odd type who seemed never to forget a name. Last year, Baskin came right out and asked him if he’d been in the 101st Pennsylvania regiment. Seth didn’t answer—but he guessed that was answer enough for Baskin, who probably told someone, who’d shared the rumor with someone else. God damned bunch of gossips.

  At least Laura had the decency or good sense not to ask him about it. He wondered if it was Ned Goodwin who’d told her. He was one of her “friends” in the study group, but he’d also attended the Normal School with them. Seth didn’t much care for Goodwin. You’d think being wealthy, good-looking, and of reasonable intelligence, Ned wouldn’t need to be the center of attention at all times. But the boy never stopped talking––inside the classroom and out. Seth wished he hadn’t promised Laura he’d come to their study session on Sunday. Not sure he could stomach a couple of hours of Goodwin.

  Seth picked up his pace as he crossed Montgomery, not wanting to be late getting back to work. He knew Griggs would be waiting for him, wanting to know all about Laura. There was another man who had to know everyone’s business. Sure had been unfortunate, running into him and Orrie Childers that way just as he and Laura left Hank’s. Odd, too. Orrie generally treated Griggs with lightly veiled distain. It was Rashers she’d set her sights on. Not that it had done her any good. No chance he’d have given her any of Florence’s responsibilities or pay—even if Mrs. Rashers was telling the truth and her husband had decided to give Florence the sack. Orrie just wasn’t that good a typesetter. Didn’t have enough education or experience to proof galleys either, much less lay out a page.

  Of course who knew what would happen now that Rashers was dead? Maybe Orrie had the right idea. Made sense that Rashers’ widow would rely on the foreman to decide who to keep and who to let go. When he first started work, Griggs kept inviting him to have a drink with him after their half-day shifts on Saturdays. He’d eventually given up, saying Seth “was a hard nut to crack.”

  Except for Dunk, Seth generally kept his distance from his co-workers. Safest way to get along. Worked for him...until he met Laura Dawson. Somehow, despite her youth and her unbridled tongue, she’d made him feel safe...safe enough to let down his guard. And that scared the blazes out of him.

  *****

  Annie’s last consultation of the day had been Mr. Abercrombie, one of Madam Sibyl’s former clients who recently made the transition to taking advice from just plain Mrs. Annie Fuller. He was a mechanical engineer, and she was helping him figure out how to raise the capital needed to produce a new kind of steam engine valve he had invented. She now sat on the front porch of the boarding house, enjoying the cooler evening air. She was trying not to worry that Laura wasn’t home yet, even though it was now quarter to eight, three hours after her usual time.

  Laura told Beatrice that morning not to expect her at dinner, and she was a grown woman. If she wanted to do something with one of her friends from work, it was her business. But Annie still worried. What if she’d decided to do some investigating on Nate’s case?

  As the ambient light from the recent sunset faded, she found herself peering down the street, hoping that Laura would be the next person who stepped into the pool of light cast by the gas lamp on the corner of Taylor and O’Farrell. This was why she didn’t notice when her boarder, the Girls High teacher, Barbara Hewitt, and her son Jamie arrived from the other direction until she heard the exuberant yip from Dandy, their little black and white terrier.

  She smiled and said, “Good evening, Jamie, Barbara. And good evening to you too, Dandy.”

  The dog, who Jamie insisted was a new breed called a Boston Terrier, stood up on his hind legs and pawed at her knee––his small neat ears erect and his tiny crooked tail twirling. He wore a smart black harness, and Jamie was carefully holding on to his lead.

  “Dandy, you wretch. Behave yourself,” said Barbara. “I’m sorry, Annie. He is always so excited to see you. Jamie, pick him up so he won’t damage Mrs. Fuller’s skirts.”

  “Don’t you worry. This is one of my old black silks...I would see it as a favor if he rendered it unwearable. Here, let me have him.”

  Annie lifted the dog into her lap and let him lick one of her hands, while scratching him behind his ears. He was called Dandy because the white around his neck and down his front––contrasted against the black of the rest of him––looked like the white shirt-front of a gentleman. Jamie had bathed him yesterday, so his wiry fur was unusually soft and sweet smelling. She kissed the top of his hard head, and he wiggled in ecstasy.

  “Do you mind if I join you?” said Barbara. “It is going to take awhile for our rooms to cool off.”

  “Of course not. I could do with the company.”

  As she sat down on the wooden chair next to Annie, Barbara said to her son, “Jamie, run upstairs and make sure the windows at the end of the hall and in our rooms are open and leave the door to the hallway open as well. And if the Misses Moffet are in, ask if they would like you to fetch them a pitcher of cool water from the kitchen. We’ll keep Dandy with us.”

  “Hot today, wasn’t it? Last year it didn’t get this hot until late summer,” Annie said as Jamie disappeared inside.

  “I know. I remember how oppressive the beginning of fall term was, particularly for the students in their new wool outfits.”

  Barbara sighed, and Annie suspected she was also remembering the events of last September when Dandy, now curled up in her lap, proved his extraordinary detective abilities. So sad what happened—but not nearly as upsetting as what had occurred to both Barbara and her son this winter. Yet both mother and son appeared to be finding their equilibrium, and Annie thought Barbara seemed more at peace than she’d ever been before. The strain she must have lived under all those years. Annie couldn’t even imagine—her own troubled marriage and widowhood paled in comparison.

  Wishing to turn both of their thoughts to more pleasant subjects, Annie said, “That blue and white tartan looks so cool. You did a lovely job on it. I can barely sew a straight hem.”

  “Oh,
it was easy once Miss Minnie cut out the pieces for me. Miss Millie also taught me how to use the sewing machine. The tutoring I do in in the summer doesn’t nearly fill up the time or the family purse, so I was delighted to get an outfit for only the cost of the material. I hope to complete a few more shirts and trousers for Jamie this summer. He is growing so fast.”

  “Did the Moffets show you the material they found for my wedding dress?”

  “Yes, it is gorgeous.”

  “At least one thing will be done right.”

  “What’s gone wrong?” Barbara leaned closer, looking concerned. “I know that you and Mr. Dawson have been through some difficult patches, but I thought everything was going well between you.”

  “It’s not Nate...it’s the wedding plans. When we set the date for next month, I wasn’t really thinking about the details. But on Friday, Nate and I finally found time to sit down and make a list of who we wanted to invite. I counted up everyone living here—and their relatives––since I really can’t ignore Kathleen’s brothers or Beatrice’s relatives who have been so helpful with keeping the house in good repair. Then there is Miss Pinehurst, she came up to us at the restaurant on Friday and congratulated us, so of course I told her to expect an invitation. Then when you add some of my favorite clients, like Mrs. Crenshaw and Mrs. Hazelton, who have become more like good friends...well... the numbers just added up.”

  “What about Mr. Dawson? Does he have much family living nearby?”

  “No. His parents and his brother and sister-in-law, with their ten-month-old son, will be coming up from their ranch outside of San Jose. And of course his Uncle Frank. But Mrs. Stein seems to think that Nate should invite some of his more important clients as well—like the Vosses––and of course the other partner, Mr. Cranston, and his wife. And he has a number of friends he would like to attend. ”

  “How many people did you both come up with?”

  “Fifty-five!” Annie shook her head, still stunned by the total. When she arrived in San Francisco a little less than three years ago, she knew no one in the city and didn’t have a friend in the world.

  “Oh dear. If everyone you invite shows up—they wouldn’t all fit in the parlor. If that was where you were planning on having the wedding ceremony.”

  “Exactly! And I just spent all morning––to no avail––looking for a church or chapel that would be available for an early evening wedding on either Tuesday, August 10 or Wednesday, August 11. The earliest that his parents can get here is that Monday, and I don’t want them to have to get right off the train and rush to the wedding. And they need to head back home on Thursday, something about Violet’s mother’s birthday being the next day. Violet is Nate’s sister-in-law.”

  “I understand that Tuesdays and Wednesdays are the best days for weddings,” Barbara said. “One of my students wrote a whole essay on this. I think the traditional wisdom is that if you marry on a Tuesday that means wealth or is it health? I can never remember—but I do know the saying goes that marrying on a Wednesday ‘is the best day of all.’”

  “Well, that probably explains why all the churches I checked are booked up.”

  “Were any of them available earlier in the day? When I was growing up, the ceremonies were always in the morning, followed by the wedding breakfast.”

  “I thought about that, but most of the people we invited work and therefore wouldn’t be able to make it.”

  “But then you could fit everyone into the parlor and not need a church,” Barbara said, with a distinctly uncharacteristic giggle.

  “Oh Barbara––you are right––but that would be so rude. Then the only people who could afford to show up at the wedding itself would be some of the old rich codgers among Nate’s clients.”

  “Look, can’t you limit the people you invite to the ceremony, but then invite as many people as you want for a nice reception afterwards at the house? Surely over fifty people showed up for the Halloween party last October, and everyone fit in just fine between the backyard and the kitchen.”

  “That would be lovely, but I don’t want his parents to think badly of me for not having a church ceremony. Or Nate to be disappointed since this is a chance for him to show off to his law clients, some who are bound to be sticklers for propriety. I did think about renting one of the rooms at a local hotel for the reception afterwards––but I am sure they need greater lead time. Besides, they are probably pretty expensive.”

  “And Beatrice would be very disappointed if she couldn’t be the one to cook for the reception.”

  “Oh, I hadn’t thought of that. I suppose if you use a hotel, they want you to use their kitchen and staff.”

  Annie shook her head, feeling the panic that kept erupting each time she thought about the wedding. For the first––probably the last––time, she had some sympathy for her late husband’s mother, who’d done all the arrangements for her and John’s wedding. She just didn’t have time for any of this. Not if she were to keep up with her clients and take on an accounting job with Joshua Rashers’ widow.

  And to top everything off, on Friday, Nate revealed that he wants to take a two-week wedding trip. But he wouldn’t tell her where. Not that two weeks away with him wouldn’t be heaven...wherever he took her. But could either of them afford the time or the money? The last thing she wanted to do was lose those clients she had just gotten comfortable with forgoing Madam Sibyl. Or lose any of her new clients, which could happen if she suddenly announced she would be unavailable for two whole weeks.

  “I am sure everything will turn out...Dandy, don’t be a pest,” Barbara said.

  Annie, who’d been caught up with her thoughts, felt a series of rapid wet touches to her nose and she looked down at Dandy, who was now staring up at her with clear concern in his big brown eyes. She laughed. “Dandy, you scamp. You know you aren’t supposed to kiss a lady on the nose. What will Mr. Dawson think?”

  Feeling suddenly less anxious, she smiled over at Barbara and said, “I am being very foolish, aren’t I? What is it about weddings that turn perfectly reasonable people into a bundle of nerves?”

  Looking down the street again, she recognized a familiar silhouette under the lamp on the corner and said, “Oh, here comes Laura. I know what to do...I shall dump the whole problem in her lap. Isn’t that what your maid of honor is supposed to do—make sure everything comes off without a hitch?”

  And maybe that will keep her busy and out of trouble.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Tuesday, morning, July 13, 1880

  “Three or four compositors...bring up their various contribution of type to the long ‘galley’ in which the article is put together.” Daily Telegraph, June 28, 1864

  Annie looked up at the large Rashers and Company, Printers sign on the corner of the Italianate-style Niantic Building. The fact that Joshua Rashers was the only occupant of a grand four-story commercial building who had designed and paid for such a flamboyant piece of advertising suggested he’d been a man of enormous self-confidence.

  A man who had married the boss’s daughter and then promptly left his father-in-law’s firm to work his way up in a rival company. A man who then used that father-in-law’s money, when he died, to start his own printing firm, reportedly taking with him a number of clients from his former employer. A man who made his fortune by paying low wages so he could ruin his rivals by cut-throat competition on prices. A man who died violently.

  And a man whose widow didn’t seem bothered by the knowledge that the accountant she was hiring was engaged to be married to the lawyer who was defending the woman she believed killed her husband.

  Annie was really curious to meet that widow.

  Ten minutes later, she sat in an office that looked considerably cleaner than Nate led her to expect. Someone certainly had been busy in the ten days since the former occupant died. The clutter of books, newspapers, and other detritus of the printing business he’d described was gone. The wood of the file cabinets, chairs, and desk gleamed w
ith polish, and the walls looked and smelled freshly painted. The makeshift bar had disappeared, as had the chaise lounge that Nate told her about. And, in the open space between the desk and the door, where Annie believed Rashers’ body had lain, there was a lovely dark blue Brussels carpet with a medallion motif. There were also several vases of fresh-cut flowers scattered about, and she couldn’t help but wonder if they were there to hide the taint of blood Nate swore he’d smelled on Wednesday.

  All in all, the room felt very much like a well-appointed parlor, not a business office. Nevertheless, Mrs. Catherine Rashers was all business as she took Annie rapidly through her resume, jotting down the names of those firms and organizations Annie had worked for over the past six months.

  Then, putting her pen down, she said, “So, Mrs. Fuller, it was your father who taught you about financial affairs? How extraordinary.”

  “Yes, although I also took a course in accounting as part of the curriculum at the New York Ladies Academy. The board of the institution, on which my father sat, agreed that this would be of use to any woman, no matter what her life’s circumstances.”

  Annie smiled when she remembered how hard her father had fought for that course. It certainly came in handy now that she was moving away from making money as the clairvoyant Madam Sibyl.

  “Both my father and my husband were great believers in the adage that a ‘woman’s place is in the home.’ But then, neither of them ever contemplated the eventuality that they would pre-decease me.”

  Annie nodded sympathetically but refrained from repeating the standard condolences she’d made earlier. Like Nate, she was finding Catherine Rashers a puzzling bundle of contradictions.

  When Annie first entered the office, Mrs. Rashers leapt up from her desk to welcome her, the beautiful black silk she wore showing off her figure to perfection. She flitted around the office, moving the chair Annie was to sit on a half-inch, adjusting a spray of flowers, tucking a curl behind her ear, batting her eyes at the foreman Griggs and profusely thanking him for accompanying Annie from the shop door to the office, while he beamed at her like a proud papa.