Uneasy Spirits: A Victorian San Francisco Mystery

by M. Louisa Locke

  Kathleen let the steady stream of Mrs. Nickerson’s comments run over her as she examined this new information. If this was Evie May’s mother, then the girl she met in the hallway, the one who talked like a grown woman but dressed like a child, must be Evie May. What do you know about that? No wonder the girl is so odd, probably doesn’t know which way is up, speaking to the dead like that. Poor mite! The heavy tread of a large older woman coming down the hallway, bearing a tea tray, caught Kathleen’s attention.

  “Thank you, Cook. Oh, good, you brought enough cups. You, girl, come be useful and bring that little table over here.” Mrs. Nickerson was pointing to a small table next to her chair, so Kathleen, who hated being called ‘girl’ as much at the woman bearing the tray most likely hated being called ‘Cook,’ pretended for a second not to hear the command. Then, remembering Mrs. Fuller’s instructions to learn all she could from the household staff, she got up and brought over the table, giving the cook a warm smile and helping her lower the large tray onto the table surface.

  “Danke schön,” said the cook to Kathleen, wiping her hands on her rather dirty apron. Turning her back with obvious disdain on Mrs. Nickerson, she lumbered back down the hall.

  “My word, the nerve of that woman,” said Mrs. Nickerson, once the cook was out of earshot. “And her English is just awful; I don’t know why Mrs. Frampton hired her. She does make a good roast, but half the time you don’t know what she puts in the sauces, and she doesn’t know her place at all. Since the parlor maid doesn’t live in, such an inconvenience, don’t you know, we are left with the cook’s gruff German ways in the evening. Of course that irritating lady’s maid of Mrs. Frampton’s wouldn’t sully her hands to wait on her betters. Shall I be mother and pour? You, girl, take a cup and go back to your place.”

  Kathleen took the cup that was being thrust at her and lingered while she helped herself to the cream and sugar on the tray. When neither of the women seemed to object, she also picked up a pastry and returned to her seat by the front door. So, the cook was German, and it didn’t sound like she would get much out of any conversation with her, although she did make wonderful pastries, and the lady’s maid didn’t sound like someone who would chat with an Irish serving girl. Such a shame that the parlor maid, who would be the most likely prospect among the staff for gossip, wasn’t here in the evenings, which in itself was very unusual.

  The thin voice of Mrs. Hapgood caught her attention, as she said, “Mrs. Nickerson, do you think they will be much longer?”

  “Now, my dear, you know the circle stays together as long as the spirits are willing,” replied Mrs. Nickerson. “Won’t you call me Rowena? I confess I miss my friends from back in Brooklyn. But I just had to come when Simon, Mr. Frampton, asked me to let Evie May accompany him to the west coast. He says that without his guidance her talent could put her in real danger. I couldn’t let my little girl go all this way without her mother.”

  Kathleen continued to listen to Mrs. Nickerson’s steady stream of confidences with fierce concentration, wanting to be able to report to Mrs. Fuller exactly what she had said, when she was startled to hear a muffled, masculine voice coming from the top of the stairs. She couldn’t see anything except a brief glimpse of trousers on the stairs right above the landing. It couldn’t have been Albert, since the trousers were brown, and the voice definitely didn’t sound English. A few minutes later, Albert came through the door at the end of the hallway, stopping when he got to Mrs. Nickerson and whispering in her ear.

  Kathleen was interested to notice the way the older woman leaned away from him with obvious disgust. Albert sneered and jerked his head in what was clearly a command. Mrs. Nickerson got up slowly, giving her regrets to Mrs. Hapgood, and mounted the stairs, followed by the butler.

  Kathleen looked at Mrs. Hapgood, who returned her gaze with a small shrug and went back to nervously picking at her purse. If no one had left the séance room, and all the servants besides the butler were female, who was the man at the top of the stairs?

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Madame Jacquemieu, Spirit Medium. Communications given from 10 A.M. to 8 P.M.”

  —San Francisco Chronicle, 1879

  Annie’s frustration increased as she tried to hear what Judge Babcock and Evie May were saying and keep up with the increasingly active spirit manifestations around the séance table. The light focused on the cabinet had dimmed, so Annie once again found it difficult to see, but the noise level had gone up considerably. As if designed to mask what was going on in the cabinet, thought Annie.

  The piano, drum, and tambourine competed with Arabella, who had returned to the guttural sounds of earlier. Meanwhile, Miss Herron and Mrs. Mott, who had joined hands once the Judge had broken from the circle, were both swaying as if in trances of their own. Mrs. Larkson had moved her chair closer to Mr. Sweeter when the Judge left the circle, and Annie could hear furious whispering going on from their direction in the dark.

  She now felt a slight cool breeze against her left cheek, as if a window had been opened. Or a spirit was hovering at her side, Annie thought with a self-conscious shiver. Mr. Ruckner and Mr. Hapgood were mercifully silent. As was Simon, until he started murmuring something in her ear about it being her turn next to speak to the spirits.

  While Annie knew that the whole point of attending these séances was to catch the Framptons using the false information Kathleen had fed them about a deceased son, she hoped the spirits would pass her by this evening. Therefore, she was relieved when Arabella’s nonsense syllables were replaced by yet another ‘spirit’ voice, this time that of an old woman.

  “My lovely things, oh, my pretty treasures, where are they, who has stolen them?” asked this new voice, quavering with age and indignation.

  “They have all stopped dancing, never to dance again, and it is all your fault. Ha . . .”

  “That’s for me,” the nurse cried out joyfully. “She said Herron, so she must be speaking to me! The spirit must be Mrs. Jones; it sounds just like her. Please, Mrs. Jones, I am here. Don’t be sad. Your dancing days may be over, but you have gone to a better place; you are dancing with the angels now.”

  Then, in a sort of stage whisper, Miss Herron continued, “You see, I had this patient last spring, Mrs. Artimus Jones, quite respectable, married a man who made his fortune in iron manufacturing. But there were rumors she had been a dance hall girl in her youth. Married up, you see. Poor woman, her mind wandered near the end, and she kept trying to get up out of bed to dance.”

  “No, no, you don’t understand. It’s my boy, it’s my boy I need to speak with,” the aged voice rang out.

  “Miss Herron, you got it all wrong,” said Mrs. Mott, triumphantly. “The spirit is my Aunty Grace, and she wants to talk to her son, Harry. Remember when I asked Uncle Zachary about Aunty Grace? He must have gotten her for me. Her son Harry still lives in Topeka; I must write to him and tell him his mother wishes to speak with him.”

  While Miss Herron and Mrs. Mott argued over whom the spirit was addressing, Annie ruminated over how effective Arabella was at changing characters. Although she knew that the medium was responsible for the voice of this spirit, in addition to that of Uncle Zachary and Mr. Ruckner’s Jennie, Annie still found herself picturing an elderly woman, dressed all in black, with the wide hoopskirts of the sixties, jet beads around her neck, lace gloves on her hands, and a querulous expression on her face. Whoever this spirit was, she was getting irritated trying to be heard above the voices of the two earthly combatants vying to claim her.

  Annie heard Simon sigh and was not surprised when he again interceded to bring the séance back to order, his voice ringing out. “Let us welcome the Judge back home with a song. Please Mrs. Mott, could you lead us in ‘Heavenly Pastures?’”

  Mrs. Mott dutifully began to sing a song Annie was unfamiliar with, so Annie looked around the table again, noticing that since Simon’s mention of Judge Babcock the light coming from the smaller parlor had increased, making it easier t
o see. Arabella sat upright, her eyes closed. Mrs. Larkson and Mr. Sweeter seemed to have made up, and Annie noticed that, rather than holding hands, Mr. Sweeter had his arm around Mrs. Larkson’s shoulder. Annie found herself revising her opinion about their relationship once again.

  She also noticed that the grocer, Mr. Hapgood, seemed distressed. He was sitting very still, eyes wide, staring straight ahead as if he had indeed seen a ghost, and he was making no effort to sing. Miss Herron was singing, in what seemed an attempt to overpower Mrs. Mott, and the two women dropped hands with noticeable alacrity when Judge Babcock reappeared between them. Annie could see that the Judge was in the grips of great emotion. His breathing seemed rapid, and he kept licking his lips. Before rejoining hands with the two women on either side of him, he took out a large white handkerchief and wiped his brow.

  “Welcome back, Judge, I hope that your session with your daughter brought you both peace,” said Simon.

  The Judge nodded grimly. The piano music had died down again. A weak stream of light emanated from the next room, throwing grotesque shadows across the table. Annie could still feel the breeze and was just turning her head to see if the curtains hanging on either side of the fireplace seemed to be moving, when Simon continued.

  “Please give my lovely wife your full attention. As you all know, we have a new member to our circle, Mrs. Fuller; a sympathetic addition you will all agree, for the spirits have come out in force in her presence. Let us sit in quiet prayer, welcoming the spirits to our circle.”

  His wife, Arabella, began to sway again, emitting a low hum. Mr. Ruckner began to sit up straighter, and Annie wondered if a spirit ever returned in any given night. For once Mrs. Larkson and Mr. Sweeter seemed to be taking things seriously, as they both sat with their eyes closed. Mr. Hapgood continued to stare at some point outside the circle.

  “Behold, departed ones,” Simon louder this time, startling Annie. “Mrs. Fuller craves your help. Mothers and daughters, fathers and sons, come give us your wisdom and guidance.”

  Annie noticed the Judge was once again looking past her shoulder, but then he shook his head, as if in disappointment. She willed herself not to turn around. She really didn’t want to know if Evie May was still visible and if she was staring at the back of her head. Annie was concentrating so hard, it took a second to register that a new voice was speaking, from behind, but not the voice of a young girl. This voice sounded older, more mature.

  “Annie, my love. My sweet darling, I am here, your very own mother. Annie, come sit with me a spell. You are all grown up. How I have missed you.”

  Annie was never sure how she got into the cabinet, but there she was, sitting on a narrow bench next to Evie May, with the curtain cutting off the sight of the rest of the members of the circle in the next room. She took a deep breath and tried to regain her calm. She did remember that, when she first turned around in response to her name, she had been momentarily at a loss because it seemed that the young medium had been replaced by a grown woman. Now she realized Evie May had looked taller because she was standing on the upraised floor of the cabinet. The girl had also pulled up her hair into a knot and brought down the headscarf, turning it into a shawl, which transformed the way she looked from girl to woman. In the close confines of the cabinet, it was easier to see the girl behind the illusion, despite the fact that she continued to speak in adult tones and kept referring to Annie as her daughter.

  Oh, my, she really got to you, didn’t she? Annie scolded herself. No wonder Simon is cultivating this one’s “talent,” and I thought Arabella was a good actress. When she closed her eyes, the spell rewove itself, and, for a moment, she could imagine again that it was her mother talking to her, after all these years. But it was just nonsense. Evie May kept repeating meaningless phrases any mother might say to any daughter she hadn’t seen in some time, interspersed with more concrete details about the ranch Annie grew up on, her father, Edward, and her favorite horse. Not a single fact that Annie herself hadn’t let drop in the interview with Simon.

  When she opened up her eyes, what she saw was a young girl, maybe as young as thirteen or fourteen, doing a very effective imitation of an adult woman. The erect carriage, the furrowed brow, the mature voice, all reinforced the vision, as did the graceful use of her hands as she reached out to caress Annie’s face.

  Annie pulled back, repulsed, and said, “Stop this. Evie May, this is wrong.”

  The girl ceased speaking for an instant, then resumed, saying in sorrowful tones, “Oh Annie, you are angry. You have every right to be angry with me, leaving you when you were just a little girl. But you had your father to guide you, and I watched over you from Summerland. Please, you must believe me. My time on this earthly plane is limited; don’t let’s waste it. Tell me all about your life, all the things I missed.”

  Annie shuddered, realizing how incredibly seductive this girl/woman was, with her sad, pale eyes and her soft voice. How easy it would be for someone to embrace the idea that she was the embodiment of a loved one who had died.

  But she was here to expose Evie May and Arabella and Simon for the frauds they were, so that women like Sukie didn’t spend the rest of their lives under that seductive spell. To do that she had a role to play, so she took another deep breath and said, “Dearest Mother, I am sorry, this is all so strange. What do you want to know?”

  Evie May smiled and seemed to relax, saying, “Tell me all about your lovely husband, John. I had so wanted to be with you on your wedding day; I was there in spirit. I was so distressed for you when I learned you had lost him after such a short time. Your life has been a sad one. Shall I try to find him? In Summerland there are many gardens, you know, and I feel sure I would be able to find him, if you wished. This circle has such strength, I am certain that they can coax him to come and visit you.”

  Oh, my heavens, that would be a miracle! Annie thought. If John is anywhere it’s not heaven, but hell. But his appearance could help me convince Sukie that the spiritual manifestations produced by the Framptons are a lie.

  She found that Evie May’s inaccurate representation of Annie’s husband actually steadied her. Embarrassed that she had lost her objectivity for a few moments, she focused her attention on observing Evie May, trying to determine if she was following some sort of memorized script. Arabella obviously had years of experience convincing gullible people, but Evie May was another matter.

  She could see the girl pretty clearly, noticing for the first time that the back of the cabinet was made of a curtain, not wood. This curtain was of some sort of rough cloth that created an eerie glow within the cabinet, obscuring more than it illuminated. In the half-light she couldn’t tell if Evie May’s hair was blond or just a light brown, nor could she determine what color her eyes were, except that her pupils were huge. There was also a distinct odor of lavender in the cabinet, and Annie wondered if that was a scent that had special meaning to the Judge.

  Evie May had gone silent, looking expectantly at her. Annie knew she was supposed to unburden herself to this false mother, which would in turn give Simon and his two mediums more information to feed back in subsequent séances. Not knowing how much time she had left in the cabinet, she needed to figure out a way to prompt Evie May to bring up Annie’s fictional son. She started with a general statement, saying, “Oh, Mother. I needed you so, when I lost Father, then John, and then my precious treasure.”

  When Evie May just smiled sweetly at her and patted her on the shoulder, Annie became more direct, saying, “Mother, in those gardens, have you seen my Johnny? He was just walking when he was taken from me. Such a sweet baby.”

  Evie May seemed to hesitate, her face froze for a moment, and then she closed her eyes as if she had a sudden headache. Annie, speculating that this might be a form of diversion while the girl tried to remember her lines, felt a pang of guilt. Such a young girl, and who knew what kind of compulsion she was under to act in this charade.

  Just as Annie was about to say something more, Evie
May opened her eyes, gave her a shy smile, and said in a small lisping voice, “I’m baby. Can I sit in your lap?”

  Annie had barely registered this request, when Evie May, who gave the impression that she had shrunk in size, scrunched up close to Annie, throwing her legs over her lap and snaking one arm around her waist. Then, with her head snuggled onto Annie’s shoulder, she popped her thumb into her mouth and began sucking. The transformation from woman to young child was so rapid and complete Annie had trouble believing it wasn’t real. In fact, she noticed she had put her right arm around Evie May and was cuddling her. Almost afraid to break this new spell, Annie whispered, “Evie May, who are you now?”

  Evie May reared back, pulled out her thumb, and said with a childish pout, “Not Evie! Don’t be silly, Maybelle’s my name.”

  “Maybelle, what a pretty name,” Annie said. “Can you tell me how old you are?” Annie thought perhaps Evie May had shifted back to the child who visited with Judge Babcock.

  “I’m six,” said Evie May proudly, holding up first one hand, her fingers spread, and then the index finger of the other. “I’m a big girl now. Been with the angels for ever so long, bet I ‘prised’ you something good, mother.”

  Annie couldn’t breathe. Mother, she called me mother, and she is six. Just the age . . . if she had lived . . .

  The memories rushed in as Annie was thrust back in time to the hallway of her and John’s house in New York City, feeling the sharp pains that had shot through her abdomen that awful day. She had stood doubled over, rereading and rereading the telegram from her husband telling her that her father was dead.