Uneasy Spirits: A Victorian San Francisco Mystery

by M. Louisa Locke

  Pierce waved Nate back in his seat, after shaking his hand, and, as he sat down, he barked at the waiter for “his usual.” Turning to Nate he said, “So, still looking into Simon Frampton? Find out anything?”

  Nate didn’t reply, distracted by the implications of Pierce having “a usual” drink at a restaurant as expensive as the Palace Grille. Pierce didn’t wait for an answer; instead he opened up the menu, scanned it quickly, and threw it down.

  The waiter appeared with what looked and smelled like bourbon, and Pierce said, “I’ll have the steak, grilled, medium, liver and onions, piece of your pie. Dawson, what’s your pleasure?”

  Nate ordered a salad and a steak, and, thinking about Beatrice’s oatmeal cookies that were waiting for him at home, declined dessert. He asked about the “big story.” Pierce kept him entertained with some convoluted yarn about a bribe, a new bride, and a barroom brawl. The man did have a way with a tale, but Nate wondered if any of it was true. After their meals were served and each of them had made respectable inroads into their steaks, Nate brought the conversation back to the subject at hand. “To answer your earlier question, yes, I am still interested in finding out more about the Framptons, but more to the point, have you come up with anything?”

  Pierce took a swallow of his bourbon then said, “Well, now, I did ask around. Sounds like they are doing a pretty brisk business. My sources say they actually turn people away, and they have upped their prices since they first arrived in town. Become one of the popular forms of entertainment for the smart young set. But nothing sticks out as suspicious. Lots of old ladies who aren’t going to stop nagging their poor husbands, even after their death. A few of our more successful businessmen, who should know better. And, as I mentioned, some young people looking for an excuse to sit and hold hands in the dark.”

  Nate hid his disappointment by turning back to his meal and thought about how he could bring up what Annie had learned without giving her away. “I suppose you may be right about the majority of the people who attend, but I did a little asking around myself, including at police headquarters. There have been a number of complaints filed, including from a relative of a judge who believes he is being defrauded. And from my own contacts, it looks to me like the Framptons could be using information they get from some of their clients to blackmail others.”

  Nate could swear this last comment caused a flicker of interest in Pierce, but the man continued to stuff his mouth with the last of his steak, washing it down with the end of his drink.

  Pierce then signaled the waiter, asked for his pie and a cup of coffee, and leaned back in his seat. “Well, now, young Dawson, you have been busy. Of course I checked with police myself, and my source said there wasn’t anything prosecutable in the complaints. I can tell you, my editors get one whiff that a judge is involved, and they smell lawsuit. Makes them downright timid. Besides the police, where’d you get your information?”

  Nate hesitated. “I’m sorry, I can’t really give you any names, at least not without getting their permission.”

  Pierce nodded, not saying anything while the waiter delivered his pie and coffee. Nate thanked the waiter for his coffee and sat back, satisfied at least with the meal, if not with Pierce’s lack of enthusiasm for exposing the Framptons.

  He tried again. “Pierce, I can understand that it might seem foolhardy to take after people like the Framptons, who have the support of some of the better-connected members of society. And Simon Frampton, with his upper class accent, beautiful wife, and his butler and all, seems very respectable. But I know for a fact that people are being hurt.”

  “You’ve been to one of their séances, have you? What’ya think of Arabella, something out of the ordinary, isn’t she?” Pierce grinned.

  “I didn’t go to a séance. I took your recommendation not to do anything that would get Frampton’s wind up.” Nate paused, looking for a way to describe his visit that wouldn’t give Annie away. He chose his next words. “But I did discover some acquaintances who attend, and I offered to meet them and escort them home, that’s when I met the Framptons.”

  “These acquaintances the ones you think are being hurt? If so, if you could get them to talk to me, I might be able to do something. Otherwise, far as I see it, there just isn’t much there. At least not enough to interest my editors.”

  Nate wondered if Annie could convince either Miss Pinehurst or Mr. Vetch to talk to Pierce. It was worth a try, so he said, “I will see what I can do. I will let you know if I can get anyone to talk to you directly.”

  “Good, good.” Pierce said, taking out his watch and checking the time. “Now, I’ve got to run. Wish I’d more time. I’ve been thinking about your future, young man. Augustus Hart, our next state attorney general, is in town next week. A little victory tour of the state before he takes office. I have an interview scheduled. ‘What the new constitution means to the attorney general’s office.’ That sort of thing. But I can guarantee he’s looking for a few good lawyers who aren’t corrupt to work for him up in Sacramento. I’ll be sure to put in a good word for you.” Pierce rose, throwing down some bills on the table, stuck out his hand to Nate, and gave him another of his wide smiles. “I assume you wouldn’t mind relocating up river, if necessary?”

  Nate rose as well and shook Pierce’s hand vigorously. “Pierce, that’s damned good of you. Of course I would be interested. Just let me know if there is anything I can do. If there was a chance to arrange a meeting, take Hart out for a meal. Whatever you think best.”

  “Good man. I’ll let you know. But I have to run. I think I left enough, but you will settle the bill, won’t ya? Good talking to you.”

  Nate sat back down, watching as Pierce wound his way through the tables, which were beginning to fill up, shaking hands, slapping backs, and leaving a ripple of laughter in his wake. He then took up the bills Pierce had left and counted them. When he had consulted the tab, he wasn’t surprised to see he was going to have to fork out more than two-thirds of the total. But if Pierce got him an interview with Hart, it would be well worth it. Sacramento! Probably wouldn’t have to be there full time, except when the legislature was in session. Even then, only about a six-hour steamboat ride away. He could come home some weekends. Wouldn’t have to do it forever, but the salary had to be better than he was making working with his uncle. And the connections he would make!

  With prospects like that, he might even propose to Annie and have a chance of her saying yes. I wish I could tell her about this. It would help take her mind off the fact that Pierce didn’t have anything we can use against the Framptons. But I’d better not, in case nothing pans out.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Friday evening, October 24, 1879

  “Mrs. Lennett, Medium and Independent Slate Writer, has resumed her private sittings. Office hours from 11-6 pm, 817 Bush St.”

  —San Francisco Chronicle, 1879

  Doesn’t look like there is going to be any Evie May tonight, Annie thought. Simon hadn’t opened the doors to the small back parlor, and he had whispered something to Judge Babcock that had clearly upset him. Annie was disappointed, not only because she was increasingly curious about whom she would meet if she entered the cabinet again, but because she had hoped to test her theory that Simon triggered Evie May in some fashion by the words he spoke at the beginning of each sitting.

  Annie remembered Simon said something like “dear departed ones” when it was time for someone to go to the cabinet, and she was pretty sure he also quoted a phrase that had the word judge in it when it was time for Judge Babcock to go and meet his daughter. In her own case, she thought the key word was mother, combined again with the phrase “dear departed ones.” What she wasn’t so sure about was whether there was some phrase used to end the sessions. Tonight she had hoped to test her theory.

  Instead she was battling to keep awake. This was only her third séance with Arabella, and already she was growing jaded. The only thing that had happened of any interest was the sudden
attention Jack Sweeter paid to her at the beginning of the evening. When she had first arrived at the séance room, he’d given her a charming smile, introduced himself and his cousin, and neatly maneuvered her and Mrs. Larkson into a corner by the drinks table. He’d then begun a series of twenty questions that were clearly designed to figure out precisely where Mrs. Fuller fit into the social strata of San Francisco society. Mrs. Larkson had at first looked bored and then irritated, and Annie had gotten very tired of trying to find new ways to appear to know people she had only heard about.

  She’d felt relieved, therefore, when Arabella had arrived, and the séance had begun, following a now familiar routine. They had moved into the moaning stage, the lights and music had risen and fallen, the table had shook, Mr. Ruckner had discussed the impending arrival of his mother-in-law with his dead wife, and now Mrs. Mott was again conversing with one of her deceased Kansas relatives, this time about their special cure for bunions. Annie didn’t know how Arabella had the patience to conduct this sort of charade night after night.

  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.

&nbs
p; “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.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Friday evening, October 24, 1879

  “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.