Here he was, bowing slightly and almost grabbing the top hat and cane from that handsome Mr. Sweeter, who had just come in with Mrs. Larkson. Tonight Mrs. Larkson was wearing a luscious, fur-trimmed pelisse. When she took it off, Kathleen saw that she was in a dark-green silk evening dress, with a low-cut neckline and a long train of light-green brocaded satin. Kathleen whistled silently, thinking, What a get-up, must have cost a fortune! Dressed like that, they must be going to some shindig after. Sweeter sure looks the part of a gentleman in his fancy dress. Wonder if the lady’s husband is meeting them later?
Kathleen thought about the little changes her mistress had been making to her good navy and her best black silk to hide the fact that she only had two fashionable dresses to choose from for evening wear. The men at the séance wouldn’t notice; Mr. Dawson, heaven knows, wouldn’t care if Mrs. Fuller was wearing a sack, he was that besotted. Kathleen would bet that Mrs. Frampton and Mrs. Larkson had observed that the supposedly well-to-do Mrs. Fuller was recirculating the same two gowns. Maybe they would just take this as confirmation of the story her mistress had told Mr. Frampton, that she needed to speak to her father because her income wasn’t enough to make ends meet.
Arabella Frampton came down the stairs and waited until Mr. Sweeter and Mrs. Larkson had moved into the parlor, then came and put her hand on the butler’s arm.
“Albert, please tell our guests that the start of the circle will be slightly delayed. Then, after everyone’s drinks have been taken care of, you are needed in the kitchen. Oh, and please close the door to the hallway when you go in; I believe everyone is assembled.”
While Mrs. Frampton was dressed, as usual, in an elegant silk gown, this one a dark lilac that somehow managed to complement not clash with her bright auburn hair, she didn’t look quite as collected as usual. A strand of hair was slipping loose from the spray of flowers that held up the curls at the top of her head, as if she had been interrupted in the midst of getting dressed.
Albert nodded and went into the séance parlor, closing the doors behind him. Mrs. Frampton then climbed the stairs and was soon out of sight, although Kathleen thought she heard voices in the upstairs hall. A few moments later, Simon Frampton came down the stairs, accompanied by Mrs. Nickerson, who was clinging to his arm and whispering urgently. Kathleen was amused to see Mr. Frampton replace a sour expression with a fixed smile when he noticed Kathleen sitting on the chair by the front door.
Once he made it to the first floor, a task made more difficult by Mrs. Nickerson’s attempt to lean her head on his shoulder, he said, “Mrs. Nickerson, please, I must leave you now. I have a room full of anxious men and women waiting for me. But here is Mrs. Fuller’s maid, Miss Kathleen, I believe her name is, and I am sure she will be so good as to escort you to the kitchen. You wouldn’t mind helping us out in this fashion, would you, Miss Kathleen? Mrs. Nickerson is indisposed, and I do believe a nice cup of hot tea is very much in order.”
Kathleen had risen as soon as Mr. Frampton had addressed her, and she gave a little curtsy in acknowledgement. She was thrilled to be given license to go on to the back of the house and finally see the kitchen. She would also get a chance to find out what had upset Evie May’s mother so. She moved forward and let Mr. Frampton ruthlessly transfer a now weeping Mrs. Nickerson from his arm to her own. He then opened the doors to the parlor and disappeared.
“Now Ma’am, let’s get you that cup of tea, and maybe one of Cook’s pastries,” Kathleen cajoled. When Mrs. Nickerson ignored her and turned to follow Mr. Frampton, Kathleen held onto to her and said sharply, “Mrs. Nickerson, you don’t want to be going there, not at leastways until you have had a chance to refresh yourself. Tears can age a woman so.”
That got her attention, Kathleen thought, beginning to herd the older woman down the hallway.
“Oh, dear me, I hadn’t thought . . . I just was so upset. I must look a fright. I do believe a cup of tea . . . a cool cloth to my eyes . . . Simon has his work to do; I realize that. What must he think of me? Such a gentleman.”
“That’s all right,” Kathleen said, patting Mrs. Nickerson on the shoulder.
Then she pushed through the door to the short, narrow back hallway, where the wood floor and wainscoting of the front hallway were replaced by dark, scuffed oilcloth and dingy plaster. Straight ahead she could see the kitchen, well lighted by kerosene lamps, and the German cook standing over a breadboard next to the sink, vigorously kneading. Kathleen pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and urged Mrs. Nickerson to sit.
Biddy had told her the cook’s name, so she addressed her directly. “Please, Mrs. Schmitt, Mr. Frampton asked that you fix Mrs. Nickerson some tea. But I can see you are busy, so if you wouldn’t mind, I will just put on the kettle. If you point the way, I am sure I can assemble tea for the lady.”
The cook, who had glared at them when they first entered the kitchen, now smiled. Wiping her floury hands on her apron she pointed to a steaming kettle and then to a tea service that was already set up on a table underneath a back window. Kathleen thanked her, went over and picked up a towel hanging over the oven door handle, and lifted the kettle off the stovetop. Seeing that the tea was already in the pot, she then went and poured the water into the teapot. Mrs. Fuller had taught her to heat the pot first and put in the tea next, but who was she to argue with how the Germans did it?
While she waited for the tea to brew, she turned and looked around. Mrs. Nickerson was sitting with her elbows on the table and her head in her hands. Now that she no longer had a male audience, she looked exhausted and very much her age. Mrs. Schmitt had gone back to her kneading. The kitchen seemed well stocked. Plates and glasses filled a glass-fronted cabinet, different sized bowls nested together on a counter, and a series of ceramic crocks, which probably held flour and grains, stood on a shelf. Kathleen, looking back at the entrance to the kitchen, noted there was a closed door that must lead down to the cellar. On the other side, a second door stood open. It appeared to lead to the pantry and perhaps the cook’s quarters. She remembered Biddy said the laundry was located down in the cellar.
Pouring the tea into two cups, Kathleen said to Mrs. Nickerson, “Would you like some cream and sugar in your tea, ma’am?” She interpreted the moan that came from the older woman as an affirmative and liberally added both. Noting that Mrs. Schmitt had slapped the ball of dough into a bowl, she raised the second cup and inquired, “Mrs. Schmitt, would you like me to pour you a cup? And I wondered if there might be any of those wonderful pastries you served last Friday?”
The cook shook her head, but again smiled and walked over to take off a dishtowel that lay over a plate, revealing a stack of lovely yellow cakes topped with sugar and sliced almonds. Kathleen practically swooned. Mrs. O’Rourke was a wonderful cook, but everyone knew the Germans were the best bakers.
“Mrs. Schmitt, those look so wonderful! Now, Mrs. Nickerson, do drink up, you will feel much better.”
Kathleen poured a cup for herself and, bringing over the plate of cakes, sat across from Mrs. Nickerson. “Ma’am, can you tell me what’s upsetting you? I can see you’re that troubled. Maybe I can help.”
Mrs. Nickerson, who had gulped down half a cup of tea and now had her mouth stuffed with cake, seemed to find Kathleen’s question insulting because she drew herself up and tried to look down her nose. If she meant to be intimidating, the thick black smudges under her eyes from the burnt cork she had used on her eyelashes, the raw red of her nose, and the liberal dusting of powdered sugar on her chin simply made Kathleen want to laugh.
“Girl, you have been kind enough, but it is none of your business what has caused me such distress. No, I must trust in Simon. Mr. Frampton, that is. He won’t let anything happen to . . . no, mustn’t say. He said I should just wait. Albert . . .” Mrs. Nickerson, who clearly wanted to talk, took the rest of the cake in her mouth as if this was the only way to stop herself.
Just then, as if summoned by Mrs. Nickerson’s words, Albert appeared at the e
ntranceway to the kitchen. He gave a grim nod of satisfaction when he saw Mrs. Nickerson with her back to him, and he silently retreated, disappearing up the back stairs.
Kathleen shivered. That man was altogether too quiet on his feet. Biddy said it was as if he could magically appear and then reappear from one room to the other, and he always seemed to materialize just when she was taking a break from work. Kathleen tried several more times to engage Mrs. Nickerson in conversation, but to no avail. Finally, she decided that there wasn’t anything more to be gained from her or the silent cook, who was fiddling with something on the stove that smelled like beef broth. She finished her tea, had one more pastry, stood up, and said, “Excuse me. I believe I need to use the privy. Can I assume it is out back?”
Biddy had told her that the Framptons didn’t permit her to use the toilet installed in the upstairs bathroom, so Kathleen knew the answer to her own question. She thought a trip to the back yard would give her a chance to nose around a bit before Sunday night. Mrs. Nickerson just stared at her, but Mrs. Schmitt said something that sounded like “ya” and pointed to a lantern that sat on the counter next to the back door.
After lighting the candle in the lantern, Kathleen opened the back door, which was unlocked, and went out into the dark. The light from the kitchen window only spilled out a short distance. The cloudy night sky held no moon or stars, and it took a second for her eyes to adjust. Looking down and swinging the lantern, she saw a gravel path leading straight back to a shed surrounded by bushes. As her vision improved, she saw that behind the privy bulked what was most likely the old carriage house, which Biddy said was abandoned. Off the path to the privy the remnants of a gravel drive were overgrown by grass. She first walked over to the privy, in case she was being watched, then turned around to see if Mrs. Schmitt, whom she could see in the kitchen window, was looking her way. The cook seemed to be looking down, and then she moved away from the window. Kathleen used this opportunity to look for a path that would lead around the side of the house.
Last night, when Mrs. Fuller talked to Biddy about her plan to search the Frampton house, she had said she was especially interested in trying to get into the rooms underneath the two connected séance parlors. Biddy had told her that the door to the cellar remained locked, unless Biddy was doing wash. Even then, the door from the washroom to the next room, which held the wine and the cask of beer, stayed locked; she had tried it each time she did the laundry, just out of curiosity.
Once, Albert had let Biddy into the wine cellar to help him fetch several bottles, and she saw that from the wine cellar there was another door that most likely led to the rooms underneath the upstairs parlors. She had assumed this door was locked as well.
Biddy had mentioned there was another entrance to the cellar on the side of the house, which Kathleen wanted to explore. Evidently there was a little-used track that went from the alley, passed the old abandoned carriage house, and ended at the woodpile on the side of the house. Biddy said that next to the woodpile, and before the French windows to the small back parlor, there was a kind of trap door that she assumed led to stairs or a ramp for delivering goods into the cellar. Mrs. Fuller had said most grand old houses had such things so that when there was a big party, with lots of deliveries, the tradesmen wouldn’t have to track through the kitchen.
What Kathleen hoped to check out was if this trap door was locked, and, if so, what kind of tool they might use to pry it open. She hadn’t mentioned this idea to Mrs. Fuller because she thought her mistress wouldn’t be comfortable with the idea of a little breaking and entering. But Kathleen thought it would be good to have a plan in mind, just in case.
She could see by the light of the lantern that she had reached the edge of the house and that there was indeed a partially overgrown track. She shifted the lantern to her left hand and put out her right to touch the side of the house, using this to guide her passage, watching her feet to make sure she didn’t trip over anything. Without warning, someone grabbed her around the waist, and, after she let out a yelp, cupped a hand over her mouth. She tried to get free, but she was hampered by the fact she still held the lantern in her left hand. She was afraid to let it loose, in case it might set her skirts on fire. She then realized the man was whispering in her ear.
“Settle down, darling. I’m not going to hurt you. If you promise not to screech, I will let you go. You startled me. I was just having a smoke. Want one? There, that’s better.”
Kathleen stilled, and the man removed his hand from her mouth, but his arm stayed firmly around her waist. The strong smell of tobacco showed he was telling the truth, at least that far. Her heart began to slow and her mind turned over quickly. Kathleen had had her share of experiences with amorous young men, usually drunk. To her mind, whoever this was, he wasn’t drunk and didn’t seem to be a great physical threat. She judged that he must be pretty young if the short stature and the higher register of his voice were any indication. He took the lantern from her hand and let it shine in her face. Blinded for a moment, Kathleen put up her hand, tried to get a look at her captor, and whispered, “Stop that. I can’t see a thing. Who do you think you are? Scaring a poor girl half out of her wits.”
He abruptly released her and set the lantern down on what Kathleen saw was a waist-high pile of wood. She could now see him. He was no more than half a foot taller than she was and was clean-shaven, with a slouch hat crammed down low over his forehead. He had a loose suit jacket over some sort of light-colored vest, and he was looking at his hands where he had a box of matches and a cigarette. After lighting the cigarette, he took a deep pull and looked up, extending the cigarette in an unspoken invitation as he exhaled. Kathleen started to shake her head, and then she froze as she stared into the pale, unforgettable eyes of Evie May.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Friday evening, October 24, 1879
“Shortly before 12 o’clock last Friday night officer Waite…was set upon…by a crowd of Barbary Coast hoodlums, who struck him several times over the head and face with a billet of wood.”
—San Francisco Chronicle, 1879
“Ma’am, it was Evie May, dressed up like a young tough.”
From the moment that Annie left the séance room and was scooped up by Kathleen and practically dragged out of the house, she knew the young maid had something of great import to tell her. She’d barely had time to get her coat on before Kathleen grabbed her hand and began to pull her out the front door. When they’d had to wait for a moment while Mrs. Larkson and Mr. Sweeter preceded them down the front steps, Kathleen had vibrated with impatience. Once they reached the sidewalk, she set such a rapid pace that they were soon several yards ahead of Mr. Ruckner, who was the only member of the circle who took the same horse car home as they did. Now safe from prying ears, Kathleen began to spill out the whole story of her evening, ending with the young man who had grabbed her and whom she swore was Evie May.
Annie was flabbergasted. “Evie May? How can you be sure?”
“Her eyes. Remember when I ran into her that first day we visited, when she said she was Miss Evelyn? I noticed her eyes. Such an odd, pale color. Afterwards I thought to myself that I wasn’t sure if they were a green or gray. They might even be a light brown. Strange. Piercing. You’ve noticed them, haven’t you, ma’am?”
“Yes, yes, Evie May does have very distinctive eyes. Changeable, just like the rest of her. But mightn’t the young man be a brother or young male cousin? Maybe she even has a twin?”
“I thought about that, but you see, it was Evie May who was missing. That’s what all the fuss was about. She wasn’t in the cabinet was she?”
Annie said, “No, she wasn’t. But when the séance was over, Albert came in and whispered something to Simon, who then told Judge Babcock that he thought Evie May would be able to give him a sitting tonight, if he was willing to wait until everyone was gone.”
“But don’t you see, ma’am, that just proves it. I learned later from the cook that Mrs. Nickerson
had been so upset because when it came time for the séance, no one could find Evie May. I don’t know what the girl was up to, but for some reason she slipped out of the house dressed like a young man. Then, right after she slipped back into the house, suddenly Evie May was available for a sitting.”
By this time they had reached Sixth and Harrison. Since there were several people standing at the car stop, Annie slowed down so they wouldn’t be overheard. “What do you mean she slipped back into the house?”
“I had just whispered her name when we both heard the back door to the kitchen slam open and Albert give a shout. I guess someone in the house must have heard me yell. Anyway, Evie May looked at me, said, ‘Sorry, Miss, but you can call me Edmund.’ Then he winked, pinched my cheek, and climbed up the woodpile. Then he, I mean she, grabbed a rope hanging down the side of the house, and darned if she didn’t clamber right up to an open window on the second floor and disappear.”
“My goodness! How unexpected. She must have gotten out that way as well. From your description of where the woodpile is, the room above it on the second floor would be at the back of the house. When we see Biddy on Sunday, she will be able to tell us if that is Evie May’s room.” Annie then noticed that their car was approaching, and she said, “Wait to tell me until we get on the car. Here comes Mr. Ruckner. Let’s make sure we sit as far away from him as we can, so we can continue to talk.”
Once Annie and Kathleen had made their way to the far end of the car, and Mr. Ruckner, who probably had no desire to associate with a fellow member of Framptons’ circle, took a seat right near the front, they resumed their whispered conversation. Kathleen told her how she snatched up the lantern and blew out the candle, then crept down the track that led to the alley, so as to miss Albert. When she saw him go back into the kitchen, she cut across to the privy so that when she returned to the house she would be coming from the right direction. When she re-entered the kitchen, she told him some tale about the candle in the lantern blowing out, which had caused her such a fright she had screeched.
Uneasy Spirits: A Victorian San Francisco Mystery Page 20
