A prison with a distinctly unpleasant odor, compliments of the boiled cabbage the cook was making for dinner. A dinner, thank the almighty, he wouldn’t have to sit through because Anthony Pierce had sent round a note this morning asking Nate to join him at Franklin’s Steak House, where local Republicans were celebrating their state-wide victories against the Workingmen’s Party and the Democrats. A dinner where Nate was to be given a chance to meet with either Augustus Hart or his chief of staff, Jaffry, about a job in the attorney general’s office. If only the dinner had been last night, the disaster with Annie might have been avoided.
At least it got him out of having to call on her tonight. He’d regretted having asked to see her as soon as he had left the party yesterday evening. When he got the message from Pierce this morning, he’d sent her a note canceling their appointment. She was probably relieved, and he didn’t know what the hell he would have said to her anyway. What was there to say? He’d poured out his hopes and dreams, told her he loved her, and she’d acted like he had insulted her. If she wanted to see him, let her make the first move.
Nate brushed his hair back behind his ears and grimaced at his reflection. The bright light from the oil lamp threw his features in stark relief. Features that supposedly came from some maternal ancestor and had caused his brother Billy to call him Tecumseh, after the Shawnee leader who had come from their home state of Ohio. Billy, of course, had inherited their father’s good looks: regular features, blond hair, and normal height. Would she have reacted differently if I looked like Billy? Nate stood up straight and turned away from the mirror, angry that he’d even had the thought. He respected Annie too much to think that his appearance or some part of his bloodline had anything to do with her rejection of him.
Checking to see that he had his pocket watch, he then pulled on his tailcoat, grabbed his top hat, and left his room, negotiating the narrow attic stairs. He’d told his uncle earlier in the day that he wouldn’t be home for dinner, so he felt no need to stop off and see him in his rooms on his way out. He had noticed his uncle had been very distracted, showing no interest in the news that Nate had been invited to a Republican Party event, and Nate couldn’t help but wonder if he had been preoccupied with thoughts of the newly widowed, and very beautiful, Mrs. Voss. How ironic if his uncle’s love life was flourishing while his own lay in ruins. Damned ironic.
He left the boarding house, crossed the street, and turned left, going the half a block to where the incline became so steep on the way to the top of Telegraph Hill that the cross street that should have been Kearny was simply a set of stairs going down to the intersection at Broadway. Nate nodded to a young man leaning over a fence at the top of the steps, enjoying a cigarette and a breather from the climb. Then he made his own careful descent down stairs that were barely illuminated by a gas lamp at the bottom. Pierce had written that the dinner was to start at seven, and he was a little late, so once he made it down the stairs he lengthened his stride to make up time on the six blocks down Kearny to California, where he came to Franklin’s Steak House.
As he approached the entrance to the restaurant, he could see a crowd of men, all in formal evening wear, chatting as they made their way through the door. He noticed there seemed to be some sort of functionary vetting the new arrivals. He was about to ask the man in front of him if he was supposed to have brought an invitation, when Anthony Pierce slid in line beside him, clapping him on the back.
“Dawson, glad to see you could make it. Got you a seat at one of the back tables, going to be a lot of big wigs here tonight, was lucky to get seats at all. You would think that the Republicans actually just won the citywide races, given the turnout. Maybe they see this as the start of the push to retake the city.” Pierce just nodded to the man at the door and in they went.
The low roar of male voices, the haze of cigar smoke, and the distinct smell of grilled beef assaulted Nate as he followed Pierce into the main floor of the restaurant. Several tables had been pulled together at one end of the room for the most important attendees. Nate recognized two of the Central Pacific Big Four, Stanford and Crocker, sitting there. Huntington was probably off lobbying in the nation’s capitol. With a start, Nate remembered Hopkins had died in the spring. Andrew Hallidie, whose cable car had made it feasible for both Stanford and Crocker to build their mansions high up on Nob Hill, was also sitting at the table, as was William Alvord, new president of the Bank of California and the last Republican to hold the mayor’s office.
As Nate caught up to Pierce, who was leaning over and talking to a dark-haired man with a very bushy black beard, he noticed that there was one man at the front table he didn’t know. When Pierce straightened up, Nate nodded towards the front of the room and said, “Pierce, who’s the young fellow up there? I don’t recognize him.”
Pierce chuckled. “If all goes as planned, that’s your new boss, Augustus Hart, not a day over thirty. One of the reasons I thought you and he’d get along; you’re both young bucks out to make names for yourselves. Here, take a seat next to Smitty; he knows everything about everybody. I’ve got some business to attend to, but I’ll be back after the speeches, take you up and introduce you. I don’t see Jaffry, but I’m sure he’ll be around later, he’s the man to see.”
Before Nate could respond, Pierce disappeared behind him. Nate nodded to Smitty and sat down just as a waiter delivered the first course to the table, fresh rolls and chowder. Smitty introduced all the men at the table, who represented nearly every local newspaper, and Nate realized he was at the press table. He wondered if he was sitting in Pierce’s seat, and, if so, where was Pierce going to eat? Looking around, he noticed the ceaseless motion in the room caused by a number of men who seemed to be less interested in dining than in wandering from table to table, shaking hands, swapping jokes, and whispering urgently into other men’s ears. Pierce, no doubt, was doing the same.
Without asking, Smitty took the carafe sitting next to him and poured him a glass of red wine, saying, “Franklin’s spending a bundle on this dinner, can’t see what he’s going to get out of it, with Kalloch and his crowd in power for the next two years. Of course, must be damned near a hundred men crammed in here tonight, and if even half of them come back and bring their wives, he’ll be judged a success. Chowder’s not bad, but the proof will be in the steak.”
Nate nodded, thinking that anything would be better than the meals his landlady served. Smitty, throughout the next three courses, provided a steady stream of sarcastic remarks about the men in the room; how much they were worth, who had a mistress, who had lost money when the Comstock mine shares dropped, who had gotten a chance to meet privately with Grant when the former president was in town, and who hoped to get a job in Sacramento when Perkins took over the governorship. At this point, Smitty had looked at Nate and winked and continued on about Perkins’ various business interests in railroad and steamship companies, cattle ranches, timber, and mining investments.
I wonder if Annie knows about Perkins’ oil exploration? I’ll have to remember to tell her, Nate thought, then the sirloin in his mouth turned to sawdust. He’d only courted a woman once before, the sister of a law school friend, and that was eight years ago. After Miss Foster had rejected his offer of marriage, he’d never seen her again, much to his relief, since he’d found the whole experience one of mortal embarrassment. Is that what is going to happen with Annie? Would he never see her again? A wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm him, and he reached out to drain the glass of wine. There had to be a way to fix this. He just needed to figure out what went wrong.
The sound of a glass being tapped began to penetrate the noise that had steadily risen as the wine had been consumed. Eventually the conversations around him died down and the former mayor began to make a speech. Nate looked around the room again, struck by the self-satisfied look on the faces of the men, satiated by Franklin’s steak and vintage wines and congratulating themselves for having weathered the series of economic blows the city and state had
undergone in the past decade. Then he remembered the frustration Annie had expressed that so many of the city’s wealthiest citizens showed no pity for their workers when the bad times came and then worked against the new constitution because it included the mildest of reforms.
Why in heaven’s name did I assume she would be pleased about my plans to join up with men like this? No wonder she was upset. Although Annie came originally from this segment of society and spent a good deal of her time as Madam Sibyl advising men and women of this class, she had been scathing in her condemnation of the corrupt domination of state politics by the railroad and silver millionaires and their allies. There he’d been daydreaming about how, with her social skills and background, she would be able to help him in his political career, when throwing dinner parties and acting the gracious hostess to men like these would have been anathema to her. And just how was that supposed to work if they were men who had been to Madam Sibyl for advice? She must have thought he wanted her to quit working as a clairvoyant because he didn’t want it to hurt his political ambitions. That’s not what he had been thinking, was it?
Nate looked at Hart, a lawyer only a year older than himself, sitting at the front table with men like Crocker and Stanford, and he wondered how Hart had gotten to that exalted position so quickly. Had he been born to that class, and did family connections get him there? Or had he done something for one of these men that resulted in a payoff in the form of political office? Maybe he was being too hard on the young man. Hart could be an idealist, hoping to clean out the excesses of the previous Democratic administration, but how could a man in politics today afford to go against the interests of the powerful men sitting at the table with him? Wouldn’t Hart have had to make certain promises even to get nominated for the office, much less elected? What sort of promises would Hart expect of Nate?
What in the hell was I thinking? Nate asked himself as he pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. Smitty looked up in surprise, but then turned back to the speeches when Nate mumbled something about a call of nature. He looked briefly for Pierce. He owed him some explanation for leaving, but when he couldn’t find him, he left the restaurant anyway.
In less than twenty minutes, Nate was standing in front of Annie’s door, his heart pounding. There was enough light coming from the parlor window for him to check his watch, and he saw it was just a few minutes past eight. Hopefully, not too late to call. Hopefully, not to late to explain what a fool he had been.
When Miss Kathleen opened the door, she looked so surprised that Nate had the terrible thought that Annie might have given instructions to be permanently ‘not at home’ when he called.
He had just begun to ask if “Mrs. Fuller was available,” when she blurted out, “Mr. Dawson, whatever are you doing here? You just missed Mrs. Fuller.”
He thought, That’s odd. Where would she be at this time of night? Is she just being kind, not telling me that Annie won’t see me? Not willing to give up, Nate said, “Miss Kathleen, is there any chance I could wait for her? Do you know when she is going to be back? It’s imperative that I see her.”
“But Mr. Dawson,” the young maid said, looking puzzled. “She’s gone to meet you. Mrs. Fuller didn’t leave but five minutes ago.”
“Meet me? What do you mean? I sent her a note earlier telling her I wouldn’t be able to come tonight, but . . . wait, that wouldn’t explain . . . are you sure she said she was meeting me?” Nate’s confusion increased.
“Yes, sir. I saw the telegram. It asked her to meet you at Nielson’s Restaurant at eight-fifteen. Something about the Framptons.”
“That just doesn’t make sense. I didn’t send any telegram, and I certainly wouldn’t ask her to go across the city to meet me at some restaurant. Damnation! Oh, excuse me, Miss Kathleen, but what mischief has your mistress gotten herself into this time?”
Chapter Forty-four
Saturday evening, November 1, 1879
“HOW TO RIDE A BICYCLE: Practical Instructions for Managing the Steel Steed.”
—San Francisco Chronicle, 1879
Annie got off the car at Bush and Montgomery and looked around, momentarily dazzled by the bright lights and crowded thoroughfare. This intersection was at the heart of the theater district, and carriages intermingled with venders hawking flowers and salted pretzels. Meanwhile, small dogs and boys ran shouting after a few young men who were riding down the street on high-wheeled bicycles, ridiculous contraptions that were probably as dangerous as they looked. Annie shuddered, thinking of what would happen if Jamie got it into his head he wanted to try one. She didn’t think his legs would be long enough, but that never stopped a boy from trying.
The sidewalks were, if anything, more crowded, with throngs of pedestrians weaving around jugglers, hurdy gurdy men, and fruit sellers. In the midst of all these people, Annie felt suddenly conspicuous, the only unaccompanied woman she saw, without a husband or beau at her arm, or even a female friend to lean on. I’m just being stupid, feeling sorry for myself, Annie scolded herself.
For some reason all day she had let the mixture of anger, embarrassment, and deep sadness she had been feeling cut her off from her friends in the boarding house. What did it matter that she no longer could plan a future of visits to Woodward’s Gardens or carriage rides in Golden Gate Park with Nate? She could still look forward to cozy chats with her friends in the kitchen. And there wasn’t any reason why she and Barbara Hewitt couldn’t expand their friendship to include Saturday night strolls along Kearney and Montgomery, looking at the bright store fronts, buying one of those tasty pretzels, or even saving up to splurge on a matinee at the Belle Union Theater.
She noticed a bright yellow Omnibus car slowly climbing up Sansome and moved to the corner to be ready to climb on board. Since most of the traffic was coming the other way, she was able to find a seat on the car. She looked at her watch and saw that it was ten after eight; she would be late.
Serves Nate right. Whatever possessed him to send her such a cryptic telegram at the last minute, giving her not a moment to spare if she was going to meet him on time? Now that she had nothing to do but wait for the Omnibus to make its slow way to Vallejo Street, she finally had time to think about how odd it was for Nate to ask her to meet him at a restaurant. Why couldn’t he have just come to her house if he had learned something important about the Framptons?
Maybe he felt embarrassed, assuming that she would have told everyone about what occurred last night. It couldn’t be pleasant for a man to think that other people knew he had proposed and been rejected. But was that even what had happened? While she certainly hadn’t responded the way he had wanted, had she actually said no? How could she, when he hadn’t really proposed, just told her he wanted to marry her?
You really made a mess of it didn’t you, Nate, she thought, now able to see a glimmer of humor in the whole ridiculous situation. No wonder he didn’t want to come to the house. Could the reference to the Framptons have been just an excuse to get her to meet elsewhere? He wouldn’t be that devious, would he? Or stupid. Surely he’d realize how angry she’d be if it turned out to be a ruse. Then again, last night he had proved how little he understood her, so maybe he was being that foolish.
Sell the house, quit working! All she had to do was think about this and her blood began to boil. Yet, absurdly, it was his blithe assumption she wouldn’t mind if he moved away to live in Sacramento for years before they married that had gotten her most upset last night.
Annie closed her eyes for a second, feeling sick when she remembered the panic and pain she’d seen in his face, knowing that, however misguided he had been about what she wanted, he did care for her, and that her response had hurt him.
No, I will not go into this meeting feeling sorry for Nate Dawson, she chided herself. He had said he had information on the Framptons, and she would make sure they stuck to that topic. They would be in a public place, and it would be completely inappropriate to talk about anything personal. Yes, that’s th
e approach I will take.
Annie noticed that the car had made the turn on Washington and they were now going right through the middle of China Town. This early in the evening lights still streamed out from every storefront, and the narrow sidewalks and alleys were crammed with people and livestock, illuminated by brightly-colored paper lanterns. She thought of Wong, the one resident of China Town she knew, and how wonderful it would be to see him, with his grave smile, get on the car. Would he be shocked if she sent him a letter? When the car turned to go up Stockton, they left China Town behind, and the incline began to steepen somewhat. As the car slowly rumbled through the intersection with Broadway, she got up and made her way to the front of the car, ready to get off at Vallejo, where Nielson’s was located.
She wondered whether Nate had chosen this restaurant because it was near the boarding house where he and his uncle lived. Could someone who had been attending the Frampton séances have agreed to meet him at his home to talk to him? Perhaps he thought he could then convince this person to meet her at a nearby restaurant, knowing she would be reluctant to have anyone come to her house, but be equally unwilling to meet them at his home. In those circumstances, the restaurant made sense.
When she stepped down from the car and watched it continue on its way up Stockton, she noticed how much darker it was here in the residential section of the city. The street lamps were further apart, the few stores were shuttered, and only an occasional beam of light spilled out from the narrow row house windows. Ready to cross Vallejo, she looked to the left and had her breath taken away by the sight of what looked like a ladder of lights climbing into the sky. In a moment, she realized she was looking at the gas lamps climbing up the steep eastern front of Russian Hill. When she looked to the right, she saw a similar effect as Vallejo made its way up the slope of Telegraph Hill. From comments Nate had made about the steep climb to his boarding house, she concluded that he lived three or four blocks from where she was standing.
Uneasy Spirits: A Victorian San Francisco Mystery Page 33
