Murder on Nob Hill

by Shirley Tallman

  “Since Mrs. Hanaford has retained me to handle her affairs, I’m afraid you will have to contemplate it,” I told him evenly.

  I wouldn’t have thought it possible for the man's face to become any more suffused with color, but I was mistaken. It was now positively purple, and the noises issuing from his mouth did not in any way resemble the English language. Since he seemed incapable of coherent speech, and we had once again become a spectacle for the entire office—including the irascible junior attorney—I was forced to take the matter in hand.

  “Shall we adjourn to your office, Mr. Shepard? I would prefer to discuss my client's affairs in a more private forum.”

  “Your client. Your client—!”

  In the back of the room, I observed the ill-mannered associate guffawing in his glassed den. Since I had no wish to afford him further amusement at my expense, I motioned Annjenett in what I thought must be the direction of the senior attorney's office. As I’d anticipated, Mr. Shepard had little choice but to follow. At the end of the hall, he unceremoniously motioned us into an over-furnished office of pretentious proportions.

  “See here, Miss Woolson,” he began, seating himself behind a heavy oak desk. “You go beyond the boundaries of legal propriety.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way, Mr. Shepard,” I replied calmly. I was determined—not only for my own pride, but because my client had expressed such a high regard for my abilities—that no matter what the provocation, I would conduct myself in a professional manner. “I seek only to settle Mrs. Hanaford's affairs as quickly and efficiently as possible.”

  “That is precisely what this firm has endeavored to do,” the senior partner snapped. “May I remind you, madam, that we have represented Mr. Hanaford and his bank for close to twenty years?”

  “Regretfully, Mr. Hanaford is no longer with us. His widow, on

  the other hand, faces a domestic crisis that can no longer be ignored. Yesterday, I became aware of certain documents that will enable her to attend to these responsibilities while awaiting the resolution of her husband's estate.”

  Shepard's small eyes gleamed. Clearly he thought he had me at last. My ignorance of the law had betrayed me. His jowls quivered as he hastened to point out the folly of my feminine naivete.

  “Such a discover y would be truly remarkable,” he said in a voice dripping with sarcasm, “since I hold all documents related to the late Mr. Hanaford's estate. I can’t imagine what you think you’ve found that can abridge the due process of the law.”

  Silently, I placed before him the papers I had uncovered in Mr. Hanaford's safe, then watched his expression change from smug dismissal to unmistakable shock. “Where did you find these?”

  Briefly, I explained the events of the previous afternoon. “You may either transfer Mr. Hanaford's funds directly to her account at the bank,” I looked to Annjenett to make certain this arrangement was acceptable, then at her nod added, “or we’ll be happy to accept a note from you in that amount.”

  Shepard looked stunned. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I assure you, sir, I never make light of the law.”

  “Then you have taken leave of your senses. That is a very great deal of money.”

  “It is indeed. Money which rightfully belongs to my client.”

  I watched the attorney fight down his fury. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely in control. “Miss Woolson, your behavior is not only impertinent, it is unethical. You’ve preyed on this poor widow's bereavement by making her believe that you—with no experience of the law—can accomplish what one of the oldest and most respected firms in San Francisco cannot. You, a—a woman moreover!”

  I drew myself up until my eyes were level with the attorney's. He had touched upon a nerve that begged, nay, demanded a response.

  “It is true that I lack experience of the law, Mr. Shepard. But who is to blame for that? How is any woman to receive practical experience when no man will hire her? But you are mistaken if you assume I lack knowledge. My father has more than done his duty toward his children. Now I propose to use that knowledge to rectify a grievous oversight.”

  “Really, madam, you go too far!”

  “On the contrary, sir, I fear my breeding prevents me from going far enough.” I gathered up the papers that would soon make Annjenett Hanaford a wealthy woman in her own right. “Today is Friday. We understand it may take a day or two to arrange for such a considerable amount of cash. We’re willing, therefore, to give you until Wednesday of next week to complete the transaction. I trust that is satisfactory?”

  “I assure you, Miss Woolson, there is nothing satisfactory about this business.” He glared at me for a long moment, then turned to Annjenett. “My dear, I shudder to contemplate what your late husband would think of this. I daresay he would turn over in his grave if he knew you were contemplating leaving this firm. And for a— a woman who is foisting herself off as an attorney.”

  For the first time since entering the office,Annjenett spoke, and I was pleased to note her resolute expression. “I appreciate the help you have given me since my husband's death, Mr. Shepard, but I am determined that Miss Woolson shall continue as my personal attorney.” She hesitated. “I can, however, think of a compromise. If you were to take Miss Woolson on as an associate, there’d be no need for me to leave this firm.” She smiled, and it would have required a harder heart than Joseph Shepard's to resist such charm. “It would please me very much if you would agree.”

  “I, ah, that is—” The attorney stumbled to a stop and I watched a plethora of emotions cross his round face. In the end, I wasn’t surprised when greed won the day.

  “Such an arrangement will be fraught with difficulties,” he told her unhappily, “particularly for Miss Woolson. I fear she’ll find few friends among the staff. The hours are long and strenuous, the work difficult. Much of it, for that matter, will undoubtedly be beyond her comprehension.

  As I began to protest this latest affront, he interrupted, saying, “I cannot imagine that any clients, other than yourself, will desire Miss Woolson's services.” He paused, plainly waging one final internal battle, then continued, his voice edged with distaste. “However, for your sake we’ll give it a try. At least for a week or two.”

  Annjenett gave him her most heartwarming smile. “That's most kind of you, Mr. Shepard. I’m sure you won’t regret it.”

  Shepard grimaced. Even a client of Mrs. Hanaford's importance could not convince him of this unlikely possibility. Regarding me balefully, he rose and led us out of the office.

  It took me but a moment to realize how loose this arrangement was to be. Judging by the speed with which we were being herded down the hall, I had the impression Joseph Shepard would be happy if his first female attorney were an unseen, as well as silent, associate. I immediately set out to rectify this miscalculation.

  “I shall require an office,” I declared, refusing to be led another inch until this matter was settled to my satisfaction.

  Shepard turned and stared at me incredulously. “An office?”

  “Unless you would prefer me to conduct my practice from the clerk's anteroom. Which I’m prepared to do, if necessary.”

  You might have thought I’d suggested opening a tea shop on the premises. After a half-stifled noise from his nasal region, he spun around and marched back down the hall, throwing open a door and motioning us inside. The room we entered was small and gloomy; the only light came from two small windows placed high on one wall. There was an old, very dusty desk and two straight-back chairs, one of them missing a leg. I guessed that, until recently, this space had been used as a storage room.

  “You may work here in the unlikely event there is a need,” he said crossly. “I do not expect Mrs. Hanaford's affairs will require your presence more than once or twice a month, if that.”

  This was another point I thought best to set straight. “On the contrary, I intend to carry my share of responsibility. I shall put in a full day's work, each and e
very day of the week.”

  When he appeared incapable of a reply, I decided this was as good a time as any to outline my goals. “I’m primarily interested in issues pertaining to women, although I’m prepared to handle other cases as the need arises. Of course, I’ll have to do something about this room.” Ignoring the man's incoherent sputters, I regarded the spartan chamber. “Several ideas spring to mind.”

  “May I ask, madam, why you should presume to have ideas about my office?” The irksome junior attorney stood in the doorway holding an armload of books. His fierce turquoise eyes darted from me to the senior partner. “More to the point, what are you doing here in the first place?”

  “There's been a change of plans,” Shepard told him shortly. Looking as if he might choke on the words, the senior partner explained that I would be joining the firm as an associate attorney. “On a trial basis,” he hastened to add. “Miss Woolson will be— representing Mrs. Hanaford's interests.”

  The younger man emitted a half-strangled oath, then moved forward in such a rush that the books he carried tumbled onto the floor before he could reach the desk. “Good lord, man, have you taken leave of your senses?”

  The senior partner was clearly at the end of his tether. If he could not take his wrath out on me for fear of losing one of his most valued clients, there was nothing to prevent him from venting his fury on a hapless junior attorney. “Whom I hire or do not hire is patently none of your concern, Mr. Campbell,” he pronounced through clenched teeth.

  “It is certainly my concern if this woman is to be placed in my office,” the younger man argued. “I’ve waited more than two years to move out of that fishbowl. We had an agreement.”

  “You forget yourself, sir,” Shepard snapped with growing fury.

  I had grown weary of this juvenile squabbling. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” I said to the red-haired associate. “I’m Sarah Woolson. And this is Mrs. Cornelius Hanaford. You are—?”

  I’d caught the man off guard. “Robert Campbell,” he replied. “But I have no intention of allowing some supercilious female to—”

  “Your intentions are of no interest to me, Mr. Campbell. Despite your appalling manners, however, I believe in honoring a bargain. If you were promised this room, then you shall have it. I have no objections to using your cubicle until more suitable arrangements can be made.”

  “I require no favors from you, madam,” said the ungrateful man, his Scottish burr becoming more marked by the minute. (Absently, I noted that his accent seemed to become more pronounced in direct ratio to the state of his perturbation.) “Trust a woman to intrude her meddlesome nose into affairs that in no way concern her.”

  “Trust a man to behave as if he were the only creature fit to inhabit the earth. I offer you justice and you thank me by behaving in the most overbearing, impertinent—”

  “Enough!” Joseph Shepard glowered at both of us. “Miss Wool-son will take this office. You, Campbell, will return to the room you’ve been using. Not one more word,” he continued before the junior associate could protest. “The matter is settled.”

  His face dark, Campbell turned and stormed wordlessly from the room. Joseph Shepard mopped his brow with a handkerchief. “Rest assured I will report this business of Mrs. Hanaford's separate property to Mr. Wylde.”

  “You must do as you see fit, Mr. Shepard,” I told him. “However, it will not alter the fact that we expect payment of Mrs. Hanaford's money by Wednesday of next week. I shall file the appropriate papers at the courthouse this afternoon.”

  I nodded to Annjenett and we started for the door. “I’ll see you first thing Monday morning, Mr. Shepard. Good day.”

  Joseph Shepard was beyond speech. I caught a last look of him staring after us, openmouthed, as we marched through the antechamber and took our leave of the office.

  You were splendid,” Annjenett proclaimed as we reached her waiting carriage. “Please, let me give you a ride. You mentioned you were going to the courthouse?”

  Before I could reply to this generous offer, a handsome gentleman, dressed in a stylish dark blue frock coat and jaunty necktie, approached us. Although I was certain I hadn’t met the man before, he seemed oddly familiar.

  “My dear Mrs. Hanaford,” he said in a voice that was at once cultured and deeply resonant. He doffed his top hat. “I’ve been meaning to offer my condolences on your recent loss.”

  My companion seemed momentarily struck dumb, then belat edly remembered her manners. “Sarah, I’d like you to meet Mr. Peter Fowler, an old friend of the family. Mr. Fowler, this is Miss Sarah Woolson. Miss Woolson is an attorney.”

  “An attorney!” he said in surprise, and again I had the strange feeling I had met the man before. His distinctive voice, in particular, sounded very familiar. “How—interesting.”

  “More colorful adjectives than that have been used to describe my choice of professions, Mr. Fowler,” I told him.

  Turning my attention back to Annjenett, I was surprised to find her regarding him self-consciously, as if unsure what to do or say next. Her cheeks colored, and after an awkward moment, she made a move toward the carriage. Instantly, Mr. Fowler stepped forward and gallantly helped her into the seat.

  “If there's anything I can do to help, Mrs. Hanaford,” he said in that wonderfully rich baritone, “you have only to ask.”

  Annjenett flushed prettily. “Thank you, Mr. Fowler. It is generous of you to offer.” With seeming effort, she pulled her eyes off the man and turned to me. “Sarah?”

  With the driver's help, I took my seat in the carriage and we pulled out into traffic. Behind us, Peter Fowler stood as if glued to the spot, paying no heed to oncoming traffic. That fellow wears his heart on his sleeve, I thought. Even a fool would recognize the look in those handsome eyes. Whether Annjenett realized it or not, Peter Fowler was deeply in love with her.

  From the way she sat rigidly upright beside me, however, not allowing herself a single glance back at the young man still staring at us in the street, it seemed clear to me that she did.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Frederick's guests Saturday evening had been chosen with an eye to their usefulness to his political career. City and state officials had been invited, as well as Papa's colleagues on the bench and every prominent attorney in town. Also included were bankers, industrialists, and the behind-the-scene politicians who wielded the real influence in state government.

  Guests mingled to create a living kaleidoscope of colors. The women wore the latest fashions, many imported from Paris, and had arranged their hair into impossible styles punctuated by tiaras, bird feathers and every ridiculous manner of jeweled combs and pins. Beneath the gaslights, the rooms dazzled with a brilliant display of diamonds and precious stones.

  Henrietta, I’m sad to say, resembled a confectioner's nightmare in a yellow-green satin gown that waged war with her pale skin and was decorated with an overabundance of faux gems and gold beading. Her intricate coiffure overpowered her thin face and seemed to be festooned with every outlandish ornament she’d been

  able to lay her hands on. She was obviously in her element, flitting about like an erratic hummingbird, an ingratiating smile pasted upon her lips as she bestowed and received false compliments.

  IamsureitwillcomeasnosurprisewhenIsayIhavenever been fond of these soirees, which have always struck me as pretentious and self-serving. An intimate gathering of friends, filled with stimulating and thoughtful discussion, is more to my liking. And since the sole purpose of that night's gala was to launch my eldest brother onto an unsuspecting public, I found it all the more ludicrous.

  At Mama's insistence, I’d had a new dress made that was very a la mode, not at all my usual style. The gown was an alarming shade of violet, a color, Mama contended, that perfectly matched my eyes and suited my ivory complexion. On the matter of my hair, however, I drew the line. Nothing would induce me to decorate it with dead bird parts or gaudy baubles.

  After Hazel, our ladies’
maid, finally finished torturing me with the curling iron, I examined myself critically in the looking glass. Nearly thirty years on this earth have taught me to judge my looks objectively. I need no one to tell me that I am above the desirable height for a woman, that my thick hair is unruly and unfashionably black, my figure too slender, and my before-mentioned violet eyes too bold for the fairer sex. The reflection staring back at me, therefore, was a pleasant surprise. The dress Mama chose was not as disastrous as I had feared. True, the waist was impossibly narrow and the neckline too decollete, displaying, despite my best efforts to tug the bodice higher, an alarming amount of cleavage. However, if I stood straight and took care not to bend, I judged the overall effect not entirely displeasing.

  Supper was lavish enough to please even Henrietta, although I doubt she tasted more than one or two bites. Afterward, guests sat

  or circulated in small groups, the men discussing business or politics, the women concerned with family, fashion, or the latest social indiscretions.

  Celia and Henrietta sat with a group of women that included Mary Ann Crocker, the railroad magnet's wife. Her husband Charles was a loud, blustering man, sometimes likened to a bellowing bull because of the way he had driven the Chinese brought in to lay track for the Central Pacific Railroad. Some people found him spit-on-the-floor crude and arrogant, but unlike some of his more portentous colleagues, I rather admired the man who had rolled up his sleeves and pushed the rails through miles of rock and sheer granite cliffs to Promontory, Utah.

  Considering the presence of the Crockers a great coup, Henrietta had fawned over them all evening as if they were visiting royalty, which in a manner of speaking they were. Leland Stanford, Collis Huntington, and Charles Crocker—the surviving members of the Big Four who had amassed fortunes building the railroad— were a powerful economic and, consequently, political force in California. In order for Frederick to obtain a seat in the state legislature, he would have to win over the men behind the railroad.