She picked up the next photograph and said, “This is also an old daguerreotype, maybe from the same time period. I bet this couple is Marie Fournier’s parents. Look, the man is clearly a ship captain, with that cap and epaulettes. Perhaps that’s why she married a sea-faring man.”
Kathleen nodded, but she couldn’t help but wonder if the murdered woman might not have just changed her name from “miss” to “missus” and kept her father’s last name along with giving the pretend husband her father’s profession. She picked up the next photograph out of the box and saw it was a more recent photograph of a man. It was less worn around the edges and the contrast of the black of the man’s suit and his white shirt was sharper. He was very handsome, in a sort of unkempt way…the suit wrinkled, long wavy hair sticking out as if he’d forgotten to comb it, dark droopy mustache, and cravat slightly crooked. He stood posed beside a small desk piled with books, a sheaf of papers in one hand and a pen in the other, as if he’d just stood up from writing something.
“Ma’am, is this a picture of one of the men who works at the Silver Strike? That son of Mr. Livingston? Patrick said he was good looking.”
“No, I don’t recognize him. Robbie Livingston has lighter and considerably shorter hair, but this man is certainly handsome. He doesn’t look very nautical, does he? Oh well, we should take the box to Emmaline. Maybe she can tell us who everyone is.”
Her mistress put everything back in the box and stood and looked around the room. She said, “I can’t think of any other hiding places, can you? I really hoped for a will and something that mentioned what bank she used. You would think that one of the people she worked with would at least know about the bank. Monsieur Villeneuve or Miss Birdsoll. Patrick didn’t mention anything about that last night?”
“No, I don’t believe he did. Then he didn’t stay long. He needed to get back down to the Silver Strike to do his evening shift.”
Kathleen thought about how he’d sneaked up on her while she was back in the laundry room, putting the ironing board away. He’d grabbed her and given her a big hug, his red cheeks and blue eyes snapping with excitement from his day taking notes for Thompson.
Hot and drenched with sweat from ironing, all she’d been able to think of was how much her feet hurt and how sour her body must smell, so she’d been crabby with him and pushed him away. He looked hurt. So then she’d had to say she was sorry…when she really wasn’t…and ask him how the investigation was going, when all she’d wanted to do was to go to bed.
Mrs. Dawson reached out a hand and touched her cheek, saying, “What’s wrong? Is it that Patrick can’t come by as often? You know it’s a real testament to how highly Sergeant Thompson thinks of him that he chose Patrick as the uniformed constable he has working with him on this case. And it will be great for his career…”
“I know, ma’am. I am pleased for him. It’s just we were getting along fine, seeing each other on my night out and Sunday mornings…and having him stop by and snatch a bite or a cuppa on his way home a couple of times a week. No complications. Just nice and easy. But it’s like something’s switched. All of a sudden he’s in this awful hurry.”
“Ah. And this scares you?”
“It’s like we now want different things. I’m happy the way things are. I love living and working at the boarding house. It’s my family. I’m good at my job, aren’t I?”
Her mistress gave her a hard hug, saying, “Yes, my dear, you are excellent at your job, and we all love you to bits. But…”
“I know. Patrick loves me too, and I love him. But does that mean I have to give up doing what I am good at? Give up working with you and marry, just because that’s what a girl’s supposed to do?”
“Have you tried talking to him?”
Kathleen lifted her shoulder in a shrug. “I’ve tried. But he doesn’t get it. He thinks that if I love him I should want to quit work and marry him. Says that’s why he is working so hard, so we can do that as soon as possible. He’s not like Mr. Dawson.”
Her mistress laughed and said, “He’s more like my husband than you can ever know.” But then she said, “You are only eighteen, Kathleen. You have your life ahead of you. Don’t let Patrick, or Beatrice for that matter, push you to do something you don’t want to do. There is wisdom to the old saying ‘marry in haste, repent at leisure.’ I married when I was only eighteen for all the wrong reasons and lived to regret it.”
“But what if I lose him?” Kathleen shocked herself by how scary it was, just putting the thought into words.
“Oh Kathleen, I can’t guarantee you won’t. Although I don’t think Patrick is the kind of man who would throw you over just because he didn’t get his way.”
Her mistress then said, “These are decisions you need to make for yourself. Just be sure whatever you decide, it is something you can live with…without resentment or regrets. But I promise you, my dear, I will support you in whatever decisions you make, just as I know you would support me. You are part of my family forever…and I won’t give you up for anyone…not even Mr. Patrick McGee.”
Chapter 16
“Tradesmen in holiday goods and cheer testify to the improvement in their trade this season.”––San Francisco Chronicle December 25, 1880
Thursday morning, December 2, 1880
The next morning, Annie was happy for Mr. Livingston’s sake to see the crowded Silver Strike aisles. With just three more weeks until Christmas, she really needed to take the time to look for presents for everyone, but she only had a few hours between clients.
As had been the pattern when she worked as the clairvoyant, Madam Sibyl, she still met most of her male clients in the morning before they went to work or in the evening when they were on their way home. By nine-thirty today, she’d already given business advice to three men back at the boarding house.
Women, on the other hand, were more likely to book appointments in the middle of the day, although lately she’d not had as many individual female clients. Which wasn’t surprising, because as Madam Sibyl she’d used reading a woman’s palm or casting her horoscope to give out common sense suggestions about handling health concerns, difficult mothers-in-law, and heartbreak. Now that she had put away the Madam Sibyl persona, it was more difficult for women to justify coming to her for that kind of advice.
Not that she didn’t have female clients. Just that they were more likely to be women who ran local charitable organizations or their own businesses. And, unlike the men, who preferred the anonymity of visiting her at the boarding house, these women, busy juggling their family and work responsibilities, preferred her to come to them…either at their places of work or at their homes.
That was the reason she had limited time at the Silver Strike today. She had a meeting with the Board of the Protestant Orphan Asylum scheduled for noon at the chair’s home in the Western Addition. Next she was going back downtown to meet with Mrs. Richmond at the Women’s Co-operative Printers Union at two and then back to the boarding house to meet her final two male clients before dinner. No wonder she was so tired by night time.
At least her day wasn’t complicated by the necessity of changing in and out of her wig and the other accessories that had made up Madam Sibyl’s wardrobe.
Standing waiting for the elevator, she saw a completely adorable brown bear sitting on a counter in the toy department. It had black buttons for eyes, a dark brown triangle for a nose, and the sweetest smile stitched in red below. It was wearing a bright green sweater with a red bow around its neck. She absolutely had to stop by on the way out of the store and get it for her nephew Frankie.
Nate and she were going to spend Christmas at the boarding house. Then they would take the train to San Jose early on December 26th to spend the weekend with his parents, his brother Billy and Violet, and Frankie. Laura was going down to the ranch a few days before Christmas and would come back with them on the early morning train on Tuesday so she could get to her job as a typesetter later in the day.
Anni
e had met Nate’s parents for the first time last year when she stayed at the ranch over the holidays. At that time she and Nate were carefully rebuilding an uneasy friendship after he’d made a terrible mistake in trying to rush her into marriage. Which was why Kathleen’s confidences yesterday touched her heart so.
Kathleen had been at her side for three years, in one of the most intimate relationships two women could have. The young servant had bathed her, combed her hair, dried her tears, and ignored her flashes of temper, and Annie had tried to reciprocate by being her older sister and understanding friend, as well as the appreciative employer.
And, secretly, in her heart, she hoped that one day Kathleen would help raise any children she and Nate had, because she knew what a good mother she’d been to her own motherless brothers. But she never wanted to come between the girl’s chances for a family and a future of her own. So she needed to be very careful to listen and not advise, and support Kathleen in whatever decisions she made…not let Annie’s own struggles with the question of balancing children and work influence her.
The elevator door opened and a chattering group of women walked out, arms piled high with brown paper packages tied in red string. She shook off her thoughts and entered the elevator to rise to the fourth floor. After stopping at Miss Birdsoll’s office, she made her way to the millinery department where she’d been told Emmaline could be found.
The room was humming with activity, and it took a moment for Annie to locate the young girl, who was sitting and sewing beneath one of the windows. Emmaline was dressed in a severe black silk dress that bleached all the color from her skin. Annie wondered who’d had time to construct the outfit, with her mother gone, but then she remembered that funeral clothes for women and children were one of the Silver Strike’s most popular ready-made items.
Seeing that Monsieur and Madam Villeneuve were engaged in an intense conversation with one of the millinery workers, Annie went over to Emmaline and said, “Miss Fournier, I don’t know if you remember meeting me the other day? I am Mrs. Dawson. I wanted first of all to offer you my sincerest condolences.”
The girl stared up at her, her dark blue eyes showing no visible emotion until she caught a glimpse of the wooden box Annie held in her gloved hands. She gasped and started to reach out for the box. Then she snatched her hands back and tucked them in her elbows, as if that was the only way she could keep from grabbing the box out of Annie’s hands.
“Please, no, take it. It’s yours. Mr. Livingston asked me to see if there were any important items left at the room your mother had at the dress shop, where you both used to live. There are some photographs and a ring, and I put in your mother’s brush and comb and some of her jars of cream and perfume as well. I lost my mother when I was just a little older than you, and I know that the few personal things of hers I was able to keep meant the world to me. I am certain that someone would be willing to take you to the shop if you want, to see if there is anything else of your mother’s that you want to keep, like some of the books.”
Annie held out the box as she spoke, and Emmaline took it and held it to her chest, stroking the scarred lid.
“Madame Dawson, may I help you? Emmaline, stand up, toute de suite. Where are your manners, ma chère?”
Annie noticed that at the sound of Madame Villeneuve’s voice, Emmaline hid the box on the chair behind her as she stood up. Sympathetic to the girl’s desire to keep the box and its contents from prying eyes, Annie drew the French woman away, saying quietly, “I wanted to speak to you and your husband, but not in front of Emmaline.”
Madame Villeneuve nodded and said, “Emmaline, you may go to Miss Birdsoll’s office until I collect you for lunch. Do not disturb her; be quiet as a mouse…comme une souris. And leave that sewing behind; as I told you this morning, you mustn’t get behind in your studies. They have already been neglected for too long.”
Annie had hoped to ask Emmaline about the people in the photographs, but that would have to wait until another time. She rather suspected that Emmaline would make a detour to hide the box away somewhere before showing up at Miss Birdsoll’s office.
“Madame Dawson, such a pleasure,” said Monsieur Villeneuve as he came up to her. “What a lovely ensemble, but it does not appear to be one of ours. Tsk, tsk.” He shook his finger but smiled widely to show his good humor.
“Well, Monsieur Villeneuve, I must say I would be delighted to own a Silver Strike original, but I am afraid I can’t be disloyal to my own dressmakers. You may have heard of them. They are quite sought after in the city, Miss Miniver and Millicent Moffet.”
“Mais oui, Madame, I have certainly heard of them. You are très fortunate, they are so in demand.”
Annie smiled and said, “Well my good fortune lies in part that they are two of my boarders and that they are kind enough to give me a discount on the dresses they make for me. Otherwise, I could not afford them.”
Annie was quite pleased that she’d decided to wear the ivory and blue silk brocade bodice of the outfit the Moffets had made for her wedding. It went perfectly with the underskirt of her navy blue polonaise, which the clever women had altered by adding a flounce of ivory silk that matched the new bodice. She had the sudden thought that she should ask Villeneuve if she could bring the two dressmakers to meet him and tour the Silver Strike workroom. They would enjoy it, and she thought it would be useful to get their impression of the ready-made enterprise.
However, she could feel Madame Villeneuve’s growing unrest with her husband’s polite chit-chat, so she said, “I don’t want to keep either of you. Miss Birdsoll mentioned to me that you have volunteered to act as Emmaline’s guardians until matters are settled through the courts. Therefore, I thought you should know that I found both a copy of her birth certificate and a property deed for the dress shop on Green Street.”
Monsieur Villeneuve threw up his hands and exclaimed, “But that is wonderful, Madame Dawson. Where did you find these documents? We have looked through the unfortunate woman’s rooms upstairs, as did the police, and found nothing.”
“Mr. Livingston asked me to talk to Miss Spencer, the woman who is renting the dress shop. She was kind enough to let me look at the room Mrs. Fournier kept there. I found them in a drawer the police had overlooked.”
For some reason Annie felt uncomfortable even mentioning the box, much less what was in it. She went on, “Miss Spencer said that Marie Fournier was still responsible for the dress designs she and her nieces make for clients of that shop. Did you know she was doing that?”
She saw a flicker of consternation in his eyes, but he said, “I was not aware…but there was nothing in Madame’s contract with us that…do you say…prohibited…her from designing under her own name. Her designs for us were under the Silver Strike label, not her own.”
“Have you a copy of these documents?” Madame Villeneuve said impatiently.
Annie said, “No, I sent them on to the police, since I thought they might be useful in their investigations.”
“C’est dommage…unfortunate. So like Marie Fournier not to have made proper provisions for her daughter. Always putting herself first. Adolphe, you must get those documents back from the police, tout de suite.” Madame Villeneuve then nodded graciously to Annie and said, “For the child’s sake, you see. We need to move forward as quickly as possible. So I am very appreciative of your efforts in this matter.” She then turned and walked away.
Once his wife was out of earshot, he said, “Madame Dawson, you will understand my wife’s impatience. She has the heart very tender, and the plight of poor Emmaline has quite upset her. But I am so grateful that you have found the petite child’s birth certificate. There were no documents that revealed the existence of any relatives?”
“No, no documents. Mrs. Fournier never mentioned any relatives…here or elsewhere…to you?”
“No, except for her late husband.”
“Well, it is good of you to take the child under your protection now until the question
of guardianship is settled.”
“But of course, it is no imposition, at all. As you say, the birth certificate should help. You see, my wife…both of us…very much wish to adopt Emmaline as our own child, and I need to be sure there would be no impediment.”
When Annie arrived back at Miss Birdsoll’s office, Emmaline was already there, sitting at the second desk, reading a book. The box wasn’t visible, confirming her suspicion that the girl would have taken the time to put it away somewhere safe.
“Mrs. Dawson,” Miss Birdsoll stood up and said, “You’ve met Emmaline Fournier, I believe? I am afraid she has taken over your spot. I hope you don’t mind, but I have made other arrangements for you.”
Annie shook Miss Birdsoll’s hand and said, “Not at all. Wherever is convenient.”
“Emmaline, I am going to take Mrs. Dawson down the hall to the small office. I will be right back if anyone is looking for me.”
Miss Birdsoll indicated that Annie should follow her, closing the door behind her and saying, “Poor girl. We are all trying to make things seem as normal as possible for her.”
“How is she doing?”
“During the day she seems all right. Studies, sews. Her mother was teaching her to make doll clothes, and that is what she spends most of her time doing. Hard to tell what she’s thinking, though. She’s always been a bit of a closed book. It’s night time that’s been difficult. She is having trouble sleeping. Wakes up screaming.”
“Oh dear. Where is she staying? In Madame and Monsieur Villeneuve’s apartment?”
“They tried that. But she flatly refused. She insists that she sleep in her mother’s room. The only time I’ve really seen any emotion from her was when they locked the door to her old apartment so she couldn’t slip in there at night. She banged on the door with such violence that we feared she would hurt herself.”
Pilfered Promises Page 17
