Uneasy Spirits: A Victorian San Francisco Mystery (18 page)

Annie sighed and felt Simon Frampton squeeze her hand, as if to comfort her. This brought her attention back to what was going on around the table. So far the Monday night séance had followed pretty much the same routine as Friday’s. There were some changes. Miss Herron was absent, which made sense. Few live-in workers, even nurses, got more than one evening off a week. In her place was a bland, but pleasant woman, a friend of Mrs. Mott’s, and the two women had chatted animatedly during the half-hour Annie spent in the parlor with them before the séance began. This had prohibited her from talking to them, which was a nuisance, since she had come early for the purpose of getting to know her fellow circle members better.

Mrs. Larkson and Mr. Sweeter were also absent, and she had wondered if the discord she had witnessed between them on Friday was the reason, but then Simon had introduced Mrs. Henderson and Miss Reynolds as Monday night regulars. Mrs. Henderson was a widow, here to communicate with her departed husband, a pharmacist. Miss Reynolds was her sister. She had evidently developed a lovely relationship with a minor Greek philosopher who spoke to her through Arabella.

This Greek had, in fact, been throwing out pithy sayings for a good ten minutes, to the delighted exclamations of Miss Reynolds, when Simon intervened and sent him on his way, giving the Judge his chance with Evie May. Annie had to admire the erudition that Arabella had displayed in this example of trance mediumship. To have memorized all those quotes was a prodigious feat, and Annie would have been even more impressed if she hadn’t had to memorize the exact same sequence from her classics text at the academy. Once more she wondered at Arabella’s background and hoped that Nate had gotten some useful information from Pierce.

Ruckner, the banker, sat again on her left, looking more disheveled than ever. Annie’s attempt at engaging him in conversation when they first sat down at the table had failed. She reminded herself to ask Miss Pinehurst to arrange a meeting with Sukie’s husband, Arnold Vetch, because she believed there was something too coincidental in Sukie’s husband working for Ruckner’s bank. Harold Hapgood from the Friday circle was also in attendance, but Annie had been tied up talking to Mrs. Henderson and Miss Reynolds when he made his appearance right before the séance was to begin, so she hadn’t learned anything more about him.

So far, in addition to the usual piano music, Arabella had entertained them with assorted groans, advice from Mr. Ruckner’s wife, a visit from Mrs. Henderson’s departed husband, and another of Mrs. Mott’s relatives, this time her oldest sister, who had died and taken a secret recipe for plum sauce with her. As Arabella, doing an excellent imitation of a uneducated Midwesterner, mumbled out various ingredients, Mrs. Mott was obliging enough to call out suggestions, saying things like “Myrtle, did you mean to say citron?” and “Speak up, dear, remember how mother taught us to enunciate.” Then had come the Greek. All in all, while amusing, the séance hadn’t yet produced anything that forwarded her plan to expose the Framptons.

“
Annie, it’s me, your father. Pay attention, child. I don’t have long.”

Disconcerted, Annie looked to her right, to the door, from which the male voice seemed to emanate. Then, recalling Arabella’s ability to throw her voice, she looked back to see with relief that it was indeed Arabella’s mouth that was moving.

“
Annie, you must pay attention. I know you want some advice about your financial affairs. I will try to help you, but you must concentrate. What do you want to ask?”

For an interminable few seconds, all Annie could think of is how unlike her father this spirit sounded, despite a credible attempt on Arabella’s part to duplicate a New York accent. Simon leaned close and whispered, “Mrs. Fuller, this is your chance. You asked to speak to your father, here he is. Don’t be shy.”

Gathering her wits, Annie said, “Father, is that you?” Then, taking a deep breath, she continued, trying to sound as plaintive as possible. “Father, why did you have to die? I feel so lost without you.”
There, that’s better. Now is the time to do my own bit of acting
. “Please, I know you always said not to touch the trust, to live on the interest. But San Francisco can be so expensive. I need you to tell me what to do. You promised I would be well taken care of after you died!”

The spirit of her father replied, “Daughter, perhaps if you tried to economize, you wouldn’t be in such difficulty.”

That sounded more like John!
Annie remembered how her husband had berated her when she asked for additional money to pay the housekeeping bills. Of course it didn’t enter his mind that his insistence on buying the best wines and inviting his drunkard friends to dine most every night caused her financial difficulties. The spirit certainly didn’t sound like her father, which Simon may have realized, because she could feel him stir beside her. She had the impression that he was about to speak, when the spirit continued, this time less harshly.

“
Dear Annie, don’t worry. I will guide you through this difficulty. If you just put your worries in my hands, I will use all my powers to keep you on the path to financial happiness. Perhaps when next we speak, you can have specific questions prepared. Tell me where your money is invested, and I will divine what actions you should take to ensure a beautiful future.”

“
Oh, Father, that is wonderful,” Annie cried, trying to sound as enthusiastic as she could. “But don’t go yet, please. Mother left before she could tell me; have either of you seen my sweet boy?”

Arabella suddenly slumped and began to moan, most piteously. Simon again whispered in Annie’s ear, saying, “Please be patient, Mrs. Fuller. Our visitors from the other side often have difficulty staying long when they first communicate with us.”

Annie was nevertheless frustrated. Perhaps it was the intention of the Framptons to postpone her encounter with her son for as long as possible. She suspected that face-to-face chats with Evie May were the most effective method they had of hooking a person, but the risks were high as well. There was a big difference between what Arabella was doing, producing a disembodied voice, and what Evie May did, which was to create a flesh-and-blood illusion of the departed loved one. As had happened to Annie on Friday, the illusion could go wrong, and the Framptons might be reluctant to schedule another meeting right away.
I will just have to convince them that they have to give me a chance to sit and talk and hold my little boy
.

Arabella’s groans grew louder, the light from the back room dimmed further, and the music died away. The table began a terrific rocking, the first occurrence of this phenomenon that evening. A cold wind brushed so strongly against Annie’s face that she felt the lace at her throat flutter. A hollow-sounding male voice began to speak. Annie could swear it came from above their heads, but the darkness in the room was now so profound that she couldn’t see Arabella’s face clearly enough to determine if she was the source.
How impressive
!

“
Harold! Harold, my son, account for yourself! I left you in charge, and yet all has gone awry!”

Annie heard a soft anguished moan coming from the end of the table where the non-descript Mr. Hapgood sat, and she thought that this surely wasn’t what you wanted to hear from your dead father.
Poor man!

“
Harold, how many times must I tell you, be a man, not a boy? That wife of yours has more backbone than you.”

“
F-Father, please, let me explain. I don’t know what happened. I . . .”

“
Don’t snivel!” the spirit barked, prompting another moan from Hapgood. “How can you say you don’t know what happened? Your brothers are furious. They told me to tell you, ‘You know what happens to little brothers who don’t behave.’”

“
No, Father, please . . .” whispered Hapgood.

Suddenly, Arabella slipped into the swaying and humming portion of the night’s entertainment, the music swelled, and Simon made one of his pronouncements, saying, “Beloved spirits, answer our heartfelt calls. Let us welcome the Judge back with the hymn, ‘Heavenly Pastures.’”

As the hymn ended, the doors from the hallway rolled open, and Annie was bedazzled by the increase in light. Albert moved to turn up the lamps throughout the room, revealing Mr. Hapgood being patted consolingly on the shoulder by Mrs. Mott’s friend. Annie noticed he didn’t seem to appreciate the good woman’s ministrations. The Judge was looking quite serene and pleased with himself, much to Annie’s disappointment. Whatever the disagreement with his daughter, it looked like it had been resolved.
What am I going to tell Miss Pinehurst when I see her tomorrow? I can’t keep attending these séances forever, but I don’t seem any nearer to finding a way to extricate Sukie from the Framptons.

*****

The girl, dressed in a white wool suit, put down the lamp on the floor and kneeled in front of the large, battered trunk, staring motionless into its depths. She reached in and picked up a faded pink hair ribbon and brought it to her face. Standing up, she hurled the ribbon back into the trunk, looked down, and swore. Struggling with the buttons at the back of her skirt, she successfully unfastened the top ones and pulled the skirt and petticoat down, kicking them away from her when they reached the floor. Then she took the jacket off, revealing a plain white chemise. Diving into the trunk, she pulled out a brown and yellow sweater and a pair of boy’s brown knickers, which she shimmied up over her white wool stockings, taking the time to button the pant cuffs below her knees. She then pulled on the sweater. She searched in the trunk again, finally finding a brown cap large enough so that she could cram her hair, with its white bow, into it. She stood still for a second, stuffing her hands into the pants pockets, started and then smiled widely. Pulling out a chunk of sarsaparilla gum, she unwrapped it and popped it into her mouth. Chewing slowly, she walked over to one of the windows facing the street and looked out. She stepped back hastily, then sidled up next to the window and peeked out again. She stood so still, only the slightest rise and fall of her shoulders revealed she was breathing at all.

“
Patrick Carroll, while drunk last night, entered the dining room of J.N. Schneider’s boarding house, and proceeded to demolish the furniture.”
—
San Francisco Chronicle
, 1879

Kathleen squirmed on the hard wooden seat of the horse car, made more uncomfortable because her toes barely touched the floor. She was tired, it was well past nine-thirty, and normally by this time in the evening the dishes would be done, Mrs. O’Rourke would have put the dough for the morning rolls onto the windowsill for their slow rise, and the two of them would be having a last cup of tea before turning in for the night. Since it was Monday, she had been up at four-thirty this morning. Washday. Even though Mrs. Fuller had recently hired a laundress, Kathleen still had to get up early to start heating the large kettles of water, and she had refused to give up responsibility for the men’s collars and cuffs and the women’s clothing. Mrs. Kantor might be a good soul and did a splendid job on the bed linens and tablecloths, but Kathleen shuddered to think what her rough, chapped hands might do to the ladies’ delicate underthings.

Mr. Dawson had arrived at the Framptons just as the séance ended, to escort them home. Exhausted though Kathleen was, she wouldn’t have missed this evening and the chance to see him and Mrs. Fuller together. She knew Mrs. O’Rourke would want a full report. The light cast by the passing gas lamps was strong enough to give Kathleen a clear picture of the couple sitting across the aisle from her. Mr. Dawson was turned towards Mrs. Fuller, a smile on his face. Mrs. Fuller, forced by her bustle to sit almost sideways on the bench, vigorously stabbed the air to make some point, then looked up into his face and laughed.

Kathleen sighed. After all the time Mrs. Fuller and Mr. Dawson spent together in August, Mrs. O’Rourke and Mrs. Stein had been sure the two of them would be hitched by Thanksgiving. But then everything had fallen apart.

Kathleen was convinced something had gone wrong the last time Mr. Dawson visited the boarding house before going to visit his folks. When he’d left the house, he’d looked like he’d bit into a sour persimmon, and he didn’t have his usual kind word for Kathleen. As for Mrs. Fuller, it was plain as the nose on her face that she’d been out of sorts the whole time he’d been away.

“
Like she’d gone back to sleep,” she’d said to Patrick, Mrs. O’Rourke’s nephew, one morning several weeks ago. “When I started work here I saw how sad she looked when she was alone. She’s always kind and good humored to me, and she isn’t above laughing at a joke when we’re all sitting around in the kitchen, but when no one is around, she’d look tired and sad. Like someone took all the stuffing out of her. But when Mr. Dawson came into the picture, he sort of woke her up, like one of those princes in the fairy tales. Then he went away, and it’s like the curse of the bad witch has got her all over again.”

At that point, Patrick had got all cheeky and said he’d be glad to wake Kathleen up with a kiss if she wanted him to, and she’d slapped his face, ever so gently, to put him in his place. Then he tried to put his arm around her, and, well . . . about that time his aunt had come in from the garden to find out what he’d done to make Kathleen screech and she hadn’t thought any more about it.

Now, however, it seemed to Kathleen that Mrs. Fuller had woken up again, ever since Mr. Dawson got back in town, and it did Kathleen’s heart good to see the change.