*****
As she alighted from the hansom cab she had squeezed into with Laura and Kitty, Annie noted how the neighborhood adroitly straddled the edge of Nob Hill, with its mining and railroad barons, and the Western Addition, home to the prosperous middle class of the city. Located on the corner of Gough and California, Kitty Blaine’s home was a Queen Ann-styled mansion with a plethora of bay windows, pitched gables, and elaborately carved trimming, all done in a tasteful soft grey. The most striking part of the residence, however, was a three-story tower, topped by a conical roof that should have sported a pennant and a fair maiden waving from the highest balcony.
“Kitty, I can’t believe this is where you live,” Laura exclaimed as they started up the long flight of marble stairs leading to the front door. “It’s like a fairy castle. I’ve never seen a more beautiful house.”
Annie saw Kitty blush and tried to ease the girl’s embarrassment by asking how long they had lived there.
She replied that they’d moved in only a year earlier. “It took two years to finish, and Father let me sit in on the planning sessions with the architect. It was fascinating. I would have preferred something simpler, but my father was determined to out-do his rival, ‘Nobby Clarke,’ who is building a grand house in Eureka Valley."
At the top of the stairs were a wide portico and a set of double wooden doors with insets of beveled glass. Kitty, clearly apprehensive about coming home, hesitated when they reached the doors. Annie finally reached out and pulled the bell cord. After only a few minutes, the doors opened to reveal a black-suited butler, whose austere countenance broke into a warm smile when he saw his young mistress.
In a cultured English accent, he said, “Miss, would you and your friends please come in? Shall I inform your father that he has visitors?”
“Yes, Jenkins. We will be in the front parlor.”
Kitty led Annie and Laura into an elegant room on their left. The setting sun streamed into the west-facing windows, bouncing off the rose-patterned carpet, the highly polished oak wall panels, and the red-marble fireplace and turning the room into a glowing jewel. Annie thought that Kitty should be commended for so successfully transforming her father’s wealth into a home of exquisite taste.
Annie knew from the research she had done on Nate’s client that Peter Blaine, Kitty’s father, was a well-to-do saloon keeper with a financial stake in Irving Emory’s City of Hills Distillery. Blaine was one of the many Irish immigrants who had come to San Francisco and made their fortune. In addition to owning several saloons and shares in the distillery, he also owned the construction company that had won the prize contract to build San Francisco’s new City Hall.
This afternoon, when Annie heard about the anonymous letter Kitty’s father had received accusing his daughter of having been seduced by Thomas Hoffmann, she explained to Kitty that it was very possible that her father, like Emory, was the target of some sort of smear campaign. Annie knew this letter represented a significant break-through in the investigation, and she readily agreed when Kitty insisted that they come home with her immediately to tell her father about the other letters.
Kitty explained, “My mother died at my birth, and I am all he has, so he’s over-protective. It’s not that he isn’t proud of his humble origins, but he wants more for me. He worries constantly that without a mother to guide me, I will be led astray in some fashion. The sooner you assure him there isn’t the slightest bit of truth to that letter, the better, for both of us.”
As Annie listened to Kitty calmly show Laura around the parlor, exhibiting the pride of a woman who had helped choose every piece of furniture, every color, every tasteful ornament, she marveled at the maturity the young girl had demonstrated so far in this crisis. Her father had nothing to be ashamed of, at all. He’d done an excellent job of raising her.
The door to the room flew open, and a man barked, “Katherine Therese Blaine, what do you mean by giving your maid the slip? The woman has been in hysterics for the past hour. I know you said she was a silly fool, but I had no idea, blathering on about you eloping. Where in tarnation have you been?”
Annie completely revised her preconceived notions about Peter Blaine. She’d been picturing him as a tall, polished man of wealth, along the lines of one of the Irish Silver Kings. She’d imagined pomaded hair, slicked back, a luxuriant mustache and beard, a gold watch chain straining across a padded stomach, and hands all soft and manicured. Instead, the man who stood before her was short and clean-shaven, with thick red curls that stood out wildly about his head and traveled down into narrow side-burns. These wild curls framed a broad, reddish-hued face, high forehead, and bright blue eyes. There was a gold chain across his chest, but his hands were rough and the size of a stevedore’s, and his shoulders and chest gave the impression he was someone who could still do a solid day’s work of physical labor.
At last, those bright blue eyes turned on Annie and Laura, and Peter Blaine said, “And who might you two ladies be?”
In the practiced voice of a hostess, Kitty said, “Father, this is Miss Laura Dawson and Mrs. Fuller. Miss Dawson is the woman I have spoken to you about who kindly permitted me to do my practice teaching with her at Clement Grammar. Mrs. Fuller is her boarding house keeper and friend and has accompanied me home at my request. I went to Clement Grammar this afternoon because I had promised to help Miss Dawson make valentines for the children in her class today, and I felt I must explain to her why I wasn’t able to honor my promise.”
Her father frowned. “And what of your promise to me that you wouldn’t go out unescorted, young miss?”
Kitty stood up straighter, her chin rising, and she said, “Father, that is for us to discuss later. It is important that you hear what Mrs. Fuller has to say. She is a busy woman, and you shouldn’t be wasting her time.”
Blaine raised his own chin, there was a brief stand-off as they both glared at each other, and then he shrugged and turned to Annie. “Mrs. Fuller, Miss Dawson, please, won’t you both sit down and tell me how I can help you?”
Annie smiled and took a seat in a well-upholstered armchair, part of a pair next to the room’s tall windows, while Laura and Kitty sat close together on a settee against the inside wall. She said, “Mr. Blaine, I understand that you have been the recipient of an anonymous letter, and I thought that you should know that there have been a number of similar letters that have targeted San Francisco teachers and school officials, including the Vice Principal of Girls High, Mr. Hoffmann, and one of the school board members, Mr. Irving Emory.”
While she probably shouldn’t have revealed Emory’s name without asking his permission, she knew she’d have to do so to keep Blaine from dismissing her out of hand.
Blaine leaned forward and said, “Just exactly how did you come by this information, Mrs. Fuller?”
Annie ignored the implicit challenge in Blaine’s tone and replied quietly, “Mr. Emory has engaged Miss Dawson’s brother, Mr. Nathaniel Dawson, of Hobbes, Cranston and Dawson, to get to the bottom of these letters. Mr. Emory asked me to help out when he learned that I have some experience in discreet investigations of crimes. I have just completed a temporary position at Girls’ High because several of the personnel at that school have been singled out by these letters. I would suggest that you contact Mr. Emory if you need verification that what I am telling you is the truth.”
Blaine nodded. “Yes, you may be sure I will do so. But I still fail to see why you came to see me today. Are you suggesting that I engage you in a similar fashion?”
Annie felt a spurt of anger that her motivation was being questioned, but she reminded herself that a self-made man like Blaine would be used to being approached by people primarily interested in taking some of his wealth.
In a steady voice, she said, “Mr. Blaine, I am here because I thought you would be relieved to learn there is an explanation for why your daughter, who I am sure you know is blameless of any wrong-doing, was the subject of such a letter. Mr. Emory feels that the
re might be a political motivation behind the letters…”
“Buckley, by God!” Blaine said, his face reddening alarmingly. “I’ll kill the bastard!”
“Father!” Kitty got up and went over to him, putting her hand on his shoulder. “Please, calm yourself.”
Annie ignored the outburst and said, “That is certainly one possible explanation, although we don’t have any proof. In fact, there is the also possibility the letters could be from a disgruntled teacher and that there is no political motive whatsoever.”
“But then why would my daughter be involved? No, it’s that underhanded Buckley, I’m sure of it. He can’t stand it that men like myself and Emory aren’t willing to go along with his schemes.”
“Your daughter may have been picked by the writer because the writer wanted to harm Mr. Hoffmann, not you,” Annie replied. “When the earlier letters didn’t result in Mr. Hoffmann’s dismissal, the letter writer may have hoped this accusation would result in you using your political influence to get him fired.”
Kitty, having returned to her seat next to Laura, said, “See, Father, this is what I told you. Mr. Hoffmann has behaved with perfect propriety towards me. But you were going to march over to the school tomorrow, weren’t you, and demand Hoffmann be dismissed.”
Annie added, “This is why we need to be very careful. Turning this into a public scandal is the last thing we want for your daughter and the other innocent victims.”
“But what can I do? How do I ensure that my daughter’s reputation is protected?”
Blaine’s fear rang in his words, and Annie reflected on how difficult it must be for a parent not to be in a constant state of anxiety, worried that something or someone was going to hurt their beloved child. She suspected it was doubly upsetting for a powerful man like Blaine to feel powerless to protect his own child from harm.
Keeping this in mind, she said, “Mr. Blaine, you can help us find out who is behind these letters and stop them. I would like to give you a couple of names to see if you recognize them. If you don’t, I would ask that you do some discreet investigation into whether they have any political connections. Then I would like you to meet with Mr. Emory and his lawyer, Mr. Dawson, to share information and perhaps formulate a plan on how to unmask this person or persons.”
Blaine nodded. “Mrs. Fuller, I will be glad to help. I’ll contact Emory tonight; I know what club I will find him in.” Turning to the two girls on the sofa, he continued, “Kitty, my dear, get a bit of that fancy letter paper you keep in the desk over there and jot down the names Mrs. Fuller wants me to check out.”
As Kitty went across the room, Blaine leaned closer to Annie and said in a whisper, “I know my girl, and she is going to pester me something awful to let her return to her classes tomorrow. But what if I’m not the only one who got such a letter and rumors are spreading about her as we speak? I would do anything to spare her the humiliation that would follow.”
Annie, remembering Della Thorndike’s hints about Kitty and Hoffmann, thought that Blaine’s fears were well-placed. She said, “Let me suggest to Kitty that she not go to her morning classes at Girls’ High for the next few days but come directly to Clement Grammar. Working with the students and getting the fun of distributing the valentines will take her mind off of everything. I will write to Mr. Hoffmann and explain why she isn’t attending her morning classes. I am confident that he will ensure that her grades won’t be affected. But all the more reason to work swiftly to find out who is behind this and end it, peacefully, and without any scandal.”
Annie looked squarely at Blaine, whose polite smile said he understood her point but whose hard blue eyes said he would use any means necessary to protect his daughter, including violence.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Wednesday evening, February 11, 1880
"During the afternoon a person who had been actively at work in the interests of the Republican ticket...was assaulted by Jake Lido and one 'Shorty' Simpson, two Democratic ward politicians..." ––San Francisco Chronicle, 1880
Nate sat in a chair in the small parlor awaiting Annie, the formal parlor again occupied by a number of the boarders. He rubbed his temples, trying to relieve the headache that had plagued him all day. Tomorrow, Cranston would start his examination of the defense witnesses, and for the past few weeks, Nate had gotten little more than three or four hours of sleep doing the additional research Cranston kept demanding. He’d never known a lawyer who came to court as well-prepared as the firm’s new partner, even though Nate seemed to be doing most of the work. It was all worth it to see how Cranston turned the dry legal precedents Nate had found into an effective legal defense. He really should be home working right now, but he wasn’t sure when he would be able to visit again once this stage in the trial started, and he didn’t want Annie to feel neglected. Besides, a visit with her, especially the few stolen kisses at the doorstep when he left, infused him with a sense of well-being that beat a shot of whiskey and a full night’s sleep.
“Annie sent me to tell you she’ll be here in a few minutes.” Laura entered the room and pulled a chair around to face him. “We got home after six, which sent Mrs. O’Rourke into a bit of a conniption, so Annie is down in the kitchen placating her.”
Nate sat up, his fuzzy mind sharpening. “And why did it take the two of you so long to get home? You know neither of you should be out after dark!”
Laura waved her hand dismissively, like he was some old hen, and said, “Oh Nate, we were properly carried home in a carriage, if you must know. But wait until you hear what happened!”
Laura proceeded to tell him about Kitty’s appearance at Clement, the story of the anonymous letter her father got, and their visit to Kitty’s home. From Nate’s perspective, she dwelt over-long in her description of the house, but when he pressed her to tell her how the conversation with Blaine went, she said that Annie would tell him the details when she came down. Instead, she pulled her chair closer to his and said, in a much more serious tone, that she had something she wanted to ask him. This sent up alarm bells.
“I had a rather disturbing experience this weekend. One of the essayists I studied last year, De Quincey, would call it an epiphany. I came to the realization that I don’t think I have ever truly loved anyone. I thought I had. But could it have been love if I wasn’t willing to sacrifice for that other person? I mean really sacrifice, put their happiness before my own and do it gladly?”
Nate, not sure what Laura wanted from him, said, “Of course you have loved someone. Mother and Father, for instance.”
“But if Mother and Father asked me to stop teaching and come home, would I be willing to do it? Even if that would make them happy? I’m not sure I would. I’m not even sure that I believe sacrificing your own needs and desires for someone else is a good thing. When I think of the couples I lived with last fall, I can’t help but wonder how many of the women gave up their dreams in order to marry and if that was why most of them were unhappy.”
“Perhaps they were unhappy because they didn’t really love their husbands or didn’t feel loved by them,” Nate said, feeling his way through this alarming subject. “You must admit that Mother is happy, don’t you?”
“Yes, but maybe being a wife and mother wasn’t a sacrifice for her, and I have trouble picturing Billy’s wife, Violet, doing anything else. But I can’t imagine settling down, settling for that as my future. Which brings me back to the question, maybe I simply haven’t ever truly loved anyone else.” Laura turned her head away and said quietly, “Maybe I don’t have that capacity.”
Nate’s heart ached for his sister; she seemed so forlorn. He was searching for something to say to lighten her spirits when she startled him with another question.
“Would you give up your career for Annie? Do you love her enough to do that if she asked it of you?” Laura leaned closer and stared into his eyes.
“Yes,” he said, surprised at his lack of hesitation. “But I think one of the reasons I love her
is that I don’t believe she would ever ask me to do so. She might ask me to move and practice the law somewhere else or cut down on my hours or even to take different clients, but I just can’t see her asking me to give up my profession.”
“Would you ask her to give up something she loved, like her work as Madam Sibyl or an investigation she had embarked upon?”
The scenes of last fall flashing before his eyes, Nate said, “There was a time when I would have, when I did. Then I decided that wasn’t the kind of man I wanted to be. I realized if I truly loved her, I wouldn’t want her to give up anything to marry me. Thank goodness she’s given me a second chance to prove to her she can trust me.”
“Then why haven’t you asked her to marry you again?”
“Because I’m afraid she will say no and there will be no third chance.” The words came out without thinking. Before he could examine their import, he saw Laura turn towards the doorway, where Annie was just entering the room. He went over to her and gave her a warm hug, whispering in her ear, “Thank goodness you’ve come. I was getting in very deep waters.”
Annie pulled away and wrinkled her brow in a puzzled fashion.
Laura passed them as she headed to the doorway, saying, “I will leave you two alone; I have some class preparation to finish. Annie, I told him you would fill in the details of our meeting with Mr. Blaine.” And then she was gone, leaving the door ajar only a few inches.
Nate, about to open the door wider, thought, Hang it all. Everyone knows we are in here, and we can’t be getting up to any trouble. Instead, he arranged the two chairs in the room side-by-side, and as they sat down together, he slid his arm around Annie’s shoulder and pulled her in close for a swift kiss.
Annie laughed softly when the embrace ended. Putting her hand up against his cheek, she said, “Was that for rescuing you? Whatever were you two talking about?”
Bloody Lessons: A Victorian San Francisco Mystery Page 28