Eddie stopped his game and glared at her, saying, “I got no truck with that man and he’d better not try to mess with Maybelle. It’s Maybelle who wanted to talk to you.”
“Why?” Annie asked.
Eddie just shrugged, so she continued, “Maybelle told me she ‘slept with the angels.’ How long ago did she die?”
Eddie guffawed and said, “Hell’s gate, Lady, where’d you get the idea she’s dead! That’s a good one. She’s just talking about the prayer. When she gets all riled up, I repeat the angel prayer Miss Evelyn taught us and tell her to go to sleep, so she says she sleeps with the angels. She’s no more dead than I am! Watcha think, I’m some kind a haunt! Can’t no dead person do this,” he said, leaning over and pinching Annie on the arm.
Chapter Twenty-two
“COMPETENT GIRL WISHES A SITUATION to do housework; can give references.”
—San Francisco Chronicle, 1879
Kathleen sat on what she had begun to think of as her chair near the front door and watched the butler, Albert, walk down the hallway and through the door to the back of the house. For such a solidly built man, he was unusually silent on his feet. He also didn’t seem to like her mistress very much, if the scowl he gave Mrs. Fuller meant anything. She wondered if it was Albert who had put the note in Mrs. Fuller’s coat on Monday, maybe on Arabella’s behalf. Since he met all the members of the séance at the door and deposited their wraps on the hallstand hooks, he had plenty of opportunity.
The hallway was cool, so Kathleen was glad of her shawl, since she had no expectation that Albert would comply with Mrs. Fuller’s request to bring her a cup of tea. Too bad, she could do with a cup and some of the German cook’s pastries. Given how uncomfortable the wooden chair was, she wondered if anyone would complain if she moved over to the small sofa where Evie May’s mother and Mrs. Hapgood had sat on Monday evening. She wished she were brave enough to go back to the kitchen on her own to look for the parlor maid.
To be honest, she wasn’t used to doing nothing. Couldn’t remember when she had sat so often in her life, before this past week. Not that she wasn’t proud to help her mistress, but she worried about leaving Mrs. O’Rourke to manage the house by herself. She had tried to get all the ironing done yesterday, but then Mrs. Fuller had come home, looking like something the cat dragged in. Of course, she had to help with the bath, and that put her behind. Then this morning, between the breakfast and lunch dishes, dusting the downstairs room, and refilling all the lamps, she hadn’t been able to finish. She had told Mrs. O’Rourke not to touch the last pile. Ironing was not her business. She would get to it this evening after dinner, but she had no faith the older woman would pay her any mind.
Mrs. Fuller, bless her, had tried to get Kathleen to stay behind this afternoon, saying that there wasn’t any need for her to have a maid with her during the day. Mrs. O’Rourke would have none of it. She’d said, “Annie, if you think I’m going to let you go into that house alone, after you got that note! I would have thought that this summer’s adventures had taught you the danger of going off alone and sticking your nose into other people’s business.”
That had been that. Nobody crossed Mrs. O’Rourke when she put her foot down. Kathleen thought that secretly Mrs. Fuller was glad not to come alone. To be certain, something had been bothering her today. Didn’t say hardly a word on the way here. And she tried not to show it, but Kathleen could tell her knee was bothering her. Funny business, her fall. Those crowded horse cars could be dangerous, but generally Mrs. Fuller was so graceful. The sound of the library door opening and a woman’s voice interrupted Kathleen’s thoughts.
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Sweeter. I believe we are in agreement. I look forward to seeing you this Friday,” said Arabella Frampton, ushering out a very handsome young man.
Well, well, who’s this, Kathleen asked herself. Mr. Sweeter! Wonder what he’s doing here, all on his own, without his cousin that Mrs. Stein was telling us about.
She watched as the young man preened under Arabella’s attentions, smoothing his very considerable mustache before putting on his bowler. Dressed pretty fancy for a man without a job. When Kathleen saw how Sweeter frowned when he realized that he and Mrs. Frampton weren’t alone and hurriedly exited the house, she decided he was up to no good. Looks like Mrs. Frampton isn’t too pleased by me being here either. Well, too bad. Kathleen smiled cheekily at the medium, who looked like she was going to say something, then glanced over at the closed door to the séance room, frowned, shrugged, and then went rapidly down the hallway, disappearing through the door to the kitchen area. There’s another who isn’t happy about my mistress visiting today. I’d bet my blue satin ribbon, she’s the one who wrote the note.
A soft noise from down the hallway drew her attention. A young woman, wearing the white apron and cap of a parlor maid and carrying a bucket, crept out of the dining room, tip-toed to the doorway at the back end of the hall, and stood for a second, listening. She then turned and began to move towards the front of the house, and she had just reached the door to the library when she first noticed Kathleen, who had been watching her with curiosity.
“Sakes alive, where’d you come from?” the girl snapped, dropping her bucket with a thump.
“Biddy? Biddy O’Malley! Don’t you recognize me? Whatever are you doing here?” cried Kathleen, getting up and moving over to where the girl stood, her mouth hanging open.
“Kathleen Hennessey, as I live and breathe. I work here, going on three months. Better question is, what are you doing here? Are you here about a position? Drat it, I knew that old bat was going to get me in trouble,” the young girl said with disgust.
“No, no, Biddy, I’m here with my mistress, Mrs. Fuller. She’s in there,” Kathleen pointed to the séance room, “with Mr. Frampton, having a ‘sitting’ or whatever you call it with that girl, Evie May. This is beyond wonderful, to find you here. I have so much to tell you.”
Biddy looked over her shoulder, brought her voice down to a whisper, and said, “Did you see a lady, red hair, temper to match, come out of this room?”
Kathleen nodded. “Yes, Mrs. Frampton. She let a man out the front door and then went to the back part of the house. What’s up and who’s the old bat? Not Mrs. Frampton, she’s a stunner!”
Biddy sighed, “Good. The master told me at lunch to dust the library, but just as I was getting my rags together, didn’t the Mrs. nip in with some gentleman caller. I hid in the dining room. If I went back to the kitchen, Mrs. Bloody Nickerson would’ve just found something else for me to do. She’s the old bat.”
“Oh, Evie May’s mother. What’s it to her what you do? She the housekeeper?”
“No, thank heavens. What she thinks she is, is the next Mrs. Frampton. Lord, makes me laugh. And that girl of hers. She’s just odd. Talks like a baby one moment, next she walks around like she’s the mistress of the house. Then I’ll come into her room to clean, and there she sits, staring at nothing. Acts like she can’t even hear me. Gives me the creeps something awful. But I can’t be found out here talking to you. Tell you what. I’ll go into the library, start dusting, you can stand at the door, be lookout. We can talk, but you give me a shout if some one comes.”
Kathleen agreed to this plan, leaning up against the door frame so that she could see if any of the doors leading into the hallway opened, but where she could also see if someone was coming down the stairs. She couldn’t wait to tell Mrs. Fuller about their good luck. Biddy was a few years younger than Kathleen, but when they were both very young they had lived in the same cramped lodging house and became the best of friends. They’d kept up, even after Kathleen went into service, meeting up occasionally at mass, or at one of St. Jo’s parish dances. Biddy, a tall, strong, dark-haired girl, had been working off and on since she was eleven. But as the oldest of thirteen children—her ma ran to twins—she usually did sewing work so she could help take care of her brothers and sisters while her mother went out to work.
“What’ch
a doing working out days?” Kathleen asked.
“Ma got a good job at St Mary’s Hospital. The Sisters got it for her. Pays well, but she’s got to work nights. Mary Margaret can take care of the little ones, now she’s ten, but I need to be home at night to keep the boys in hand. Speaking of boys, how’s your bunch of ruffians doing?”
While Biddy climbed up on a stool to begin dusting the library bookcases, Kathleen told her about her younger brothers, Colin, Aiden, and Ian. Colin at sixteen was apprenticed out as a carpenter’s assistant, Aiden and Ian were still in school, although despite Kathleen’s protests, Aiden worked when school was out and would probably drop out to go to work full time when he turned fifteen this spring. She told Biddy of her hopes that Ian, the youngest, would stay in school long enough to make something of himself. After Biddy had caught her up on her own family, Kathleen turned the conversation back to the Framptons.
“Biddy, Mrs. Fuller, my mistress, is sort of looking into the Framptons, seeing if they are on the up-and-up. Do you know how the Framptons work their tricks? Do they let you clean over there in the room where they hold the séances?”
“My goodness, no. Only places I’m allowed to mess with alone are the library, dining room, hallways, and the old bat and Evie May’s room. Albert takes care of the rooms across the hall and his wife takes care of the master and mistress’s rooms upstairs.”
“The butler’s got a wife?” Kathleen forgot her job as lookout and came into the room to make sure she’d heard right.
Biddy laughed and moved over to work on the shelves near the door, so Kathleen could go back to her post. “Butler, my foot. You tell me, Kathleen Hennessey, have you ever seen a butler like him? And who calls their butler by their first name? No, I’ve heard Mrs. Frampton call him Uncle Albert when she thought no one was listening. Since her maid sleeps in the same bed with old Albert, sort of stands to reason she’s his wife, though Mrs. Frampton calls her just by her first name, Delia, so maybe I’ve gone and jumped to conclusions. I do that, if you remember.”
Kathleen giggled. She had nearly forgotten how much fun Biddy could be. Then she thought she heard a noise from the hall. She whispered, “Biddy, I think someone’s coming. I just know my mistress will want to talk to you. What time do you get off evenings?”
“I’m off by seven. They eat early cause of the séances. Sunday night is cook’s night out, so everyone goes out to dinner. Since Ma doesn’t work Sunday nights, I stay until about ten, to watch the house while they are away.”
“Any chance you could stop by Mrs. Fuller’s, maybe tomorrow night, when you get off? I know she would pay for you to take a cab home.”
Biddy looked at her for a moment, then nodded. “Hey, the boys can’t get into too much trouble if I’m a little late, and we have a cousin staying with us who’ll help out. Sometimes the Framptons keep me past seven anyway. What’s the address?”
“436 O’Farrell. The Central car going up Sixth takes you right to O’Farrell; here’s a nickel.” Kathleen proudly pulled out her change purse, pleased she had saved some of her last week’s earnings.
Biddy took the coin and said with a smile, “Kathleen Hennessey, look at you! Change in your pocket. Well, I have some stories to tell you and that mistress of yours, might just be worth cab fare home. Strange goings on in this house, and that’s a fact.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Thursday evening, October 23, 1879
“WANTED BY A YOUNG GIRL, 15 YEARS old, a situation; city or country.”
—San Francisco Chronicle, 1879
Annie settled Queenie, the old black cat, on her lap, and began to rock gently, noticing the slight twinge of pain in her knee. Silence, a tangible contrast to the earlier excited chatter of Kathleen and her young friend, Biddy, filled the nighttime kitchen. Beatrice had gone with Kathleen to see Biddy safely into the hansom cab that was waiting out front, to pay the cabbie and impress upon him the necessity of taking the young girl straight to her home south of Market. Annie used the oasis of quiet to reach into the jumbled heap of worries she had been accumulating over the past few days, trying to create some sort of order.
She still had to prepare for Mr. Andrew’s appointment tomorrow morning at nine, but her eight o’clock client was out of town, so she could use that time to search through today’s papers for an investment tip. The rest of Friday’s appointments were routine; all she needed to do was listen and repeat the advice she had given before. Thank goodness there were no new crises among Sibyl’s clients; Mrs. Crenshaw was even looking better as she made preparations for her daughter and grandson’s visit in a few weeks. Beatrice had said she would go over the weekend menus with her when she brought up her breakfast in the morning, and at lunch she should have time to finish going through the household accounts.
She needed to make sure there was enough extra money for the next few weeks to pay for Biddy’s cousin to help out in the kitchen while Kathleen was accompanying her to the Frampton house. This would solve the problem of keeping the household running while she continued to investigate the Framptons. She wished she had confidence that she was making progress. She could almost feel Miss Pinehurst’s eyes on her in the morning, since their rooms were next to each other. But as usual, their paths didn’t cross in the house. She still hoped to speak to Sukie’s husband, Arnold, to ensure he wasn’t planning to give into Simon’s veiled threats. Annie wasn’t certain how much longer she could carry on with this investigation. Attendance at two séances a week, plus a private sitting with Evie May, was taking a toll on her time and her financial resources. She had a little extra money put by, but she’d planned on investing it, not spending it.
Then there was the conundrum of Eddie. When Evie May made the switch from Maybelle to Eddie, who was clearly older and wiser than Annie’s fictitious son, Johnny, Annie had been strangely relieved. A cocky street urchin was much easier to deal with than the clingy little girl, Maybelle, and Annie found it refreshingly easy to converse with him. Eddie was very straightforward, and Annie had rather liked the boy and found his insistence that he wasn’t dead very comforting.
His loud laughter at her question must have caught Simon’s attention because without warning Simon’s voice came from right on the other side of the curtain. He’d said something about Johnny saying good-bye to his mother and returning to the everlasting gardens, and then he had opened up the curtain. He evidently had not expected to see Eddie because he had let out an oath, snatched off the cap, grabbed the toy, and said, “Evie May, what are you doing?” When Annie had looked back at Evie May, Eddie was gone, and the girl was sitting with her eyes closed, slumped like some broken doll.
Annie was disturbed at this memory. While her conversation with Eddie had done much to reassure her that Maybelle wasn’t some reincarnation of her own lost child, it hadn’t answered the question of who or what Maybelle or her brother Eddie were. Maybe they were versions of Evie May’s real sister and brother; Eddie had said his last name was Nickerson. She should be able to find out if Rowena Nickerson had two children by those names. But who was Miss Evelyn? For some reason, that name had sounded familiar.
“Mrs. Fuller, see who we ran into out front.” Kathleen burst in through the back door of the kitchen, bringing in crisp air, crimson cheeks, and an air of suppressed excitement.
Annie looked up and saw Nate Dawson ushering Beatrice through the door, his hat off, and his manner deferential. She wished that her heart didn’t thump quite so decidedly whenever she saw him. She kept hoping that familiarity would breed, not contempt, but at least composure, on her part.
“I trust I have not come too late?” Nate walked over and stood looking down at Annie, who remained sitting in the rocking chair, the cat still in her lap.
Nate had asked her Monday night if he could stop by later in the week, and she had put him off until tonight, telling him that there wouldn’t be anything to discuss until after her sitting with Evie May. She had rather hoped he had forgotten, since she hadn�
�t decided what information she wanted to share with him, and she longed to retire, just this once, at a reasonable hour.
Before she could respond, Kathleen finished hanging up her shawl and came skipping over to Annie and Nate, saying, “Mrs. Fuller, have you told Mr. Dawson what we’ve planned for Sunday?”
Annie’s heart sank. She needed to take control of this conversation before Kathleen spilled everything. She stood up, dumped poor Queenie unceremoniously on the floor, and gave the girl a gentle push towards the stove. “Kathleen, if you please, go help Mrs. O’Rourke fix us all some tea, and give Mr. Dawson a chance to catch his breath. Mr. Dawson, do have a seat. I believe a few of Mrs. O’Rourke’s cookies are left.”
Nate smiled, removed his topcoat, placed it and his hat on the kitchen table, and pulled out a chair. Of course, he wouldn’t sit until she did, so when she saw that Beatrice was already piling a plate with some of her oatmeal cookies, she returned to the rocking chair and sat down.
“Mrs. Fuller, do tell me, what are these grand plans that have Miss Kathleen so excited, and just who was the young girl Mrs. O’Rourke was putting into a cab? I gather she was visiting you, but I didn’t catch who she was and why she was here,” Nate said as he pulled his chair closer to Annie.
Annie chose to focus on the last and less dangerous question, replying, “Biddy is Miss Bridget O’Malley, an old friend of Kathleen’s, who, by sheer coincidence, is the parlor maid who works days at the Framptons. Kathleen met her Wednesday while I was having my session with Evie May, and she invited her to stop by after work tonight. She was able to provide invaluable insight into the household. Do you remember me telling you Arabella Frampton had a lady’s maid? Turns out this maid is married to the butler, Albert, and Albert is Arabella’s uncle.”
“That is certainly interesting information.” Nate paused. “You know, that makes some sense. A confidence man like Simon Frampton couldn’t afford to have a close servant who wouldn’t be entirely loyal. Pierce said Arabella came from a theatrical family. I think he said they were tumblers, maybe even circus folk. Albert and his wife may have always been part of Simon and Arabella’s act. Wouldn’t be surprised if they had a large role to play behind the scenes during the séances. Maybe Albert is the one causing the table to shake. His wife could be working the lights and sound effects you described.” Nate stopped to take the cup of tea Kathleen handed him and snagged a cookie from the plate.
Uneasy Spirits: A Victorian San Francisco Mystery Page 17