Annie could see the attractiveness of Flora’s beliefs, but she was seriously troubled by the idea that her dead mother, or father, or heaven forbid, her husband, might live on in perpetuity, struggling to find some way to reach out and communicate with the living, with her. But what of her lost daughter? Would it bring her any peace to think that, like a Maybelle, she might still exist in some form, searching for her mother? Annie didn’t know if she could accept that idea. She also didn’t know if she believed in heaven and hell. In her experience, evil came from the living, not the dead. This was one of the reasons she didn’t believe it was the spirit of Charlie who tried to frighten his mother about her unborn child or pressure his father into betraying his employer. The evil came from the Framptons, not the afterworld. But if Charlie wasn’t a real spirit, what was the explanation for Maybelle, or Eddie? Round and around these thoughts had gone, always coming back to who or what inhabited Evie May.
To her left, Ruckner spasmodically clenched her hand as the volume of the music increased and Arabella commenced to moan, the now familiar signal for a spirit to manifest itself. The lights from the room behind began to flicker, a new phenomena. When the music stopped, a deep male voice rang out, saying, “‘Ding dong dell, Pussy’s in the well.’ Do you hear me little puss? It’s your grandfather, come to speak with you.”
Mrs. Larkson shrieked. Then the voice softened. “Isobel, Isobel, don’t be afraid, my little puss. Remember how we changed the old song? ‘Ding dong dell, Puss is Isobel, Who loves her best? Pa more than the rest.’ Don’t cry little puss.”
Annie heard the sound of Isobel Larkson weeping. Detecting a smile on Jack Sweeter’s face as he leaned over to whisper in the distraught woman’s ear, she thought she caught a whiff of evil in the air, and it didn’t come from the spirit of Isobel’s grandfather. Something must have happened since last Friday, because the lively young woman Annie met two weeks ago had been replaced by a woman who looked haunted, her laugh brittle, her clothes hanging loosely as if she had lost weight overnight, and her eyes darting fearfully around the room.
The spirit’s voice continued, as Sweeter was successful in getting Isobel to quiet her sobs. “Little Puss, don’t cry. My little Bell. I just want to remind you of how important family is, now and forever. That’s all granny and I ever wanted of you, to remember who your blood is, who you owe your allegiance to, and we will rest content and bother you no more.” The final words became so soft Annie had trouble hearing them. “Ding dong dell, Puss is in the well. Who’ll get her out? Little Jackie Stout.”
Annie shivered. Could it be that simple? Jack Sweeter wanted something from his cousin Isobel. Money? A job in her husband’s factory? Her complicity in some criminal enterprise? Would he be willing to pay Arabella to have the spirits frighten his cousin into compliance? Maybe he paid the Framptons by exchanging information, for example, about Nate’s connection to her. Thinking back to what Esther Stein had learned about Isobel’s life, the years nursing her grandmother and then her mother-in-law, Annie doubted this woman deserved whatever was now happening to her. Yes, this was evil, and Annie felt she must find a way to stop it.
Ruckner again moved restlessly beside her, probably impatient for his turn with the spirit of his dead wife. But a musical interlude had commenced and Arabella was back to swaying and moaning. On the way to the séance, Nate had told her about Ruckner having inherited a great deal of money from his wife, which would certainly make him a good target for blackmail. She prayed that Arnold Vetch hadn’t succumbed to the pressure Simon was putting on him to reveal information about Ruckner and the bank. If this had happened, would she be able to tell, based on what the spirits had to say to him tonight? Earlier in the week she had told Miss Pinehurst all about what she and Nate had found in the Framptons’ house on Sunday, hoping the information would help convince Sukie the couple were frauds, but she hadn’t heard back from her. Annie prayed this information had done some good.
Since she still hadn’t figured out how to tell Nate about the incident with the barrels, she’d been relieved that on the car ride to the Framptons there hadn’t been time to do more than discuss what he had learned about Ruckner. Nate had agreed that he shouldn’t accompany her all the way from the car stop to the séance house since the conversation they had overhead on Sunday suggested it was her connection to Nate that put her in the greatest danger. The plan was that he would walk up the few blocks to Market, stop by a little cafe he knew about, and then get a cab to pick her up at the corner of Sixth and Harrison. They would then go to the boarding house to join the Halloween festivities that would be well underway by the time the séance was over.
Annie found her attention pulled back to the séance at hand when Simon did his usual rigmarole about the departed ones. Right on cue, the lights in the back parlor strengthened, and the Judge eagerly left the table to join Evie May in the cabinet. This, of course, left Mrs. Mott and Nurse Herron to join hands, and as Arabella segued into another spirit voice, the two women vied to claim it as their own. Annie again felt her concentration drift. She had worried that Nate would be upset that she had put off seeing him all week, or that he would want reassurance from her that tonight would indeed be her last séance. However, he’d been suspiciously agreeable. Preoccupied was a better description.
A raised voice caught her attention, as Nurse Herron shouted, “No, no, it wasn’t my fault. I wasn’t on duty. You have to believe me. I would never have left that day if I had thought it was to be your last.” Nurse Herron was rocking back and forth in distress.
Annie, shocked at this outburst, wondered what the spirit, who was definitely female this time, had said to prompt this denial from the nurse, who had always before seemed to enjoy having little chats with former clients. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been listening. Drat. I need to concentrate. This may be my last chance to figure out if there is anyone besides Arabella who might be so upset by my investigations that they would try to hurt me. Despite what Annie had implied when she told everyone this was her last séance, she knew she wasn’t entirely ready to give up on her investigations. She no longer believed that even if Arabella was behind the threatening notes and the barrels that it was just jealousy. If she or someone else was frightened enough to threaten Annie’s life, then there must be some sort of serious crime involved, and she couldn’t leave it alone until she found out what it was and exposed it.
Mrs. Mott, in her gruff voice, spoke out, indignantly addressing the spirit. “I think that we have had quite enough from you, whoever you might be,” she said. “You are obviously not very evolved. Good heavens, you are acting like a school child’s idea of a haunt. Be gone, and don’t come back until you have learned something in the afterlife.”
Annie bit back a giggle and felt Simon stir beside her. Clearly the séance had gotten out of hand. She wondered why Arabella would have chosen to have a spirit accuse Nurse Herron of some sort of dereliction of duty, if not something more serious. It had been Annie’s impression that the nurse was a good source of information about potential clients and, therefore, treated gently in the séances. Perhaps she had become less cooperative.
Simon spoke up at this point, and, as Annie had come to expect, he brought the séance back under control by asking for everyone to sing a hymn. She thought this was also the signal for Evie May to dismiss the Judge, and, sure enough, he slipped back into his chair as the song ended. Annie’s heart began to beat faster, wondering if she would be next. So, she was relieved when Arabella, after the necessary swaying and moaning, began to speak to Mr. Ruckner. To her further relief, nothing Ruckner’s wife said seemed to indicate anything threatening, no vague suggestions about the health of the bank, or indications that Ruckner should be feeling guilty about anything. Either Arnold Vetch had held his ground, or he didn’t know anything worth blackmailing the banker about.
The spirit of Mr. Ruckner’s wife didn’t stay around long, and the ambient light dimmed considerably while the music swelled. Annie fel
t her tension rise accordingly since she expected it was her turn to be called into the cabinet or to confront one of Arabella’s spirits. She had told Simon at the start of the séance that this was to be her last, saying something vague about feeling she had found the solace she had been looking for in her conversations with her loved ones,. Simon gave her one of his intense stares and then said how sorry he was, but to Annie he appeared more relieved than upset. The conversation she had overheard on Sunday confirmed her belief that Simon had never seen her as much of a threat; however, Simon might not be as sanguine if he knew she was trying to remove Evie May from his influence.
Annie jumped at the sound of a large crash, accompanied by a bright flash of light, followed by silence and complete darkness. Neither Arabella nor Simon made a sound. This time the darkness no longer felt comfortable to Annie; instead, she experienced a strong feeling of menace. As the minutes ticked past, the scent of lilacs became so strong as to feel like a concrete presence in the pitch-black room. Next she heard the tap, tap, tap of what sounded like a cane, coming closer and closer. The room behind them was suddenly flooded with light, prompting at least two of the women around the table to cry out. Harold Hapgood was caught in a beam of the light, his mouth stretched into a silent scream.
Annie turned around and saw Evie May in her cabinet, illuminated by the light from above, which now had a bluish tinge and turned her skin to a deathly hue. Annie had never seen this Evie May before. She sat bolt upright, her shoulders square and her legs spread wide in her skirts, creating the illusion that she was a much bulkier person. Her head was sunk into her shoulders and wobbled to and fro, as if her neck was too weak to hold her head sufficiently straight. One of her arms was outstretched in front of her, holding a cane with a single round orb at the top. While she was dressed in her usual white, the cut of her clothing looked old-fashioned, as did her hair, braided up into a coronet. Around her neck were strand after strand of white beads.
She rapped once, very loudly, with the cane. Then she stretched out her other arm, her index finger pointing straight at Annie, who, bewildered, tried to figure out what departed relative of hers this Evie May was supposed to represent, until she realized the girl was looking past her at someone behind her at the table. When the girl began to speak, despite the ugly high-pitched whine of her voice, she left no doubt at whom she was pointing.
“Harold. Harold Hapgood. You don’t deserve to live.”
Annie heard a moan come from behind her.
“Six sons I was given, five were taken away from me. Six sons, but only five were worthy of a mother’s love. Six sons, but all save the last died. When you were born, you were my most precious child, the son of my old age. You were supposed to be my staff and my support. But you were weak, led around by your nose by that stupid simpering miss, turning your back on your flesh and blood.”
“No, mother, I never did. You turned your back on me.” Harold’s anguished cry rang out.
The cane came down hard, twice, in rapid succession, as Evie May screamed defiantly. “Don’t you dare contradict me. I am your mother, and you will listen to me. I sat there in my room while you and your hussy were out on the town. I sat all alone while the fire went out and my hands and feet went cold. I sat alone and I called and called, and you didn’t come. Wife gone to goodness knows where, you laid out in a drunken stupor. Can’t even hold your liquor, can you? What kind of man are you? You killed me with your neglect. Left me all alone, suffocating to death.”
“I’m so sorry, mother,” Harold’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I never meant that . . . I didn’t know . . . oh, god, can you forgive me.”
“Forgiveness is for your maker, not me. Six sons, all dead, but you. And you don’t deserve to live.” Evie May tugged viciously at the strands of beads, which broke and flew everywhere.
The lights went out and Annie couldn’t see anything, but she heard exclamations and curses, the sound of retching, and a woman sobbing. The table began to rock violently while the piano from above swung into what Annie recognized as the closing hymn. In time, led by Simon and Mrs. Mott, the people around the table joined in singing, and the table’s shaking slowly lessened and then stopped as the hymn ended.
Simon released her hand, left the table, and then threw open the doors, letting in the blinding light from the hallway. Annie turned to look at Evie May, but the girl had vanished from the cabinet room. When she turned back she saw that Simon was leaning towards Harold, who was hunched over, his head in his hands. When Simon whispered something to him, Harold reared back and scrabbled out of his chair, shouldering his way through the knot of people who were moving towards the door. Annie saw Hilda Hapgood move towards her husband as he entered the hall, but he roughly pushed her aside and ran to the front door, wrenching it open and disappearing in the dark night of All Hallows’ Eve.
Chapter Forty
Friday evening, October 31, 1879
“The feast of All Saints, which was ushered in Friday evening by the old-fashioned games of ‘All Hallows’ E’en, was yesterday celebrated in the Catholic and Episcopal Churches.”
—San Francisco Chronicle, 1879
“Welcome to our celebration of Oíche Shamhna,” Mrs. O’Rourke cried out as Nate followed Annie into the boarding house kitchen. Annie’s cook and housekeeper was standing next to a large punch bowl, waving a ladle, and Nate had never seen her look quite as lively. Her pink cheeks, the wisps of gray hair that had escaped from the bun at the top of her head, and the breathiness of her voice had Nate speculating on what exactly was in the punch she was dispensing, and how much of it had she already imbibed herself. Until he noticed the swirl of a fiddle coming from the back yard and realized Mrs. O’Rourke had most likely been dancing a jig!
A undetermined number of young people, none of whom Nate recognized, were milling around the kitchen, some getting punch to drink, others working at the stove stirring large pots of what smelled like spiced cider and ale, others putting some pans of cake in the oven, and all of them chatting in that musical lilt that signaled their membership in the Celtic tribe.
Nate was glad to see Annie smile as she ran over and gave Mrs. O’Rourke a hug. When Nate had helped her into the cab after the séance, he’d been struck by how grim her face had looked in the lamplight; and, on the short drive home, she had stuck to monosyllabic answers to his questions. As they left the cab to mount the steps to the boarding house, he’d asked directly what was wrong, and she had only said that they would talk later.
“Mr. Dawson, it is good to see you again.” Patrick McGee.
Nate shook the hand of Kathleen’s beau and said, “Officer McGee! How are you? Haven’t seen you since this summer. I trust that the department isn’t too upset over Kalloch’s win as mayor. Chief Detective Jackson told me that Patrick Crowley is slated for Chief of Police. How do the men feel about that?”
“Actually, sir, they just made the announcement of his appointment official this morning. Those that worked under him in the sixties when he was Chief before say he’s a straight shooter. Be good for the department to have an experienced man at the top. Rumor is there’s even to be money for some new hires and new uniforms, blue like in New York City. The men are right excited about that.”
Nate looked at the pale gray police uniform McGee was wearing, which always reminded him painfully of the Confederacy and his older brothers’ deaths, and he nodded. “Have you come off patrol, or are you still on the night beat?”
“I did get put on day patrol last month. However, seeing that it’s All Hallow’s Eve and there tends to be mischief done this night, some just harmless pranks, some not so harmless, we were asked to beef up patrols. I go on at eleven. I can wear the uniform off-duty, long as I don’t have on the badge or gun. I locked them up in Aunt Bea’s pantry, till it’s time for me to leave.”
Annie had come up to him and Patrick during this last interchange, and she said, “Patrick, your aunt asked me to give you this bowl of apples to take
outside. I gather that we are about to have a round of ‘snap the apple.’ Are you going to use the apricot tree again this year?”
“Yes, ma’am. Kathleen’s middle brother, Aiden, has already shimmied up and tied the rope. Aunt Bea won’t let us do the candle, says there’ll be no singed faces at this party, so we’ll put an apple on each end of the stick. Doubles your chance to get one, although with Aiden swinging the rope, I doubt it’ll be all that easy. Ma’am, sir, I best get out there.” McGee bobbed his head and threaded his way through the crowded kitchen.
“Candle?” Nate asked Annie.
“Yes, evidently an ‘old country’ variation on the game. Last year, Patrick’s older brother put a lighted candle on one end of the stick and the apple on the other. One girl had already set her bangs on fire before Beatrice heard what was going on. You should have seen her! She sailed out of that kitchen and into the yard like a fully gunned frigate and smacked the young man upside the head with a wooden spoon, calling him every kind of fool. I gather he wasn’t invited to come tonight. I just hope he isn’t out creating some of that mischief Patrick was speaking about. Would be a shame if he has to arrest his own brother.”
“Can I get you something to drink before we go outside?” Nate asked.
“Please do, and why don’t you get us some of those little round cakes that have just come out of the oven?”
Annie then turned away from him to greet Jamie’s mother, who accompanied the two spinster seamstresses, Miss Millie and Miss Minnie, into the kitchen. Nate bowed politely and moved over to say good evening to Mrs. O’Rourke and get the refreshments. He always had the uneasy feeling these two former Southern Belles, who had to be in their late sixties at least, compared him to the gentlemen friends of their youth and found him wanting.
While Nate piled a plate high with small nut-filled cakes and oatmeal cookies, Mrs. O’Rourke handed him a glass cup of punch and said, “Please drink up, Mr. Dawson. I think you will find there is just a hint of rum alongside the fruit in this punch. A recipe that Annie’s Uncle Timothy, god rest his soul, taught me when I was just a young kitchen maid. Made it the night our Annie girl was born, right in this house, right in the room she now has for her own. Annie’s mother and father were fine folks, and they’d be so proud of their little girl.”
Uneasy Spirits: A Victorian San Francisco Mystery Page 30