Dandy Detects: A Victorian San Francisco Story

by M. Louisa Locke

  Dandy Detects:

  A Victorian San Francisco Story

  By M. Louisa Locke

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2010 Mary Louisa Locke

  Cover design Copyright 2010 Michelle Huffaker

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  Thank you for downloading this free short ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This ebook may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the ebook remains in its complete original form.

  If you enjoyed this short ebook, please return to Smashwords.com and check out other works by M. Louisa Locke, including, Maids of Misfortune, her historical mystery about many of the same characters. Thank you for your support.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Barbara Hewitt sat by the open window, drinking in the faint breeze that barely touched the flame of the candle sitting on the table in front of her. It was nearly eleven at night, yet her attic bedroom refused to release the accumulated heat of the day. While only her second September in the city of San Francisco, she was already familiar with the odd habit the weather had of producing the first searing temperatures of summer just in time for the fall school term.

  Today her students at San Francisco Girls High had wilted under the requisite five layers of clothing that female modesty dictated, and she had noted that none of them had been willing to forgo the newly fashionable polonaise wool dresses that had clearly been specially tailored for the start of school. She smiled to herself, thinking of the dampness of their knitted brows as they struggled over their first English literature essays--essays that she was trying to finish grading by candlelight so that she could return them in the morning.

  A raised voice and a sharp sound shattered her reverie, and she looked out the window into the illuminated back room on the top floor of the house across the alley. A lit oil lamp revealed in stark detail the tableau of a man and a woman and a dog. The shaggy black dog was clutched in the arms of the woman, who was sitting at an upright piano, her shining blonde head bowed. The wide-shouldered man loomed over her, his hands pressing down on the lid that covered the piano keys. The sound Barbara had heard probably came from the man slamming the lid down, since the soft notes of a Beethoven sonata had now been replaced by silence. But it just as well could have been the sound a man’s hand made when it came forcibly against the delicate skin of a woman’s face.

  Barbara remembered another room, on another breathlessly hot night, and another furious man. But that room had also contained the increasingly frantic wails of a three-year-old boy, a sound that had driven her across time and space to end up in this attic in Mrs. Fuller's O'Farrell Street boarding house. She stood up and turned her back on the window, taking up the candle to move across the room to an adjoining alcove where her young son lay asleep. Jamie was now eight, and he slept in that deep, drugged state that healthy children effortlessly achieve. She briefly stroked his sweat-darkened short hair that the summer’s sun had burnished golden, and her heart turned over.

  She then noticed that Dandy, Jamie's terrier, was sitting upright on the bed, staring alertly at her. The candlelight revealed the blaze of white on his chest and the white around his neck and front paws. The white patches looked so much like a starched white shirt against his black fur that Mrs. O'Rourke, the boarding house cook and housekeeper, had exclaimed, "Oh, Jamie, with that squashed-in face, if he doesn't look like a street tough trying to pass as a high-class gent. A dandy right enough, all dressed up in his fine evening clothes."

  Dandy, ears erect on either side of his round forehead and slightly bulging eyes reflecting the candle glow, cocked his head and wrinkled his short muzzle to emit a soft, questioning "woof."

  "Shush, Dandy," Barbara whispered. "Don't wake up Jamie. I am sure everything is all right.”

  “Gracious me, I do declare that if this heat continues I shan’t be able to eat a bite. Now, dear sister, I do insist that you take some of this chicken; you must keep up your strength. How clever of Mrs. O’Rourke to think of making this cucumber soup; a fine choice on a day like this. I don’t remember when we have had such a string of hot days, not here in San Francisco. Now, in Natchez, where Miss Millie and I spent our youth, this would be a mild summer day. Oh, my goodness, Millie, do you remember how hot it got back in Natchez? I….”

  Barbara let the older woman’s conversation wash over her as she picked at her dinner. She was exhausted from several sleepless nights, and her head had been so muzzy at school today that she had finally let her last period students work silently on their poetry assignments because she couldn’t summon the energy to listen to their recitations. She looked over at Miss Minnie Moffet, who was continuing to tell the rest of the boarders about summers in Natchez, and she wondered at the woman’s determined cheerfulness. Miss Minnie and her sister, Miss Millie, who must be in their early seventies, shared a tiny room across the hall from Barbara. If Miss Minnie’s stories had any connection to the truth, she and her sister had not been born poor back in Natchez. Nevertheless, some hinted-at-tragedy had landed them in San Francisco where they eked out their living as skilled seamstresses. Barbara noticed that Miss Millie, who looked so like Miss Minnie that they could be twins, was smiling benignly at her loquacious sister. Jamie swore that Miss Millie did speak, but Barbara had never heard her utter a syllable. She wondered if Miss Millie had simply given up trying to get a word in edgewise some time in the distant past.

  Well, at least with Miss Minnie at dinner, I won’t have to worry about making conversation, Barbara was just thinking, when a masculine voice on her right destroyed that hope.

  “Ah, excuse me, Mrs. Hewitt. Jamie was just telling me that you had promised him that you would take him up to Nob Hill this weekend, and I wanted to let you know I would be free to accompany you.”

  Barbara looked over at Mr. Chapman, who was leaning forward to speak to her around Jamie, and suppressed her irritation. A tall, awkward man in his thirties, Mr. Chapman had some sort of office job, and he seemed to feel it was not safe for her to walk in the city without a male escort.

  “Why, thank you Mr. Chapman, I will certainly let you know if we do decide to do so. It all depends on the weather and my students’ essays. It is the beginning of the term and I am afraid that, between the heat and their apparent failure to retain anything they learned last year, I may be in for a difficult weekend of grading.”

  Relieved that Jamie had immediately reclaimed Mr. Chapman’s attention, Barbara shifted her attention to the rest of the boarders at the table. On her left was Mr. Harvey, a clerk in a dry goods store who shared a room on the second floor with Mr. Chapman. He had an ailing wife who lived up near Sacramento, and she had noticed that he seemed as reluctant as she to engage in dinnertime conversation. Next to him at the head of the table sat Mr. Herman Stein, a wealthy businessman, who was steadily making inroads into his roast chicken and potatoes. Across the table from her sat Mr. Stein’s friendly wife, Esther, who was listening politely to Miss Minnie, and next to Miss Minnie was Miss Millie. The boarding house owner, Mrs. Fuller, was absent, as was Miss Pinehurst, a cashier in a fashionable restaurant off Market, who was, as usual, at work at this time of day.

  Boarding houses bring together such an odd assortment of people, Barbara thought to herself. She looked down at her son, who now had the full attention of the entire table as he reported that he had he
ard that there were wildfires on Mt. Diablo to the east. But they are all so kind to Jamie, and I suppose I can’t ask for more than that.

  “Ma’am, are you finished? You didn’t hardly touch your dinner. Will I be able to tempt you with raspberry compote?”

  Kathleen, the boarding house maid, leaned between her and Jamie to take their plates and continued, “But your son sure had a good appetite, and I don’t even have to ask if he wants dessert.”

  Barbara found her spirits lifting as they often did around Kathleen, a freckle-faced young Irish girl whose sparkling blue eyes radiated good humor. She replied, “Oh, Kathleen, its just too hot. I don’t know how you and Mrs. O’Rourke can stand it down in the kitchen; it must feel like you are in an oven. Do tell Mrs. O’Rourke how much I did enjoy the soup. I don’t want her to feel her efforts were wasted on me, and they certainly weren’t wasted on Jamie!”

  Kathleen placed the dishes on the stack she had been accumulating on her tray and said, “Well, the kitchen is in the basement, and that is a help. I don’t know how you can sleep nights up there on the third floor! When I went up to sweep this morning, I like to died from the heat!”

  This comment prompted Barbara to ask a question that had been niggling at her for several days. “Kathleen, that reminds me, with the windows open in the evening I have been hearing the woman across the alley play the piano. Quite lovely. I wondered if you knew her name or anything about her? I do believe they moved in this spring.”

  Kathleen’s face lit up, “Oh Ma’am, that would be Mrs. Francis. Don’t that piano sound glorious? She was famous, used to do concerts and everything. That was before she was married. Her husband, though, I dunno. I heard he dotes on her, but I also heard he's a rough sort. They do say opposites attract. He runs a store for second-hand tools in the first floor of the house. Well, I guess Mrs. Francis does most of the work in the store, while he just runs around town, finding goods to sell.”

  Barbara watched as Kathleen moved away to finish clearing the table, and she wondered about Mrs. Francis, “who used to be famous.” It had been so long since she had someone with whom she could share her love of music. She had hoped that she might find one of the teachers at her school compatible, but so far there had been no one she really felt she could trust. Schools could be such gossipy places, and she couldn’t afford to make any enemies, which some how meant she hadn’t been able to make any friends.

  The next day Barbara found herself again wondering about Mrs. Francis when her thoughts were interrupted by Dandy, who was barking in great indignation at an emaciated hound who was tied to the hitching post outside the Ellis Street butcher shop. Saturday mornings she walked Dandy while Jamie made spending money by doing errands for Mrs. O'Rourke. This Saturday, despite the continued heat, she had extended her usual route so that she could go past the Francis house.

  Barbara had some vague idea that she might stop in the store and, if Mrs. Francis was alone, strike up a conversation. But she had forgotten the butcher's dog, which always sent Dandy into a frenzy. Dandy was still a pup and didn't weigh more than fifteen pounds, so she wasn't worried he would get away from her, but he was creating a good deal of commotion on the crowded sidewalk.

  She scooped Dandy up in her arms, immediately subjecting herself to several swift doggy kisses on her nose, and she laughed, saying, "Oh you rascal. Proud of yourself aren't you. Defended me against that ruffian. Now settle down."

  Having made it safely past the butcher shop, Barbara put the wiggling dog down at her feet, just in time for him to begin straining at the leash again. Looking up, she saw the object of his excitement was a short, boxy black dog with a shaggy coat, who was pulling his mistress towards them with equal fervor.

  "Excuse me, Mrs. Francis. That is your name isn't it? I have so wanted to meet you," Barbara exclaimed when she noticed that the slender blonde in front of her was her back alley neighbor. Before the woman had a chance to respond, she went on. "My name is Mrs. Barbara Hewitt, I live just over on O'Farrell Street, and I wanted to tell you how much I have enjoyed hearing you play the piano these warm evenings. You are quite accomplished."

  Heavens above, I sound like an idiot, accosting a stranger on the street this way, she thought. Embarrassed, Barbara looked down at the two dogs who were enthusiastically trying to sniff each other's rears, which, because they were about the same length, meant they were going around and around in a tight circle, completely entangling their leashes.

  "Oh, dear," she said. "They are getting tied up!" She looked up and saw that the other woman was awkwardly trying to control her dog with her right hand, while she used her left to hold the half veil of her hat down over the left side of her face.

  I wonder what she is trying to hide? Barbara’s heart squeezed painfully as she remembered her own fearful attempts to hide the cuts and bruises that bloomed periodically on her face after her husband's rages. Not wanting the woman to catch her staring, Barbara again looked down at the dogs at her feet and said, "What a splendid dog you have. What kind is he?"

  "He is a Scottish terrier," a soft voice replied. "I call him Gordie. He seems to like your dog. What breed is he?"

  "I think he is some sort of mixture. Jamie, that's my son, found him on the street being tormented by some boys. We call him Dandy. There, I think we have them untangled," Barbara added.

  The other woman pulled her dog to her side, letting her full skirts separate the dogs. She then nodded politely and began to move past Barbara.

  "Please, Mrs. Francis, before you go. You must think me daft. But I particularly wanted to meet you because I wondered if you ever gave piano lessons. I would like my son, he is eight, to learn. I wouldn't be able to pay much, but...."

  "Oh my, no," the woman said. "I don't think that would be possible. My husband wouldn't let….I mean a small boy in the house…I don't think he...."

  Barbara broke into the woman's protestations, "You have misunderstood me. I live at Mrs. Fuller's boarding house on O'Farrell, and she has an upright in the parlor that she lets the boarders use. I thought you might be able to teach him there."

  Seeing that the woman was shaking her head and uttering more disjointed phrases, Barbara continued, "Please, just think about it. Now I must let you go on your way. It was a pleasure to meet you."

  As she moved past, she thought she heard Mrs. Francis reply faintly, "So kind of you.” Perhaps she is just shy, Barbara thought as she moved on. I could stop by and visit her next week, bring Jamie with me, nobody withstands his charm.

  Barbara sat bolt upright in her bed, drenched in sweat. Her heart pounded, the remnants of a dream swiftly evaporating. She had been back in Kansas, lost in the cornfields, and she had shouted. No, someone else had shouted. As her eyes began to focus, she realized Dandy was standing on the bed beside her, staring intently towards the window, whose curtain she had left open in the weak hope that this would permit the ferocious heat of the room to escape.

  "Did you hear something, Dandy?" she whispered. When she spoke, he looked back at her briefly and then turned again, leaning forward, his neck stretched out, sharp ears cocked. Without warning he began to growl, while backing up, never turning his head from the window. Barbara snatched the dog to her chest, trying to soothe him. She feared he would wake Jamie or, worse yet, Miss Minnie and Miss Millie across the hall. Then she noticed Dandy was trembling violently, and she could feel his heart beating wildly under her hands.

  "What is it, boy? Let's go see, is there a prowler out there? Do we need to sound the alarm?" Barbara disengaged herself from the bedclothes and got up, all the while stroking the agitated dog. She crossed to the desk in front of the window, which was again piled high with essays to grade. Looking outside, she noticed that despite the late hour there was a light on across the way. I bet I am not the only person who is finding it hard to sleep in this heat, she thought. Then she saw a man, she assumed it was Mr. Francis, move into view, his back to the window. He was shirtless, his suspenders over bare skin, and h
e seemed to be staring at his feet. Dandy struggled in her arms and began to bark. The man swung around to peer out the window, and Barbara scuttled backwards, her heart again pounding, Dandy now silent in her arms.

  Surely he couldn't see me, I'm standing in the dark. He just heard Dandy, she thought. Nevertheless, when she crept back to the window she approached from the side and peeked out again. The light had gone out, and the texture of the square of darkness at the window suggested that the man had pulled the curtains as well. She stared out for a moment, seeing nothing else stirring in the still night air.

  "Mother, what's wrong?" Jamie called.

  "Nothing, dear. Dandy just heard something, but everything is fine. Probably some cat," she said, hoping this was true. She felt Dandy's hot breath on her cheek, but he was no longer trembling, so she set him down and heard the sharp click, click, click of his toenails as he made his way across to Jamie's bed. As she climbed back into her own bed, she heard the soft murmurs of her son talking to his dog, and she smiled and unexpectedly went to sleep.

  "Mother, I told you, he isn't a mongrel. Georgie's Uncle Sean said he saw a dog just like Dandy back east, and he was a special new kind of dog. Part English bulldog, part English terrier, and part French bull dog." Jamie trotted in front of her, holding Dandy's leash.

  Barbara replied, "Well, Jamie, if that isn't a mongrel I don't know what is. Be careful, don't let him! Oh dear, too late." Dandy, who had been weaving back and forth, his minute black nose snuffling up smells from the wooden planks of the sidewalk, had suddenly swerved right and lifted his leg on a barrel of shoes outside a cobbler’s. At least the dark stain on the barrel attested to Dandy not being the first dog to anoint it. But really, did he have to lift his leg every few feet?

  "Mother, I'm telling you, they gave this mixture a name! That makes it a pure breed. Least that's what Georgie's Uncle Sean says, and he's an expert on dogs, Georgie says. His Uncle Sean says that they call dogs like Dandy Boston terriers cause they were made in Boston. But seems to me if Dandy was born in San Francisco, he should be called a San Francisco terrier, don't you think?"