Pilfered Promises

by M. Louisa Locke

  “Don’t worry; I will take care of her, and Nate will get all this mess straightened out, you will see.”

  “Perhaps the young lady would find a sip of water helpful,” said an older gentleman who’d materialized next to them.

  Recognizing Mr. Livingston from the illustration that had accompanied the Chronicle article, Annie thanked him and took the cut-crystal glass he held out, giving it to Violet, who drank thirstily from it.

  Robert Livingston was a tall man, only slightly bowed by his seventy some years, whose elegantly tailored black suit encased a large, prosperous frame. His neatly barbered hair, long sideburns, and full bushy beard were white with threads of silver. A long nose, deep-set but kindly light blue eyes, and eyebrows that were remarkable in their unruliness, completed a face that radiated sharp intelligence tempered by a bit of mischievous humor. She liked the man on the spot.

  He smiled back at her then wandered over to where Nate was in rapid conversation with Mr. Jenkins and a handsome middle-aged man who wore an ornately embroidered red waistcoat and matching red rose boutonnière. Annie guessed he was Monsieur Villeneuve, the minority owner of the Silver Strike Bazaar, given his expressive hand motions that were punctuated by various French phrases like “Mais, bien sûr,” and “mais oui,” and “désolé.”

  The Chronicle article opined that Robert Livingston’s decision to take Villeneuve on as a partner in his new enterprise had been a very canny one, since both of the other leading dry goods stores were run by French emigres. It was the common belief that the success of the City of Paris and the White House could be attributed to their owners’ ability to satisfy the desire on the part of San Francisco ladies to own the latest Parisian fashions in clothing, accessories, and home furnishings.

  Annie turned back to Violet, who seemed to be regaining her composure. She said, “Do you think it might help if we sent for your brother Alec?” Violet’s brother Alec attended the University of California, across San Francisco Bay, as did Nate’s sister, Laura.

  “Oh, would you? We were supposed to meet him at the White House at noon…to go to lunch. I have no idea what time it is…”

  Annie looked at the watch pinned to her navy coat and saw that it was already a quarter past. “I will ask Officer McGee to go right now and bring him here. I’m sure Alec will accompany you both back down to San Jose, since it is the weekend and he won’t be missing any classes.”

  “Yes, yes…that would be perfect. He always knows how to calm Mother down. For some reason I just irritate her no matter what I do.”

  Annie hesitated a moment, not sure if she should go over to Mrs. Kemper before asking Patrick to fetch the woman’s son. She suspected that she liked having an audience, so ignoring her might be the safest strategy. But the woman might ratchet up her hysterics if she felt she wasn’t getting enough attention.

  Nate broke off his conversation and came over to Annie, relieving her from making a decision. When she rapidly told him of her plan to send Patrick for Alec, he nodded and went to inform the young officer, who immediately exited the office. Then he conferred with Mr. Livingston and Monsieur Villeneuve.

  When Nate came back, he took his sister-in-law’s hands gently in his and said, “Violet, I am so sorry you have had such a trying time. But I think that we may be able to straighten this all out with a minimum of fuss. I sent for Alec, advising him to bring a cab to the alley behind the store. There is a service elevator that can take you and your mother straight down to the basement and out of the building.”

  Violet nodded, her lower lip trembling slightly.

  “I have suggested that your mother needs to return to San Jose immediately, to be attended by her physician. Mr. Livingston himself suggested that perhaps there is a medical explanation for what occurred.”

  Violet sat up straighter, her eyes brightening. “Oh, yes. That’s an excellent idea. Mother suffers terribly from her nerves.”

  “I have also agreed to work with Mr. Livingston and Monsieur Villeneuve to come up with some legal document that would protect the interests of the store but also absolve your mother of any criminal wrong-doing. That is, if your mother will agree to let me represent her interests in this matter.”

  “Oh Nathaniel, I am sure I…or at least Alec…can persuade her to agree. But I don’t think I will bring this up until she is home and more at ease.” Violet looked over at her mother, who was imperiously demanding her daughter come back and tell her what was going on.

  Nate rose and went over to Mrs. Kemper. He reminded her of their last meeting at Violet’s wedding, then he introduced Annie to her, saying that they were sorry to find her in such a sad way. This prompted a volley of complaints and accusations. As Annie had feared, Mrs. Kemper loved nothing more than a new male audience.

  Looking at Nate’s appalled expression, she took over. For five years after her first husband’s death, she’d been passed from one household to another among her in-laws, forced to work as an unpaid companion to whichever relative felt they needed her services. As a result, she’d gotten a good deal of experience sweetening up old ladies.

  She leaned over and said in a rallying tone, “Mrs. Kemper, I am so sorry this terrible misunderstanding has occurred. But you must stop crying. You are much too beautiful to let your eyes get so red. Whatever will your son think when he comes to collect you?”

  “Alec? He’s coming here?” Mrs. Kemper looked around as if she expected him suddenly to materialize.

  “Yes, we’ve sent for him. He must be very alarmed not to have found you and Violet at the White House. But I was thinking that since it will take a few minutes for him to get here, perhaps I could find a room you and Violet could retire to…use the facilities…freshen up a little?”

  At this Annie looked over to Mr. Livingston, who came closer and said, “Capital idea. Mrs. Kemper, if you would step right though this door, you will find a private washroom. I will have a chair moved into it for you. There are fresh towels, soap. And we can get you anything you need.”

  Annie added, “Do come, Mrs. Kemper. Here is your purse. A little cool water to the face, while someone procures some cups of tea for you and Violet.”

  Annie slipped her arm around the small woman’s waist and pulled her up and out of her chair, chattering inanities to her as she walked her over to the door Livingston held open. It led to a spacious bathroom, with a black and white marbled floor, tasteful embossed wall paper, and a gleaming porcelain washstand and matching commode. Mrs. Kemper’s head went up when she saw the mirror over the washstand. She walked quickly into the room, firmly closing the door behind her, leaving Annie and Violet standing on the other side.

  Violet chuckled. “She will be at least twenty minutes repairing her face. How clever you were to appeal to her vanity.”

  “Let’s hope that Alec arrives by the time she’s done. But I am sorry; I thought you would be able to use the facilities as well. Should I try to find some other accommodations for you? You must be exhausted. Billy will never forgive us if we don’t take good care of you.”

  “Oh no, I am fine. And Billy will be eternally grateful to you and Nathaniel for coming to my rescue. He was against me making the trip. But I knew it was the last time I would feel comfortable traveling away from home.”

  She folded her hands over her stomach and smiled, saying, “As happened with little Francis, now that I am over the first trying months, I feel quite well.”

  Violet had been suffering from morning sickness in August when they were last together. Annie had to admit that now that she wasn’t being upset by her mother, Violet looked to be in blooming health––her skin clear and her blue eyes sparkling.

  Violet looked pointedly at Annie and said, “And you? Are you quite well?”

  Knowing that her sister-in-law was asking if she was pregnant yet, Annie pretended to misunderstand, saying, “Oh yes, both Nate and I are well.”

  What she wanted to say was, “Just because you find getting pregnant so easy you must h
ave conceived on your marriage night and were with child again before little Frankie was even weaned doesn’t mean that my failure to conceive after only a few months means anything at all.”

  However, if Annie were totally honest, she would tell her sister-in-law she was slightly relieved she wasn’t increasing yet. After what seemed nearly a decade of financial and emotional turmoil, she finally felt at peace. Happily married to a man who respected her. Working as an accountant and financial advisor without pretending to be the clairvoyant Madam Sibyl. Running the O’Farrell Street boarding house, surrounded by friends and family who loved her. Did she really want to rush into motherhood, with all its conflicting demands?

  Chapter 2

  “Kleptomania is coming into fashion again, and rich shop-lifters will be let off and poor ones sent up.”––San Francisco Chronicle January 26, 1879

  Saturday evening, November 13, 1880

  “Patrick said that Mrs. Kemper stole some gloves. Even if they were those really expensive silk kind, I can’t understand why a lady would steal three pairs.” Kathleen bit her bottom lip and shook her head as she scrubbed at one of the larger pots. “There is some mystery there. But I am sure the mistress will get to the bottom of it.”

  Patrick McGee had stopped by the kitchen as Kathleen and Beatrice O’Rourke, Patrick’s aunt and the boarding house cook, were preparing dinner for the boarders. They’d known something was up because neither Mrs. Dawson nor her husband showed up in time for lunch, and when the mistress came home right before her afternoon client, she’d only been able to whisper to Kathleen that there had been an “unfortunate incident” involving Violet Dawson’s mother. Mrs. O’Rourke’s red-haired nephew had partially satisfied their curiosity by briefly recounting the surprising events of earlier in the day.

  Handing the pot to Mrs. O’Rourke to dry, Kathleen said, “I know the mistress is very glad to be shut of the name Mrs. John Fuller, not having fond memories of her first husband, but it does get confusing when you are trying to talk about her and her sister-in-law, Violet, both of them being Mrs. Dawson.”

  Kathleen had started working as a servant at the O’Farrell Street boarding house two years ago when she was sixteen. Even then, she was no stranger to hard work. She’d helped her mother with her laundry business from the moment she could toddle around, and at age eleven, she took over the care of her younger brothers when her mother died in childbirth. A year later, when her father, drunk and broken-hearted, fell to his death in a construction accident, her relatives sent her out to support herself. What followed was four years working as a live-in servant for a series of employers who couldn’t be bothered to learn her name, made her sleep in unheated attics, and cheated her out of her hard-earned wages.

  Somehow, she’d come to the attention of Beatrice O’Rourke, who completely changed her life when she sent word for Kathleen to show up at the O’Farrell Street house to interview for the position of “maid of all work.” Mrs. O’Rourke told her that the young widow, who’d inherited the house, intended on turning it into a boarding house. The new owner was keeping Mrs. O’Rourke on as her cook and housekeeper, and she needed a good worker to help them in this new endeavor. Mrs. O’Rourke was respected by everyone at St. Joseph’s, where Kathleen also attended, so she felt very blessed that the older woman was recommending her for the job.

  And when Kathleen met her new mistress, she thought she’d died and gone to heaven. Mrs. Annie Fuller––it was hard to not think of her that way––was so kind to her, right from the beginning. You could tell she was a real lady––well-spoken, soft pale skin, and beautiful hands. But she wasn’t above pitching in and rolling up her sleeves to get the house ready for the new boarders. And she didn’t say a cross word when Kathleen was just learning how to do the duties of a real lady’s maid…not even the one time she’d slightly singed the mistress’ beautiful red-gold hair with a curling iron.

  While taking care of a house with nine boarders kept Kathleen on her toes from morning to night, she soon discovered how different it was to work for a woman who treated her with respect. Paid decent, too. And just as soon as her mistress could afford it, she’d helped ease Kathleen’s work by hiring a laundress to wash and press the heavy linens each week. Then, last year, she’d also hired a second young maid, Tilly O’Malley, to help out part time. Now that the mistress was married, and her husband, Mr. Nate Dawson, had moved in, she’d even expanded Tilly’s hours. Although the fourteen-year-old girl still went home most nights, like tonight, which was why Mrs. O’Rourke, not Tilly, was helping Kathleen with the dishes.

  Keeping them company in the kitchen tonight was Laura Dawson, Mr. Nate’s sister. Miss Laura had been living in the boarding house for nearly a year, working part time as a type-setter to pay her way through school. Today, like most days, she didn’t make it back home in time for dinner. But she said she liked to eat in the kitchen where she could catch up on all the day’s gossip. When Kathleen told her about Mrs. Kemper being accused of shoplifting, she’d been very keen to hear all the details.

  “I’ll say there’s a mystery,” said Laura. “Violet’s father is one of the wealthiest men in San Jose, so Mrs. Kemper should be able to afford any number of gloves, no matter how expensive. So embarrassing for Violet.”

  Kathleen thought that Miss Laura, who was often pretty vocal about not liking her brother Billy’s wife, was enjoying the thought of how embarrassed Violet would be.

  Keeping that opinion to herself, she said, “Did you ever meet Mrs. Kemper?”

  “My parents go to the same church in San Jose, so I’ve seen Mrs. Kemper lots of time. She always seemed very stand-offish. Even when my brother Billy and Violet got engaged, she acted like it pained her to be polite to my folks.”

  “You said Mr. Kemper is wealthy? What’s he do?” Mrs. O’Rourke asked.

  “Owns the main cannery in San Jose––the biggest one. He is the one who convinced Billy to start planting fruit orchards on the ranch. I think my father would rather stick with cattle…but Billy’s all fired up, says that fruit is the future of the valley.”

  Mrs. O’Rourke cocked her head and said, “So your brother thinks highly of his father-in-law?”

  “Yes, and Mother did write that he got a really good price from selling his fall crop to Mr. Kemper. More than enough to pay for the new house he and Violet built behind my parents’ house.”

  “No sign that Mr. Kemper’s business might be in trouble?”

  Kathleen thought she knew where Mrs. O’Rourke was going with that question. Money problems were the most likely reason a woman, even a woman like Mrs. Kemper, would turn petty thief. She thought of her mother, watching her husband drinking away his wages and agonizing over the look of hunger in her children's eyes. But her ma would never have stolen…even to feed them. No, she just worked harder. Killed her. But gloves? And a fan?

  Laura replied, “Not that I know. I guess I should feel sorry for Violet. But she just rubs me the wrong way. It’s just that she’s always hinting that I am a grave disappointment to my own mother…because I haven’t settled down and married and started popping out grandchildren.” Laura made a face and said, “Seems like she’s doing enough of that for all of us.”

  Kathleen felt Mrs. O’Rourke stiffen beside her. She’d been widowed ten years ago when her husband, a police officer, was killed in the line of duty, and she’d never had any children. But the way the older woman doted on her nieces and nephews left no doubt that she would have wanted children if she could have had them.

  A sudden flurry of movement made Kathleen turn around, and she saw her mistress standing in the doorway to the kitchen, a frown on her face.

  She said, “Laura, how often do I need to tell you that your mother is quite proud that you decided to continue your education in order to pursue a career? But for a woman like Violet, and your mother, being a wife and mother is their career, so you might consider that Violet thinks she is defending your mother…rather than attacking you.”


  She then smiled her sweet smile to take the sting out of her words. “Although, my dear, I confess I almost lost my patience with her today when she looked pointedly at my waist to see if she could tell if I was increasing…yet.”

  Coming over to where Kathleen and Mrs. O’Rourke were standing at the sink, Annie continued. “I gather from something Tilly said that Patrick came by before dinner. I wanted to tell both of you how impressed I was with his quick thinking, suggesting to the Silver Strike owners that he fetch Mr. Dawson when he learned who Violet was.”

  Kathleen tried to hide how pleased she was at the praise for Patrick, who’d been courting her for the past two years, but she could feel her cheeks burn. He was working so hard to make a name for himself in the police department, and she knew he’d be quite puffed up when she told him what Mrs. Dawson said.

  Mrs. O’Rourke interrupted this thought, saying, “Annie dear, I thought I heard the front door open a bit ago. Has Mr. Dawson finally come home?”

  “Yes, Bea, and I would very much appreciate it if Kathleen could bring up the dinner I know you’ve kept warming for him. And a pot of coffee. And no, Laura, you can’t pester him for more details about what happened today. Your brother is exhausted, and I want him to eat in peace. You will have time to quiz him all you want tomorrow, after church.”

  Kathleen was glad to see Mrs. Dawson put her foot down with Miss Laura. To her mind, the young woman didn’t always treat her older brother with the respect Mr. Nate deserved. And while her mistress might make light about not being pregnant, Kathleen doubted those were her true feelings on the matter.

  “My goodness, you were famished. Did you never get any lunch at all?” Annie asked her husband.

  It was past eight in the evening, and she and Nate were sitting at the small round table next to the bay window in their bedroom that overlooked O’Farrell Street. Nate had just wiped the last bit of gravy from his lips and was now picking through the plate of oatmeal cookies to find the one with the most nuts and raisins.