“On the way back to the office from the Silver Strike, I stopped by a street vendor and got a pretzel…if that counts. Later, I scrounged around in the office cupboard where I know that the clerk Rodgers keeps food and found an apple.”
“Nate, you’ll waste away!”
“Little chance of that…now that I can have one of Mrs. O’Rourke’s cookies any time…day or night.” He took a big bite out of the cookie he’d selected, scattering crumbs.
She supposed that many newly married women might think that a Saturday evening should be spent out at one of the city’s fine restaurants or attending the theatre. But she couldn’t be more content sitting across from her husband, in the privacy of their bedroom, with warmth from the fireplace dispelling the chill of a mid-November night.
She felt the silver coffee pot and said, “Do you want another cup? It hasn’t gone completely cold. Or should I ring for Kathleen to come and bring you a fresh pot?”
“Do ring for her to come and clear away the dishes, but I’ll be fine with what coffee is left in the pot. I hate putting Miss Kathleen to the extra bother of running up and down the stairs a couple more times.”
As she rose and pulled the cord next to the fireplace, she said, “Well, you know that you’ve made her life so much easier now that we are married. She used to feel she had to stay awake until you brought me home…to maintain my reputation.”
“Yes, I’d noticed. And I must confess there were many times when I’d wished she hadn’t been so vigilant.”
Annie laughed. Coming over to sit on her husband’s knee, she proceeded to make up for all the kisses that he’d lost out on before they were married.
A few minutes later, Annie reluctantly resumed her seat across from her husband when Kathleen knocked at the bedroom door. The dark-haired maid waltzed in, giving her a cheeky smile before starting to clear the table. Annie didn’t know how the girl kept in such high spirits, given the work she had to do each day. But she brightened every room she entered with her infectious smile and merry blue eyes.
Thinking of that long day, Annie said, “Kathleen, tell Mrs. O’Rourke I will be down first thing in the morning to go over next week’s menus before you both go off to mass. So there is no need for her or you, for that matter, to stay up any longer, unless the Steins need something more before you retire.”
“Yes ma’am. Mrs. O’Rourke’s just finishing up the dough for the rolls to rise overnight. And I already checked on Miss Minnie and Miss Millie and the Steins to make sure they didn’t need anything. Miss Laura is down in the front parlor with Jamie and his ma, and Mr. Chapman, playing that new game, ‘Beggar My Neighbor.’ Miss Laura told me that she would see to the lamps and the fireplace before they all turn in.”
The Steins had been friends of Annie’s aunt and uncle and had been crucial to helping her establish the boarding house. Miss Minnie and Miss Millie were the two elderly dressmakers who lived in the attic along with the widowed school teacher, Barbara Hewitt, and her son Jamie. Mr. Chapman was a bachelor who shared a room with another man on the second floor and happened to be not so secretly in love with Mrs. Hewitt. After dinner most nights, these boarders gathered in the formal parlor on the first floor, and now that the nights were getting slightly colder, Annie had asked Kathleen to start lighting a fire in that room. It was thoughtful of Nate’s sister Laura to let Kathleen know she would make sure the fire was out when she and the other boarders went up to bed.
When Kathleen left, Annie said to Nate, “Are you going to tell me what has had you purring all evening like the cat who stole the cream? Can I assume it has something to do with that whole ridiculous affair of Mrs. Kemper’s petty thievery?”
“You know me far too well, my love, and I do appreciate you not pelting me with questions as soon as I walked in the door. Yes, there have been some further developments.”
“Do you know if the three of them made it back successfully to San Jose? I thought I heard you ask Alec to send you word once they got there.”
“A telegram was delivered to the office before I left saying that he’d gotten his mother home, sent for her physician, and that his father would be coming up on Tuesday to consult with me.”
“Oh dear, Violet’s father is not going to be happy about being beholden to you…again.”
“I can deal with Mr. Kemper. It’s his wife I can’t handle. Thank heavens you were there with me. And I will make sure Billy knows what a help you were.”
Annie watched as Nate took off his suit coat and vest and carefully hung them up in the wardrobe, thinking fondly of how naturally tidy he was. Kathleen was quite impressed, confessing she’d expected him to behave like the boarder Mr. Chapman, who threw his clothes on the floor then wondered why everything was so wrinkled the next day.
After Nate pulled on his dressing gown, she went over and drew him to one of the two chairs in front of the fireplace. He kissed her on her forehead then put another log on the fire. Sitting down and putting his slippered feet on the fender, he said, “Did Violet ever mention her mother getting in trouble this way before?”
“No, but she did tell me once that her mother often wrangled with her father because she believed he kept her on too tight a budget. Violet confided to me that she found her mother’s life of endless rounds of shopping and then visiting to show off what she’d bought as boring and pointless.”
Annie, who’d changed into her own wrapper while her husband ate, curled her feet under her as she sat in the opposite chair. “Which is why I was surprised she was with her mother today. Particularly at this stage in her pregnancy.”
She thought the rule that no proper lady should actually use the word “pregnant” especially foolish, and she was glad Nate didn’t expect her to use all the euphemisms polite society used. But she was careful not to shock Mrs. O’Rourke or Kathleen, who seemed to have even stricter standards in the area of correct female deportment than most women of Annie’s own class. She specifically hated the term confinement…as if pregnancy meant twelve months of imprisonment.
“I did notice she was already showing,” Nate said. “You won’t believe how huge she got with little Frankie. And I agree. It does seem out of character for her to go out in public at this time. Maybe she was there to try and prevent what did happen.”
“So you do think that her mother’s done this before?”
“I don’t know. But when I got back to the law office, Able Cranston was there, and I asked him if he’d ever had a case of a respectable woman being caught shoplifting. He laughed and said he’d had at least five cases himself over the past few years. Told me about a huge scandal that erupted in New York ten years ago when the founder of Macy’s had the police arrest a Mrs. Elizabeth Phelps and three other ladies. Phelps had stolen some candy.”
“Phelps? Isn’t she a supporter of women’s suffrage…and quite wealthy? My former mother-in-law didn’t agree with her political beliefs, but she was quite excited to be invited to one of her fund-raising events.”
“Yes, quite well-known and respected, which is why it was such a scandal. She obviously didn’t need to steal the candy. Cranston said the judge threw the charge out of court…and public opinion turned against Macy when the case became public. He says it is very difficult to get a conviction against a woman of high social standing.”
“Well, that does seem a bit unfair to the merchant,” Annie said. “But I suppose that if the objects that are stolen are so trifling…it’s not worth the bad press.”
Annie shook her head at the thought of the three pairs of gloves and the fan…much less the umbrella. “But that still doesn’t explain why a woman like Mrs. Phelps would risk the public humiliation if she were discovered or why Mrs. Kemper would. It doesn’t seem rational.”
Nate leaned toward her. “Exactly. And according to Cranston, the current defense for those cases that actually make it to court is that the women are mentally unstable, with something called ‘kleptomania.’ An irresistible compulsion to steal
.”
Annie thought about how Mrs. Kemper had been in control enough to blame the theft on the poor female sales clerk. “You know what I think, at least in the case of Violet’s mother? I think that she is just a spoiled woman who is used to getting her own way. Her husband keeps her short of spending money…she saw something she wanted…and she took it. Probably has done it lots of times back in San Jose, where the merchants wouldn’t dare accuse her, given how powerful her husband is.”
“Or Mr. Kemper has an arrangement with them to pay them what is owed,” Nate said.
“If that’s the case, you would think he would just increase her allowance.”
“I expect I shall learn the truth when he comes to see me on Tuesday.”
Annie sat staring into the fire for a moment. Thinking about the lean years after her first husband’s death when she was virtually penniless, stuck wearing her widow’s weeds for five years because she had no money for any other clothing, depending on her uncaring in-laws for a spare set of gloves or an old discarded coat to keep out the cold of a New York winter. Yet it never once occurred to her to steal what she needed.
She sighed. “Well, if it’s hard to get a conviction, I can certainly understand why men like the owner of the Silver Strike would be glad to find a resolution that would keep everything out of the press. Were you able to draft something that Mr. Livingston will accept?”
“Yes…the question is whether or not Violet’s father will agree as well. The sticking point may be that Livingston wants Mrs. Kemper barred from coming back into the store.”
“Heavens. Why would she want to return? Too embarrassing. Mr. Kemper might be delighted if she were barred from all the San Francisco stores. Could save him some money.”
“But the question I asked Livingston was how would this stipulation be enforced? Particularly if he wants to prevent any further public scandal.”
Annie thought about Patrick’s description of Violet’s mother attacking the nice manager, Mr. Jenkins, with the stolen umbrella, and she said, “I see your point. And there is the possibility that Mr. Kemper will take the position that his wife couldn’t have possibly stolen anything…and therefore won’t sign any legal document that admits that she did.”
“I did get Livingston to agree to make that point negotiable…if that is what it takes to get Kemper to sign the document. The main thing Livingston wants is an agreement protecting the store from any liability.”
Annie reached over and patted his arm, saying, “I have perfect confidence in your ability to work this all out. But your brother Billy will owe you for this. That’s for certain. He won’t want anything to mar his personal or business relationship with his father-in-law.”
She suddenly remembered her husband’s sly expression at the beginning of this conversation, and she said, “Nate, something besides getting Livingston to agree to make this point negotiable occurred to explain why you were looking so pleased with yourself.”
He smiled at her, and picking up her hand, he kissed the inside of her wrist, momentarily distracting her. But she pulled away and said in her sternest voice, “Don’t tease. Tell me what has happened.”
“Well, my dear, the reason I was so late and completely missed dinner is that when Livingston stopped by the law firm to look over the document I’d drafted, he had a couple of requests that delayed me. First, he wanted to put the law firm on a special retainer to represent him and the store. Not just for cases like the one today…but everything of a legal nature. Property acquisitions, business agreements with manufacturers and wholesalers, redoing his own will. So we started to sketch out what that would look like, and we will meet sometime next week to finalize everything.”
“That’s wonderful, Nate. Your uncle and Able Cranston will be so impressed.”
“I hope so. He said the lawyer he’d had for years was retiring, and he liked the fact that our firm handled both civil and criminal cases. Said he’d been impressed by how I’d instinctively understood the importance of keeping what happened today out of the press.”
“Oh Nate, I am so pleased!”
Her husband had turned thirty last month, and Annie knew he worried that joining his uncle’s stodgy law firm fresh out of Harvard’s law school had been a bad decision in terms of his career. In fact, a year ago he’d seriously contemplated leaving the firm. But his Uncle Frank’s decision to take on Cranston, who had an extensive criminal practice, was starting to provide more opportunities for Nate. Now, with Livingston as a client, things were definitely looking up.
“But that isn’t the only interesting development,” Nate said, stroking her hand. “Livingston went on to tell me he had a problem that he specifically wanted my help on, right away. He said he’s concerned that someone is systematically stealing from the Silver Strike Bazaar. He’s not sure if it is some gang of professional shoplifters who have targeted the store or that one of his employees is siphoning off money from the hundreds of transactions that go on every day. Or, even worse, that one of his managers or bookkeepers is embezzling money from the firm.”
“How are you supposed to help if he doesn’t know who is stealing from him? I mean, I can see how he would want your advice on how best to proceed once he knows…”
“That’s where you come in. He wants to meet with you Monday morning to see if he can hire you to help him find out the sources of his financial hemorrhaging. Turns out Livingston spent the afternoon calling on some of his business cronies––I think the main purpose was to check on me and the law firm. But one of those friends was Mr. Blaine.”
“The father of Laura’s friend, Kitty?”
“Yes. And Blaine told Livingston all about how I helped resolve the whole poison pen case last winter without a breath of scandal touching his daughter. More importantly, that my wife…the accountant…had played a crucial role in discovering the culprit.”
“Oh Nate, I don’t know whether to be flattered or appalled by the idea of being talked about by men like Blaine.”
Annie had often worried that her two-year career as the clairvoyant, Madam Sibyl, pretending to use palmistry and star charts to determine the business advice she gave, could hurt Nate’s career as a lawyer. It was one of the reasons she’d worked so hard in the six months before her marriage to get her clients to accept that her advice really came from the expert training she’d gotten from her father, as well as her accounting background and the research she did on the local business climate. Even though it was not as Madam Sibyl that Annie had gotten involved in a series of criminal investigations, the idea that at some point a newspaper reporter would put two and two together was of even greater concern. A connection like that could be disastrous to both Nate’s reputation and her own.
Nate squeezed her hand reassuringly. “My dear, Livingston said that besides Blaine’s recommendation, he’d also heard from two other men about the good work you’d been doing for their wives’ charities. Perfectly respectable. But what turned out to be the clincher for him is that one of the men mentioned that you’d been trained by your father, Edward Stewart. Livingston said your father was one of his closest friends when he moved to San Francisco in the fifties. That he even remembers giving you a silver dollar for your birthday one year when you were a little girl. He said he couldn’t think of anyone he’d trust more to help him figure out what is going on.”
“Oh my…I do remember him now! I’d never had a whole dollar…it was so shiny. I carried it around for years. Fancy that.”
Tweaking one of her curls, he said, “So, Annie love, are you ready to use your remarkable skills to bring another miscreant to justice?”
“You know me too well to even ask,” she replied as she stood and pulled him into her arms. “But it sounds like starting on Monday, life is going to get very busy for the both of us. So I would suggest we retire early tonight.”
“Certainly, dear. We need to conserve our strength and get a restful night’s sleep.”
Annie laughed out loud as her
tall, strong husband lifted her into his arms and carried her to bed for what she was quite sure wasn’t going to be a restful night at all.
Chapter 3
“There is something very depressing in the assertion of clerks and floor-walkers that ‘Kleptomania’ is on the increase.”––The Washington Post December 5, 1880
Monday morning, November 15, 1880
“I just hope this tour Livingston is giving us doesn’t take too long,” Nate said as he and Annie walked up to the Sutter Street entrance of the Silver Strike Bazaar.
Thankfully, the Silver Strike owner had asked them to meet with him at seven, an hour before the store opened. Nate was taking the lead in a civil case that was due to start this afternoon in Judge Simmons’ court in the old City Hall, and he wanted to be back at his office before nine to work on his opening arguments. His client was the plaintiff, a woman who was suing for divorce against her husband for desertion and cruelty.
“I once visited Macy’s in New York City with Mrs. Vanderlin…John’s aunt. The one I was staying with when I learned I’d inherited the O’Farrell house,” Annie told Nate. “I remembered feeling like I was in a palace…everything was over-sized. Tall columns holding up the high ceilings, huge windows, counter after counter that stretched as far as the eye could see. But Macy’s was very cluttered, making it hard to find anything.”
“Looks like Mr. Livingston himself is here to greet us,” Nate whispered as a beefy porter swung open one of the glass-plated doors to reveal the old gentleman standing just inside, beaming.
“Mrs. Dawson, Mr. Dawson, do come right on in and let me show you around my little store.”
Nate smiled at the man’s sense of irony, and as he shook Livingston’s hand, he said, “It’s a real privilege to have you give us a personal tour.”
Pilfered Promises Page 3