Uneasy Spirits: A Victorian San Francisco Mystery (13 page)

Kathleen cocked her head, sure that she had heard a door close upstairs, then she heard the faint sounds of a piano. Mrs. Fuller had a nice old upright in her parlor, and the sound reminded her of when Jamie’s mother gave him lessons on it with the door closed. She wondered where the piano was and who was playing it. She didn’t think she had seen one in the room where the séance was being held.

Kathleen got up and crept to the bottom of the stairs. She was certain the music was coming from the second floor. Since she was up, she decided to explore the hallway a bit. Soon after closing the front parlor doors, Albert had reappeared at the end of the hall and gone through the swinging door that led to the kitchen. She was curious to see if she could hear anything if she put her ear up to the door to what must be a back parlor. If anyone saw her, she could pretend she was looking for the way to the kitchen to get a spot of tea.

She wished she knew how many servants there were in the house; it was nerve-wracking not knowing who might pop up at any minute. Mrs. Frampton had mentioned a cook, and there was the butler, Albert. Certainly anyone who dressed as fancy as that Mrs. Frampton would need a lady’s maid. Though Mrs. Fuller always said that Kathleen did a wonderful job on her hair, she knew that if Mrs. Fuller hadn’t fallen on hard times she would have someone a great deal more experienced than a seventeen-year-old Irish maid to help her dress. And, even though the Framptons’ house showed signs of neglect, someone was mopping the front hallway, so there would be a parlor maid in the house as well.

Walking silently, as over four years as a servant had taught her, Kathleen went cautiously down the hall. It was dark at this end, so it was easy to see that there was some light coming out from under the single door. It wasn’t very bright, but enough to discourage Kathleen from trying to open the door a crack. Instead, she just put her ear up to the door and listened. Nothing except that faint piano playing. She then thought she heard someone talking, but the voice was indistinct.

The sound of the front doorbell sent Kathleen scurrying back to her chair, and she had just settled herself when the strange older lady from Wednesday came barreling through from the back of the house to answer the door. This evening she was decked out in a badly made green gown, again with too many bows and fringes for a woman of her girth. She must be the housekeeper, even wearing that get-up, although by rights Albert should be answering the front door. What kind of mischief was old Albert up to?

The odd older woman opened the front door to a younger woman, saying, “Mrs. Hapgood. How nice to see you this evening. It’s been some time since I saw you last. They have been at it for nearly a half hour. Would you like to have a cup of tea while you wait for your husband?”

Mrs. Hapgood was a petite blonde, in her mid-thirties, who seemed taken aback by the warm welcome she was being given. Kathleen noted that, although Mrs. Hapgood’s outfit was neat and well made, her shoulders were a little wider than was fashionable, and she looked like she had known hard work. Her eyes were of a striking dark blue, but appeared too large for her face. This, plus the rather limp nature of the fringe of bangs over her forehead, gave the impression of a woman who had been quite pretty but was worn down by work or some illness. Those dark blue eyes turned towards Kathleen with an implied question, and the other woman seemed to notice Kathleen for the first time.

Taking Mrs. Hapgood’s outer wrap, she said, “That girl must be Mrs. Fuller’s maid. Mrs. Fuller has just joined the Friday circle, replacing old Mrs. Donnelly. I understand she is a widow, like myself. So you see, Mrs. Hapgood, we will not be the only ones kept waiting while others commune with the spirit world. Do come here and take a seat on the sofa, and we will have a nice chat. I will ring for tea.”

“
You are very kind, Mrs. Nickerson,” Mrs. Hapgood replied, looking to Kathleen as if the last thing she wanted was a cozy chat with . . . had she said Mrs. Nickerson?

After Mrs. Nickerson gave the pull next to the front door a sharp tug, she ushered Mrs. Hapgood to the settee across from the stairs and sat down next to her. Mrs. Hapgood sat, played a little with her purse, and then said politely, “I assume your daughter Evie May must be participating in the séance tonight. How is she getting along? If I remember, when I saw you several weeks ago, she had been slightly discomposed, a chest complaint, I believe?”

Kathleen was so surprised by the news that Mrs. Nickerson was the young medium’s mother that she missed the first part of Mrs. Nickerson’s response.

“
. . .felt so strongly Mrs. Frampton was not taking Evie May’s illness seriously enough. That woman doesn’t have a motherly bone in her body. I told Simon, such a wonderful man, that I might just have to take my dear girl right out of this dreadful city, with its awful fogs, if he didn’t take better care of her. Of course he complied
immediately
. He really wants what is best for us both. I was terribly sorry I had had to get so sharp with him; it’s not his fault his wife doesn’t know a thing about running a household. Just the other day, the cook discovered she hadn’t ordered enough . . .”

Kathleen let the steady stream of Mrs. Nickerson’s comments run over her as she examined this new information. If this was Evie May’s mother, then the girl she met in the hallway, the one who talked like a grown woman but dressed like a child, must be Evie May.
What do you know about that? No wonder the girl is so odd, probably doesn’t know which way is up, speaking to the dead like that. Poor mite!
The heavy tread of a large older woman coming down the hallway, bearing a tea tray, caught Kathleen’s attention.

“
Thank you, Cook. Oh, good, you brought enough cups. You, girl, come be useful and bring that little table over here.” Mrs. Nickerson was pointing to a small table next to her chair, so Kathleen, who hated being called ‘girl’ as much at the woman bearing the tray most likely hated being called ‘Cook,’ pretended for a second not to hear the command. Then, remembering Mrs. Fuller’s instructions to learn all she could from the household staff, she got up and brought over the table, giving the cook a warm smile and helping her lower the large tray onto the table surface.

“
Danke schön,” said the cook to Kathleen, wiping her hands on her rather dirty apron. Turning her back with obvious disdain on Mrs. Nickerson, she lumbered back down the hall.

“
My word, the nerve of that woman,” said Mrs. Nickerson, once the cook was out of earshot. “And her English is just awful; I don’t know why Mrs. Frampton hired her. She does make a good roast, but half the time you don’t know what she puts in the sauces, and she doesn’t know her place at all. Since the parlor maid doesn’t live in, such an inconvenience, don’t you know, we are left with the cook’s gruff German ways in the evening. Of course that irritating lady’s maid of Mrs. Frampton’s wouldn’t sully her hands to wait on her betters. Shall I be mother and pour? You, girl, take a cup and go back to your place.”

Kathleen took the cup that was being thrust at her and lingered while she helped herself to the cream and sugar on the tray. When neither of the women seemed to object, she also picked up a pastry and returned to her seat by the front door. So, the cook was German, and it didn’t sound like she would get much out of any conversation with her, although she did make wonderful pastries,
and the lady’s maid didn’t sound like someone who would chat with an Irish serving girl. Such a shame that the parlor maid, who would be the most likely prospect among the staff for gossip, wasn’t here in the evenings, which in itself was very unusual.

The thin voice of Mrs. Hapgood caught her attention, as she said, “Mrs. Nickerson, do you think they will be much longer?”

“
Now, my dear, you know the circle stays together as long as the spirits are willing,” replied Mrs. Nickerson. “Won’t you call me Rowena? I confess I miss my friends from back in Brooklyn. But I just had to come when Simon, Mr. Frampton, asked me to let Evie May accompany him to the west coast. He says that without his guidance her talent could put her in real danger. I couldn’t let my little girl go all this way without her mother.”

Kathleen continued to listen to Mrs. Nickerson’s steady stream of confidences with fierce concentration, wanting to be able to report to Mrs. Fuller exactly what she had said, when she was startled to hear a muffled, masculine voice coming from the top of the stairs. She couldn’t see anything except a brief glimpse of trousers on the stairs right above the landing. It couldn’t have been Albert, since the trousers were brown, and the voice definitely didn’t sound English. A few minutes later, Albert came through the door at the end of the hallway, stopping when he got to Mrs. Nickerson and whispering in her ear.

Kathleen was interested to notice the way the older woman leaned away from him with obvious disgust. Albert sneered and jerked his head in what was clearly a command. Mrs. Nickerson got up slowly, giving her regrets to Mrs. Hapgood, and mounted the stairs, followed by the butler.

Kathleen looked at Mrs. Hapgood, who returned her gaze with a small shrug and went back to nervously picking at her purse. If no one had left the séance room, and all the servants besides the butler were female, who was the man at the top of the stairs?

“
Madame Jacquemieu, Spirit Medium. Communications given from 10 A.M. to 8 P.M.”
—
San Francisco Chronicle
, 1879

Annie’s frustration increased as she tried to hear what Judge Babcock and Evie May were saying and keep up with the increasingly active spirit manifestations around the séance table. The light focused on the cabinet had dimmed, so Annie once again found it difficult to see, but the noise level had gone up considerably.
As if designed to mask what was going on in the cabinet
, thought Annie.

The piano, drum, and tambourine competed with Arabella, who had returned to the guttural sounds of earlier. Meanwhile, Miss Herron and Mrs. Mott, who had joined hands once the Judge had broken from the circle, were both swaying as if in trances of their own. Mrs. Larkson had moved her chair closer to Mr. Sweeter when the Judge left the circle, and Annie could hear furious whispering going on from their direction in the dark.

She now felt a slight cool breeze against her left cheek, as if a window had been opened.
Or a spirit was hovering at her side,
Annie thought with a self-conscious shiver. Mr. Ruckner and Mr. Hapgood were mercifully silent. As was Simon, until he started murmuring something in her ear about it being her turn next to speak to the spirits.

While Annie knew that the whole point of attending these séances was to catch the Framptons using the false information Kathleen had fed them about a deceased son, she hoped the spirits would pass her by this evening. Therefore, she was relieved when Arabella’s nonsense syllables were replaced by yet another ‘spirit’ voice, this time that of an old woman.

“
My lovely things, oh, my pretty treasures, where are they, who has stolen them?” asked this new voice, quavering with age and indignation.

“
They have all stopped dancing, never to dance again, and it is all your fault. Ha . . .”

“
That’s for me,” the nurse cried out joyfully. “She said Herron, so she must be speaking to me! The spirit must be Mrs. Jones; it sounds just like her. Please, Mrs. Jones, I am here. Don’t be sad. Your dancing days may be over, but you have gone to a better place; you are dancing with the angels now.”

Then, in a sort of stage whisper, Miss Herron continued, “You see, I had this patient last spring, Mrs. Artimus Jones, quite respectable, married a man who made his fortune in iron manufacturing. But there were rumors she had been a dance hall girl in her youth. Married up, you see. Poor woman, her mind wandered near the end, and she kept trying to get up out of bed to dance.”

“
No, no, you don’t understand. It’s my boy, it’s my boy I need to speak with,” the aged voice rang out.

“
Miss Herron, you got it all wrong,” said Mrs. Mott, triumphantly. “The spirit is my Aunty Grace, and she wants to talk to her son, Harry. Remember when I asked Uncle Zachary about Aunty Grace? He must have gotten her for me. Her son Harry still lives in Topeka; I must write to him and tell him his mother wishes to speak with him.”

While Miss Herron and Mrs. Mott argued over whom the spirit was addressing, Annie ruminated over how effective Arabella was at changing characters. Although she knew that the medium was responsible for the voice of this spirit, in addition to that of Uncle Zachary and Mr. Ruckner’s Jennie, Annie still found herself picturing an elderly woman, dressed all in black, with the wide hoopskirts of the sixties, jet beads around her neck, lace gloves on her hands, and a querulous expression on her face. Whoever this spirit was, she was getting irritated trying to be heard above the voices of the two earthly combatants vying to claim her.

Annie heard Simon sigh and was not surprised when he again interceded to bring the séance back to order, his voice ringing out. “Let us welcome the Judge back home with a song. Please Mrs. Mott, could you lead us in ‘Heavenly Pastures?’”

Mrs. Mott dutifully began to sing a song Annie was unfamiliar with, so Annie looked around the table again, noticing that since Simon’s mention of Judge Babcock the light coming from the smaller parlor had increased, making it easier to see. Arabella sat upright, her eyes closed. Mrs. Larkson and Mr. Sweeter seemed to have made up, and Annie noticed that, rather than holding hands, Mr. Sweeter had his arm around Mrs. Larkson’s shoulder. Annie found herself revising her opinion about their relationship once again.