Victorian San Francisco Stories
Read Victorian San Francisco Stories Online
Authors: M. Louisa Locke
Victorian San Francisco Stories
By M. Louisa Locke
Copyright © 2014 Mary Louisa Locke
Cover © 2014 Michelle Huffaker
Cover Illustration
comes with permission from San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library
This stories in this book are a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either 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.
The Misses Moffet Mend a Marriage
Soon after I published the first book in my Victorian San Francisco Mystery series,
Maids of Misfortune,
I began writing my first short story, “Dandy Detects
.”
While I had a practical reason for writing this short story––I wanted something I could give away or sell for 99 cents to attract people to my series
––I had
a more personal reason for writing it. I wanted to spend more time with some of the minor characters I had created, and this has become the most important reason I write my short stories. Annie Fuller, the main protagonist for my series, lives in a boarding house with nine boarders and two servants. This means she is surrounded by other people––people who, in my imagination, have whole, rich, vibrant lives going on, even when they are not on stage with Annie. Yet one of the more frustrating elements of writing cozy historical mysteries (where I must balance the historical detail, the romance, and the mystery plot) is the constant pressure to cut out anything “extraneous,” which often means scenes involving secondary characters. I also discovered that I was reluctant to let go of some of the characters that were only supposed to show up in one of the books and then disappear when the story was over. As a result, I write short stories where these people (and animals) could have their day in the sun. To my delight, fans of the series seem to enjoy spending more time with these characters as much as I do.
In this collection, I have brought together four of these stories (one never published publicly before). As a bonus, I have included an essay at the end of the collection furnishing more detail on the history of Victorian San Francisco as it relates to these particular tales. But first, here is a short background for each story and how each fits into the series as a whole.
Madam Sibyl’s First Client
I wrote this story specifically for this collection. A prequel of sorts, it is set in the spring of 1878, about a year and a half before the events in my first book,
Maids of Misfortune
. While this story does give some minor characters more speaking roles than usual, it is primarily for those readers who want to see more of Annie Fuller as her alter ego––the pretend clairvoyant Madam Sibyl. For someone new to the series, however, this story also provides an introduction into the personality of Annie Fuller and the reasons why she took up the unusual occupation of fortuneteller. The title of this story is rather self-explanatory, but I do believe that readers who are familiar with
Maids of Misfortune
will enjoy discovering the identity of Madam Sibyl’s first client.
Dandy Detects
This short story, a shameless rip-off of Alfred Hitchcock’s movie,
Rear Window,
was my first short story, and it is set just a month after the events of
Maids of Misfortune
. This story permitted me to give larger roles to characters who had very minor roles in this first book: Barbara Hewett, a teacher who lives in Annie Fuller’s boarding house, her son Jamie, and his dog, Dandy, who was modeled on my own beloved Boston Terrier.
The Misses Moffet Mend a Marriage
I had a lot of fun writing this short story, which comes shortly after the second book in my series,
Uneasy Spirits
. In this tale, two characters that were barely mentioned in earlier works have a chance to solve a minor mystery. When I first introduced Miss Minnie and Miss Millie Moffet in
Maids of Misfortune
, the only thing I knew about them was that they were elderly sisters (one who never said a word and one who talked all the time) who lived in the attic of the boarding house and that they were seamstresses. It turns out they have much more exciting lives than anyone, myself included, had imagined.
Mr. Wong Rights a Wrong
This last story is an example of what happens when I don’t want to let go of a character. Mr. Wong, a Chinese manservant, plays a crucial role in my first book,
Maids of Misfortune.
I quite fell in love with him and was delighted that many fans of this book seemed to feel the same way. I kept waiting for a reason to reintroduce him, even having Annie Fuller wonder what he was up to during a scene in
Uneasy Spirits
. After I finished my third book,
Bloody Lessons
, I was delighted when I came up with a plot for short story where Annie would desperately require his services. I suspect this is not the last we shall hear from Mr. Wong.
O’Farrell Street Boarding House
San Francisco, February 8, 1878
Annie Fuller peered into the mirror that hung over the washstand, trying to see if all signs of her own reddish blond hair were safely hidden away under the wig of black curls resting uncomfortably on her head. She’d found the mirror in the attic, but it was so mottled that she felt like she was looking at an image through muddy water. The fact that this small back room had only one lamp, sitting on the desk behind her, didn’t help matters. She walked over to the room’s one window, which faced the hedge separating her home from the neighbors, and opened the curtains. At nearly four in a February afternoon, little light seeped into the room. What did seep in was the cold. She quickly closed the curtains and shivered.
Pulling a paisley cashmere shawl from the back of the desk chair, she draped it around her shoulders. When she returned to the mirror, she saw that the shawl’s intricate design of scarlet, gray, and gold stood out in sharp relief against her severe black silk. The shawl was one of se
veral she found in a trunk up in the attic, probably brought back from India by the sea-faring grandfather she’d never known. Annie welcomed its warmth since the single layer of silk in the sleeves of her dress exposed her to every draft, and she didn’t want to waste money with a fire in the fireplace. Not when she was about to move through to the small adjoining parlor in a few minutes. Shivering again, she sighed. She was so tired of pinching pennies. But “needs must,” as her mother would say. Turning the San Francisco home she’d inherited from her aunt into a boarding house had eaten up all her capital, and running it was proving more expensive than she’d calculated. For now, she would have to make do with mottled mirrors and cold hearths.
Annie tugged once more at the wig, which was made of human hair and cost her the outr
ageous sum of $15. An entire dress at the White House dry goods store cost less, if she had been willing to spend any money at all on clothing. No, as long as the black dresses the Fullers, her former in-laws, paid to have made for her four years ago held up, she was fine. The only reason they’d spent so much money on outfitting her widowhood was that she’d lived with them for the first six months after her husband John’s death. They knew the clothing on her back advertised their own wealth and supposed generosity towards the bereaved and penniless Annie. After they sent her off to live as an unpaid “companion” with a series of other Fuller relatives, their generosity ended. Once upon a time, she wore lovely silks of pastel hues or rich jewel tones that complemented her pale complexion and chestnut brown eyes. Once upon a time, before she’d lost her father, her fortune, and then her husband.
Annie shook her head in disgust at her self-pity but stopped when she thought she felt the wig slip. This reminded her of one of the relatives she stayed with, the ancient but vain great-aunt Hortense, and she chuckled. The poor old dear insisted on wearing a partial wig of blond curls that were supposed to cluster over her ears in the fashion of the 1840s, but her white hair had gone so thin that the switch kept sliding sideways so that one mass of curls lay at the top of her head and the other under her chin.
Picking up a hair pin, Annie added it to the others, tethering the wig more snuggly, just to make sure. She was nervous enough about the upcoming interview with her first client without worrying that her wig was going to fall off. At least the thick white powder and red rouge she’d applied to her skin sufficiently aged her if her image in the mottled mirror was any indication. What respectable businessman was going to pay to get financial advice from a woman in her mid-twenties? She shook her head again at the absurdity of her own thoughts. Why should she worry that it was her youth that would undermine the success of this mad venture? Why would anyone take her seriously, no matter what her age, as a clairvoyant called Madam Sibyl?
*****
“Kathleen, dearie, best get ready to answer the door. The gentleman who is coming to see Mrs. Fuller should be here any minute.”
Kathleen nodded, her dark curls bouncing, and she rose and went briskly over to wash her hands at the kitchen sink. Looking over her shoulder, she said, “Should I keep him waiting in the hallway while I announce him, do you think? I don’t believe Mrs. Fuller said.”
Beatrice thought back to the list of instructions her mistress, Annie Fuller, had given Kat
hleen about how to greet Madam Sibyl’s first client, and she replied, “No, she said that you should take him directly into the small parlor. She’ll have heard the door bell and be sitting at that table near the back of the room. She said it’s terrible important to keep the folks who are coming to see Madam Sibyl from running into the boarders. So you be sure to check that no one is in the hall or on the stairs.”
“Yes, ma’am. And I’m to take their coats and wraps once they are in the parlor and hang them up there instead of the front hall coat stand. I remember now. Funny thing, Mrs. Fuller said to me that she wanted a chance to see what they looked like in their outdoor things. Wonder why?”
Beatrice shook her head. “It’s not our place to question the mistress. She has her reasons. Did you get the fire ready to light?”
“Yes, ma’am, and I put the lamp up on that pedestal behind the table, so’s the light would shine at Mrs. Fuller’s back, and closed the curtains like she asked. Even with the fire going, that parlor room is going to be awful dark. I guess that’s what she wants. She told me she’s kinda nervous about someone recognizing her through her disguise.”
Kathleen went over and started drying the dishes left over from the mid-afternoon tea.
Beatrice watched approvingly. When Mrs. Fuller had asked her to find a housemaid to help set up the boarding house, she’d sent word to Kathleen, who she’d heard good things about from a number of her friends among the Irish domestics in the city. Kathleen had been in service since she was orphaned at twelve, and she helped her mother take in laundry in the years before that, so she certainly knew her job. She would only turn sixteen next month, but she had a good head on her shoulders, and she was a steady worker. Some girls in service would use every chance they got to just sit and gossip, but Kathleen always kept busy. Thank goodness. There were only the two of them to handle the seven boarders: the Steins, the older couple who were long time friends of Annie’s aunt and uncle; Miss Pinehurst, who worked in a fancy restaurant; Mr. Harvey and Mr. Chapman, two clerks sharing the smallest room on the second floor; and the Misses Moffet, elderly seamstresses who recently moved into the attic. Beatrice herself had a nice tidy room on that attic floor and was glad to have the company up there. They seemed nice enough old ladies, although that Miss Minnie could talk your ear off.
Not that she had much occasion to run into any of the boarders, since as cook and housekeeper she didn’t get out of the kitchen much from early in the morning until late at night. It was Kathleen who ran up and downstairs, lighting fires, dusting and polishing, serving at table, and helping out in the kitchen. Beatrice held that very same job in this very house nearly thirty years ago when she had moved to San Francisco with Mrs. Fuller’s aunt and uncle, the Waterstones. Back then, Annie and her parents had shared the house with the Waterstones, but there’d been a second parlor maid, a lady’s maid, and a cook to share the attic rooms and the work with her. Those days had been grand. Even a decade later when Beatrice returned to work for the Waterstones—after her own husband died—there’d still been a maid and a manservant to help out and only the two old folks to care for. No, Kathleen didn’t have it easy; neither of them did.