Uneasy Spirits: A Victorian San Francisco Mystery by M. Louisa Locke Page A

indeed heard of Hapgood’s grocery store and even shopped there a few times as well, since it was only a few blocks from her boarding house. Mr. Harold Hapgood, a weedy sort of man, whose head looked too large for his thin neck, didn’t seem all that excited about another evening of advice from his departed relatives. Another man stood staring down at the fire that blazed in a fireplace with an oversized green marble mantel that clashed with the wallpaper. Annie was beginning to suspect that the original owners of this mansion had more money than taste. According to Frampton, the somber gentleman decked out in evening dress was Judge Zebulon Babcock. Zebulon! She hadn’t heard that old Puritan name for ages. She hoped that Nate had found out something about him, because he seemed an odd sort of person to be attending a séance.This thought was interrupted by a peal of laughter coming from the sideboard, where a young brunette in a gorgeous, dark bronze silk with brown velvet trimming, stretched out her empty glass.
    “ Oh, Jack. Do pour me a drop more of that sherry. I declare that I can feel the chill of the graveyard already,” the woman said, tilting her head quite charmingly.
    Well, my goodness, this must be Mrs. Larkson, the wife of the new owner of the Larkson Woolen Mills , Annie concluded. But the handsome young man pouring her more sherry is certainly too young to be Mr. Larkson .
    As if he had read her mind, Frampton leaned towards Annie and murmured, “Mrs. Larkson and Mr. Sweeter.”
    As Annie watched Mrs. Larkson tease Mr. Sweeter about his mustache, which framed very pink lips and nicely matched his mutton chop sideburns, she wondered if the two were long-standing acquaintances or had developed a flirtation as a result of attending a regular séance together. Maybe it was harmless; Annie knew that some women saw this sort of arch banter as the only way to communicate with someone of the opposite sex. Yet she was curious if Mr. Larkson ever attended these Friday night gatherings with his young and extremely beautiful wife.
    Simon Frampton excused himself, saying that there were some preparations that needed to be attended to before he had finished introducing everyone to Annie. This left only one other unidentified male in the room, and Annie assumed he was the banker, Mr. Ruckner, who was having a very large brandy. Harried was the only word for him. He was formally dressed as befitted a man of his wealth and stature, but his collar looked wilted, and she could see that the cut of his suit coat was being ruined by something shaped suspiciously like a small doll stuffed into his pocket. If he had been consulting Madam Sibyl, she would in an instant have declared the problem domestic difficulties.
    This left two unnamed women. One who was delicately sipping sherry, while the other was making her way over to stand and chat with Mr. Hapgood. The sherry sipper was rather overweight and tightly corseted, probably in her mid-to-late fifties if the gray in her hair was any indication. If Annie had to guess, she would say this must be Mrs. Daisy Mott, since Frampton had described her as motherly. Her smile as Annie made her way across the room was certainly warm.
    “ Hello, I’m Mrs. Fuller,” Annie said, holding her hand out. “I am the new member of your circle, and I can tell you I am feeling a little frightened. Have you been attending these meetings long?”
    “ Quite some months, actually. My name is Miss Herron. I find that my profession, I nurse the ill and dying, you see, brings me closer than most people to that frail boundary between the dead and the living. I was with Miss Barton on the battlefields during the war, and ever since then I have felt it is my duty to try to comfort my patients, even after death.”
    Not the motherly Mrs. Mott! This couldn’t be the nurse who got Sukie Vetch involved with the Framptons, could it? No, I think her name was Hoskins. Annie nodded and smiled, trying to cover