Tuesday October 29, 2024

Uneasy Spirits: Chapter Four

Welcome, I’m Mary Louisa Locke, the author of the USA Today best-selling Victorian San Francisco Mystery series and the Caelestis Science Fiction series. In this daily newsletter, I reflect on my life as an indie author trying to age gracefully, including my struggles to maintain a balanced life, what I listen to, read, and watch for entertainment, and occasional bits of information I’ve gleaned from doing the research for my novels.

In addition, now and again I will provide some of my fiction to read, for free, on this newsletter. Everything is available to anyone who subscribes, but I am always pleased when someone shows their appreciation for the newsletter by upgrading to paid.

Daily Diary, Day 1518:

As promised, I am posting the first chapters of my rather spooky, second book in the Victorian San Francisco mystery series. The title, Uneasy Spirits, refers to the fact that my protagonist, Annie, who makes a living as the pretend clairvoyant, Madam Sibyl, is asked to investigate a fraudulent trance medium. To add to the general atmosphere, the book is set in the weeks around October 31 and Halloween. Enjoy!

Uneasy Spirits
By M. Louisa Locke
Copyright 2011

Chapter Four
Sunday late afternoon, October 12, 1879

“Prof Cohen, Celebrated astrologer, fortuneteller, clairvoyant, slate writer, etc, gives important information and help; it is not necessary to give age; fee $1. Removed to 425 Kearny”
—San Francisco Chronicle, 1879

Annie found herself being pulled down a path by Miss Pinehurst, who seemed to be caught up in some sort of frenzy. Abruptly, they stopped at a group of graves. Two headstones, side by side, looked as if they had stood in position for some time. The grave on the left was that of Mr. Charles Pinehurst, with his wife, Susan, resting on his right. The dark marble headstones were elaborately carved with matching weeping willows and hopeful inscriptions about the “pure of heart” getting to see their “Heavenly Father.” There were fresh flowers in small vases in front of each, and Annie surmised Miss Pinehurst had already been to visit these graves today.

Two unmarked headstones stood a little in front of the graves of the departed Pinehursts, and Annie realized with a start that these were probably destined for Miss Lucy and her sister. She wondered where Miss Pinehurst’s brother-in-law was supposed to spend his eternal life. Then she looked at the headstone that stood right in front of these empty graves, the humped earth and the sharp letters on the stone screaming out that this was a recent interment.

Miss Pinehurst, still clutching her arm, pointed to the headstone and said, “See there, that is what I wish to speak to you about.”

The headstone showed a carving of two cherubs surrounded by roses, followed by the simple but heart-rending words, “Charles Lucas Vetch Born November 26, 1872 and Entered into his New Life on June 3, 1879.” Puzzled, Annie peered at the inscription below, hard to read in the failing light, that said, “Our dear, innocent son is not dead, but liveth, in the Perpetual Garden of Summerland.”

Miss Pinehurst continued. “Sukie’s husband had put up a wonderful headstone, with the Bible passage ‘Suffer the little children,’ but then Sukie started seeing those awful people. She told Mr. Vetch, her husband, that Charlie had revealed to her that she didn’t need to mourn because he had never died but had been translated. Whatever that means. And she ordered a new stone put up, with those silly words about Summerland. She hasn’t even been back since the stone was put in place. She also stopped visiting our parents’ graves, so it is up to me to bring flowers, and every time I do, I am forced to look at . . .” Miss Pinehurst gulped convulsively and then began to weep.

Annie pulled out a handkerchief, handed it to Miss Pinehurst, and, putting her arm around her, urged her to walk on down the path to where some grieving relative had conveniently placed a bench, which faced a tall, black marble mausoleum. Noticing that the two cadaverous angels that flanked the entrance to the vault seemed to be treading on piles of skulls, she had Miss Pinehurst sit so that their backs were to this monument to the macabre.

Speaking softly, while Miss Pinehurst regained her composure, Annie said, “Am I to gather that your sister has been attending some sort of séance and that she is convinced that she is communicating with her dead son?”

Miss Pinehurst nodded, wiping away her tears.

Annie thought for a moment, trying to find the right words. “I can understand why this might be distressing to you, but I don’t think it is at all unusual for a grieving mother to look for some solace in Spiritualism. It is my understanding that Spiritualists believe there is no heaven or hell, and I can only imagine for a mother who has lost a child that this is a comforting thought. What I don’t understand is why you feel that this is a threat to her sanity and what you think I might do about the situation.”

Miss Pinehurst gave a last sniff. “Mrs. Fuller, at first I thought as you do, that this was just a temporary reaction to her loss. Sukie has always been very sensitive, and her husband has been too indulgent. Charlie’s death was so sudden; it was devastating for us all. You see, we thought at first he had a summer cold. Sukie had never been good when Charlie got sick or hurt; she would exhaust herself crying. I came every night after work, sat up with him, gave him his medicine, and rocked him. His throat was so sore he couldn’t sleep. After three or four days, the rash and fever he had developed began to disappear, and we thought he was getting better. Then on the morning of the fifth day, his heart just stopped.” Miss Pinehurst paused, again overcome with emotion.

“Scarlet Fever?” Annie asked, knowing that her own mother’s ill health had started with a childhood attack of this dreaded ailment. Only scarlet fever hadn’t stopped her mother’s heart for another twenty years. Poor Charlie Vetch, to think of his young life snatched away so early.

Miss Pinehurst continued haltingly. “Sukie just fell apart. I tried to share with her my conviction that Charlie was with his Heavenly Father, that he had eternal life, but Sukie has never had a very strong faith. For weeks she wouldn’t leave her bed, wouldn’t eat, even threatened to harm herself. Her husband became afraid to leave her alone during the day, but he had to go to work, as I did. Consequently, Mr. Vetch hired a nurse to take care of her, get her to eat, take some air. We were both relieved when we began to see a marked improvement.”

Shaking her head, Miss Pinehurst said, “What we didn’t know was that Mrs. Hoskins, the nurse, was taking Sukie to attend séances run by this couple, Simon and Arabella Frampton, and that Arabella supposedly had established contact with Charlie. One day, Sukie announced to her husband that she had talked to Charlie and that he said he was in a wonderful place, ‘but he missed his mama and papa so.’ She went on and on about how she knew it was Charlie because he knew her pet names for him and kept asking after his purple ducky. Finally, she told her husband he could talk to Charlie if he would just come to the next séance.”

“Oh dear,” Annie said. “And the nurse, Mrs. Hoskins, could she have been the source of information about the pet names and the purple ducky?”

“Of course she was,” Miss Pinehurst snapped. “The evil woman had spent weeks with Sukie as she clutched that toy and sobbed out all her favorite endearments. But, see, this is why I thought you could help me. I knew you would understand right away the kinds of tricks people like this would get up to, how they could ensnare a simple woman like my sister.

“I went to a fortuneteller once when I was young and foolish myself, and I saw immediately that he was just feeding my own words back to me. You must have to do this sort of thing as Madam Sibyl. Make someone think you have gotten special information from some supernatural source, when all the time it would just be good common sense.”

The heat of anger suffused Annie’s face as she reviewed what devastating retort she should make to point out how very wrong and insulting Miss Pinehurst had been, to lump her with people she obviously thought were criminals. However, a small niggling voice intruded, reminding her that what Miss Pinehurst had said contained a kernel of truth.

Miss Pinehurst couldn’t know it, but Annie already had some experience with fraudulent mediums, during the time after her husband’s death when she had been forced to live with her in-laws. John’s maternal aunt, Mrs. Lottie Vanderlin, recently widowed, had been the only one of his relatives who had treated her with kindness, and Annie had found herself watching with growing concern as Lottie made the rounds of local mediums, trying to contact her husband, Frederick. He had been a devout Spiritualist and promised her he would reach out to her from the afterlife.

Since Annie often accompanied the older woman to these séances, she’d seen how skillfully the mediums extracted information from Lottie, which they turned right around and fed back to her through table raps, badly accented Indian Spirit guides, and planchettes swirling around a spirit board.

Annie’s response back then was to create the first iteration of Madam Sibyl, figuring that it would be better for Lottie to listen to her advice than continue to squander her inheritance on unscrupulous mediums. Could she fault Miss Pinehurst for wanting to save her own sister from a similar fate? No matter how insulted she might feel by Miss Pinehurst’s assumptions, her own experience, including her work as Madam Sibyl, did mean she was better qualified to recognize what tricks the Framptons were employing than most.

Sighing, Annie said, “Miss Pinehurst, I assume from what you have said that both you and your brother-in-law have attended these séances with your sister, and you are convinced that this spirit of your nephew is a fraud.”

Taking an indignant snort as a yes, Annie continued. “What I don’t quite understand is why you felt you needed to speak to me now? You said her health improved, but earlier you mentioned your fears for her sanity.”

Miss Pinehurst turned and looked straight into Annie’s eyes and said, “I don’t know what your beliefs are about the afterlife, and I know that the fact that I believe that Sukie’s actions are threatening the possibility of her salvation may not concern you. But let me assure you, Sukie’s delusion that she is speaking to her son has become dangerous to her health and her sanity.”

“In what ways?” Annie asked.

“Her whole world now revolves around visiting the Framptons. She insists on attending séances twice a week and then meets for private sittings another two afternoons. I think she would go everyday if she could find the money. Mr. Vetch may have a very responsible position at the Gold and Trust Bank, but his salary isn’t enough to support this kind of constant drain on their finances.

“When he refused to keep giving her money to attend the séances, she simply spent the household funds, so that within two weeks there was no food in the larder and their servant had quit because she wasn’t being paid. Mr. Vetch then stopped giving her money for the household expenses, but he found that she had started to pawn her jewelry and even her clothing, so he was forced to relent.”

“Besides the obvious problem of finances, has attending the séances brought her peace of mind?” Annie asked.

“If only that were true, Mrs. Fuller, I might find it in my heart to be able to be reconciled with her behavior. But the complete opposite has occurred. She can’t be bothered to eat or sleep, and she paces frantically around the house, oblivious to the complete disarray around her. When either her husband or I try to reason with her, she lashes out at us, saying we are just jealous because Charlie has chosen to speak to her. The next minute she will begin to cry hysterically, saying that Charlie can’t understand why we won’t visit him and that we are making him so sad. I don’t know how much longer she can go on this way. She is the only family I have left, and I can’t stand by, knowing she is putting her life and her soul in mortal danger. Please, you must help me.”

 Annie shivered, haunted by memories of a time when her own losses had caused a similar kind of dangerous derangement. For a moment, she smelled the curdled milk and rotting meat in the servantless kitchen, felt the clammy sheets that entangled her sleepless body, heard the low humming that filled her mouth, as she had worked to suppress the wails of grief that constantly threatened to overwhelm her. Annie shook her head as if to shake the memories away and thought, I gradually came to my senses, but then I wasn’t the target of some unscrupulous mediums playing on my grief. Poor Sukie Vetch.

Startled by the sound of a flock of black birds swirling up from the grove of oaks, Annie noticed the wisps of fog sliding through the trees. She realized that it was soon going to be hard to see their way to the cemetery entrance. Annie shivered again. She most definitely didn’t want to be in this place in the dark with the ghosts of her past so fresh to mind.

Turning to Miss Pinehurst, intending to request that they depart, she was struck by the tired lines etched around the older woman’s mouth, the dark shadows under her eyes, and the slump of defeat in her shoulders. She found herself wondering just who was taking care of Lucy Pinehurst, who had lost a child who was clearly as precious to her as if he were her own?

With a sudden sense of conviction, she said to Miss Pinehurst, a woman she didn’t know very well and didn’t particularly like, “I’m not exactly sure what I can do to free your sister from her delusions, but I give you my word, I will do everything in my power to help you save her.”

***

The girl stood looking at the smudged window and frowned. She looked around the room until she found the basket of old rags, which she sorted carefully through until finding a soft square of flannel. She then went back to the window and began vigorously cleaning off the accumulated dust and spider webs from each pane. When one window was done, she moved to the next, slowly making her way around the room until all four sets of windows were clean of debris. She stood at the last window for a long time, staring out at the setting sun. Suddenly, she noticed the now filthy rag in her hand and dropped it as if it were on fire. Sinking down until she was sitting on the floor, she silently began to sob.

…to be continued

This year I have discounted the audiobook edition to $2.99 on Chirp, Apple, Nook, Spotify. (The ebook version is only $5.99 on all retailers.)

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Brief check in: I very well may finish the massive edit I’ve been doing of Where the Glassflowers Grow today. I did end up with a phone call before dinner yesterday, from a young relative who lives in New York. His beloved dog died this last year, and he recently rescued a cat, his first. Much of the conversation was about how he’d never really thought of himself as a cat person, but was now completely smitten and was even contemplating getting another. I love hearing about the relationship people have with their pets. Today we have the people coming to clean out our ducts and dryer vent, but otherwise I am just going to try to finish editing.

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