Tuesday March 18, 2025

Dandy's Discovery, Scene 3

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. Occasionally, I will also publish some of my shorter fiction in this newsletter to read for free.

Daily Diary, Day 1658:

Brief check-in: Sun in and out yesterday, I walked twice, had one phone call, and continued to read the dissertation I found, which I hope to finish today. Today pretty much a duplicate of yesterday, except ordered groceries, which always take a whule to put away.

Here is scene 3 of the short story Dandy’s Discovery. If you would like to first read the short posts I did on why I wrote this short story, and historical tidbits on both dogs and cats as pets in the Victorian era, click HERE, or HERE.

Dandy’s Discovery
by M. Louisa Locke
Copyright 2020

Scene 3:

Later that afternoon, Annie sat across from the young boarder, Emmaline, having tea in the formal parlor.

“How was this first week of school, Emmaline?” she asked after the two of them had maintained a polite silence during the ritual of pouring the tea and taking their first sips.

Emmaline Fournier, the young orphan who had moved into the boardinghouse last winter to be raised by her aunts, the Misses Moffet, liked to do things properly. She often quoted her deceased mother as the arbiter of good behavior, strictures that were now reinforced by her equally proper aunts.

Annie was always impressed by the girl’s attention to detail. As usual, Emmaline’s honey-blonde hair was neatly pulled back, her ringlets had kept their curl throughout the day, and, as befitted the niece of two excellent seamstresses, her light blue tarlatan plaid was of the highest fashion for young girls. More remarkable, she’d somehow kept from getting the slightest smudge on her white cotton stockings.

Barbara Hewitt affectionately called her their little Miss Manners but said the girl was a good influence on her son, Jamie, and Kathleen’s brother, Ian. Annie thought that the boys were a good influence on Emmaline as well. When Emmaline moved into the boardinghouse last winter, she’d been so serious that Annie wasn’t entirely sure she knew how to have fun. But she now laughed at the boys’ outrageous jokes, played spirited card games, and she was known occasionally to get a bit dirty when she played tag or hide and seek with the neighborhood children.

Annie had asked Mrs. O’Rourke to extend Emmaline an invitation to join her for tea in the parlor when she got home from school. She had chosen to spend the afternoon here because it was cooler downstairs. In addition, apart from a thump now and then from the Steins’ rooms above, the parlor was much quieter than her own bedroom. She’d laid Abigail down on the settee under the front window for a nap, and her daughter was happily sleeping away, cooled by an ever-so-slight breeze.

She knew that Emmaline would be feeling a bit at loose ends when she got home from school since Jamie and Ian were off selling newspapers. During the summer months, when the boys sold the Chronicle in the mornings, Emmaline would go for carriage rides with her legal guardian, Mr. Livingston, or spend part of the day with her aunts at the Silver Strike Bazaar. This was Mr. Livingston’s fancy emporium, which was where her mother had been the chief dress designer.

She and her mother had actually lived for several years in an apartment in the top floor of the building on the corner of Sutter and Powell, and Annie knew that Emmaline was a favorite with many of the store’s employees. But during the school term, she was expected to come right home after school, and Annie knew she found it boring without the boys.

Emmaline said, “I think I will quite like seventh grade. Our teacher, Miss Starling, is a recent graduate of the Normal School down in Los Angeles, and she also teaches French to interested eighth-grade students once a week. She said I could sit in on those classes, if I wished.”

“Oh, that’s an excellent notion, Emmaline. I know you miss speaking the language.”

Annie was pleased that the girl didn’t feel it would be too painful to resume lessons in the language that had been a crucial part of her past with her mother. On the other hand, Annie never really knew what the child was thinking, since she kept her real feelings carefully hidden.

Emmaline put down her cup and took up one of the lemon bars that Mrs. O’Rourke had sent up with the tea. She carefully leaned over the napkin she had arranged on her lap before taking a delicate bite.

Annie, changing the subject, said, “Did you know that Laura Dawson was a graduate of the Los Angeles Normal school?”

“Yes, Jamie told me. He said she even taught the seventh-grade class at our school for a term, back when he was in fifth grade. Do you know why Miss Dawson decided to switch from teaching at Clement Grammar to being a type-setter at the Women’s Co-operative Printing Union?”

“I believe the main reason was that she hoped to start at the university the next fall, and she couldn’t attend the university and teach at the same time.”

Emmaline nodded. “Of course. That makes sense.”

Annie smiled and said, “I suspect the fact that she makes more money as a typesetter for the WCPU and doesn’t end up unemployed every summer were also persuasive factors.”

Emmaline looked over at her, clearly surprised at Annie’s forthright willingness to discuss monetary considerations. Not what a proper lady discussed at tea. Annie could just hear Emmaline’s Aunt Minnie making that pronouncement.

The Moffet sisters had been raised in a wealthy, Natchez family in the early 1800s, and Miss Minnie was forever talking about what life had been like back then. Over time, Annie had come to realize this was the way the elderly woman buried the painful memories of what happened when her father went bankrupt and she and her sister had to begin supporting themselves and the rest of the family through their sewing.

But a lady wasn’t supposed to talk about such things.

Annie supposed that Emmaline had gotten the same message from her mother, who had even more reason to maintain the outward appearance of good breeding.

She banished this melancholy thought. Miss Minnie would no doubt suggest that this was the reason for not discussing such distressing subjects as filthy lucre at tea. It was bad for one’s peace of mind…and digestion.

Emmaline said, “I know it would be completely inappropriate for me to sell newspapers like Ian and Jamie. Mr. Livingston and my aunts would be upset. But I do wish that I had some way to earn some money.”

“Oh, my dear, I know that Mr. Livingston would be more than happy to give you some spending money.”

“I know he would. He’s very generous. I also know that when he buys me things, it comes out of his own pocket, not my mother’s estate. I tried to discourage him from doing so, but he seemed disappointed. I discussed this with Mrs. Hewitt, who helped me see that it truly gives him pleasure to buy me things. So I don’t protest anymore. But I can’t ask him to give me money just so I can buy something for someone else.”

“I can understand that point of view. I’ve just been grumbling to myself this morning about how frustrating it is for me right now, when my responsibilities taking care of Abigail mean that I am not able to pursue my usual work. I don’t like being dependent on my husband or on all the work that Mrs. O’Rourke, Kathleen, and Tilly do to run the boardinghouse.”

Emmaline nodded and said, “Yes, I can see why you might feel that way. When I brought up this subject with my aunts, they said my responsibility was to attend my studies. But I would do that anyway. I want to do more.”

Emmaline took a sip of her tea. “Jamie told me that he gives part of the money he makes selling papers to his mother, to help pay their room and board. And I think Ian does something similar. I understand that room and board are part of the wages you pay Kathleen, but I gathered that she feels she should pay you directly for Ian, just as she did when he lived with his uncle. Do I have that right?”

“Yes, you do.”

“I would like to help out my aunts in that fashion as well. They do so much for me. I try to help out with some of the fancy sewing that my mother taught me, and I read to them at night. But that seems little enough to repay them, especially for the beautiful dresses they make me.”

Emmaline smoothed out the sash on her tarlatan with satisfaction and said, “Although I have learned that my dresses create some jealousy among a few of my classmates.”

“I wondered if that was a problem, my dear. I know it was difficult for you to start halfway through the school year last year. I was about your age when I was first enrolled in school, in my case a female academy in New York. School had already been in session a month and it seemed to me that all the friendships had been formed, and I didn’t belong to any of them.”

“Yes, it was difficult. But then everything was difficult then, wasn’t it? Having Ian start at the same time helped, because that meant I wasn’t the only one who didn’t know the routine. And of course, I was well beyond most of my classmates in all the subjects, and I could tell that bothered some people. Jamie and Ian did help me understand some of the unwritten rules.”

“Such as?”

Emmaline wrinkled her nose and said, “I learned that if you raise your hand too often to answer the teacher’s questions, some students think you are being a show-off. And never, ever correct the teacher.”

Annie had to repress a smile. “Yes, these were the rules when I was going to school as well.”

“Ian also told me that when one of the boys said something rude, I should just ignore them. And Jamie said that I shouldn’t comment on the girl’s dresses, even if intended to compliment them. I know good dressmaking, and some of the girls obviously have mothers who are very skilled seamstresses. I asked Mrs. Hewitt about that. She said that unless a girl was a particular friend, that because my dresses are so beautiful, the girl might think I was being condescending.”

Annie was pleased to learn that Emmaline was turning to Mrs. Hewitt for advice. Once again, she mused on how fortuitous that these three children, two of them orphans and one of them fatherless, were such good friends.

Annie said, “Do you wish me to speak to your aunts, see if they are amenable to sewing you dresses that are a little more…ordinary?”

“Oh, heavens no. I don’t care what a few mean girls think. And I do have a couple of girls I am friendly with now. You see, that’s one of the reasons I want to make my own money. I’ve discovered that friends often show their regard for each other by exchanging embossed greeting cards or buying treats from the store across from the school.”

“Ah, yes, I see,” Annie said.

“If I made money of my own, through my own efforts, as Jamie and Ian do, then I could experience the satisfaction of being generous as well.”

Annie could tell this was an important issue for the young girl, serious enough for her to break the dictum of not discussing the subject of money at tea. It was also the very kind of conversation that Annie had often had with her father, as he explained the financial workings of the world to her when she was Emmaline’s age.

She said, “My husband occasionally asks Jamie or Ian to take a message he needs delivered to the telegraph office on weekends and pays them to do so. I could ask him to do the same for you. However, you would have to ask your aunts for their approval.”

Emmaline said she would ask them, but she would only be willing to run this sort of errand when the boys were not around, not feeling right about taking money from them.

Annie sipped her own tea and then absentmindedly nibbled on the last lemon bar as she thought some more about what Emmaline’s skills were and what she would be permitted to do, as a girl. She was very good at reading out loud. And she was already an excellent seamstress, making all her own doll clothes and helping her aunts with embroidery. She was even good at knitting, a skill that Annie had tried and never mastered.

That was it!

She wiped her mouth with her napkin, remembering, thank goodness, to shake the crumbs out over the empty plate. Last thing that Kathleen or Tilly needed to do tonight was sweep up after her in the parlor.

She said, “Emmaline, I have a suggestion. It’s hard to imagine it now, but in a few weeks, autumn will be here, with colder days and nights. Abigail will need knitted wool booties and hats. I certainly don’t want to ask your aunts to make any. How would you feel about knitting these things for me? I would pay you what they would cost me to buy at the Silver Strike Bazaar.”

“Oh, Mrs. Dawson, that would be wonderful. And Abigail will grow over time and need new, bigger ones, won’t she?”

Annie smiled. The girl understood the benefit of making an item that would need to be replaced. She added, “And I will look into whether or not Mrs. Ashburton, an elderly woman who lives down the street, would be willing to pay you a small sum of money to read to her. Her health is frail, so she can’t get out much anymore. And reading isn’t exactly her servant Mary Margaret’s strong suit.”

Emmaline thought that was another splendid idea, but then she frowned and said, “Is this Mary Margaret the friend Kathleen visited last night, leaving Tilly all alone?”

Annie picked up the note of concern in the girl’s voice, and she said, “Tilly confessed to me that she’d had trouble sleeping last night. Said she was used to sleeping in a crowded bed, in a crowded room. Is there something more bothering her?”’

It occurred to Annie if there was something bothering Tilly, she would have confided it to Emmaline. From the moment that Tilly started working at the boardinghouse, she had developed a special regard for Emmaline’s aunts. She brought them up hot chocolate in the evening before she left for home and made a special effort to help them clean up their workroom. In addition, she was the only person in the house who didn’t get impatient with Miss Minnie’s long monologues. When Emmaline moved in last year, she and Tilly had become friends in their mutual desire to take care of the elderly women.

“You see, Mrs. Dawson, all week, even when Kathleen is here at night, Tilly’s been having trouble sleeping. She’s convinced that something is climbing up the ivy that goes up the side of the house outside the window of their room.”

“Oh, dear,” Annie said. “I did reassure her that no one could get in that window, now that we put in the bars, but I sensed that didn’t comfort her.”

Emmaline shook her head and said, “She’s not worried about a person.”

Annie stared at her and suddenly understood. “She’s afraid it’s some animal…a rat?”

Emmaline nodded. “I believe so. Tilly says that growing up in Ireland, she would hear a rustling outside the window to the room where she slept with her brothers and sisters. Then she would hear the rat squeal when one of the barn cats got him. Said it gave her nightmares.”

“And she thinks she’s hearing the same rustling? You know that it could just be the wind in the ivy. But I can certainly hire one of Kathleen’s brothers, or even the boys, to cut back the ivy. Then the sound would stop.”

“But what if it’s not the wind and there’s a rat already in the house?”

Annie’s mind began to race. The old black kitchen cat, the beloved Queenie, had died three weeks ago, soon after the burglars broke into the house. She didn’t come home one morning, and Jamie, with the help of Dandy, had found her under a bush in the back yard.

Beatrice was bereft. Cradling the limp form of Queenie in her lap, she had told Annie how, soon after she had returned to start working as cook for Annie’s aunt and uncle, the cat had appeared at the kitchen door, and how she’d found her such a comfort at night, when the cat would sleep with her. She’d then wiped her eyes and said that the two of them had become wise old ladies together over the subsequent twelve years, and she had hoped they would have another twelve years of growing even older together.

Annie knew that without Queenie, who’d been an excellent mouser and rat catcher, it was very possible that some rat had found the ivy and open windows a perfect method of entrance into the house.

She said, “Do you know if Tilly’s confided her fear to Mrs. O’Rourke?”

“No, she was afraid to, because she’d seen how upset Mrs. O’Rourke got when Kathleen mentioned that they needed to get a new mouser. Got sort of snappish, said everyone needed to give her a decent amount of time to mourn the old cat’s passing.”

“Yes, she said something similar to me.”

Emmaline, carefully wiping her hands on her napkin and folding it to put on her plate, said, “Tilly said she forgot and left some cheese out on the shelf of the pantry, and something nibbled on it. Mrs. O’Rourke got really angry at her. Tilly said she was right to do so, but she couldn’t help think this was further proof that there was a rat running around the house.”

Oh, dear, and Sunday was the day Beatrice announced it was time to do a thorough cleaning of the house. I bet she’s looking for a rat’s nest.

To be continued…

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