No Rest for the Departed, page 30
“And Mr. Fuller?”
“O’Neal,” he said. “But all he’s admitted to is pinning that warning on Mrs. Jewett’s doorframe. A weak attempt to get me to stop investigating. Not a crime, in and of itself, since the words could be passed off as an honest effort to warn me I was in danger.”
“And I had become rather convinced that Mrs. Hunter was responsible for Mr. Fuller’s death,” Celia said. “She became scarce the night of the benefit and provided me a false alibi of her whereabouts.”
“Maybe she was hunting around, trying to locate where Eileen had hidden that box of emerald earrings,” he said. “I expect I’ll discover that she is an excellent customer at one of the city’s wig stores, by the way. She’s got to be the red-haired woman who’d been searching for Judith. And Cassidy has identified her as the woman he’s noticed down at the docks. One day with black hair, another, a blonde. Smuggled goods concealed in pockets sewn into her petticoat.”
A clever deceit, but then Deborah Hunter was a clever woman.
“I do continue to wonder why people believe that Mr. Chase was involved in someone’s suspicious death, Nicholas,” Celia said. “Why so much insistence on telling me that he has a terrible temper and should not be questioned?”
Nicholas frowned at her. “Celia, don’t get any ideas about going back out there to poke around and find out the answers, do you understand?”
“But are you not curious, Detective Greaves?”
“Not at the moment, Mrs. Davies.”
Addie hurried across the entry hall, stopping at the doorway to the clinic. “Ma’am, they are ready to begin.”
“Thank you, Addie. I will be in shortly,” she said. “So, Nicholas, despite some unanswered questions, can we call this case closed?” Could they? Or would he continue to brood over his sister’s death, wearing himself down with self-recrimination?
“I’m ready to call it closed.”
“Then, would you care to partake of an exhibition of educational attainment, Mr. Greaves? Barbara would appreciate your attendance, I am certain,” Celia said. “She plans to display her skills at translating French, as well as at reciting a small poem that she has memorized.”
He inclined his head. “Why not?”
They found chairs at the back of the parlor and settled in. The room hushed in anticipation as the first student rose and took her spot at the front of the room.
Nicholas leaned close to Celia. “Miss Walford matters that much to you, doesn’t she? This much to you.” He indicated the people collected in the parlor, Barbara sitting nervously off to one side, the refreshments waiting to be served in the dining room, the stern-looking Mrs. Reynolds watching her charges and their guests with an eagle eye.
“Barbara is like a daughter to me, Nicholas, even though I am not old enough to be her mother,” she whispered. “And Owen is nearly like a little brother. And Addie . . . what would I do without Addie? Barbara matters. They all matter.”
“Miss Ferguson’s probably going to marry Taylor pretty soon, you know.”
“I do know, but I will hold on to her, to all of them as long as I can,” she said, searching his face for understanding. “Life is short, and love is too precious to let go of when you find it.”
“You always amaze me, Celia Davies.”
Her cheeks heated under the warmth of his gaze. “I do?” She had been complimented on her eyes, her loveliness, but never on her ability to amaze. “Why, thank you, Mr. Greaves.”
Mrs. Reynolds was staring. She cleared her throat, quieting them like two naughty school children. They grinned just as foolishly as children and reached for the other’s hand. Intertwining their fingers, drawing strength and comfort.
Holding on.
Author’s Note
In 1868, San Francisco was the largest port on the West Coast. Millions of dollars of domestic and foreign products streamed into the city. Particularly desirable foreign items, such as tobacco (Cuban cigars were very popular), liquor (whiskeys and brandies) and opium, were heavily taxed. Unscrupulous people were tempted to find ways around the import duties, and these goods were the ones most commonly smuggled past the harbor police. Various methods were employed, such as the use of false-bottom crates or by mislabeling the origin of the goods. Or by other means. A true story inspired me to create Deborah Hunter’s tactics. In March, 1870, a steerage passenger disembarking from a European steamer in New York City was stopped by the harbor officer and found to have sixty-one watches concealed in pockets in his undershirt. Not the lightest of loads!
Being the largest port—and a beneficiary of the gold rush—San Francisco was booming in the 1860s, and its wealthier residents were not immune to the burgeoning Victorian passion for excess. This included greenhouses and their displays of exotic tropical plants. It was a grand age of travel, and collecting items from faraway places was supposedly the mark of a person of wealth and taste. A scan of property for sale at this time reveals large homes equipped with not only conservatories but billiard rooms as well. People did like to flaunt their riches, and my fictitious Chases would be rare but not alone in the lavishness of their house.
The increasing availability of domestic technology in the later nineteenth century meant families were offered the latest in everything from stoves to spring mattresses to newfangled sewing machines. Wheeler and Wilson was considered the premier brand at the time that Celia is examining one, and their products were quite expensive as a result. An advertisement listed prices ranging from fifty-five dollars, around the average monthly wage of a common laborer, to the most expensive at one hundred ninety-five dollars. This works out to a cost of about thirty-five hundred in today’s dollars! A prohibitive expense, as Celia points out, for many people. Fortunately, as more sewing machines began to be produced by other companies, the prices went down. By the 1880s, you could purchase a small, simple machine for only two or three dollars.
The female occupants of the city were also not immune to the fashion for wigs. Most women did not have enough hair to produce the popular hairstyles of the period, which favored masses of elaborate curls. An April, 1867, newspaper article about the hair trade stated that nearly one million dollars’ worth of hair was annually imported from Europe and Russia (and taxed at forty percent—I wonder if folks smuggled in hair?). German hair was considered the best for wig-making, apparently because of its length and texture. But wigs could be as costly as sewing machines, and women of lesser means might make do with hairpieces constructed from hair they’d gleaned from their own brushes.
As ever, I extend my continued thanks to the people at Beyond the Page Publishing, who do such fabulous work. Also, my thanks to you, my faithful readers, who continue to support Celia and Nick and their adventures. You have my endless gratitude.
Books by Nancy Herriman
Mysteries of Old San Francisco
No Comfort for the Lost
No Pity for the Dead
No Quiet among the Shadows
No Darkness as Like Death
No Refuge from the Grave
No Justice for the Deceived
No Rest for the Departed
Bess Ellyott Mysteries
Searcher of the Dead
A Fall of Shadows
Stand-Alone Novels
Josiah’s Treasure
The Irish Healer
About the Author
Nancy Herriman left an engineering career to take up the pen and has never looked back. She is the author of the Mysteries of Old San Francisco, the Bess Ellyott Mysteries, and several stand-alone novels. A winner of the Daphne du Maurier Award, when she’s not writing, she enjoys singing, gabbing about writing, and eating dark chocolate. After two decades in Arizona, she now lives in her home state of Ohio with her family.
Nancy Herriman, No Rest for the Departed
