The San Francisco Trilogy

Snob Hill:

Snob Hill:

Once Minerva had been reassured and shown out the front door, Helena took charge.

“Lane, get Bessie ready. We’re going to town looking for adventure, right after I change,” Helena became happier than she had been in a very long time. Still sad that her stepfather wasn’t coming home, but she looked forward to a distraction that would occupy her for at least an hour or two. Gertie picked one of her stylish pink dresses with a matching lace parasol and an excessively floppy hat she would tie to her head and not lose her wig and bonnet during the ride into town.

Bessie was ready long before Helena. The metallic clink and the whoosh of the beast could be heard clearly from Helena’s room on the drive as she added her final changes. Looking in the mirror one last time, she pondered how much older she looked and how she saw her mother always looking back from the mirror.

She rushed down the stairs as best she could in her flowing dress in moderately high heels. She instantly saw Lane and Sigmund waiting for her next to Bessie, both dressed in duster jackets, sporting ivy hats with goggles for the adventure. Bessie was eager to go—the brass shined, the mahogany polished, a rare beautiful steam-powered carriage. Another gift from her friend and inventor whom she liked to call The Professor. Lane sat in the driver’s seat while Sigmund held the small door open for Helena. She grew positively excited beyond words.

They left the estate’s gate, which pierced the low wall that surrounded the property, and headed down Lombard Street toward the city proper. Lane had already lit the oil burning lamps so when they hit the wall of damp fog, they could at least partially tell where they traveled. Even with the lights, Lane slowed Bessie for safety’s sake. Visibility was still less than a quarter of a mile.

“I never seem to remember the fog being this unusually thick,” Helena raised her voice over the hissing and the clacking of the steam piston driving the automobile.

Sigmund said, “Oh, I have seen it much worse. You are accustomed to being on the hill. The fog is always less the higher you go.” There was a smile on his face like the fog brought back fond memories.

“Well, it’s not as much fun driving in the fog as it is when we have a nice warm day,” Lane shouted over his shoulder as he swerved around the slower wagons.

As they passed through the dense fog, Helena understood why there were simpler people who believed that monsters inhabited the night. She watched the workers and the ordinary people going about their everyday lives bundled against the damp mist, and she saw a wraith over there, a vampire here, and on the other side of the way, a specter. All ordinary people going about their mundane business in their everyday lives, or at least she thought so. Heading down the peninsula, the buildings began to turn from two- and three-story townhouses into five- and six-story skyscrapers. The upper floors of the taller buildings still obscured by the fog, Helena noted that the thicker the fog, the more level the field of vision.

They made a right on Van Ness Avenue to bypass some of the steeper hills, and then made a left on Sacramento Street. As they climbed Nob Hill, the sun found them again. Just over the crest, and ironically, overlooking both Chinatown and the Barbary Coast, set the Whitaker mansion.

They timed their arrival soon after lunch, so it wasn’t too great of a social faux pas to show up uninvited and unannounced. Helena figured this should be the last place anyone had seen Missy. This must be the place to start the investigation. Helena didn’t have a clue to go on. She didn’t know what Missy looked like, but she grew determined to find her.

“I will go announce your arrival, miss. You don’t need to stand waiting on the stoop like a commoner.”

“No, Sigmund, I think I will go to the door, follow if you must, but it would be too easy for them to leave your requests unanswered. I feel they would find it much more difficult to say no to me. No respectable house would leave a young lady standing on the front steps. Am I correct?”

“I must admit, young miss, in this instance, your logic is impeccable. Lane and I will wait here. If you are in any need, merely callout, and we will be there in an instant.”

Sigmund exited the automobile, lending a hand for Miss Helena to step down. Once down, she opened her lace parasol to protect herself from the June sun, as any lady of refinement would. She never noticed Lane do a quick check of his enhanced naval revolver, and Sigmund checked to see if his gas-operated automatic pistol rested in its hog-leg. Strangely, both gifts were from The Professor.

Helena inspected the facade of the house, searching for any indication of dread or malaise that Minerva said she felt bearing down upon the house. She felt nothing. The house sat like an ordinary four-story townhouse, very similar to the adjacent townhomes surrounding it. No dark cloud appeared overhead. Lifting the knocker and handling the weight, it seemed more substantial than usual, but she was unsure if it was her imagination. Using the knocker, she rapped three solid knocks on the heavy door that sounded bizarrely muffled as they landed.

The door opened with a deliberate creaking movement. Had it been night or foggy, the sound of the door opening would be more foreboding. However, the bright sun seemed to make everything outside the house gay.

Her mind changed when she caught a glimpse of the person opening the door. The man was not much older than Sigmund, but it seemed life weighed heavy on his shoulders. His skin was the color of the gray fog blanketing the city below with charcoal circles enhancing the bags under his eyes. Helena took a step back into the brighter sun to soak up some of its cheerfulness.

“May I help you?” the cadaverous butler asked.

“Yes, sir. Please tell Master Whitaker that the lady of the Brandywine estate calls upon him,” Helena said while offering her calling card adroitly removed from her handbag while she spoke.

The butler took the calling card, inspecting it with dead eyes for its authenticity. Convinced the card was real, he opened the door wider, motioning for Helena to come in. “If you would be so kind to wait in the study, I will check if Mister Whitaker is accepting visitors.”

She said, “Thank you.” Bracing herself, she crept into the frigid confines of a building that felt of death and decay. She was led to a room down the hall from the front door, the walls adorned with bookshelves. While she waited alone, she inspected several of the titles on display, some of which she had finished, some she wished to study, and some she had never heard of before.

Her senses on edge, she heard the footfalls coming down the hall before the door moved. When the older man came through the door, whom she assumed to be Missy Whitaker’s father, she was surprised her tactic worked. The man her eyes laid upon stood in no better shape than the butler. Something horrible tormented this house.

“Mistress Brandywine, it is a pleasure to finally meet you. I must apologize for the lack of a warm welcome, but your visit has struck us at a painful time.”

“I’m sorry to intrude. Has there been a death in the family?” Helena offered her right hand, wrist slightly bent, which Mister Whitaker took and shook instead of kissed.

“Yes, we just found out last week, and I haven’t had the heart to tell anyone. My daughter Missy has died, and we are still in mourning.”

“Oh, my word. I’m so sorry for your loss. I didn’t realize Missy had been sick. I read nothing in the paper. When will the services be?” Helena, flabbergasted, and was genuinely shocked that her friend Minerva had walked her into such an uncomfortable situation. I am going to strangle Minerva, she thought.

“We are still working on the details. The family will make an announcement as soon as the information becomes available. So, I hope you understand, we are not currently in the position to accept company from a visitor as auspicious as yourself.”

“No, I completely understand. Please accept my deepest condolences. You won’t see me again until the funeral services.”

“Thank you. You are as understanding as your mother was. You know, in many ways you resemble her so much.”

“Thank you for your kind words and compliments on what I’m sure is such a trying time. Again, please accept my apologies and my condolences. I can see my own way out,”

Helena survived mortification. A team of Bessie’s couldn’t have kept her in that house another second. When she got her hands on Minerva’s neck, she wouldn’t be held responsible for the outcome. The parasol gripped in both of her hand’s, white knuckles hidden by her pink lace gloves, as she marched back to the two men waiting alongside Bessie. The fact that Lane had somehow found a pear and stood slicing great chunks off it with a stiletto and plopped them into his mouth didn’t make her feel any better. She never witnessed the gap in the drapes watching her leave.

Sigmund opened the door for her when she arrived, offering her hand into the back of the cab. Helena refused the hand, preferring to get herself and her skirt into the backseat.

“Didn’t go as planned?” Sigmund asked.

“Did the both of you know that Missy died last week?” Helena hissed through clenched teeth.

Sigmund said, “That’s impossible. I’ve read nothing of it in the papers. I’m sure it would’ve been news of the highest order.”

Lane shook his head, a slice of pear hanging out of his mouth.

“Her father just told me she died last week.”

“When did your friend say she saw her last?” Sigmund asked.

“A few days ago, why?”

“And when did Mister Whitaker say that Missy passed on?”

“Someone’s coming,” Lane interrupted the pair, speaking around a mouthful of pear before swallowing. “A few moments after that fella stopped watching us from the window, that woman came out the side gate.”

The three of them watched as a young Chinese woman made her way through neighboring yards up the hill and peered around a huge oak tree. Her hand motioned for them to join her.

Helena looked at Sigmund before he said, “It is your investigation, so you go speak with her.”

Helena glanced back at the house, which now she truly understood why Minerva said it felt like a mausoleum. There was something off, something going on in that building. She felt it in her stomach. Sigmund’s line of questioning made her realize the error in the timeline. Someone had to be mistaken—either Mister Whitaker concerning the death of his daughter, if that even was Mister Whitaker since she’d not met him before or the scatterbrained Minerva and when she spoke to Missy last. She finished her line of thinking as she slowly approached the ancient oak tree.

She leaned around the massive trunk and timidly spoke, “Hello?” addressing the shadow of a Chinese woman standing there.

“Mistress, please, don’t be angry, but I overheard that man tell you. He’s a liar. I don’t think my lady is dead.”

“That man I spoke to wasn’t Missy’s father?” Helena moved closer to hear the woman’s soft voice.

The woman shook her head no before glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one watched them, then continued, “No, ma’am. I don’t know who that is, but it is not my mistresses father. I not see him in three days. Please take me with you. I do not feel safe in that house.”

Helena did a few calculations in her head. She knew something was wrong, felt something bad going on in that house. If this young woman, who looked only slightly younger than Helena, remained in that house, she would not be long in this world. She made the decision in an instant. The best thing was to bring her only lead home with her. Stepping out from behind the tree, Helena waved at the ever-watchful Lane and Sigmund to come pick them up with Bessie, before nodding in agreement with the young woman.

Bessie, once fired up, was always ready to move. Lane used the stored steam energy in the receiver and added a little kerosene drip to the boiler fire to replace the used steam. It took longer for Sigmund to climb into the back seat than it did for Lane to get Bessie moving. With a sharp U-turn and a few blasts of the steam whistle, Lane had the automobile reversed and alongside Helena and her new friend.

Helena said, “She is coming with us. Please don’t wait to take us out of here.” She hustled the young maid into the backseat and quickly followed behind her.

“If we go too fast, we all die?” the young teen asked, a worried expression on her face.

“Only if Lane doesn’t keep us on the road,” Sigmund said. Once they made it a few blocks down the road, Sigmund asked, “Young miss, would you mind introducing us to your new friend?”

“This is Missy’s maid. She can confirm Minerva’s story. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” Helena finally asked the girl.

“My name is Lo Wai Han. Mistress saved me from most dishonorable life.”

“Miss Han alleged the man I spoke to wasn’t Missy’s father,” said Helena.

“Young miss, Han is Miss Lo’s middle name. Am I correct?” Sigmund regarded Miss Lo for confirmation. She nodded the affirmative.

“Miss Lo told me that the man I spoke to was not Missy’s father. She hadn’t seen Mister Whitaker for three days. Miss Lo, why don’t you tell your story? I’m sure you know it much better than I do.”

“My mistress spent a lot of time in Chinatown and Barbary Coast. She saved me when I escaped house I forced to work. She brought me home to be her maid. Her family furious, I’m sure they all hate me. Her father, Mister Robert Whitaker, sure she spending her time gambling, using drugs, and selling her body to pay for both.” Tears dripped from her eyes as she spoke.

“Last week, he threaten to have my mistress committed to Agnew’s Insane Asylum. The argument quite loud, I sure everyone in house, in neighborhood heard it. Next day, Missy cut off all hair. Not sure why, but I watched her. She cried whole time. People in big houses talk, rich think they secrets safe, but everyone knows. I know she alive four days ago, I believe in my heart she alive now. I have been praying for her every night.” Tears ran down Lo Wai Han’s cheeks as she told the story. “Now that I left the Whitaker house if I go back to Chinatown, the Hop Sings kill me. Show my head as a warning to others that try escape. I am dead woman.” Lo Wai Han began to cry in earnest, the severity of her situation sinking in.

“Hop Sings?” Helena asked.

Lane said, “One of the many Chinese gangs operating in Chinatown,” from over his shoulder.

Both Helena and Sigmund peered at the back of Lane’s head, and each questioned how he might know that. Lo Wai Han nodded her head, through her tears, indicating Lane was correct.

“Sigmund, aren’t we in need of another pair of hands on the estate?” Helena motioned with her head toward Lo Wai Han’s bent over body and wiggled her eyebrows.

Sigmund wasn’t quite that dense. He understood her suggestion without the body language, “Yes young miss, I do believe we could use another house person. You don’t need a personal attendant, but I bet we might find somewhere for Miss Lo to work if she wanted to stay with us.”

“Oh yes, please. I will do any housework. Please don’t make me go back to Chinatown. I don’t want to sell my body.”

“Sell your body?” Helena asked. The gravity of the situation finally sinking in, she realized what kind house the girl younger than herself had been forced to work in and the services she would have had to provide. The grip tightened on her parasol. It suffered for the injustice Helena felt for this young woman.

“I almost forgot.” Wai Han reached into her pocket and pulled out a small embroidered handkerchief containing two items. “These are two things that help you find my mistress. First is picture before she cut hair.” Wai Han handed her a locket the size of a silver dollar. Inside contained a picture of Missy. “And this.” She handed Helena a wine cork. “Mistress told me to keep this safe. It very important.”

Helena took the two articles, precious as the crown jewels. “I will guard them with my life. Wai Han, I promise I will do everything I can to find Missy and bring her home to you.”