The next morning I found Mrs McDougal mumbling to herself as she whirled through the kitchen, pulling bread pans from the cupboard and slamming them onto the butcher-block workstation.
I hesitated in the doorway, not sure if I would be welcome this morning. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Alice is sick with a cold. She does the shopping on her way in each morning, so I’ve nothing for breakfast or lunch.’ She took a bag of flour and set it next to the bread pans. ‘I’m going to bake some bread, and we’ll just have to eat some of that dehydrated Lipton soup for lunch. As I live and breathe, I have never served anything from a package, ever. I do not believe in instant soup, or instant anything, but this is an emergency.’
I donned one of the aprons that hung on the wall next to the pantry. ‘What can I do?’
‘Oh, bless you. You cook the eggs. I’ll make some biscuits. We’ll have that with fresh jam. That will have to do for breakfast. Then for lunch we’ll have the horrid dehydrated soup with the fresh bread.’
We worked side by side for the next twenty minutes. I used the fresh eggs that were delivered that morning and produced a chafing dish of light and fluffy scrambled eggs just as Mrs McDougal took a tray of biscuits out of the oven.
‘So if you’ll help with the laying of trays at lunch that should take care of things.’ We leaned against the counter and surveyed our successful patch-up breakfast. Bethany sent one of the orderlies to spoon out the eggs and load up the trays, which would be carried upstairs to the patients. After he left, I asked the question that niggled at the back of my mind.
‘Tell me about Gregory, Dr Geisler’s brother.’
‘Gregory? Minna’s been talking, hasn’t she?’ Mrs McDougal rinsed her coffee cup and set it on the draining board near the sink. She took a seat at the refectory table and waved me into the chair across from her. I grabbed a plate and filled it with eggs and two biscuits. As I ate, Mrs McDougal told me about Gregory.
‘Matthew and Gregory’s father died when Gregory was 21, so Matthew would have been 15. Too young for either of them to lose their father. Young men need a role model. He died of pneumonia, and believe me when I tell you, he fought that disease until he took his last breath. I came here just before he died because Alysse needed a woman to tend to her daily needs. She was a wilful child who had been over-indulged by her father and brothers. My husband had died, and I didn’t quite know what to do with myself.
‘Gregory was a petulant child, spoiled, entitled, thought of no one but himself. His father left his money to both boys equally, with a generous endowment for Alysse. Gregory didn’t like that. He thought, being the eldest, he should have control of all the money. I tell you this so you can know what sort of a man he was: elegant, handsome, thought he was the centre of the world. Oh, he had a knack for making people mad. Heaven help anyone who challenged him. But he loved Minna. I thought they would be happy together. We all hoped Minna would bring out the good in Gregory.
‘My days were filled with caring for Alysse, seeing to her education, and keeping her out of trouble. She had an artistic temperament and the brains of a man. She seethed at the unfair way in which society treated women. ‘There’s nothing that a man can do that I cannot!’ I can just see her, hands on her hips, her eyes flashing. She spoke her mind that one did, and as a result got into the worst scrapes.’
Mrs McDougal gazed out the window. ‘Those were good days. I was so busy with Alysse, I didn’t have much time or interest in Gregory and his love affair. I wasn’t here for the wedding. My sister had fallen ill and I took the train to Los Angeles to tend to her. I came home to a house in mourning. Minna stood Gregory up at the altar, just left him there exposed to the world, when she decided not to marry him. He couldn’t cope with the rejection.
‘Two days later, he drove off in that sport cars of his and crashed it on purpose. Trust Gregory to go out in a blaze of glory. You know the worst part? He sent his suicide note to Minna in the mail. So not only did she have to deal with the guilt of the accident itself, she also received a letter from Gregory after his suicide, explaining that she drove him to kill himself. I don’t much care for Minna, but that was a cruel thing for Gregory to do.
‘I hadn’t been back twenty minutes when Dr Geisler called me into his study. He had stacked all the pictures of Gregory on a table in his office and asked me to get rid of them. I’d never seen him so angry. I didn’t have the heart to throw the pictures away, so I boxed them up and took them to the attic. Later Dr Geisler found them and threw them away himself. He was furious with me for not doing as he asked. He forbade me to utter Gregory’s name. I’ve never heard him speak of his brother again. Miss Bethany didn’t even know her husband had a brother until Minna arrived.
‘Minna beguiled all the young men she met. She didn’t even have to try. They flocked to her as though she were honey. She was like a bauble in a shop window, something that you look at and then want to possess. But I knew her, and every now and then she’d say something that led me to believe she had seen things that weren’t fit for a child’s eyes. That very quality made those around her want to take care of her, which just irritated her to no end.
‘After Gregory’s suicide, she fled San Francisco. No one knew where she went. The newspapers tried to find her, and I assumed she wanted to get away from society. I spent a lot of time chasing nosy reporters away. Two months ago, Minna showed up out of the blue. She just dropped in one afternoon. Dr Geisler and the missus made room for her, gave her one of the nicest rooms, and told her she could stay here as long as she wanted. You have to give Miss Bethany credit, not many a wife would allow that.
‘Anyway, Minna had – still has, truth be told – some crazy notion that Gregory Geisler is alive and has come to take his revenge. She thinks she’s got special powers and sees ghosts, or some ridiculous notion like that. She’s mad as a hatter.’
‘I feel sorry for her,’ I said.
‘You’ve a soft heart. We’ll see if you feel the same way after a month or two. At least she’s safe here. If Dr Geisler can help her, he will. And that’s enough gossip this morning.’
Mrs McDougal stood up. I followed suit, rinsed my plate, and set it with the others to drain.
‘I need to get to work. I will see you before noon to help with lunch.’
‘Thank you, Sarah. You’re a life saver.’
* * *
A fresh pile of handwritten notes awaited me. I flipped through them and had just slipped a fresh piece of onion skin into my typewriter, when Dr Geisler came into my office. ‘Can we speak for a moment?’
‘Of course.’ I stood, thinking he would want to see me in his office, but he waved me back into my seat and took the empty chair near my desk for himself.
‘I wanted to see how you were doing after yesterday. We never talked.’
I checked myself before I spoke, knowing that Dr Geisler’s questions were clinical rather than personal. I must never forget that my particular truth could lead me right back into the asylum, never mind Dr Geisler’s promises to the contrary.
‘You can trust my word, Sarah. I assure you, there will be no asylum. Did you really see Mrs Wills’s grandfather?’
I nodded. ‘At first he seemed surprised that I could hear him. He was frustrated.’ I stopped for a moment, careful how I formed my thoughts. Dr Geisler waited, ever patient. ‘It’s hard to put into words, but when that light shone on me, I felt this unending font of – I know this sounds strange, Dr Geisler – but I felt love, true love. Anyway, after he spoke to me, told me where to find the watch, he walked into the light, and it disappeared behind him.’
‘That is remarkable. My goodness. I had no idea. Sarah, what a gift you have.’
I laughed, unable to keep the sarcasm at bay. ‘That’s not true, and you know it. If I told anyone but you – and Zeke – the truth, I’d be locked in an asylum, and some well-intentioned psychiatrist would throw away the key. You know that as well as I do.’
‘I’ve known you were special since I first heard of your case, back when you were at The Laurels. Many claim to have psychic powers, and I do believe that some people are sensitive, empathic, if you will. But I’ve never in my entire life seen anyone directly contact a person who has crossed through the veil. I am amazed, and awed, and very grateful to have witnessed this.’ He fiddled with his cufflink before he met my eyes. ‘I know about the burn on your hand. Zeke told me how you got it.’
I felt my ears go hot with shame, as I clenched my hand into a fist and hid it away on my lap. ‘My grandmother thought I had tried to hurt myself.’
‘That’s nonsense. I don’t know you very well, not yet, but you are not suicidal. I would stake my reputation on that. You had a dream, correct?’
I explained to Dr Geisler about the dream of the burning room. How I had rushed to the door and grabbed the brass handle to get out of the fire and into the fresh air. I had awakened from my dream with a painful burn on my hand and no logical way to explain how it got there. I gave him my hand. He unfolded my fingers to reveal the snake-shaped mark there, a pink and puckered reminder of that horrible dream last October.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Exhausted. I don’t believe I’ve been so tired in my life. It’s as if I could sleep for a week.’
‘Have you had other visions, Sarah? Since you’ve come here, or before?’
‘Only the weeping,’ I said. ‘It started right after the ‘not guilty’ verdict. It comes and goes at random times. I wasn’t sure what it meant, but now I’m certain it’s Alysse. That’s why I take the morphine, so I can control it.’
‘It’s Alysse,’ Dr Geisler said.
‘I think so,’ I said. ‘I’m not sure what to do here, Dr Geisler.’
‘Then let’s not do anything. There’s no need to rush. You should explore this at a pace that is comfortable for you. With your permission, I’d like to document what happened yesterday.’
‘Document?’
‘I would like to publish a paper about my experiences with you—’
‘No. Please.’ I interrupted him before he went any further.
‘I won’t use your name. No one who reads my paper will know it’s you.’ He watched me for a moment. He stood and placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. ‘Never mind. I can see I’ve upset you. Let’s just take a step back and proceed with caution. I will follow your direction and offer my assistance, should you need it. You will find, Sarah, I am a man of my word. We won’t speak of it again. Carry on.’
After he left, I worked straight through until eleven-thirty and had just put my completed work on Dr Geisler’s desk when a scream pierced the quietude of my office. I ran out into the corridor and followed the hysterical sounds towards the foyer. Bethany and I met in the hallway. Together we raced towards the noise.
The screaming turned into a hysterical incantation. ‘No, no. Please. No.’
Minna. She stood near the front door, a black dressing gown flowing over her bony frame like a witch’s cloak. Her hair hung in wild curls the colour of spun silver. She looked as though she could have raised her arms and cast a spell or hopped on a broom and flown away. Instead she held a piece of paper in her trembling hand. Scattered around her feet were the petals and stems of a desiccated bouquet of roses. A flower box from Podesta Baldocchi lay on its side, tossed away in the chaos.
Chloe sat at her desk, observing everything, missing nothing, her eyes huge. The maid, a young girl in a uniform two sizes too big, froze, holding the dust rag suspended in mid-air.
I moved towards Minna, desperate to help her, but Bethany waved me off.
‘Minna, what’s wrong?’
‘Sarah. Bethany.’ She waved the paper she held in her hand through the air. ‘It’s Gregory. He’s alive.’ Her breathing became heavy and deep. She tore the letter up, threw the pieces on the floor, covered her face with her hands, and wept. Deep racking sobs coursed through her body, threatening to topple her.
Bethany swept in and put a comforting arm around Minna’s shoulder. She spoke to her in the same sweet, disarming voice she had used on Mr Collins. ‘Come on, dear. Let’s get you someplace safe. We’ll lock the house and make sure that Gregory isn’t here. I’ll see to it personally.’ She spoke to the maid. ‘It’s all right, young lady. Go see Mrs McDougal for a cup of hot cocoa. There’s a good girl.’
‘You’ll protect me, won’t you, Bethany? And Matthew. He’ll come for Matthew.’
‘Of course,’ Bethany said in a soothing voice. ‘I’ll take care of everything.’
Minna allowed herself to be led away. The two women made their way towards the staircase, while Bethany muttered comforting words in Minna’s ear.
Just as they were about to reach the first landing and slip out of sight, Bethany called to me. ‘Find my husband. Tell him to hurry.’
Before heading off to search for Dr Geisler, I picked up the torn pieces of paper that Minna had thrown on the floor and tucked them into my pocket. I had every intention of finding out the truth about Gregory Geisler.
* * *
The frightened maid sat at the kitchen table, waiting for Mrs McDougal to prepare her cocoa. Mrs McDougal fussed over the stove with pursed lips, not accustomed to making cocoa so close to lunch. Dr Geisler came through the kitchen door, pink-cheeked from the cold March wind.
He took one look at me. ‘What’s happened?’
‘It’s Minna. Bethany asked me to get you. She received something from Gregory.’
Dr Geisler flung his coat at the coatrack and missed it altogether. He hurried out of the room, leaving his fine camelhair coat in a heap on the floor.
‘Mark my words. That woman has brought nothing but trouble to this house and this isn’t the end of it.’ Mrs McDougal hung Dr Geisler’s coat on the rack by the kitchen door. ‘We may as well have a cup of tea. Then we’ll get busy with lunch.’ She set the young maid’s mug of cocoa on the table. ‘And as for you, I don’t want to hear any gossip about this. You’ll keep your mouth shut, or I’ll dock your wages.’
Not quite sure what to do with myself after Minna’s outburst, I sat down and took the proffered cup of tea. The maid, whose name was Catherine, turned out to be quite the chatterbox. She spent a good twenty minutes telling us how her younger brother spent his mornings collecting old hot-water bottles and books, which he, in turn, took to the Columbia Park Boys Club. I listened to her words and nodded when she paused, feigning enthusiasm for her brother’s patriotism. My mind strayed to Minna.
‘Thank you for the hot chocolate, ma’am.’ Catherine hurried out of the kitchen.
‘Are you all right, Sarah? You seem a bit shaken, and any fool could see you weren’t listening to a word that girl said.’
‘You should have seen her standing there, Mrs McDougal. She was terrified.’
‘You mustn’t let her manipulate you. Lord knows, she’s got Dr Geisler wrapped around her finger, what with the two of them traipsing off to séances and the like.’ She took our mugs and rinsed them in the sink. ‘Come now, let’s start the lunch preparation. Nothing like kitchen work to take your mind off your troubles.’
True to her word, Mrs McDougal had spent the morning baking four beautiful loaves of bread. Together we prepared the Lipton soup – with Mrs McDougal lambasting the concoction the entire time – and laid the trays for the patients.
After we had finished, I ate a bowl of soup – it did taste just like homemade – and hurried back to my office, where I locked the door, took out the torn pieces of paper Minna had discarded, and laid them on my desk.
It didn’t take me long to reassemble the fragments into Gregory and Minna’s wedding invitation, inviting the recipient to share the joy on Saturday, May 6, 1916 at one-thirty p.m., at Grace Cathedral with the reception to follow at The Palace Hotel. I flipped the invitation over and saw what had disturbed Minna so. Individual words cut from magazines had been pasted together to form the simple sentence that had brought Minna to her knees: I am coming for you, my dear.
Although cruel in its own right, this invitation could have been sent by anyone who knew Minna and Gregory’s history. I had been in Minna’s position, the odd man out in a strange game of circumstance. I too had been judged crazy by my family. I too had been persecuted by the newspapers. For every ten people who hated me for testifying against Jack Bennett, San Francisco’s favourite mystery writer, one kind soul would clap me on the back and applaud my bravery. I had Cynthia to thank for that.
I hurried into Dr Geisler’s office, sat down at his desk, and made a telephone call.
‘Sutter 1615.’ Cynthia Forrester answered on the first ring.
‘Cynthia—’
‘Sarah Jane Bennett, where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you. You just disappeared.’
‘I’m working at the Geisler Institute.’
After about three seconds of silence, Cynthia spoke. ‘The hospital on Jackson Street?’
I explained how I had come to get the job, leaving out the part about Zeke. I didn’t have time to go through all that with Cynthia. Not now. ‘I need your help,’ I said. ‘Do you know how I could look up the society column from 1916? I want to see what the newspapers wrote about a wedding.’
‘A 1916 wedding? I can bring you down to the paper and you can look at the old editions – they are on microfilm – or I can take you to meet my Great-Aunt Lillian. She wrote the society column in 1916, and she remembers everything. She’s a bit of an eccentric, but she loves being around young people, so I’m sure she would love to talk to you. Does that help?’
We made arrangements for Cynthia to pick me up later. We would visit her Great-Aunt Lillian, and I would be back in time for dinner.
* * *
I found Minna sitting up in bed with a Life Magazine on her lap. She wasn’t reading it, just thumbing through the pages. She had taken pains with her appearance, but the rouged cheeks and blood-red lips contrasted with her sallow complexion.
As I came into the room, she set the magazine down, took a cigarette from the silver case next to her bed, placed it in a long holder, and lit it.
‘Well, it’s the woman of the hour.’ She blew a cloud of smoke at me, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in her voice. ‘I had no idea you had such a gift, Sarah. Matthew never told me, but that’s no surprise. He’s always been a superior keeper of secrets.’ She ground out her cigarette, tossing the holder on the bedside table, where it rolled to the back and fell behind, out of reach.
I moved to her bed and sat down. ‘Are you all right?’
Minna fiddled with the covers on her lap for a moment, her head bowed, as if in obeisance. She raised her head, her eyes hot with fear or madness, I couldn’t be sure which.
‘Gregory’s alive. I thought I saw his ghost. Matthew thought – wishful thinking on his part – I was a little bit like you and agreed to help me.’ She picked up another cigarette and lit it. ‘But after seeing you yesterday, the way you slipped into a trance – I couldn’t believe it at first. Now I know for sure, I’m not psychic at all. Either Gregory is alive, or I am losing my mind.’
‘Did you ever think that someone could be trying to scare you?’
‘Who? Why?’ She shook her head. ‘I know from your trial what kind of woman you are, Sarah. You have a certain type of curiosity that lands you in strange situations and you like to help people. That’s a dangerous combination. I am not like you at all. I don’t care about anyone else, and I make it a point to stay out of other people’s affairs. After I left here, I led a private life, had very few friends and very little social interaction. No. There’s no one who would benefit by harassing me in such a cruel way. But if Gregory were going to harass me, this is the way he would do it. He would wait until I felt safe, until I’d let my guard down, and then he would start to chip away at my sanity.’
‘Anyone could have sent those flowers. We can figure this out. I’m going to help you.’
‘No. I’m requesting that you drop this. If Gregory is alive, I will deal with him. You’ll just have to find yourself another charity case. Now, if you’ll excuse me.’
Minna turned off the lamp beside her bed and lay down with her back towards me. Good manners kept me from questioning her further, so I left with more questions than I had when I arrived.