The Cliff House Strangler (9 page)

Famous last words, you might say, and if you did, you would be correct. Seven weeks after opening my Sutter Street law office, I had yet to entertain one client—one
paying
client, that is. So far, the only business I’d conducted had been for several of Eddie’s friends (who had paid for my services with pennies, a deck of playing cards minus all four aces—which, I feared, might still be lodged up the boy’s sleeve—and some moldy cheese), along with a drunken derelict who
was determined to sue a local saloon for refusing to serve him any more whiskey until he paid his bill. If it were not for the money generously given to me by Li Ying, an infamous and mysterious Chinese tong lord, following the Russian Hill murders, I would have been forced to close my office door weeks ago.

As it was, my remaining funds would last but four more months, and then only with the most rigid budgeting. But what bothered me the most about failing was proving all the naysayers correct. My eldest brother, Frederick, was the most vocal of my critics, predicting not only my social ruin if I continued to act upon this insane idea, but also the end to any expectation I might entertain of contracting a suitable marriage. Since I had no desire to marry—a state that, even in 1881, places a woman firmly under her husband’s control—I’d ignored Frederick’s pessimistic ranting. So, too, had I disregarded Robert Campbell’s protests that only a fool would leave the premiere law firm in San Francisco to open her own office. Especially a woman attorney!

The very thought of being forced to eat crow before either of these detractors was enough to make me see red. Which, of course, got me nowhere. Heaving a deep sigh of frustration, I berated myself for wasting valuable time and energy worrying about what might or might not happen four months from now. “Sufficient unto the Day” must become my motto, I vowed.
Defeat
was a word I could not and would not allow to enter my vocabulary!

And so I spent the remainder of the afternoon reading the latest issue of the
San Francisco Law Journal,
an informative periodical that had commenced publication some three years previous. So immersed was I in an article concerning the law of negligence that I started half out of my chair when I was interrupted by a knock on my door. Opening the gold timepiece pinned to the bodice of my dress, I was taken aback to see that it was going on six o’clock. Assuming it was Fanny Goodman inviting me downstairs for a pot of tea before I left for the day, I called for her to enter.

To my surprise, it wasn’t my neighbor who timidly entered the
room, but a woman I had never seen before. She appeared to be in her early thirties, and was becomingly slender and of average height. Her dark blue day dress was simply cut, with a very small bustle, and her thick chestnut hair had been wound into braids and tucked beneath a stylish brown hat. Her thin oval face might have been considered pretty, if it were not for several fading bruises on her forehead and cheeks. Her right eye was also discolored and slightly puffy. My temper flared at the sight of these contusions, and it was all I could do to stop myself from asking outright who had subjected her to such violence. The poor woman appeared so frightened and ill at ease, however, I decided that for the time being at least I would hold my tongue.

“Good afternoon,” I said, rising from my chair. I had been practicing law for less than a year, yet I understood the courage it required for most women to visit an attorney, especially those who were married and used to their husbands making all the decisions in their lives. Indeed, my visitor fitted this description to a tee; she looked so nervous, I feared that at any moment she might bolt back out the door.

Hoping to ease her anxiety, I gave her a welcoming smile. “Please, take a seat,” I said, motioning her to the chair in front of my desk. “How may I help you, Mrs. . . .”

“Sechrest, Mrs. Luther Sechrest.” Her voice was timorous and uncertain. After a brief hesitation, she sank tentatively into the chair I had indicated. “I—that is, I came here to ask you—” The woman’s lovely face colored a pale pink. “I was here earlier today, you see, but the lady downstairs informed me you were out. I—it took me the rest of the afternoon to muster the courage to return.” Her face grew even more flushed. “You must think me a terrible coward, but—well, I had no idea consulting an attorney would prove so difficult.”

“I understand,” I told her with genuine sympathy. “It’s an undertaking most people would prefer to avoid entirely. Unfortunately, there are times when dealing with the law cannot be avoided,
and it can be a difficult road to navigate on one’s own. Now, Mrs. Sechrest, why don’t you try to relax and tell me what brought you to my office this afternoon.”

Biting her bottom lip, Mrs. Sechrest leaned back farther in her chair and opened her reticule. Withdrawing a small white envelope, she handed it to me across the desk. “Perhaps this will help explain matters.”

I accepted the envelope and slit it open. Inside, I discovered a brief letter written in a neat, familiar hand. Dropping my gaze to the signature, I was surprised to see that it was from my very first client at Shepard, Shepard, McNaughton and Hall, Annjenett Hanaford, the young widow I had represented when she was accused of murdering her wealthy husband, Cornelius Hanaford. She had since remarried and was now known as Mrs. Peter Fowler.

I scanned the brief missive and was pleased to see that Annjenett, who had been shamefully ill-treated by her first husband, had used the fortune she’d inherited from him to establish a home here in San Francisco for abused women. According to Annjenett, Alexandra Sechrest had fled to the safe house, seeking shelter from her drunken and violent husband. So that is who had so cruelly mistreated the poor woman, I thought, grateful that because of Annjenett’s largesse, women such as Mrs. Sechrest now had a secure haven where they might be out of harm’s way.

“Mrs. Fowler tells me that you’re interested in obtaining a divorce from your husband,” I said.

“It’s not what I want,” she protested. “I never thought to bring such shame upon myself and my family. But I feel I have no other choice. It’s my boys, you see. Johnny is ten and Harry eight. If I don’t remove them from their father’s house, I’m afraid he’ll begin to mistreat them as he has mistreated me. Luther drinks and—” Her blue eyes filled with tears. “I cannot allow that to happen to them, Miss Woolson.” Burying her face in her hands, she began to cry.

I removed a clean handkerchief from a pocket hidden in the folds of my skirt—I always have one or two of these handy appendages
added to all my working clothes—and, walking around the desk, handed it to Mrs. Sechrest.

“Then we must ensure it does not happen,” I said firmly. It was true that I had not yet heard the details of the case, but already my heart went out to this unfortunate woman, not to mention her sons. “Where are your boys now, Mrs. Sechrest? Did you take them with you to Mrs. Fowler’s safe house?”

Her face was a mask of hopelessness. “I had them with me for the first week, but Luther, my husband, sent two of his men to take them away from me.”

“You mean they grabbed your children by force?”

She nodded, too lost in misery to speak. I waited while she brought her emotions under control. I only wished there was some way to comfort the poor woman. The idea that a husband would snatch his young children from their mother’s arms appalled me. Even worse was the fact that in most cases the law permitted such behavior from a father.

“Mrs. Fowler was kind enough to contact Mr. Sechrest on my behalf, but he refuses to return the boys to my care. He even threatened—” Once again she stopped as a fresh rush of tears interrupted her narrative. “He told Mrs. Fowler that if I did not return to his house and resume my wifely duties, he would—he would make certain I never saw my sons again.”

Once again, the poor woman buried her face in the handkerchief, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. I could not watch her misery any longer without offering some kind of comfort, even one whose benefits would be fleeting.

Assuring my visitor that I would be right back, I hastened into the small room adjoining my office proper. This space was to serve as my law library and file room—at least it would once I accumulated files and books to store there. Since clients were hardly beating a path to my door, it currently provided me with a relaxing place to sit and read, or to enjoy a hot cup of tea and some light refreshments.

Striking a match, I lit the spirit lamp I kept on a side table, then scooped a generous spoonful of tea leaves into two strainers and settled them into the cups standing ready for this purpose. Fortunately, the water in the kettle was still warm from tea I’d brewed earlier, and it was not long before I returned to the front room carrying the two steaming cups, as well as a plate of gingersnaps and Sarasota chips I kept stored in tins.

“There now,” I said, laying the refreshments out on my desk. “Why don’t you tell me everything, starting with when and where you and Mr. Sechrest were married.”

Alexandra Sechrest gave me a quick smile and gratefully sipped her tea. Placing the cup back in its saucer, she took a deep breath and commenced her story.

“Mr. Sechrest and I were married twelve years ago. He is the foreman of the Leighton Mining Company here in the city. Actually, he is much more than that. Mr. Leighton is getting on in years and has no sons to run the company after he’s gone. Although he hasn’t actually promised to leave the business to my husband, for the past seven years Luther has taken over the day-to-day operation of the plant.”

Her face clouded. “My father favored our marriage. My mother did not. She felt I was marrying below my station, which was probably true, but my family had fallen upon hard times and Papa could offer little dowry. And he has two younger daughters to settle in marriage. It seemed a godsend when Luther promised to provide my family with a monthly allowance. And to give him his due, he has kept his promise, at least the one he made to my father. As for me—” She shuddered. “My husband began to change soon after we were married. He was no longer the man I had come to know and respect.”

I waited while my guest once again regained control of her emotions. Unfortunately, the story she related was far from uncommon; tragically, it was Annjenett Hanaford’s tale, as well. Mr. Hanaford, like Mr. Sechrest, had appeared to possess a genial nature
before marriage. It was not until the union had been consummated that he began to show his true colors.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Woolson.” Alexandra dabbed at her damp eyes, then managed another weak smile. “I’m truly embarrassed. I don’t seem to be handling this very well.”

“To the contrary, you’re doing just fine. Matters of this nature are always distressful, especially when there are children involved.” I reached for a pad and pencil and sought to established the facts concerning the divorce. “You say your husband physically abused you. Did anyone witness this abuse? Say your personal maid, or other servants?”

She shook her head. “I was always careful to hide it from the household staff. My lady’s maid probably saw some of the bruises, but she never remarked on them. Then there’s my sister Emily. Last year, she paid a surprise visit, and was actually shown in by the maid no more than a minute or two after Luther had struck me across the face. She must have seen the mark of his hand, yet she has never questioned me about his behavior.”

I was not surprised. Convention dictated that what went on between a husband and wife in the privacy of their own home was no one else’s concern. The law went to great lengths to ensure that a man’s home remained his castle. Unfortunately, spousal abuse was all too often met with a blind eye—by servants, by families, and, regrettably, by the law.

“If it becomes necessary, do you think your sister or your maid would testify in court on your behalf?”

She blanched. “Surely it won’t come to that.”

“I appreciate your distress, Mrs. Sechrest, but in divorce actions such as this, a court appearance is almost a certainty. Your case will be best served if we are prepared for any eventuality.”

Alexandra’s face remained pale, but she could hardly find fault with this sensible precaution. “Yes, undoubtedly you are right, Miss Woolson. It’s just that I did not anticipate airing our private problems in public.”

“Of course not. No one does. However, allowing Mr. Sechrest to continue this destructive behavior might well result in serious injury.” I watched her reaction to this statement, trying to gauge the extent of her commitment to the action she proposed. If she went ahead with the divorce, the process would be anything but smooth. If I was to act as her attorney, it was my duty to warn her of what lay ahead.

That she had taken my words to heart was obvious by the frown lines on her smooth forehead, and by the way her bosom rose and fell beneath her dark blue bodice. For the first time since she had entered my office, I sensed that Alexandra Sechrest was questioning her decision to dissolve her marriage.

“I appreciate your honesty, Miss Woolson,” she said at length. “I confess I feel very naïve. The divorce procedure sounds perfectly dreadful.” She paused, then stared directly into my eyes. “Despite the possible consequences, however, I am determined to see the matter through, not so much for my sake, but for my sons’. I would never forgive myself if their father mistreated them in any way. Nor could I bear it if they grew up imitating his wretched behavior.”

“If that is your final decision, Mrs. Sechrest, I suggest we meet here again next week and draw up a plan of action. We will need to discuss gaining custody of your sons, as well as formulating a strategy in the event your husband contests your petition of divorce.”

Despite her newfound bravery, my client’s shoulders drooped perceptibly. “I am certain Luther will contest my request for a divorce, Miss Woolson. Not because he loves me, but because he is fiercely protective of his possessions. And that is all I have meant to him for many years now. You were right when you said we must be prepared for any eventuality.”

She heaved a sigh of what I took to be resignation. “I fear we must brace ourselves for a bitter battle.”