The year was 1910. The place, San Francisco, California. Specifically, a neighborhood of mansions in Pacific Heights where nouveau riche gentlemen enjoyed the fruits of new technology and the building boom in the West.
They lived with their families in the supreme assurance that they not only deserved the elegance and comfort that wealth brings, but were due the accompanying adulation and status.
Perhaps some were.
In the household of Jeremiah Ledyard, the staff--consisting of housekeeper, butler, two housemaids, a valet, his wife’s personal maid and a cook--knew first-hand that he was no “gentleman.” The status and public recognition that came with his newfound wealth brought to mind “making a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.”
The staff’s description was not nearly that mild.
To say that Mr. Ledyard was the master of his domain was to say the sun contributed to daylight. He ruled tyrannically.
Bailey had been butler in the household for some eight years, and had seen and heard, he was sure, everything there was to know about the Ledyard family. During his tenure, three more children joined the four which comprised the family when he joined the staff, and the mistress of the house had, for the most part, taken to her bed either to recuperate from child-bearing, or to avoid the possibility of having to bear more.
In the process of bringing the existing seven children into the family, she had lost three others, either before or during birth. She was not a happy woman.
Troubling Bailey at this point was not just the fact that his overbearing master was difficult to be around, and made life troublesome in the extreme for the entire household. Mr. Ledyard had recently been seen by the housemaids to be touching his daughters inappropriately. This activity was not news to Bailey; however, until now, Ledyard had been fairly discreet about it.
Having to question the housemaids as to exactly what they meant by “touching” had been embarrassing and had taken days to complete. He still was unsure what their oblique references actually meant, as males and females simply didn’t speak of those things with one another.
But Bailey had seen enough himself, and much worse than his housemaids revealed.
For example, Ledyard habitually wrapped his arms around his young daughters--and in normal circumstances this would be taken as a warm and fatherly hug. But this hug was from behind, and his hands regularly strayed where they shouldn’t, seeming to feel the lace and ruffling across the bodices of the girls’ dresses.
Because staff was generally thought to be deaf and blind, things considerably worse than this went on within sight and sound of the help that would curdle the blood of any discerning person. So Bailey was not surprised at the content of these reports; he was, however, humiliated that his staff had seen such abuses.
It shamed Bailey to think that it had taken the housemaids’ anguish and fear to goad him into putting himself at risk.
This at last found him sitting in the office of the assistant to the Police Chief. It had taken some days to get the appointment to talk with the busy man, and Bailey knew that Ledyard’s penchants were common among men of that generation and status (although certainly not limited to that group).
Bailey was relieved to be getting the words out without stammering in anxiety and embarrassment.
“What would you have us do, Mr. Bailey?” the assistant asked.
“Is there not some statute, some law, which prohibits such fondling?”
“Not in a man’s own home, among members of his own family. Now, were he to be taking liberties with his household staff, we might look into that. But proving anything of that nature, well….”
The assistant sat back, tented his fingers, and cleared his throat. Bailey took the hint. He thanked the man for his time and found his way back out to the street.
He paused at the door of the police station. Glancing around the neighborhood, he found himself down the street from the newspaper office.
Without giving it a second thought, he strode into the building, found the office of the editor, and walked straight in with only the shortest of raps on the door.
He surprised himself (and the editor) by leaning on the editor’s desk and without hesitation or stumbling, told his story.
The editor stared, his eyes wide. Bailey scarcely breathed.
“Sit down, Mr. Bailey. We need to talk.”
The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
Accept Jesus as Your Lord and Savior Right Now - CLICK HERE
JOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and Spread the Gospel.