Noticing the difficulty she was in, he turned back and adroitly shepherded her through the crowd and around the corner, saying, “Are you all right, Mrs. Fuller? Are you sure you don’t want me to hail you a hansom cab?”
“Mr. Dawson, I am quite all right,” Annie replied. “As I said before, there really is no need for you to accompany me. However, it would be nice if you could try not to turn it into a foot race and let me pause for a second to catch my breath."
She turned away to look back at the Bay, which could be seen over the dockside buildings at the end of Market Street. Market was even busier than Sansome had been; in addition to the pedestrian traffic, several heavily laden wagons lumbered up from the docks, and numerous carriages swept by smartly. Yet there was a stillness and sense of peace to the afternoon. Dark-blue water flashed diamonds through the light fog that was accumulating, and a light breeze fluttered the feathers in her hat and lifted small scraps of paper into a miniature whirlwind.
"Oh. I apologize, Mrs. Fuller,” Nate said. “I get irritated when my uncle feels the need to treat me like some inexperienced clerk. The disadvantage of working for someone who once dandled you on his knee. I fear that I was taking my ill humor out on you, and I am sorry. We can certainly walk as slowly as you wish.” Then taking the list Annie had given him out of his jacket pocket, Nate continued, “I wonder if you would mind if I showed this list to Mr. Voss’s son, Jeremy, and perhaps to Malcolm Samuels, his business partner? They might be able to help me track down the investments." This statement was followed by the first smile Annie had seen on his face all afternoon.
Heartened by both the apology and the smile, she replied quickly. "Of course not, although from what Mr. Voss said about his son's lack of interest in business, I would be amazed if he had confided in Jeremy. Did anyone in the family have any idea where his assets had gone?"
"No.” Nate shook his head. “In fact, they were all rather stunned when my uncle explained the financial situation to them earlier today. Of course, there is the furniture business and the house. But with the economy still so sluggish they can't depend on the company generating significant amounts of income for some time. Certainly there won't be enough to permit Jeremy to set up a separate household upon marriage; and, since the house they are living in now is relatively new, there is still a substantial mortgage to account for there."
Annie remembered the panic she had felt when she'd confronted similar financial difficulties in the months before her husband’s suicide. The suffocating shame when she had had to dismiss Susan, her young servant, because she could no longer afford to pay her. No matter how she contrived, she hadn’t been able to make the small monthly sum that John gave her cover the necessary household expenses. She wasn't sure who had been more upset that morning, the financially straightened wife trying to maintain her dignity, or the young maid facing unemployment.
A bleak thought intruded. The debt she owed Driscoll threatened to return Annie to that time of financial insecurity. Pushing back the small whispers of panic this idea produced, she consoled herself with the reflection that at least she had learned to deal with adversity. For the Voss family, it would be new and all the more distressing.
Annie turned to Nate and said, "Oh, they must be upset. To have lost Mr. Voss and then to discover the precariousness of their economic situation. With no forewarning that anything was wrong."
"Yes, they really seemed taken aback. Mrs. Voss stated quite positively that her husband would never have left them with any financial worries, and his son, Jeremy, insisted the money must be somewhere. He got very agitated and practically shouted at Uncle Frank, calling him a liar. Said he knew for a fact that his father was doing well financially."
"Oh, don't you see? I am sure he is right. That is exactly what I have been telling you!" cried Annie.
"Yes, but where is the proof? Maybe Mr. Voss lost more than he gained from his investments and didn't tell you. Maybe he was a secret gambler. There are lots of ways that a man can go through money quickly."
Oh, yes, a million ways, Annie thought to herself, and poor John had found every single one. Out loud she replied, "His family would have known, had some hint...."
Nate broke in, "Not necessarily. In my experience, the family is the last to know. He would have kept any knowledge from his wife and son, out of pride. But just think; if he knew that he had lost everything, wouldn't that explain his decision to kill himself, so he wouldn't have to face the humiliation? I mean, what man would…."
Nate stopped speaking and Annie glanced curiously at him. He seemed flustered. It dawned on her that his uncle had probably told him of the rumor that her husband had killed himself after losing her fortune through reverses on the New York Stock Exchange. She knew that look, usually seen on the faces of men. They seemed to feel ashamed that one of their own had failed so miserably in upholding his duty to protect and to provide. Annie decided to ignore his apparent discomfort and simply responded to his last statement.
"Your argument isn't logical. Apart from the fact that I just don’t believe it was in Mr. Voss’s character to commit suicide, there wasn't any need. It wasn't as if he was completely insolvent. He had a company that was doing well. His partner confirmed that, didn't he? And he had an extremely valuable piece of residential property. They could have always sold the house, moved to smaller quarters, retrenched. I am sure that he could have gotten loans to tide him over. Suicide based on financial grounds just doesn't make sense. Not for someone like Matthew Voss."
Annie stopped, noting Nate’s frown. She sighed. She knew she was being too argumentative and that men found this unbecoming. Mr. Dawson had seemed less concerned than most about issues of female conversational propriety, but perhaps she had gone too far.
Surprisingly, he also sighed and then said, "All right, I will admit that what you are saying makes sense. But if we are to convince the police that Matthew Voss didn't kill himself because of financial difficulties, we need proof. Malcolm Samuels did say that the business was on sound footing, but he also said that keeping the company afloat the last few years had depleted both of their savings. And he didn't know of any new investments on Matthew's part."
Elated at his concession, she said with more confidence, "So that simply means that Mr. Voss didn't confide in his partner. What about his son? Didn't you say he had proof?"
"Well, that's interesting," said Nate. "Now that I think of it, he never did go on to tell us why he was so sure that his father was well-off. Let's see. He was shouting at Uncle Frank, and his mother rose to try and calm him down. Then she felt ill and asked him to fetch her some water. That's it. By the time he came back, Mrs. Voss had decided that she wanted to leave, and off they went. So he never did finish what he wanted to say."
"Well, you really must talk to him,” she replied. “Perhaps when you show him the list of assets I gave you, he will be able to shed some light. And what of Mr. Voss’s sister? What did she think about it all?"
Nate put the list away, and they turned and resumed walking. "She didn't say a word the whole time. Just sat and glowered at us all."
Annie frowned, thinking back to Miss Nancy's expression at the funeral and what Beatrice's nephew had said. Musing out loud she said, "I think she knows something. Patrick said she insisted that her brother had been murdered."
“Where did you hear that? Who is this Patrick?" said Nate.
She tossed her head and laughed. "Don't sound so suspicious. Patrick is my housekeeper's nephew, and he just happened to be the patrolman on duty the morning Mr. Voss’s body was discovered. I assure you that I have no first-hand knowledge on the subject. Or, Mr. Dawson, do you still think Sibyl was directly involved in Mr. Voss’s death?"
Nate turned toward her and said, "Mrs. Fuller, I am harboring no suspicions about you whatsoever. However, since you persist in making a mystery of Mr. Voss’s death, let me repeat what I said last night. According to the police surgeon, after writing the suicide note, Voss drank a glass o
f whiskey laced with the poisonous substance called cyanide. He then evidently convulsed, falling forward, cutting his temple against the edge of a sharp object on his desk. This cut bled freely for a short while. Perhaps this was what caused Miss Voss to conclude that her brother had been killed by someone."
"Oh," said Annie, feeling rather deflated. Then another idea occurred to her, and she suggested, "Couldn't it have happened the other way around? Couldn't someone have knocked Mr. Voss unconscious, poured the poison down his throat, and then taken any money or assets he had in the house?"
"You are just grasping at straws." Nate shook his head vigorously. "Supposing it was even possible to pour poison down an unconscious person's throat. Who would have done it? A burglar who just happened to have the cyanide with him? Anyway, the police are convinced it was impossible for an intruder to enter the house. Uncle Frank insisted that they look into this thoroughly. When Mr. Voss was discovered Sunday morning, all the windows and both the front and back doors were locked. There are only four keys to the house. One was on Mr. Voss’s person, one was in his son’s possession, one hangs beside the back door and the fourth hangs by the front door. It was that key that Mrs. Voss used to open the front door to let her sister-in-law out to call for help."
"But why are you assuming that it had to be an intruder?" she asked. "There were people in the house at the time of his death weren't there?"
"Just stop it!" Nate said. "That is an unconscionable suggestion. There were four people in the house that night, besides Voss. His wife, his sister, his son, and a perfectly respectable maid. Good heavens, you don't think any of them were capable of murdering Matthew Voss? What earthly reason would any of them have for doing so?"
Annie stood still, shocked by his vehemence. As she began to speak, she struggled to control her voice, saying, "There are all kinds of reasons to wish someone dead. Love. Hatred. Fear. Revenge. Even incredible weariness. How can you presume to know what any of those people were incapable or capable of doing? You barely know them."
"But neither do you," said Nate, quietly.
Annie paused. Then, thinking out loud, she replied. "No, you are right. But from everything you have just said, it seems clear that the answer to Matthew Voss’s death lies somewhere within that household. So, we must get to know the members of that household better if we are to solve the mystery of his death. We owe it to him to do so."
With that statement, she briskly resumed walking. Across the street from them rose the mammoth Palace Hotel, and its rows of bay windows glowed golden in the afternoon sun. "Ralston's Folly," Beatrice always called it. It was, in its way, magnificent, but people said it had bankrupted Ralston and driven him to suicide four years earlier. Because of this too painful reminder of her own husband's death, she had so far avoided even entering the carved archway that led to its central court. Looking up at the building's symmetrical facade, Annie found herself fervently hoping that she could prove that Matthew Voss had not died in a similar fashion, crushed by fortune's fickleness. Nate caught up with her, and they continued walking side by side in silence.
"Mrs. Fuller, why did you decide to become a clairvoyant? Do you really believe in spiritualism?"
Annie, who had been lost in her own thoughts, was startled. She took the opportunity to pause, grateful for the chance to rest again and let the air cool her heated brow. Although Market was not one of the city's steeper hills, her dress made walking difficult. She had chosen to wear one of the outfits that had been remade recently by the Misses Moffet, her seamstress boarders. The tightly fitted skirt may have looked very fashionable, but it was extremely confining. She realized now that she had wanted a chance to show Mr. Dawson that she didn’t always dress like some actress from a variety show. As if he would even notice what I am wearing? And why should I care? Nate's question had interrupted this thought, and the unexpected nature of the question about clairvoyance so surprised her that she answered him honestly, without thinking.
"I don't disbelieve in it. I suspect that ninety-nine percent of it--the table rapping, ghostly manifestations, voices from the great beyond--is completely fraudulent. But that doesn't mean I discount the possibility of there being spirits or ghosts, or that there might be some people who are able to communicate with them. It has always seemed to me pretty arrogant to assume there are no mysteries in the universe that cannot be explained away. However, what I actually do is cast people’s horoscopes or read their palms."
“You really use that astrology rigmarole to advise people on their business ventures?” Nate said. “And men like Matthew Voss and Herman Stein take it seriously?"
She laughed, "Well, to be honest, Mr. Stein doesn't take the astrology or palmistry seriously, and I suspect Mr. Voss didn't either. I don't, of course, but most of my clients do. I use the palmistry and star charts as a way of getting to know the people who are asking my advice. You can tell a lot about a person through touching their hands; for example, their state of health, how nervous they are, how much physical activity they engage in. The discussion that precedes the casting of a person's horoscope, plus the person's reaction to the predictions, tells me a great deal. From that knowledge, I can do a better job of giving them advice, whether it is over a personal matter or a financial one."
"But if you don't believe in these things, why do you do it at all?” said Nate. “Dressing up that way. It seems so demeaning. Why not just ask people what you want to know, and then give the advice? If you are half as good as your father supposedly was, wouldn’t people be knocking down your doors, without all the fakery?"
"Because, Mr. Dawson, people, men in particular, would rather trust their lives to the stars than to the advice of a woman.
She knew she sounded harsh, but he had probed an unhealed wound. "Don't you think I tried a different way? When I came to San Francisco, I wrote to several brokers on Montgomery Street, men who knew my father, asking for any sort of position. I would have been glad to start out as a clerk, work for free, anything to prove myself. Do you really think that one of them would take me seriously? Would you have?"
Annie saw Nate wince at the anger in her voice. But if he were honest he would admit she was right. She went on, as Nate stood staring at his feet. "I thought not. Well, finally I met Mr. Stein. He was one of my uncle's oldest friends and he also knew my father. First he and his wife moved into my boarding house, which of course was of great help. Then, when it became obvious that I needed some additional source of income, he supported my decision to set up as a clairvoyant. There are already several mediums in town who specialize in business predictions, so he knew a market existed."
Nate shook his head slowly from side to side, wide-eyed, looking for an instant quite like his uncle. "I still can’t understand why you would agree to take up such a strange occupation!"
They again moved forward, crossing over to O'Farrell to walk up towards Annie's home. As they reached the sidewalk Annie replied, "You see, I had done something similar before in New York. After my husband died, I was dependent on his family for support, passed round from branch to branch until I finally found a more permanent place with one of my husband's aunts. She is a kind person, but much addicted to spiritualism. So, to please her I began to conduct séances for her and her friends at home. It seemed preferable to letting her get into the clutches of some of the unscrupulous mediums in the city. She developed a great faith in my nonexistent powers and appeared to have a wonderful time. I, in turn, found I had a talent at giving all sorts of advice, and that people would take that advice more readily if I pretended it came from some supernatural source."
"But why the odd get-up? I mean, do all clairvoyants look that way?"
"No," she replied, "but I found that if I looked slightly exotic it seemed to reassure people, kept them from thinking about who I really was. Anyway, I think that from the time I was a child I have always enjoyed dressing up and playing a part."
Annie slowed her steps. Playing a part, she mused. Perhaps that was the
answer to the problem of getting to know the people in Matthew's family better. Annie turned to Nate and said, "Mr. Dawson, you said that there was only one servant in the Voss household the night he died. How could that be? They must have more servants than that?"
His confusion at the shift in topic showing plainly in his voice, Nate said, "Yes, of course they do. I believe the servant who was in the house the night that Mr. Voss died was Mrs. Voss’s personal lady’s maid. There is also an old Chinese male servant, Wong, who doesn't live in, and a young parlor maid, Nellie, who was also away, since it was her night out. Evidently this Nellie has already given notice and left the house, as if Mrs. Voss didn't have enough to deal with. But what does that have to do with anything?"
Annie didn't answer at once, having just noticed that they had reached her doorstep. She looked up at the house with affection. Although it didn't sport the intricate woodwork of the new houses past Van Ness, its tall, plain, but stately facade pleased her; and she was proud of the way the glossy black paint smartened up the trim framing the front windows and the front door. Red splashes from the geraniums in the boxes in the first floor windows nicely relieved the overall somberness of the house. A fierce determination swept though her. She would find out who killed Matthew Voss, she would track down his missing assets, including her own inheritance, and she would use that inheritance to stymie Mr. Driscoll's designs on her home. And she knew just how she would accomplish her goals.
Turning swiftly to Nate, she extended her hand, saying, "Thank you so much for accompanying me. Our conversation has been quite enlightening. I do hope that you will let me know if you discover anything of importance in your inquiries. As for your question about what the Voss household servants have to do with anything. Well, I was just thinking, maybe I can do something to help out Mrs. Voss. You know, don't you, that good servants are so hard to find."
Maids of Misfortune: A Victorian San Francisco Mystery Page 6
