Annie curtsied in response and turned to execute her orders. But in doing so she collided sharply with Jeremy Voss, who at that instant entered his mother's sitting room.
"Oh, I'm sorry, terribly clumsy of me," Jeremy apologized with a smile that quite transformed him from the brooding Byronic hero to a rather engaging schoolboy. "You must be the new girl. Won’t Cartier have her nose out of joint! She's used to being the only handsome servant in the house. The last girl, Nellie, wasn’t nearly as elegant as you. But don't you let Cartier get you down with that sharp tongue of hers. Its just jealousy!"
Mrs. Voss interrupted her son at this point, chiding, "Jeremy, do stop. You know I don't like you teasing Miss Cartier, and you are making poor Lizzie blush. Stop making mischief and let her get on with her duties."
Annie was indeed blushing, much to her irritation. Her husband had displayed just that sort of flirtatious charm, and she had grown to detest it. What was even more annoying, she had deliberately tried to look the part of a mousy domestic by wearing one of her most out-of-date and worn dresses and by pulling her hair severely back into an unadorned bun. The last thing she wanted was any unusual attention. Of course, judging by the smell of whiskey that emanated from Jeremy, he would have flirted with any female he ran into, and his mother was probably used to it. However, his jab at Cartier did bear further thought. Might the stylish lady’s maid have set her sights on the young master of the house? If so, how would she have reacted to his recently announced engagement?
As she left the room, she heard Jeremy say, "Mother, darling, you're out of bed. Are you feeling better? I'm sorry I've been out so much, I just couldn't stick it here with all the old vultures stopping by to make their insincere condolences."
Annie paused after the door was shut, hoping to be able to catch more of his words, but the door was too solid. Jeremy's voice was immediately reduced to an unintelligible murmur. She admonished herself for having shut the door completely. She must stop acting so well-mannered and get a bit more devious, otherwise she'd never learn anything at all.
A short while later, when she returned to the sitting room, it was clear that something had happened to disturb the room's three occupants. Jeremy leaned against the fireplace, with his back turned to both his mother and his aunt, kicking moodily at a small cinder that had popped out onto the hearth. His mother was stitching furiously at her embroidery, eyes down and her breathing uneven. His aunt still sat silently in the shadows, her face a rigid, unreadable mask. But the glint of firelight reflecting off her eyes revealed that she was shifting her glance rapidly between her nephew and her sister-in-law, as if trying to read their minds. The air in the room palpably vibrated with the after-effects of a heated exchange abruptly broken off by Annie's entrance.
As she slipped quietly back and forth from the hallway table, setting up the tea service, silence in the room grew ever more awkward. Finally, the social habits of Mrs. Voss reasserted themselves, and she rose and went to the tea table to start pouring.
Nodding graciously to Annie, Mrs. Voss said, "Thank you, Lizzie. I do hope that Wong was able to help you with the tea things. When you have finished here, could you please prepare my bedroom? I shall probably retire soon. I haven't been well, you know, since the terrible ordeal of the funeral, and I really am completely done in."
Then, clearing her throat nervously, Mrs. Voss turned to her son and sister-in-law and attempted to change the mood by introducing a neutral topic of conversation. Annie watched in fascination as this gambit met with disastrously little success.
"Well, Jeremy, I received the sweetest little note of condolence from Judith this morning," Mrs. Voss remarked. "I meant to show it to you, but you had gone out already. You can't imagine how pleased I am that you have the love and support of such a wonderful girl to help you through these times. I remember how much…."
Jeremy turned around and snapped, "Mother, don't be such a romantic. Do you honestly think that Judith will stand by me? I'm surprised she hasn't broken off the engagement already!"
"Oh, Jeremy," said Mrs. Voss, "why would you say such a thing? Judith adores you."
"Well, that’s hard to believe since I haven’t been permitted to see her since the funeral. Somehow, she is never at home when I call. And, I am quite certain that her mother will find someone else for her to adore quite easily, someone untainted by scandal who won't disgrace her proud Southern heritage," Jeremy replied.
His mother reached her hand out to him, and in a plaintive voice she said, "I am sure you have misjudged the situation. I can't understand why you are insisting that there will be scandal, anyway. Your father died of an unfortunate accident. Where is the dishonor in…."
Stepping back from her as if her touch might burn, Jeremy barked out, "Unfortunate accident! No, mother, you cannot continue this charade. Father committed suicide. Mr. Dawson told you what was said at the inquest. To go on pretending that it was all some sort of accident just makes all of us look ridiculous."
Annie, who had silently crossed over to Mrs. Voss's bedroom during this conversation, turned and paused just inside the doorway, hoping that no one would notice her. From this vantage point she watched Mrs. Voss begin to weep. When Jeremy noticed this he immediately turned contrite.
Going over and pulling up a chair next to hers, he said softly, "Oh, mother, don't cry. I'm sorry. I haven't gotten much sleep lately and I feel like my whole life has crashed down around my shoulders. I should never have taken it out on you. But don't you see, pretending only makes it worse. We've got to face up to the facts. It's no use otherwise."
"But Jeremy, I still don't understand how it could have happened. Your father was so happy at Saturday dinner with his grand plans. Buying Malcolm out, making you a partner in the firm as a wedding present, and taking me to Europe! Why would he promise to do all that and then kill himself? It just doesn’t make any sense, it must have been an accident.”
Mrs. Voss gently shook her head, blotting her wet cheeks with the handkerchief Jeremy had retrieved from its newest resting place on the floor. She continued, in a rallying voice, "In any event, you mustn't despair. You have your whole life ahead of you and you must not let your father's death or any of this interfere. If there has been a misunderstanding with Judith, talk to her and straighten it out. Your father would want that. I am sure she is just waiting to hear from you."
Jeremy sighed, "Mother, you haven't been listening. I can't go on as if nothing is changed. Somehow we must try to straighten out our financial affairs. Even if Judith still wanted me, I couldn't afford to get married now. There's not enough money. I know we have been all over this, but as much as you and Aunt Nan don't like the idea, I can't see any way around selling our shares in the company. It’s all my fault. If only I hadn't been so stubborn and selfish."
Mrs. Voss sat up straight at this and exclaimed, "No, my darling boy, don't ever let me hear you say that. None of this is your fault. Besides there must be money, how else could he have planned to pay Malcolm? I know the lawyers say there isn’t any, but your father…"
Jeremy's aunt stepped forward from the shadows. Annie almost gave herself away at this point by gasping; she had been so engrossed in the mother and son that she had forgotten Nancy Voss was even there.
The older woman rapped out in her rough way. "Jeremy, for once your mother is right. This tragedy is not your fault. And you should not have to bear the brunt of its consequences."
She then turned towards her sister-in-law and began to speak in a low, fervent voice. "Others are to blame, others who sucked your father dry, who took and took and never gave in return. It was by their hand that your father died. They are to blame, and they will suffer for it. I will see to that. As the good Lord said in Job, 'Look on everyone that is proud, and bring him low; and tread the wicked in their place.'”
Chapter Eleven
Very early Saturday morning, August 11, 1879
Annie found herself awake, her heart pounding. For some reason she was cu
rled-up in a tight ball under a thin unfamiliar blanket. When she tried to straighten out, her body seemed to be frozen into a kind of rigor mortis. It was dark, and the material beneath her cheek was rough and smelled of carbolic soap. Where was she? Then she remembered. She was lying in a narrow bed up in the attic in Matthew Voss’s house. She vaguely recalled climbing the long back stairs to her room around ten o’clock, after having tidied up the tea things. She must have just stripped down to her chemise and drawers, too tired to properly undress. This was a mistake, since clearly the attic got very cold at night, even in the summertime, and the blanket was certainly inadequate.
It was still dark, so maybe it wasn’t time to get up yet. Stifling a groan, Annie tried to wake her protesting limbs from their premature death, as she pulled her unresponsive body to the side of the bed. Barely enough moonlight came in from the narrow window under the eaves for her to make out the face of the traveling clock she had brought with her. She groaned more loudly when she saw it was only twelve-thirty. She had been asleep just long enough for every ache and pain of her over-worked muscles to flower into their full glory. Death didn’t seem like such a terrible alternative.
Annie slowly turned onto her back, pulled the blanket up, and tentatively stretched herself straight. Barring one excruciating moment when her right calf cramped, the new position was a definite improvement. Wishing to distract herself from her bodily complaints, she began to review what she had learned on her first day as a maidservant. She hadn’t been able to continue her conversation with Wong because, by the time she had finished getting Mrs. Voss ready for bed, he had already left the house. She could only hope he wasn’t planning on voicing his suspicions to Miss Nancy when he came back in the morning; it would be humiliating to be dismissed without having learned anything definitive. It had been his discreet knock at the sitting room door that had broken the appalled silence that had followed Nancy Voss’s extraordinary lapse into biblical prophecy. Wong had come to ask Jeremy to let him out of the house so he could return to his lodging in Chinatown.
Earlier in the day Miss Nancy had explained that Mr. Voss had insisted the house remain locked at all times. This meant that if any servant wanted in or out, someone would have to be present to unlock and re-lock the bolt. Evidently, decades before, Matthew had been robbed during the daytime and consequently had been quite fanatical about taking this precaution. This must be why the police dismissed the possibility of an intruder.
Annie had used Wong's interruption to cover her stealthy movement from the sitting room into Mrs. Voss’s bedroom. She hoped that everyone, if they bothered to think about her at all, would assume she had been there the whole time. Jeremy and Miss Nancy must have left the sitting room with Wong, for almost immediately Mrs. Voss followed Annie into the bedroom and wordlessly began preparing to retire. Unfortunately this had meant she hadn’t had time to search the bedroom for the missing assets.
Annie lay in the dark pondering the enigma of Mrs. Voss. She could swear she had seen a spark of intelligence in her beautiful eyes, and yet her conversation struck her as childish and naïve. Actually, much about the conversation she had over heard confused Annie. Why was Jeremy so adamant that his father's death was suicide? Could it be that he wanted to divert attention from the possibility that Matthew was murdered? But why would he then blame himself for his father’s death? And hadn’t Mr. Dawson said it was Jeremy who had insisted that Matthew was financially solvent? If so, what would the motive for suicide be? Then there was Miss Nancy’s extraordinary accusation. She couldn’t possibly mean that Mrs. Voss had killed her husband. Yet Mrs. Voss was afraid of something; her protests to Jeremy that everything would be just fine held a clear note of panic.
The one thing that had made sense to her was the idea that Matthew planned to buy out Samuels. This might explain what he had done with the assets he had been accumulating. In fact, she wished she could get word to Mr. Dawson about this, because it might be that Matthew had cashed in his assets in preparation for making an offer to his partner. But then where was the money?
Having thought of Nate Dawson, she experienced a twinge of uneasiness. It was possible that he might stop by the boarding house if he had any additional information about Matthew’s financial affairs, but she had left strict instructions with Kathleen and Beatrice not to divulge her whereabouts to anyone. The more disturbing thought was that he might discover her whereabouts himself if he called on the Voss household. He was such mystery; so gruff and humorless at the law office then quite personable on the walk home. She could just imagine what he would say about her decision to come to work as a maid. Unbidden she had a vision of him standing at the Voss’s front door, frowning down at her from his superior height, those fierce brown eyes boring into her own.
Feeling inexplicably warmer, Annie sat up, and hugged her knees. Thank goodness Miss Nancy had agreed to let her take Saturday night and all of Sunday off, despite the fact that she had just started work. Beatrice had made her promise that she would ask for this, saying that she would need the additional day to recuperate. At the time she had scoffed at Beatrice’s concern, but now the idea that she would be spending the next two nights in her own bed was heaven. Evidently the previous servant, Nellie, had gotten only Wednesday afternoons and Saturday nights off, but clearly Miss Nancy was so desperate to engage a new maid she hadn’t quibbled about this request.
Thinking about her night off led Annie to consider why the former servant, Nellie, had left her position so precipitously. Except for Jeremy’s brief mention of her looks, and a few disparaging comments by Cartier about her leaving without notice, there had been no mention of her or why she left. I wonder what she was like? Did she like working here? Was she lonely? Annie was afraid to ask Wong about her, because it might further his suspicions. Could it be Nellie was involved in Matthew’s death? Perhaps she had been bribed to let someone into the house before she left that evening-and was afraid she would be blamed for Matthew’s death? But then, how could this person have gotten out of the house without leaving one of the doors unlocked?
Cold again, she pulled the blanket around her shoulders, thinking how odd it was to be sitting on a narrow cot, under Matthew’s roof, seriously considering who might have killed him. Oh, if only I could talk to Matthew about what happened!
She swung her legs to the edge of the bed. This is useless, she thought angrily. Sitting here wishing I could talk to a dead man isn’t going to solve anything. I’m wide awake now so I should be spending the time searching for the missing assets rather than in idle speculation. At least if I get up and move around I will feel warmer!
Annie decided that she would change into her flannel nightgown and robe and slip quietly downstairs to Matthew’s study on the chance it was unlocked, since this seemed the logical place to start looking for the missing stocks and bonds. Miss Nancy had told her that she should use the water closet behind the stairs on the first floor for her personal use, so at least she would have some sort of an excuse for being on that floor if she ran into anyone. Kathleen’s comment about the “ruckus” that would result if Annie were found snooping rose unbidden in her mind. She paused for a second, her nightgown hanging from her cold fingers, then gave her head a shake. What is the worst that would happen? Miss Nancy might give me a terrible scold. Or, maybe I would be dismissed, which would be a shame. But that’s all! What else could possibly happen?
Chapter Twelve
Annie closed the heavy wooden door, very slowly, waiting for the soft snick of the latch. She then took a deep breath and turned around to get her first look at the room that was at the heart of Matthew’s domain. So far, her night-time foray had gone remarkably well, including finding Matthew’s study door unlocked. Once she had gotten past the creaky attic stairs undetected, her progress the rest of the way down three flights of stairs to the first floor had been eerily silent. The pale glow from the hallway gas jets had helped. Miss Nancy had told her these lights were to be kept on low all night. Annie
hadn’t been surprised to discover that Matthew’s house had been built to accommodate gas, but so far none of the gas fixtures in all of the rooms she had entered had been turned on. Instead the rooms continued to be lit by the old-fashioned oil lamps or candles. These were expensive alternatives to kerosene or gas, but Annie approved of the soft clear light they produced, and she was frankly glad that her own house didn’t have gas fittings. Her mother-in-law had installed gas throughout her New York City town house and Annie had never liked the harsh glare they created. But in this case, the gaslight that burned in the hallways had made it possible for her to make it to the first floor study without bumping into anything.
With the door closed behind her, the only light came from the candle she carried, and the room seemed small and cave-like. Annie thought she detected the faint smell of wood she always associated with Matthew, but there was an underlying whiff of something metallic she didn’t think she wanted to identify. She listened intently for a second, but the thick silence reminded her of how little noise passed through these wooden doors, and she began to feel a little safer.
Lifting the candle up in front of her, she turned slowly to let the light slide over each wall. First she saw floor-to-ceiling book cases that marched along the wall directly to her right, wrapped around the corner and continued along the street side of the room for about three feet. Next came the large bay windows that looked out to the street in front of the house. These were matched by another set of windows that overlooked the narrow passageway between the Voss household and the neighbors. Both sets of windows were curtained in some heavy dark material that kept out the slightest hint of moonlight. Moving a few steps into the room she saw that in the corner between the two sets of windows stood a drinks cabinet, an armchair, and a small table, with a lamp and a pile of papers on it. Continuing to turn to her left the candle light revealed more bookshelves and a desk that jutted out perpendicular to the long interior wall. Moving closer to the chair near the windows, the candlelight throwing her shadow up the curtains to her left, she began to notice some additional details. There was a silver platter on the drinks cabinet, but it was missing the decanter and glasses she would have expected to see. When she leaned closer, she saw that the newspaper on the table next to the armchair was dated Saturday, August 4, which made sense, since this was the day Matthew died; she also noticed that there were several rings where the printing was blurred as if a glass had been repeatedly placed on top of the papers. She could imagine Matthew sitting in his study sometime on Saturday evening, having a whiskey, perhaps thinking about the reactions to his announcements at dinner.
Maids of Misfortune: A Victorian San Francisco Mystery Page 9
