Maids of Misfortune (5 page)

Remembering the first days of her own bereavement, Annie looked over at Matthew's wife, Amelia, and wondered what she was feeling at this moment. Would she truly mourn his passing? Or would there be anger, a sense of betrayal, or even relief? Would she have resented the fact that he turned to another woman, Sibyl, to share his thoughts and ask for advice? Perhaps not. From what Matthew had said about his wife, it was possible that Amelia Voss had been relieved that he had turned elsewhere with his concerns.

"Such a sweet Angel," Matthew once said, "but completely at sea when it comes to worldly things. It was her Southern upbringing, you know. Yankee girls are taught to be more practical. Her mother made me promise when I asked for Amelia's hand in marriage that she would never ever have to worry her beautiful little head about money. And I have been able to keep that promise up till now and will continue to keep it, God willing."

Annie smiled at this memory, thinking of how fervent the old gentleman had looked as he made this vow. Then the sight of Matthew's wife placing her wreath on the coffin as it was lowered wiped away her smile. Matthew was dead now, and if his assets remained missing, Amelia Voss would have to begin to worry about money. His promise would have been broken. Oh, how he would have hated that!

Moving slowly down the slope with others to place her flowers and give her condolences, Annie tried to say her silent goodbyes. But she was too angry to feel at peace. As she looked up, she saw she wasn't the only mourner with anger in her heart. Standing across from her, slightly apart from the rest of the family, an older woman glared fiercely into the grave being rapidly covered with flowers. She bore a remarkable resemblance to Matthew, but a Matthew filled with fury and despair. Almost as tall as Matthew had been, the woman had the same thinning grey hair, tied in a severe knot and covered by an ancient black hat with a veil thrust back to reveal her features. The thin shoulders that had drooped on Matthew were rigidly straight on her, and her long thin arms and the black-gloved hands were held equally rigid and straight at her sides. Annie found herself speculating whether or not this woman had a small paunch similar to Matthew's hidden under her tightly laced corset. But it was her eyes, grey and piercing, that most reminded Annie of Matthew, and it was her bruised-looking, unblinking eyes that revealed a woman in anguish.

Who could she be
? For a moment, Annie simply stared. Then several fragments of conversations over the past two days came together, and she knew the answer. First, the newspaper article had mentioned that Matthew was survived by a sister. Then Kathleen talked about an "old lady" who had fetched Patrick off his beat, an "old lady" who had clamored that murder had been done. At the time, Annie had assumed that this referred to Matthew’s wife. Finally, Nate Dawson had said that a small percentage of the company shares would go to Matthew’s sister, who must be the woman standing there at graveside.

Yet how odd. Another person, like Judith Langdon, that Matthew had never mentioned. She could understand him not mentioning his son’s fiancée, but a sister! Maybe she didn’t normally live with them. Had she been visiting by chance? Annie turned and made her way to Mrs. Stein, who had moved up the hill after shaking hands with Amelia Voss.

"Oh, I do feel for the poor woman." Esther Stein sniffed into her handkerchief. "We have never really been that close. Amelia was always more part of the younger set, but I can't help but think how frightening it would be if Herman was gone."

Annie gave the kind-hearted woman a quick hug and said, "Now Mrs. Stein, your husband is not going anywhere––you are much too good to him. Besides, you have six children who would line up to take care of you. Your only problem would be that they might start fighting with each other over the privilege."

Mrs. Stein chuckled at this and replied, "Oh my Lord, what a thought. I just know they would plague me to death, giving me advice and help I didn't need. I'd better tell Herman he must promise to out-live me. I couldn't stand the aggravation!"

Annie then turned Mrs. Stein gently to the side and nodded at the woman who was still staring into the now flower covered grave. "Is that Mr. Voss's sister?"

"Of course it is, poor soul. That's Miss Nancy Voss. She will be bereft. She followed Matthew out west after their parents died and has kept house for Matthew ever since. Over twenty-five years and in all that time she's never been apart from him. I wonder what she'll do now?"

Annie was even more mystified. How could Matthew have lived most of his life with his sister and yet had never once mentioned her? And why did she look so angry?

Almost as if to answer her question, Miss Voss tore her eyes from the grave and turned her baleful look on a little tableau that had formed to her right. There was Mrs. Voss, leaning her head against her son's chest as if she were faint, with Jeremy tenderly murmuring in her ear. At the same time, Malcolm Samuels hovered over her, ineffectually trying to drape a shawl around her bowed shoulders, while Miss Langdon knelt at her feet, offering to Mrs. Voss the black lace handkerchief she had dropped. Looking back at Matthew's sister, Annie saw her raise her upper lip in a sneer, then turn swiftly and walk off, alone.

Chapter Seven:
Tuesday afternoon, August 5, 1879

Annie wove her way through the crowded sidewalk along Sansome, in the thick of the San Francisco business district, trying in vain to keep up with Nate Dawson, who was striding in front of her. He had insisted in accompanying her home from the law offices of Hobbes, Haranahan, and Dawson, where she had dutifully signed the necessary probate forms to ensure that Madam Sibyl would get her inheritance––if they ever found the missing mining stocks. But he had immediately set a pace that seemed intended to leave her behind. From the moment she had arrived at the scheduled meeting, she had been confused by Nate Dawson’s behavior. Certainly, their first meeting had been odd: a jumble of mistaken identities, sharp suspicions, and small kindnesses, resulting in a disconcerting sense of intimacy. At the end, she had thought they had parted on good terms. This afternoon, however, he had been treating her as if she were a complete, and very unwelcome, stranger.

By contrast, his uncle, Frank Hobbes, who she had dreaded meeting, turned out to be a charming man. The family resemblance to his nephew was strong, but age had greatly tamed Frank Hobbes. At one time, he must have been as tall and dark as his nephew, but middle age and too many years spent hunched over an office desk had reduced his stature, curved his back, paled his skin, and streaked his dark hair with white. He had the same high cheekbones and beak-like nose as his nephew, but the small pair of round tortoise-shell glasses that perched on this nose turned these hawk-like features into the face of a rather amiable owl.

Hobbes had completely disarmed Annie by first apologizing for the misunderstanding about Madam Sibyl and then telling her that he was interested in her assertion that Mr. Voss had recently been successful in his business investments. He said he had even directed his nephew to look into the list of assets that she had brought with her to substantiate that claim.

“Mrs. Fuller’s father, Edward Stewart, was one of the best brokers on the New York Stock Exchange in the fifties,” he said to Nate. “Made his fortune and then moved out to California and dabbled in mining stocks. He was a good friend to me when I started out as a lawyer, gave me excellent financial advice. If Mrs. Fuller is half as smart as her father was, you would do well to listen to her.”

Nate had not seemed at all pleased by his uncle’s remarks and had turned to the desk to shuffle various papers, completely ignoring her. In fact, the whole time she had been at the crowded and untidy law offices, he had barely said two words to her.
Irritating man.
This thought was interrupted when she was forced to slow down by the crowd of people waiting to cross Market Street. She saw that Nate was looking toward her over his shoulder.

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 straitened 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 of 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.