Maids of Misfortune (6 page)

"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 through 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."

Chapter Eight:
Wednesday, early afternoon, August 6, 1879

Damn that Annie Fuller! Yesterday afternoon, she left him standing like a fool in the middle of the sidewalk, without the foggiest idea what she was talking about. Today, he felt an even bigger fool, this time standing in the middle of Mrs. Voss's parlor, wondering what in the world he would say to her when she came into the room. And it was all Mrs. Fuller's fault. She had argued so forcefully that a mystery surrounded the death of Matthew Voss that he'd decided to visit Jeremy today to ask some questions. What he hadn't planned on was Jeremy's absence and an invitation to tea from Amelia Voss.

Nate strode over to a chair across from the fireplace and sat down, then immediately stood up again; his frustration made sitting impossible. He knocked his ankle painfully against a footstool he'd overlooked in the dim light. Thick curtains eliminated any hint of the sunshine that sparkled outside, and the two oil lamps failed to dispel the general gloom. Dusty surfaces, musty vases of flowers that were past their prime, and a plethora of black crape that covered every available piece of furniture. God, how he hated formal mourning rituals.

He and his uncle had been in this room earlier in the week, and nothing seemed to have changed, except the accumulation of dust and the decay of the flowers. This time, Nate had sent a note making an appointment to see Jeremy Voss. He wanted to show him Mrs. Fuller's list of investments and ask him why he was so certain his father faced no financial difficulties. However, when he arrived at the house, the manservant informed him that Jeremy had just left and then extended the tea invitation from his mistress. Nate never expected to see Mrs. Voss on this visit; he assumed she would be in seclusion the day after the funeral. It seemed ungracious to decline her invitation, but he wasn’t happy about it. Being in charge of probate meant that he often had to meet with the newly bereaved, and he hated this part of the job.

Nate thought of his own mother, weeping inconsolably when the letter came telling them about Charlie’s death at Chickamauga. When his brother Frank had fallen at Shiloh the year before, she had just gone quiet. But somehow the death of Charlie, her firstborn, had been different. Nate had been only fourteen and felt helpless in the face of his mother's grief. The only thing he could think to do was sneak off to join up––get the bastard johnny rebs who had killed his brothers. His father had found him the first night, twenty miles from home and sleeping in a hay barn. He had never seen his mother that angry. Her fury had raged unceasingly until his father sold the farm and successfully resettled the family across the continent on a ranch outside of San Francisco. His younger brother, Billy, only ten at the time, had thought that life on the trail was one grand adventure. His sister Laura was just a baby. But Nate knew that somehow a woman’s grief had changed their destiny.

"Mr. Dawson, how kind of you to visit. I am afraid that I was not at my best when you came last." This soft speech provided the first indication that Mrs. Voss had entered the room.

Startled, Nate whipped around, almost tripping over the treacherous footstool, and stammered, "Oh, Mrs. Voss. Of course. My pleasure. I apologize for disturbing you. Hadn't meant...expected your son, Jeremy. There seems to have been some mix-up."

Mrs. Voss glided across the room, shaking her head slightly in protest, and she gracefully gave him her hand, saying, "Please, Mr. Dawson. So kind. It is I who must apologize for my son. That is one of the reasons I asked to see you. But where ever are my manners? May I pour you some tea?"

Nate then noticed that while they were speaking, the servant, Wong, had been setting up the tea tray. At a nod from his mistress, he bowed and left them alone. Mrs. Voss sat down next to the tea tray, indicating that Nate should sit down across from her, and she began to pour out the tea. He took the opportunity to examine his hostess more closely.

She wore deep mourning, from the black ruffled cap atop her head to the black lace-edged handkerchief she clutched in her left hand. The black accentuated her paleness. Like the fine bone china of the teacup she held, her skin appeared translucent and her elegant hands fragile enough to break at a touch. Those hands trembled slightly as she handed him a cup, and Nate felt an unexpected impulse to take them into his own to steady them.

Uncomfortable, he searched for something to say. But what could he say to someone whose husband just died and left her destitute? He couldn’t ask her about her husband’s finances; she had already indicated she didn’t know anything. It didn’t feel right to push for personal details about her family or servants, even to please Mrs. Fuller.

To his relief, Mrs. Voss didn't seem to have noticed his hesitation, since she had risen to pinch off an offending blossom on one of the bouquets scattered around the room. Shrugging perceptibly at the bedraggled state of the flowers under her fingers, she turned back to Nate and smiled.

"Mr. Dawson, I must apologize for the state of the house. Wong can only do so much, and I am afraid we are sadly missing Nellie, our former parlor maid. But these domestic trials were not why I asked you to tea."

Mrs. Voss hesitated and then moved restlessly to another vase and recommenced her pruning, while Nate mentally tried to calculate Mrs. Voss's age. She couldn't be more than her mid-forties, and, if he hadn't known she had a grown son, he would have sworn she was much younger.
Too young to be a widow
. Of course, Mrs. Fuller was even younger. An image of Annie Fuller flashed before him. She was offering him her hand, her warm brown eyes looking directly at his, her mouth flirting with a smile, her light brown curls capturing the sunlight with a hint of fire. Younger, yes, but she had a depth and experience that Mrs. Voss lacked. Looking over at Mrs. Voss, Nate doubted she had much experience beyond managing her house and arranging flowers. What should he say to her
?
His uncle always had a string of platitudes in situations like this.

Having naturally risen when Mrs. Voss had stood up, Nate placed his teacup on the table and tried again to make conversation. "Mrs. Voss, I wanted to say again how deeply sorry I, we, I mean my uncle and I are for your loss. And if there is anything in particular we could do, please let us know. I mean, anything…" Disconcerted by the warmth of the smile Mrs. Voss directed at him and the tears that filled her huge blue eyes, Nate's sentence petered out.

Limpid pools. He remembered eyes being described in that fashion once in a book, but he hadn't know what it meant until now.

Mrs. Voss dabbed at those overflowing pools with the black lace handkerchief and whispered, "Thank you so much, Mr. Dawson. You and your uncle have been most kind, but there is really little you can do, I am afraid." She then swept up the wilted flowers she had picked and stood looking helplessly around for someplace to dispose of them.

Relieved that Mrs. Voss had turned those eyes away from him, Nate searched for something helpful to say. "Mrs. Voss, I think that there is some hope your financial position may be better than we first supposed. I have been making inquiries this morning, and there are some indications of investments we didn't know anything about. I will be meeting again with your husband's banker later this afternoon. I hoped to speak with your son first to see if he could shed any light on the issue. He seemed so sure that Mr. Voss was doing well financially; we thought he might know something that would help."

Mrs. Voss simply dumped the flowers back on the table and came back to sit across from Nate, saying, "Oh, Mr. Dawson, I am sorry Jeremy isn't here. He just isn't himself since Matthew's... I mean, Jeremy has always been highly strung, but now… it really isn't that he wants to be uncooperative. But he feels everything so deeply. He has refused to talk to the police. I'm afraid they will think he is hiding something. I don't know what to do. Normally, we are so close. But he won't confide in me. I am so worried."

Noting that Mrs. Voss had dropped her handkerchief, Nate bent over and retrieved it for her before resuming his seat. "Now, there is no need to get so upset. Look, I'll tell you what. I'll leave this copy of a list of possible investments for Jeremy to glance over; ask him to get back to me. Then maybe I, or my uncle Frank, could have a talk with him. Find out what's bothering him. Give him a little advice."

Nate pulled the list out of his inside jacket pocket and handed it to Mrs. Voss, who frowned at the pieces of paper as if they were written in Sanskrit.

"Oh, that is very good of you. I'm afraid none of this makes any sense to me. I have been wondering and wondering how Matthew planned to pay Malcolm for his shares in the company if we have no money."

Nate exclaimed sharply, "Mrs. Voss! What ever gave you the idea that Matthew planned on buying his partner out? We have heard nothing of this from Samuels."

Mrs. Voss shook her head slightly and said, "No, I don't think Malcolm knows, and since Matthew's death I really haven't known whether or not to even mention it. I think Matthew planned it all for a surprise. He only told the family Saturday night at dinner. The last time we were all together."

At this point, she began to weep in earnest, and if Nate hadn't been so impatient to find out what Mrs. Voss was speaking about, he would have pulled the cord for her servant and fled. Instead, he leaned closer and said softly, "Please, Mrs. Voss, try to tell me about that dinner. I think it might be very important."

Mrs. Voss nodded and said, "Please forgive me, Mr. Dawson. Silly of me to cry so much. I will try to help." She then took a deep breath and began to speak in a quiet voice, staring in front of her as if she could see the scene she began to describe.

"Everyone was at dinner but Malcolm. Matthew, Jeremy, myself, my sister-in-law. Malcolm was supposed to dine with us but didn't. I remember having Nellie remove his place. Actually, it was unusual for us to have a guest on Saturdays, as it was the maid's night out. Usually, we do our entertaining on Friday nights. On Saturdays, I try to have our large meal at midday, so that Nellie can leave early. But Matthew had asked us all to be there. He seemed put out at first when he arrived home around five and found the telegram from Malcolm saying he couldn't come. But then his mood changed. All the way through dinner he was in such a playful mood, teasing us all as he had when Jeremy was just a boy, making us laugh, putting me to the blush."

Mrs. Voss stopped at this point, smiling softly. Before he could say anything, she continued with a sigh, "Then, when we'd concluded the main course and Nellie had served the dessert and left the room, Matthew took his spoon and tapped it on his wine glass for attention. Just like he would do if he were making a toast at a grand banquet. ‘What was the special occasion?’ I asked him. He said he had an announcement but that having all his family sitting down together under one roof was special occasion enough."

Mrs. Voss again paused and glanced at Nate. "You see, Jeremy hasn't been dining at home much. A young man, he has his friends, his club. It's only natural. But I don't think Matthew understood."

"But the announcement? What was it about?"

"Well. There were several parts to it, each really more unexpected than the last. I think he had been planning this surprise for some time. He did so like surprises. Every Christmas, he'd be just as he was that night at dinner. Gleeful, hugging his grand secrets to himself. He could be so generous, even extravagant. But he didn't always consider if the recipient would want what he gave them."

Mrs. Voss again faltered. Her memories now seemed darker. Giving her head a little shake, she sat straighter. "He had three announcements, really. First, that he had decided to buy Malcolm out. Said it was time for Malcolm to stop his traveling. Said the money he'd give Malcolm for his share of the company would let him start some local enterprise, settle down, and start a family. Then he said he planned to give Malcolm's share of the business to Jeremy. The company would be now Voss and Son. After running the business in partnership for six months, he intended on turning full control over to Jeremy as a wedding present. Finally, and perhaps the biggest surprise to me, Matthew announced that he would then close up the house so the two of us could go on an extended three-year tour of Europe. Something I have always wanted to do, ever since we married."

Mrs. Voss stopped and looked questioningly at Nate. "So you see. I can't understand how Matthew could have hoped to buy out Malcolm or turn the business over to Jeremy or take us on a tour of Europe if there was no money. It just doesn't make any sense, does it, Mr. Dawson? No sense at all."