Maids of Misfortune (7 page)

Chapter Nine:
Friday evening, August 8, 1879

Annie thought she had never been quite so tired in all her life. She had started her job as a maid in the Voss household only that morning, but she felt as if she had been on her feet for days. As if on cue, her feet began to ache in an agonizing fashion. The desire to sit down on one of the heavily carved dining room chairs and rest her weary head on the soft linen tablecloth almost overpowered her. But she dared not.
Servants do not take such liberties
. No doubt Cartier, Mrs. Voss’s lady’s maid, would find out somehow and tell Miss Nancy.

Cartier, what a silly, affected name
, Annie thought.
I bet she wasn't born with it. She's probably a plain old Jones or something. I wonder what her first name is?
Of course, lowly parlor maids don't warrant the privilege of addressing upstairs maids like Miss Cartier by their first names.

This was just one of the many rules for proper servant behavior that Cartier had been pontificating about for the past twelve hours. “I sure would like to lay down a few rules for Miss Cartier,” Annie grumbled aloud as she angrily shoved the chair up against the table and tugged the cloth straight. Rule number one would be to treat a new fellow servant with a little kindness and concern, instead of trying to make life miserable for her.

Cartier was a very handsome woman in her mid-thirties. Apparently, she had been able to parley a brief job as an assistant nursemaid in London into a career as a highly paid "lady’s maid" back in the States. Annie knew that American women were often willing to pay high wages for a maid with European "polish." Cartier was quite tall, and she used her height effectively. She displayed much of her ample salary on her back, dressing so elegantly that Annie wouldn't have been surprised if a visitor mistook Cartier for the mistress of the house.

A searing pain snaked across her shoulders and down each arm to her fingers, banishing all thoughts of Cartier. Annie, in the process of lifting a pair of heavy silver candelabra from the table to the sideboard, came close to dropping these unquestionably expensive pieces before getting them safely to their allotted places.

"Would have fractured my toes," she muttered.
The blasted things feel like they are lined with lead. And they're ugly as well. Oh, for pity's sake, what am I doing? I'll never make it through tonight.

Throwing caution to the winds, she pulled out one of the chairs and sat down. This alleviated the ache in her feet somewhat but did little to ease the persistent pain in her shoulder. She hadn't known that ironing could be so difficult. It wasn't as if she'd never ironed before. But there seemed to have been mountains of wet sheets, pillowcases, towels, tablecloths, shirts, petticoats, and handkerchiefs. Thank goodness she hadn't had to wash everything first. She could swear that the irons had become heavier and heavier as she used them until they’d felt like massive blocks that she could barely lift from the stove. As she grew more tired, she had become increasingly clumsy, wrinkling sections that she had already ironed, having to do them all over again. She must have burned herself in a dozen places trying to determine whether the irons had heated or cooled sufficiently to be used.

Massaging the back of her neck, Annie thought,
What a wretched job! How in heaven's name does Kathleen do it every week for a house full of boarders? I really must get Beatrice to hire a laundress to help her. No wonder she was worried about how well I could play the part of a maidservant! But did I listen? No!

Tuesday afternoon, when she left an obviously bewildered Mr. Dawson at her doorstep, Annie had been supremely confident of the brilliance of her plan for solving the mystery of Mr. Voss’s death and her own financial problems. She would apply as a temporary housemaid at the Voss’s, to replace the departed Nellie. This would give her the chance to get to know everyone in the house, plus any frequent visitors. She could look for the missing assets, find out exactly what happened the night Matthew died, and determine who killed him.

Annie had not counted on the strong opposition she would encounter the next day from the three women––Kathleen, Beatrice, and Mrs. Stein—that she had assumed would help her carry out her plans.

First, Beatrice had told her she was "daft to think of such a thing!” And then Mrs. Stein, who was sitting in the rocking chair by the window, put down her knitting and added, "Annie, dear, I am afraid I must agree with Mrs. O'Rourke. I understand you are convinced there is some mystery to Matthew Voss’s death, and you think you would be able to uncover the truth if you could find a way into the household. What I don't understand is the urgency you seem to feel."

Beatrice had turned around, wiping her hands on a towel. "My point exactly, dearie. I know that for those that aren't familiar with their methods, the police can seem a might slow. But from what I hear, Detective Jackson, what’s in charge of this case, is a through and through professional. Not some do-nothing boss appointee. I warrant he'll get to the bottom of it, if you just give him time."

Annie had responded impatiently, “Well, even if the police can be convinced that Mr. Voss’s death wasn’t suicide, no matter how professional Detective Jackson is, you can't really expect him or his men to have the financial expertise or the time to track down stray investments or even recognize the significance of records referring to those investments if they did run across them. And that is why it is crucial that I be involved. I was the one who made the recommendations to Mr. Voss, so I would be the best one to try and track down those missing assets of his."

Kathleen had chimed in, and Annie couldn’t help smiling at the memory of how earnest she had looked as she made her argument. "But Ma'am, didn't you say Mr. Dawson was going to look into the missing stuff for you? A smart lawyer feller like him would know all about such things. And being the family's lawyer and all, he could ask questions without getting into trouble. And pardon me, Ma’am, but I can't help but think some parlor maid snooping around, looking into the master's desk drawers, would raise quite a ruckus. That is if you could pass yourself off as a parlor maid in the first place. Which would be a miracle, as I've said before. A fine lady like yourself!"

Then Kathleen had grinned at her, no doubt trying to take the sting out of her words. But, nevertheless, she had been sending a clear message; she thought Annie simply would not be able to carry off her plan to work as a servant.

Annie had finally prevailed but only later Wednesday evening after she had been forced to confess to the three women why getting into the Voss household was so urgent. It had been the perceptive Mrs. Stein who had winkled it out of her. Once again, the four of them had been in the kitchen, arguing about Annie’s plan as Beatrice and Kathleen cleaned up after dinner. Annie had come down as usual for a cup of tea after transforming out of her Sibyl persona for the day.

"Annie," Mrs. Stein's voice had been stern. "I think there is something you are not telling us. Is it the inheritance, dear? Is that why you are so anxious? I know it must be frustrating not knowing if you are going to ever get your legacy from Matthew Voss. But to rush into things won't help. Even if the stocks are found, from what Herman explained to me, it might take months before probate is completed and you would be able to call them your own."

"Yes, but Mrs. Stein, don't you see, once they are found, I could borrow on the expectation of receiving them…" She had stopped, aware she had revealed too much, but it was too late.

Dear Beatrice had reacted first. She had trotted across the kitchen and sat down next to Annie, grasping both her hands in her own. "Now, Annie, love. What is this all about? Why would you need to borrow money? What's gone wrong? I just knew that something more than that poor man's death was eating at you." Here Beatrice had looked over at Mrs. Stein with a significant nod. "Didn't I say that our Annie was worrying herself about something?"

Annie had gazed at the concerned faces surrounding her, basking in their affection, and then she had taken a deep breath and told them everything. She told them about her husband's debt and Mr. Driscoll's threatening letter and her hopes that the mining stock that Voss left her might help save the house.

And all three women had begun to talk at once.

"Well, I never, Ma'am! Can a man really do that, take the house right out from under a poor widow…"

"Saints preserve us! Just when were you planning on letting me know about this, young lady, or did you think..."

"Annie, you should have told us, I am sure Herman would have been able to…"

Annie had been torn between laughter and tears at her friends' indignation. She explained to Kathleen that creditors were often successful in attaching wives' estates to settle their husbands' debts, and she apologized to Beatrice for not telling her earlier, and she had pointed out that since Mr. Stein had left on a business trip that Wednesday morning and wouldn’t be back for a week that she really couldn’t wait for his advice. There had followed a good deal more discussion, but when all was said and done, she finally had the women on her side.

From that point on, events had moved swiftly. Early the next morning, Mrs. Stein sent a note to Mrs. Voss asking if she could use the services of a reliable housemaid. By midday, she had received a gracious note in return asking if the servant in question could start early that Friday morning. Annie then had sent Jamie with a notice to the
Chronicle
announcing that, as of Friday, Madam Sibyl would be out of town for a week. Annie certainly hoped this wouldn’t lose her too many clients, but the consequences were so much worse if she had to sell the house that she felt the temporary loss of income was necessary.

After dinner, Kathleen had gone through Annie’s clothes, picking out what would be suitable for a maid, and added one of her own starched aprons and caps to the suitcase that Annie was assembling. Kathleen also promised that she would try to track down the servant, Nellie, who had left her job right after Matthew’s death. She seemed to feel Nellie could tell them more than Annie would ever find out in a few days’ snooping. At this point, Annie couldn’t help but think she was right. The rest of the evening had been spent with Beatrice and Kathleen trying to tell her everything they thought she should know to pull off her masquerade.

Rubbing her sore right shoulder, Annie again thought how foolish she had been to dismiss their concerns. It turned out there was an enormous difference between managing a servant and being one. A muffled noise outside in the hallway brought Annie sharply back to the present, and she swiftly got to her feet. By the time the dining room door opened, she had stood up and was busily engaged in sweeping imaginary crumbs from the tablecloth. Her heart beating furiously, she turned and bobbed a short curtsey to the woman who had entered. She then covertly examined the older woman who was surveying the room. Up close, Miss Nancy Voss looked even more like a washed-out version of her brother Matthew. Somewhere in her late fifties, with a tall, spare frame and ramrod-straight back, Miss Voss had encased herself in an uncompromising mourning that eliminated any life or color that might ever have existed in the shades of grey that dominated her hair, skin, and eyes.

Miss Voss broke the silence with a voice that reminded Annie of flint. "That will do, girl. You can return to your duties in the kitchen now. You did all right tonight serving at dinner, a sight better than you did at ironing Master Jeremy's shirts this afternoon. Remember in the future that you mustn't let them get too dry, or the creases will never come out."

"Yes, Miss," responded Annie, who curtsied again and then left Nancy Voss staring into the dying embers in the room's large ornate fireplace. She longed to stay and talk to the older woman, but she had already discovered that in this household, except when acknowledging an order, servants were to be seen and not heard. So Annie did as she had been directed and made her way down the stairs to the kitchen.

"No gossiping with the other servants!" That was one of Cartier's rules, although Annie had noticed she had plenty to say, but it was all about Annie's duties as a servant. In contrast, the other servant in the household, the Chinese manservant Wong, had spoken not a word to her the whole time she'd been here, even when they had worked together getting dinner ready. She wasn't even sure he spoke English.

As for the Voss family itself, well! She hadn't gotten a glimpse of Matthew’s son, Jeremy, who appeared to have taken up permanent residence at his club. And Matthew's grieving widow, Amelia Voss, hadn't yet left her room; Cartier took all her meals to her. Except for a short visit from the dressmaker, who came to the house to do the final fitting for the new black mourning dresses that she had ordered, Mrs. Voss wasn't seeing anyone. This meant the only member of the family Annie had had any contact with had been Matthew’s sister, Miss Nancy. And she wasn't exactly chatty. This evening was particularly odd, as Annie served the older lady in the dining room in solitary splendor. Although she was glad to have that practice before being asked to serve the whole family at once, it meant she had so far learned precious little, except how tiring it was to run up and down the stairs from the basement kitchen to the dining room.

She had arrived at the house this morning at six o’clock and had been busy doing the ironing and helping Wong prepare and serve meals since then. As a result, Annie had found few opportunities for exploring. So far, she had access only to the kitchen, the dining room, and the front parlor, and none of these rooms had revealed anything of interest, except that Matthew’s family had dutifully draped every possible surface of the public rooms with black crape. Even more frustratingly, Miss Nancy had explicitly instructed her not to go into Matthew’s first-floor study, the room she most wanted to search for clues about the missing assets.