Maids of Misfortune (11 page)

Chapter Fifteen

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Fuller," Kathleen said between light gasps, "no one's seen Nellie Flannigan, and with her red hair she should be pretty hard to miss. I've been thinking that if she just got another job she probably hasn't gotten the night off. Patrick found one person who thought he had seen her boyfriend, Jack. Supposed to be wearing a black and white checked suit and a red cravat. Fancies himself a bit, I says, to be wearing a get-up like that. But we haven't spotted him yet. We thought it might help to dance a bit, in case he was on the dance floor. But so far, no luck."

Patrick and Kathleen’s arrival broke the rather strained silence that had grown up between Nate and Annie, and she greeted them with relief. "That's all right, Kathleen. I don't have to leave for another hour or so. Keep looking. But go ahead and continue to dance. Might as well have some fun while you're at it."

Patrick wiped his forehead, made a small bow, and led Kathleen back onto the floor. They did look like they were enjoying themselves. Annie watched with some envy, wondering what she would say if Mr. Dawson asked her to dance. When she was much younger, she had loved dancing with her father, but her husband hadn't liked to dance. He had usually been found in a back room playing cards or smoking with his cronies at parties.

Nate, who had risen at Kathleen’s approach, still stood, and he stiffly asked her if she would like him to get her some punch.

"No, thank you, not yet, but feel free to get yourself some if you want."
Why am I so disappointed that he didn't ask me to dance?
Annie thought to herself.

Nate hesitated a moment then replied, "Well, maybe I will have some myself, but I think I'd like to stretch my legs a little first. Maybe walk around the room, see if I can catch sight of the sartorial splendor of Nellie's young man. Can't imagine there are too many men here tonight with red cravats."

Annie looked at him, perplexed by the self-conscious note to his voice. Then she noticed he had his hand in the breast pocket of his jacket, where most men kept their cigars, and the light dawned.

"Oh, that is certainly a good idea. And why don't you stop and have a smoke while you do so? I'll be fine here. Maybe I'll check out the punch table at that and have a chat with the good Sisters." 

Nate looked properly chagrined and said, "Are you sure you'll be all right? You could accompany me."

Annie laughed. "Now, Mr. Dawson, I know I am a disreputable woman, but even I would have some qualms about standing around with the gentlemen smoking a cigar."

When Nate stammered out that she had misunderstood him, Annie shushed him and sent him on his way, the interchange having restored her good humor.

For awhile, she was content to simply sit and watch the dancers, but then the lack of sleep the night before started to make itself felt, so she stood and moved over to the nearby punch table, hoping that some refreshments would revive her. Handing over the required nickel for a cup of what looked like pink lemonade, she was startled when she felt a tap on the shoulder and heard, "Excuse me, Miss. Would you care to dance?"

She swung around quickly, but her welcoming smile faded when she realized the masked man standing before her wasn't Nate. Although wearing the evening clothes of a gentleman, this man was of only medium build, fairly stocky, and his closely cut, slicked-back hair and neat mustache and beard were decidedly blond.

"Oh," Annie responded with surprise. "Why, thank you. But no, I've just gotten some punch, you see, and I'm not dancing."

Starting to go back to where Nate had left her, she found her way blocked by the man, who put out a hand to forestall her and said, "Now, honey. You don't mean to tell me you're going to make do with just that sour old nun's punch. I've got a bit of fun in my flask right here, and I'll be glad to sweeten up your drink. Then we can dance. Now come over here, and I'll fill you up."

The man showed her that he had a silver flask in his inside pocket; then he took Annie by the left arm and began to pull her behind him, towards a curtained alcove further along the wall in a darker part of the room.

Annie, confused, followed in his wake, protesting politely, "Please, sir, stop. I am afraid you have mistaken me for someone else. I don't believe I know you. And I do not want anything in my punch."

But instead of stopping and letting her arm go, the man laughed and said, "Sweetheart, of course you know me. I'm the answer to a maiden's prayers. Now stop pretending to be so shy. I know your type. Trying to play hard to get, aren't you? Well, don't bother. I always get what I want."

Annie found it difficult to take in the man's words as she focused her attention on the problem of keeping the punch from spilling on her borrowed dress. He was obviously inebriated. As she and the man stumbled forward, she muttered with increased irritation, "Be careful. What do you think you are doing?"

When they reached the alcove, Annie placed the punch down on a small nearby table and attempted once more to pull herself away, speaking even more sharply to make her displeasure understood. "Excuse me, sir. Let me go this instant. You forget yourself. I have asked you politely to leave me alone. I must now insist."

Annie felt no fear, just mounting vexation. She didn’t want to create a scene, but from experience with her husband, she knew how difficult it was to reason with someone who had imbibed too much alcohol. On the other hand, he couldn't really do anything in a crowded ballroom, just feet from a number of black-robed Sisters of Charity.

Then, abruptly, the situation changed. The man snaked his right arm around her waist and pulled her tightly up against his side, cramming his lips against hers. Paralyzed for a moment by the shock, Annie fought a rising tide of nausea that was quickly replaced by a white-hot stab of pure anger. She hissed,
“
I don’t have to put up with this,” as she shoved hard against the man’s chest. Surprised, the man staggered, and as he tried to regain his balance, she pulled away. Heading back towards the dance floor, she felt him move up behind her, so she jabbed him sharply in the stomach. He growled, "Bitch," and then seized her painfully by her upper left arm. Annie began to feel him pull her back when, miraculously, she was completely free. Someone had swept by her, grabbed the man by the shoulder, and then rammed him against the alcove wall with a thud.

Nate stood there, panting, his upper lip, which showed under the mask, pulled back in a silent snarl. He held the man by the throat with one hand while the other hand was clenched in a fist at his side.

Annie, frightened by the violence she saw in Nate's face, started to intervene when he ripped the mask from the man's face and stepped back, exclaiming, "Good God, Charles Rankin! What in the hell did you think you were doing?"

The man, rubbing his throat, snapped, "Seems that's what I should be asking you, Dawson. Interfering bastard. I saw her first. Get your own bit of skirt and keep your damned hands off me."

Annie didn't hear what Nate replied, because at this moment a woman materialized next to her, distracting her. The woman was large, dressed in garish purple satin, and the reddened hand she placed on Annie's arm advertised that her occupation required a good deal of hard work. But she was young, and her eyes were kind and concerned as she patted Annie's shoulder.

"Honey, are you all right? Did that sorry excuse for a man hurt you? I says they shouldn't let the top hat crowd into these affairs. Decent working girl ain't safe. My Burt will take care of him for you, if you want."

Annie noticed a silent, rosy-faced man standing shyly behind the kind young woman. He was probably a good inch shorter than his female companion, but Annie could see powerful muscles straining his well-worn coat.

She smiled shakily at both of them as she replied, "No, I'm quite fine now. Everything seems well in hand. But thank you so much for your concern." She then stepped forward and touched Nate on the shoulder. He was still muttering heatedly at her assailant.

Annie said softly, "Please, I don’t want to cause a scene. Could you take me to find Nellie? Leave him be."

Nate turned towards her and glanced rapidly up and down her body, as if to check for any overt damage. Then he stared intently into her face, his voice low and fierce. "Did he hurt you? You're safe now. I won't let him touch you."

He grasped her hand lightly, giving it a squeeze, and he delicately touched the corner of her mouth. Annie winced, realizing that her entire mouth felt bruised. Nate's eyes darkened, and she heard the sharp intake of his breath. She stood very close to him, and she fought an impulse to fold herself into his arms. Inhaling deeply, she was just about to repeat her request that they leave when Nate whipped around to confront the man Rankin, who was tugging at his shoulder. Nate continued holding on to Annie's hand, and she instinctively moved up behind him where she felt sheltered.

Rankin stood unsteadily, his cheeks spotted with red, his voice belligerent. "I told you, Dawson, she's mine. Best looker in the place. Get your hands off of her."

Nate replied with icy calmness, "Charles, I'm only going to tell you one more time. Leave the lady alone. She is with me. You're drunk, and that's the only reason I won't haul you in front of the authorities for assault. But don't press your luck."

Hearing the menace in Nate's voice, Rankin stepped back, and two men appeared at his side and grasped him by the arms. One of them was the shy friend of Annie's purple-gowned defender; the other was a similarly muscled young man sporting the largest mustache Annie had ever seen.

Rankin laughed uneasily. "For God's sake, no need to call out the vigilantes. My mistake. Didn't know the girl was already claimed. Why Nate Dawson, you sly old dog. Never thought trolling among the low-class potato eaters was to your taste."

Annie felt Nate stiffen. Still afraid the two men might fight, she stepped closer and whispered urgently, "Please, let’s go. He will never know who I am. So who cares what he thinks. Just let it be."

Nate turned and looked down at her again, a bit blankly. Then he took a deep breath. Taking her by the arm, he led her away towards the main dance floor. The last glimpse she had of her attacker showed him being hustled out the door of the ballroom by the two young men. Then, without a word, Nate swept her up into a lively waltz, and for some time Annie was so completely focused on minding her feet that everything else was temporarily forgotten.

Chapter Sixteen

Annie realized Nate's decision to pull her onto the dance floor was a very sensible move on his part. The vast anonymous throng of dancers provided a sort of instant protective covering for them. The whole incident had taken only a minute or two, but, even so, a small crowd had begun to assemble in response to the altercation. By the time the dance brought them back to that part of the room, the small knot of onlookers had dissolved.

His decision to dance also gave her time to regain her composure. Nate turned out to be a surprisingly graceful dancer, communicating the silent instructions required in dancing clearly but deftly. His technique was confident, and Annie's steps rapidly smoothed out under his direction. She discovered her shorter skirt provided distinct advantages. The dress was far easier to manage than the long evening gowns she'd always worn before. By the beginning of the next slow waltz, her feet had started to move with enough independence for her to think about what she would say.

She glanced up and saw that Nate was staring over her shoulder. The mask he still wore made it difficult for her to read his expression. He was probably angry with her. He hadn't thought it proper for her to come, and now events appeared to have proven him right. Yet he had been a gratifyingly effective rescuer. She had to express her appreciation.

Staring resolutely in front of her at the white pleats in his dress shirt, she cleared her throat, which was now quite dry, and said, "It seems insufficient to thank you. But I do. Thank you."

She went on quickly, hoping to forestall a lecture. "Don't say it was all my fault for coming here. I know that's what you are thinking. But I really don't see it. I can't imagine why that man felt he could treat me that way. I certainly didn't encourage him. He just grabbed me. Seemed to think he had the right. You seem to know him. Whatever would make him think that he could get away with assaulting a lady in a public place? He couldn't have been that inebriated."

Nate's grip on her hand tightened, and for the first time since they'd started dancing, he made a slight misstep. When he began to speak, his words were short and clipped, as if they hurt. "He's Charles Rankin. I went to law school with him. Father's a very prominent manufacturer. He wouldn't have assaulted a lady. Don't you see, he didn't think you were one. Because you were here. Dressed like…" And then Nate stopped, looking down at her.

Annie's steps now faltered as she digested his words, then she replied, "That's ridiculous. Are you seriously saying that because I am showing a little ankle that this gives a man the license to attack me? If this was a society ball, every woman in the place would be showing a good deal more of her skin than I am.”

Annie stopped speaking, for she had let her anger take her well past the point of appropriate speech for a woman. She became aware of Nate's hand firmly placed in the small of her back, holding her close to him. She considered for the first time that if Nate was looking down at her, he couldn't fail to see altogether more of her own skin than she was used to revealing. Acutely conscious of the intimacy of his touch, Annie looked up and saw that he was again staring over her shoulder, but his breathing was more uneven than the strenuousness of the waltz required.

Flustered, Annie remained silent, glancing at the couples around them, hoping desperately for a glimpse of Kathleen and Patrick and an excuse to stop dancing. She noted for the first time that there were now a good number of single men in evening dress scattered throughout the ballroom. Some danced, others lounged against the walls staring arrogantly at the couples who waltzed by. Kathleen’s earlier comment about young men of Nate’s “sort” showing up later was now clear.

Incensed, Annie forgot her embarrassment, and she spoke with elaborate sarcasm. "Oh, Mr. Dawson, how silly of me.
Now
I understand. It must be common practice for men like your friend to come here and pester women. What good sport. Let's see, what did he call it, 'trolling' for servant girls or something? What a shame I didn't understand it was just a
game
. I suppose I should apologize to him for not knowing the rules."

Nate jerked her to a standstill and unceremoniously pulled her to the side of the room, dexterously weaving in and out of the other couples on the floor to do so. When they were no longer in danger of being run down, he turned, dropped her hand, and began to speak in a gruff voice Annie hadn't heard him use before.

"Listen, Mrs. Fuller, you have every right to be angry. As soon as Miss Kathleen told me why you were here, dressed the way you were, I should have insisted that you return home. And having failed to do that, I should never have left you alone. It was my responsibility to protect you from any sort of harassment. I'm sorry. I failed."

Annie, rather unnerved by his apology, replied, "Nonsense, Mr. Dawson. First of all, it isn't your place to decide what I can and cannot do. It was my decision to come and therefore my responsibility. Not yours. And if anyone is to blame, it was that awful man, not you."

"But don't you see," he continued, "I knew what that sort of man was capable of. You didn't. It was foolish of you to dress beneath your station, but you would have no way of knowing it would put you in danger. You are right; it is common practice. I've frequently heard men brag about their conquests at local events. I never thought about what it would mean to the young women involved. I just figured the girls they spoke of were willing. It was wrong of me to assume an Irish servant girl doesn't deserve the same respect as a woman of my own class. Charles might just as easily have assaulted Miss Kathleen. That wouldn't have made it right."

Uncomfortable with Nate's obvious distress, Annie tried to insert a lighter tone, saying, "Now, Mr. Dawson, if that wretched man had tried anything with Kathleen, she would have given him what for. In fact, now that I think of it, even if you hadn't been so quick to rescue me, I had a number of potential protectors waiting in the wings. I wonder what those two very muscular young men did with your friend Charles? Perhaps he will wish that you had turned him over to the police. They might treat him more gently."

She was gratified to see the bleak look in Nate's eyes soften a bit. But he still sounded quite angry when he responded. "I hope they teach him a lesson he won't forget. He deserves horsewhipping."

It was a sentiment that Annie shared.

A short time later, Annie and Nate got their first glimpse of Jack O'Sullivan, Nellie's reputed beau, leaning nonchalantly against a wall. Quite a dandy, he had dark black curly hair, a handsome mustache, and smiling blue eyes. He also had one arm firmly wrapped around a dark-haired young colleen whose fresh pink cheeks and nervous giggle suggested that she was just off the boat. Definitely not, if Kathleen’s information was correct, the Voss’s former, red-haired maid, Nellie Flannigan.

"Ma'am, Patrick just found him. He says Nellie's not here. That's some silly girl he's picked up who thinks she's died and gone to heaven," Kathleen told Annie as they made their way to the couple. Patrick hovered nearby, clearly making sure their quarry didn't up and fly away once they'd found him. When Annie and Nate were in shouting distance, Patrick clapped a hand on Jack's shoulder and proclaimed with assumed heartiness, "Jackie my boy, here are the lady and gentleman who want a word about Nellie."

Jack straightened his red silk cravat and pushed his shoulders away from the wall. Then he ostentatiously turned away from Nate, who stood in front of him, and gave Annie a quick once over, a wide smile, and broad wink. "Well now, I'm always glad to speak to a beautiful lady, but I'm not so sure I can be of help. I ask myself, Jack my man, what reason does a fine gentleman like this have with the likes of my Nell? And I don't rightly like the answer."

Kathleen intervened. "Now, Mr. O'Sullivan, mind your manners. Mr. Dawson, here, is a lawyer who works for the Voss family that employed Nellie. He's just trying to find out what happened the night the old gentleman died, and we thought Nellie might help. I'm sure that he will be very appreciative of any assistance you might give him."

As she said this, Kathleen smiled encouragingly at Jack, then she turned away from him towards Nate and Annie and began to gesture frantically with her hands, clearly trying to convey some important message.

Nate stood looking bewildered, while Annie, quicker on the draw, moved forward, offering her hand to O'Sullivan and said, "Oh dear yes, Mr. O'Sullivan, we'd be ever so appreciative to you and Nellie both. Mr. Dawson is very generous, and although I'm sure an upstanding member of the community like yourself would be anxious to help track down the brute that murdered poor Mr. Voss, certainly a monetary reward of some sort would be appropriate."

Nate, catching on, pulled out a thin wallet from his evening jacket and partially extracted a few bank notes, saying, "Yes, Mr. O'Sullivan. I assure you my intentions towards Miss Flannigan are most honorable. I have heard that she might prove a very valuable source of information, and I would so like to make an arrangement that would be of benefit to both of us. And of course I would be glad to compensate you as well for your time and bother. That is, if you do know the whereabouts of the young lady in question."

Annie stared at Nate, entranced by the way he had so successfully mimicked his uncle's style in this little speech. Jack O'Sullivan seemed equally entranced, but Annie suspected it was the sight of the wallet that caused a distinct thawing of his attitude.

Sticking out his hand and shaking Nate's enthusiastically, he said, "Well now, Mr. Dawson, the Voss lawyer, are you? Let me tell you, I was that glad when Nell wiped the dust of that doorstep from her feet. No disrespect intended, but strange doings in that house, that's for sure. I always say it's not healthy to live in a place where there's been a death. Did'ya say it was murder? Nellie swore she'd a sign that death was coming. Spilled wine at dinner or some such stuff. Queer to think that we were off doing the town when the old man bit the dust. Who knows what might have happened to Nellie if it hadn't been her night out."

Annie longed to pursue what Jack meant by strange doings, but she didn't feel the crowded and increasingly noisy ballroom the best place for elaborate questioning. Besides, anything he'd have to offer would be second-hand. Better to get to the source as quickly as possible. So she got right to the point, saying, "Please, Mr. O'Sullivan, could you tell us where Nellie is working now?"

Jack winked again in Annie's direction before answering. "Well, Nell's a sly one, she is. Lands on her feet. By the next day, she had a new job, a good one. She sent me a note. Got a position as a waitress at Cliff House. Said the job pays five dollars a month more and better hours. Only problem, it's so far away. I work on the docks. Harder to get a message to her when I want to see her. Real bother. But then, I'm never lonely, so it's her bad luck. She wrote that a gentleman got her the job."

"A gentleman? Did she say who?" Annie asked.

"Naw. She likes to keep her secrets. I wondered for a minute if this fellow weren't him." With this, he jerked his chin in Nate's direction.

"She'd been hinting for some time she had some gent sniffing around. I just thought she was trying to pay me off for not always being square with her. Talked about the presents he gave her. Never saw any sign of them, so I thought it was all talk. Then when she went off to the Cliff House, well, you know the reputation that place has. Made me wonder. I went to visit her yesterday evening. I said I didn't like it. We had a real go around about it. Truth is, she's a bit put out with me. Got her eyes on better things, she says. Little fool. She'll come back; she always does. Meanwhile, I'm not crying."

At this juncture, the young man gave the girl at his side a squeeze, producing a sharp squeal.

"If you want to see her, she said she'd be free sometime tomorrow afternoon. I was going to go, give her a chance to apologize, but I've contracted a spot of work to do. If you see her, tell her if she needs someone to help her spend her newly acquired wealth, I'm the man."