Maids of Misfortune (15 page)

Chapter Twenty

Annie slapped the side of the carriage furiously. "Of course someone murdered her. Don’t even try to argue it was an accident! Though no doubt whoever killed her hoped that would be the conclusion of the police. I can just hear them say, 'Poor girl, slipped on the rocks, broke her neck.' Or better yet, whoever killed her probably hoped the tide would take her out and she'd never be found. That fisherman said bodies disappear all the time off the coast. The police probably wouldn't have even been interested then. 'Oh, just a flighty servant, probably just ran off without giving notice. Good riddance.'"

Annie winced, her voice sounding too loud and shrill, even to her. She should stop talking, but she couldn't stop. She had been going on and on and on, ever since Nate had returned to the carriage and they'd begun their trip back to town. Nate remained silent beside her, grim-faced, driving the horses at a dangerously fast pace. Already well past seven, the dusk approached rapidly, and he most likely wanted to get to the lighted streets of the city before sundown. He probably wanted to get rid of her as quickly as possible as well.

What a nightmare. Would she ever be able to erase that picture of Nellie's body from her mind? As soon as Annie saw the dead woman's red hair, she'd known it must be Nellie. Had she really ever doubted it? She'd been a fool to insist on coming with Nate and the fisherman. Standing there trembling uncontrollably, seeing the strained look on Nate's face, she knew he'd been right from the beginning to demand she return to the carriage. She could do nothing there to help. She couldn't stay around until the police came just to point out the tracks she'd found, because she didn't dare get involved. The police were already looking for Sibyl. They'd find it very suspicious if she turned up at the death of the Vosses' former maid. And if it came out that she had also been posing as a maid for two days in the Voss household! The papers could certainly construct a juicy scandal out of that connection.

So she had meekly told Nate she would return to the carriage and wait for him, winning only a weak shrug from him as a reward. Her trip back up the steep path from the beach had been extremely difficult without Nate's help, which had made her feel utterly useless. After taking two trips to retrieve all the picnic things, she had been forced to sit and wait, for what had seemed like forever, until Nate had made his way back to the carriage. Her nerves stretched to the breaking point, she had complained to him about how long he'd been gone. He hadn't bothered to reply but simply unhitched the horses and got them on their way.

Annie tried to calm down, hoping if she sounded more in control that she'd get some response from him. "What did the Cliff House owner say when he got down to the beach? Did you ask him if he knew who had met Nellie this morning?"

"No,” Nate said. “I didn't ask him anything. That's a job for the police. My main concern was to hand the mess over to someone else so I could get you home. I also thought the sooner I got to town the better, so I could personally alert Chief Detective Jackson."

"Then you do agree Nellie's death is connected to Mr. Voss’s murder? Even the police can see that. She met someone, by arrangement, and walked to the rocks. I found a set of footprints alongside hers, so that proves it. Then whoever walked with her to the rocks killed her, probably tossed her body off the end of that breakwater, and then he went north and climbed up that track I told you I found. Nellie must have been involved in Mr. Voss’s death, and she had to be killed by whoever was her accomplice before she could implicate them."

Nate's silence continued, so Annie rattled on. "Who do you think killed her? Probably was a man, because of the size of the footprints. Although I don't suppose that means the same person killed Mr. Voss; that could have been a woman. There could have been more than two people involved. Nellie's boyfriend, Jack, could be the murderer. I suppose if Nellie and Jack had been together on some scheme connected to Mr. Voss’s murder, he might have felt the need to eliminate her once he knew we were looking for her."

Nate slowed the horses and answered, irritation plain in his voice, "This mindless speculation is absolutely useless.”

“But who else besides Jack would have known where she was and that we were looking for her?" Annie asked.

"Doubtless everybody," Nate snarled. "I couldn't have done a better job of making sure that the murderer knew she was a danger if I had tried. When I dropped some papers off late yesterday afternoon for Mrs. Voss to sign, I told her I was looking for Nellie. Who knows whom she might have told? Jeremy, Miss Nancy, Wong, the lady’s maid...the delivery boy, for all I know."

Annie cringed at the anger in his voice. Nate slapped the reins, putting the horses back into a fast trot, spitting out at her, "But why narrow our suspects to these few? Why not include the whole Catholic population of San Francisco since we made our interest in her so clear at the dance? I can't believe I wasn't more careful. I guess I didn't really believe that she had any information that would have been of use. And now she's dead."

Annie froze beside him, trying desperately to find something to say. How could she tell him not to feel guilty when guilt consumed her as well? All her silly investigations of tracks in the sand, her fury at Nate's high-handedness, her own non-stop chatter couldn't distract her from the truth.
She
, not Nate, was to blame. She'd been acting out of self-interest from the start. Hunting for the missing assets to solve her own petty financial problems, searching for proof to clear Matthew's name from the scandal of suicide because she would rather think him murdered than that he killed himself. Now Nellie Flannigan lay dead. And it was all her fault.

Chapter Twenty-one:
Monday, early morning, August 11, 1879

Annie yawned uncontrollably. She didn't even bother to hide her weariness as she sat slumped on the hard wooden bench that ran along the center of the horse car. It was a little before five in the morning, and the fog had thickened overnight. Annie stared sightlessly out at a world of unrelieved grayness that lacked any points of reference beyond the periodic flare of gas light from the street lamps. She felt marooned, suspended with her fellow travelers in some sort of netherworld. Only the muffled sound of the horses and the unremitting action of gravity hinted that the vehicle was moving at a sharp pace up one of San Francisco's hills. A clammy sheath of condensation, which welcomed rather than repelled the cold morning air, enshrouded her, making her thoroughly miserable. It had taken all of her strength of will to rise at four this morning and don her servant attire in preparation for her return to the Voss household.

Beatrice and Kathleen had been up to get her breakfast and see her on her way, but neither woman had much to say. They had said all they could the night before to dissuade her from continuing her investigations as Lizzie, the Voss’s maid. When Nate had dropped her off at home last evening, she had hoped to escape to her room and marshal her resources before seeing any one, but she should have realized that Kathleen would have been lying in wait for her to find out how the excursion to the Cliff House had gone. No sooner had she entered the front door than Kathleen had greeted her and drawn her downstairs to the kitchen, bombarding her with questions all the way. One look at the dear faces of Beatrice, Kathleen, and Mrs. Stein, all turned towards her with bright expectation, and she had broken down in sobs. This, of course, made it all the more difficult for her to get out the news of Nellie’s death. When the three women finally understood exactly what had happened, their universal response was that Annie should not under any circumstances return to what Beatrice began to call the “Death House.”

At least their adamant opposition to her plans had put an end to her tears as she rallied her strength to combat their arguments. She knew she had appeared stubborn and childish in her angry refusal to budge from her position that she was responsible for Nellie’s death and must therefore do everything she could to find her murderer. But finally they had given in, extracting only the promise that she leave the house the moment she felt in danger. This morning, sitting on the hard seat of the horse car, she remembered that it was Monday, the dreaded washday, and her spirits sank even lower.

The faint chimes of nearby St. Mary's Cathedral interrupted these thoughts, and she noticed a newsboy, revealed by an overhead lamp, trudging up the sidewalk, a stack of papers on his shoulder. Would the news of Nellie’s death be in the morning paper? Would the Voss household have been already informed of their former maid’s death?

She fervently hoped that the chance to observe how everybody reacted to Nellie’s death would make going back worthwhile. What about the police? If Nate was correct and the police now believed that Matthew was murdered, they would suspect that Nellie’s death was somehow connected.
Heavens, they will probably begin to question members of the household about their whereabouts yesterday afternoon! What should I say if they question me? I can’t tell them where I was, that I was the woman with Nate when the body was found. If only I could ask Nate’s advice.

Annie pulled her shawl closer and shivered. There it was, the core of her misery, Nate Dawson. How could she ever expect to continue their new friendship after this? Unbidden came the memory of his strength as he lifted her down from the carriage and the warmth of his smile.
Well, I just have to work harder to find the missing assets and determine who was responsible for Matthew and Nellie’s deaths, and then maybe I can convince myself, if not Nate, that all these deceptions will have been justified,
she thought.

At least there had been no news from Driscoll, and Mrs. Stein had promised to consult her husband, Herman, as soon as he returned from Portland about how Annie could raise the funds to pay off the loan. Her difficulties with Driscoll now seemed trivial compared to Nellie’s death.

Annie noticed that the horse car had just passed Larkin Street, and she stood and pulled the cord. The driver slowed the horses down and pulled over towards the curb. Annie thanked him kindly. Gathering up her skirts, she stepped lightly down, being careful to miss the dried dung that lay scattered along the edge of the road. She stepped up on the wooden sidewalk and turned to watch the horse car pull past her, looking up at the Voss house that was gradually emerging in the faint light of dawn.

Matthew's house sat squarely in the middle of the 1100 block of Geary, an elegant, three-storied building, narrow and tall, unusual only in the fact that it contained bay windows on both the first and second floors. The windows were tightly curtained against prying eyes, so she couldn’t see if any of the rooms had lights on. A peaked roof hid the fourth-floor attic where her room was located. This block of Geary was on a sort of plateau, which put it above most of the morning fog. Looking west, she could just make out the tops of the sandy hills that stood between this edge of the city and the Pacific. With a pang, she realized that due west was the beach where Nellie had died.

Shaking off that thought, Annie crossed the now-deserted street. Remembering that she was playing the role of a servant, she moved past the gate that led to the front door to enter the gate to the right marked "tradesman's entrance." Opening this gate, she continued on a flagged walk to the side of the house around to the back until she reached a series of three steps that led down to the basement kitchen, where Cartier was supposed to let her in. She needed to get the cook stove going so it would be ready for Wong when he arrived at five-thirty.

Miss Nancy had said sternly, "Mr. Voss always insisted that the maid be back from her night out by five to fire up the stove so that breakfast would be ready by seven sharp."

Annie grimaced at the thought of the long day of work that lay before her. Why couldn't Cartier start the stove if she was going to have to get up anyway to let Annie in? For that matter, why did Wong need to start cooking that early in the morning? It wasn't as if Matthew was still there, needing his breakfast early so he could be at work by eight-thirty. As far as Annie could tell, Jeremy certainly wouldn't be up that early, and no one else in the household had anything of pressing importance to do.
Such stupidity
, she thought peevishly, longing for her warm bed at home and a few more hours of sleep. Her level of irritation rose dramatically when she discovered that Cartier had not yet done her part, and the kitchen door was still locked.

She knocked softly at first, in case Cartier was simply sitting in the kitchen waiting for her arrival. Then she knocked more loudly. Perhaps the woman had fallen asleep? Then she added her voice to her summons, resisting the desire to yell loudly at the top of her lungs. She desisted when neither her voice nor her pounding did anything more than prompt a volley of barks from the neighbor's dog. She didn't really want to wake everybody up, although it would serve Cartier right if Miss Nancy heard. No doubt she would give Cartier an earful.

Annie passed several minutes contemplating this pleasant eventuality when the thought came to her that perhaps Cartier had meant to open the front door for her. This would have been highly unusual and inconvenient, but then, maybe this was Matthew's special routine. The household seemed to have gone on following his maxims to the letter, even after his death. She couldn't count how many times either Miss Nancy or Cartier had prefaced one of their instructions to her by "Mr. Voss said" or "the Master said."

In the growing light, Annie walked back along the narrow walkway between the house and the neighboring hedge. As she did, she looked upward for some sign of life in the house but found none. When she got to the front, she tried the doorknob, tapped lightly with the front knocker, and, when nothing happened, she rang the bell. It was amazing how guilty she felt to be around at the front. As a result, when she got no response, she returned quickly to the back door and tried again, knocking and calling Cartier's name, more loudly this time. Still nothing.

A small worm of anxiety wriggled its way down her spine.
Why wasn't anybody answering
? Shouldn’t someone have been roused by the noise she had been making? Between herself and the dog next door, they had produced sufficient racket to “raise the dead,” to use one of Kathleen’s favorite terms. A horrible image crawled, unbidden, into Annie's mind. Everybody in the household, stretched out in hideous rigor, silent and lifeless, murdered like Matthew and Nellie.

Annie began to pound on the door, yelling frantically. Shifting to the kitchen window, she crouched down to see if there was any movement inside. The kitchen was in the basement, and the window, although placed at shoulder height over the sink, was at ground level from the outside. Although strong metal bars made entrance or exit through this window impossible, it was always kept open a crack, and she remembered that the back door key hung on a hook fairly nearby. In her alarm, she had some vague thoughts of perhaps reaching in the window and grabbing it. Falling down on her hands and knees, she thrust her right arm, which just barely fit, between two of the bars, stretching left towards the back door, where the key should be hanging. Pressing her face to the bars and extending her arm to its full length, she swept her arm in a semi-circle along the back kitchen wall, encountering nothing but a splinter.

Then two things happened at once. A soft calm voice from behind asked, "Miss Lizzie, may I be of help?” while from up above, the squeal of wood sliding against wood, followed by a sharp bang, heralded an outraged shout of, "Who's there? Stop that caterwauling this instant!" Startled, Annie pulled back from the barred window so abruptly she lost her balance and flopped down on the wet grass. Wong, who stood looking down at her, reached out a hand to help her up. As she rose, she glanced up at the window above her and saw a pale blurred oval topped by what she speculated must be a massive white night cap. In the misty morning light, the only discernable feature was a sharp beak of a nose, so Annie took her chances and called up.

"I'm sorry, Miss Nancy. It's me, the maid, Lizzie. I didn't mean to wake you. But Wong and I are here, and Miss Cartier hasn't opened the door as she said she would. I was afraid you'd be angry if the stove wasn't ready and breakfast was late. Please, Miss, could you see that Cartier comes down and opens up for us?"

For an answer she got a gruff, "Well, I never!" and the window banged down with equal fury. Annie turned to Wong and shrugged.

"Has this happened before? Cartier forgetting? I suppose I should have just waited, but I got the shivers, afraid maybe something had happened to them all."

Wong frowned slightly at her words, but then his expression smoothed out, and he responded with equanimity. "Yes, Miss, this has happened before. The good woman who tended to the mistress before, she never forgot. In fact, she often started the fire herself. But not Miss Cartier. She refuses. She also sleeps like a dragon dives, very deeply. The other maid, Nellie, had a problem at first. I would find her on the back steps waiting every week. But then the trouble stopped. I don't know what happened. But she would always be inside the kitchen, with the oven going, when I arrived."