Maids of Misfortune (4 page)

"Listen," he said, leaning forward and briefly reaching out as if to touch her shoulder, "I know I have behaved abominably tonight. You have every right to be angry, and I am sorry. Clearly, my uncle and I were very mistaken in some of our conclusions, certainly in those regarding you. My younger sister Laura would rip me to shreds if she heard what a foolish mistake I made. She says that I am hopelessly out-dated in my attitudes towards women. I suspect the two of you would get along famously."

She looked up and caught a glimpse of a wry smile. His expression then turned serious.

"Mrs. Fuller, please say that you will forgive me. You must understand, from our perspective our speculations made some sense. We were wrong about you, obviously, but that still leaves us with the problem of Voss’s suicide."

Annie started to speak, but he continued. "The evidence is really very convincing. The coroner clearly stated that Voss died of a poison called cyanide, which is evidently not something one would take by accident. There is no indication anyone else was with him, and then there is the note."

Here, she successfully interrupted. "What note? Are you saying that he left a suicide note?"

"Yes, on his desk was a half sheet of torn paper. It said, 'I am sorry.' At the bottom was his signature."

Her indignation rose. "That is absurd and not at all like Mr. Voss. If he had decided to take his life, he would have explained, made sure that everything was straight, orderly. That note could have meant anything, been torn off of a letter about something entirely different."

"I know...I know. You believe he was in good financial shape, but perhaps there was some problem in his life that required him to sell all his assets or some sorrow that you didn't know about."

"But there wasn't. He would have told me. In fact, he was very excited about how he was going to spend all the money he had been making. Even if he had already liquidated his stocks and property to make a large purchase, another business, a piece of property, well, there still would have been something to show for it!"

"Maybe you're right. I can't argue with you because I didn't know Voss personally. Perhaps you are also right about his assets. I certainly hope so, because otherwise his family will be in some difficulty. Overall, he owned sixty percent of the furniture company, his partner the other forty percent. Voss left ten percent of his shares of the company to his sister and divided the rest equally between his son and his wife. His wife also got the Geary Street house and property. There are a few small legacies, to his manservant, for example, and to a local orphan society. The rest of his estate, which at this point seems to be non-existent, is to be divided equally between his wife and his son."

Annie frowned, wondering where the assets might have gone, when she noticed a quizzical expression on Mr. Dawson's face.

He said, "You know, you still haven't asked what Voss left you in his will. Perhaps as a clairvoyant you already knew."

Annie wasn't in any mood to be teased. "I am not that sort of clairvoyant!" She then continued with more composure. "Frankly, I doubt that he left me more than a token. I thought of him as a friend, but it was clear to me his family came first. I take it the will has been read already."

He answered, "The will itself will be read formally tomorrow after the funeral. That is one of the reasons why I had to see Sibyl tonight. Apart from our suspicions, we needed to contact her, or you, before that time."

"Oh, must I attend? I couldn't go as Sibyl, and I really would prefer to keep the connection between Sibyl and my real identity as separate as possible."

"Well, you could come to the law office later and fill out the necessary papers. Perhaps it would be better that way. Actually, you were right; the amount of money willed to you is very small. The codicil was rather odd. He left you ten dollars and two hundred and fifty shares of some mining stock. However, you may not see any of either, since we haven't found any sign of the stock certificates. If some other assets don't show up, after the primary legacies are distributed, there simply may not be even ten dollars left."

Annie interrupted. "Did you say ten dollars? And was the mining stock for the Last Hope Arizona Silver Mine?"

Startled, he nodded yes, and she went on. "Oh, isn't that just like Mr. Voss. Some months ago, after looking long and hard at the prospectus, I advised him to buy stock in that mine. I wanted him to buy the miner's survey reports. They cost ten dollars, and he grumbled on forever about the expense. Said that as a clairvoyant I shouldn't need surveys. I finally bought the surveys myself. Don't you see, he was paying me back?"

"I'll say he paid you back, since he left you the mine shares as well. Do you know what they are worth now?"

"The mining ventures in Arizona have been very risky, some very good strikes and as many worthless," Annie replied. "The biggest problem seems to be early strikes petering out, so that the value of the stock rises sharply at first, then declines. But this one seemed like it could be the exception. We argued over whether he should sell after three months, when the price rose enough to let him recoup his investment, or whether he should hold on to it. I said he should hold on. He thought he shouldn't. So far I have been right. The price for that stock is now selling for around five dollars a share."

He whistled. "That is a hefty legacy! He must have valued your advice."

Annie noted the tone of amazement. "Well, I think he was also teasing me a bit. Think about it. Assume that he was not planning on dying and when he made out the will he expected to live a good many more years. And I am convinced he had every intention of doing so. If I were right about holding on to the stock, by the time he died, I would certainly have benefited. But so would he, by receiving substantial dividends all those years. However, if I were wrong about the stock, by the time he died my inheritance would probably be worthless, just like my advice!"

She thought for a minute about Matthew Voss. She could see him in this very room, the firelight glinting off the glasses he was forever polishing while he talked. He would laugh dryly at her spirited defense of some investment scheme or another. He was one of the few clients who had seemed willing to treat her palmistry and star charts as the amusing contrivances they were. As they had plotted and planned for his financial recovery, she had been reminded of the games of speculation she had played with her father when she was growing up. She could just imagine Matthew chuckling to himself during one of their consultations, thinking of the codicil and how surprised she would be by it someday. He had liked secrets; in that way he could be almost childlike. Just the way he had been in that last cryptic note, canceling his Friday appointment because he had some secret plans to work out.

"Don't you see? He would never have left me that stock in his will if he needed the money. He would have left it to his wife so she could sell it. And if he committed suicide for some other reason, then where are the stock certificates? They must be somewhere. When you find them, I am sure you will find the other assets he had. No, Matthew Voss did not commit suicide; I am sure of it."

Annie froze.
Two hundred and fifty shares of stock, worth five dollars a share
. Matthew Voss had bequeathed her over twelve hundred dollars, nearly enough to cover her debt to Driscoll! The importance of that information hadn't sunk in at first; she had been so intent on proving to Mr. Dawson that Voss couldn't have committed suicide. But what if the certificates were never found, or what if he had redeemed them and planned to rewrite the will? What then?

Mr. Dawson interrupted these thoughts by rising and saying, "I will not argue with you any more. It's late, and I really must go. If it is convenient, perhaps you could stop by the office tomorrow afternoon around four o’clock to sign the papers? You still have my card?"

Annie rose and looked blankly for a second at the hand he extended toward her. Then she took the hand and shook it, but as she did so she said, "That's not the end of it, is it, Mr. Dawson? You will try to find out where Mr. Voss’s money has gone, won't you? People must be made to see that he had no reason to kill himself. You do believe me when I say he can't have committed suicide?"

He sighed. "I don't know what to believe. I do promise we will try to discover more about his financial status. But, Mrs. Fuller, you must realize that the police are convinced it is suicide. There was nothing to indicate otherwise: no sign of illegal entrance, no sign of a struggle."

Gently withdrawing his hand from hers, he continued, "Now I really must go. And, again, I apologize for any distress I might have caused you tonight."

As he turned and made his way out of the room to the front door, Annie followed him, feeling rather bereft. It was terribly important to her to prove that Matthew Voss hadn’t been the kind of man who would make a financial mess of his life and then leave others to deal with the consequences. But she knew it was unreasonable to insist that he remain just so she could go on trying to convince him.

She unbolted and opened the door, saying, "Of course I accept your apology. And I am grateful you have been so frank with me in discussing Mr. Voss’s death. Many gentlemen would have insisted that the entire subject was unsuitable for a woman. But do keep in mind what I have told you. I promise you that I will not let it rest until I have discovered the truth."

After collecting his hat, gloves, and cane from the hall table, Nate Dawson turned at the door's threshold and looked straight into Annie's eyes. "Mrs. Fuller, I don't think you have really considered the implications of what you are saying. If Matthew Voss did not die by accident or by suicide, then..."

"Quite so, Mr. Dawson," Annie said, not blinking under his gaze. "Then someone killed him. And I think when you find out what happened to Matthew Voss’s assets, you will discover who killed him. Goodnight, sir. Until tomorrow."

Chapter Six:
Tuesday morning, August 5, 1879

The next morning, Annie was again dressed in her plain black gown. This time, a delicate collar of black lace, instead of a scarlet shawl, graced her shoulders, and on her head, instead of the wig, perched an imposing black hat. She hadn't worn the hat since arriving in San Francisco. Then, it had been a painful reminder of the deaths of her father and husband; today it was a useful badge of respectable mourning, behind whose veils she could hide while attending the funeral of Matthew Voss.

After Nate Dawson had left last night, she found that the more she thought about what she had learned, the more convinced she became Mr. Voss must have been murdered. But why? By whom? When she had discovered the Steins were going to attend Matthew's funeral, she asked if she could come along. At the time, she'd some bright idea that if she could at least meet Matthew's family, she would find answers to her questions. This morning, as she sat primly in the Stein's carriage on the way to Laurel Hill Cemetery, this idea didn't seem so very bright, and she rather regretted the loss of her morning’s income, since she had had to cancel one of her clients to attend.

Part of her low spirits stemmed from exhaustion. Half-formed plans to deal with Mr. Driscoll's threatening letter had jostled with questions over Matthew's mysterious death to keep her awake until early that morning. When she'd finally fallen asleep, vague menacing shapes had filled her dreams. At breakfast, Beatrice had probed unmercifully about Mr. Dawson's visit and had been visibly hurt when Annie put her off. But she feared that if she got into the question of Mr. Voss’s will, the problem with Driscoll might come out, and she wasn't ready to tell Beatrice about the debt until she had a plan for handling the problem.

Driscoll wasn't due in the city for at least another two weeks. She should be able to figure something out, get a loan; maybe she could use the house as collateral. But she found it hard to concentrate on this problem with the questions of Matthew Voss’s death still unanswered. She had planned to discuss some of her concerns with the Steins as they rode to the cemetery until she learned they were picking up Hetty, their youngest daughter, on their way.

Unfortunately, of all the Stein children, Hetty was the one Annie had met most often and liked the least. Hetty seemed to find it a personal affront that her parents had chosen to give up their home and move into Annie's boarding house. As a result, she was not surprised when Hetty began to complain the minute she set foot in the carriage.

"Mother, I am so sorry to have inconvenienced you this way. This carriage can barely hold three comfortably, let alone four. I would have gone with Adela, but she had to stop at her dressmakers’ on Larkin first, and I couldn't leave until I had given instructions to Mrs. Phelps. She has been simply impossible ever since the little dinner party I had last week. She's all in a huff about the scolding I gave her about the sauce for the salmon. It was inedible. Of course she blamed it on the stove, and she does have a point. I'm sure that half the reason your Mrs. Kelly did so well, Mama, was the wonderful kitchen she had to work in. I just can't fathom why you gave the house up. Not that Mrs. Fuller's cook isn't adequate, but really one can't expect boardinghouse cooking to compare."

Here, Hetty had nodded vaguely at Annie and paused for a breath, giving her mother a chance to get a word in edgewise.

"Dear, I am sure neither you nor your Mrs. Phelps would ever want to trade your nice new modern kitchen for that old inconvenient basement room we had. But enough of these domestic concerns. I hoped you would be able to tell Mrs. Fuller a little about the Voss family while we were on our way to the cemetery. As you know, she goes out little into society."

Hetty seemed pleased at this request. Sniffing delicately and throwing her nose sharply up in the air so she could more effectively look down it at Annie, Hetty responded, "Well, Mother, if Mrs. Fuller wants to know about the Voss household, I will be more than happy to oblige. I suppose that she must find the doings of fashionable society fascinating, even on such a sad occasion as this."

Esther Stein looked apologetically at Annie and sternly said, "Hetty, Mrs. Fuller was a good friend to Mr. Voss, which is why she is attending the funeral. But she never had an opportunity to meet the rest of the family."

Hetty replied, "Oh, of course," but it was clear she was thinking how odd it was that Annie would have known the old gentleman but not be acquainted with any of the Voss ladies.

"I've known Jeremy Voss simply forever," Hetty began. "Why, I can remember him when he was in short pants and long curls, leaning up against his mama's knee when they came to call on visiting day. One time, when we were about ten, he pulled my hair and I kicked him in the shins during some sort of musicale. There was a large lady singing very shrilly, and Jeremy and I were both bored."

Mrs. Stein inserted here, "Yes, I remember. He howled, and you stuck your tongue out at him! I was mortified that I was raising up such a young rapscallion!"

Annie found the image of Hetty in a scrape with young Jeremy Voss rather amusing, and for the first time, she could imagine liking the young woman.

Hetty continued, "He disappeared into some boarding school for a number of years, and I only saw him every so often during the summers. Then he simply vanished from San Francisco society."

Mrs. Stein again interrupted. "He attended college back east, and I believe that he spent every summer abroad."

“Well, all I know is that two years ago he reappeared and took all the girls by storm. He had turned into a terribly interesting young man, very sophisticated, not at all rough like most of our California boys. An artist, you know. Very sensitive. He writes poetry, and he is forever threatening to kill himself or someone else in a duel for love."

"Now, Hetty," said Mrs. Stein.

"No, Mother, it's true. I remember not long before my George proposed to me; he heard some silly rumor that Jeremy had written me a sonnet. George was simply furious. But I told George that any girl would be a fool to prefer a man like Jeremy, always talking so extravagantly but never doing anything, to a man like him. George might not have much to say, but at least he's a real doer."

Annie noticed that Mr. Stein, who had been silently listening to the conversation, smiled briefly at this remark, and she suspected Hetty was probably quoting her father here. Annie wondered what he thought about Matthew's death. Perhaps he could help her convince Mr. Dawson and his uncle that Matthew's death couldn't possibly be the result of suicide.

The carriage arrived at the cemetery just then, halting all conversation while everyone disembarked and made their way up a short hill. Normally, a funeral for a man of Matthew Voss’s status would have been a larger, more elaborate affair, with notices in the paper, a viewing, and some sort of ceremony in the church. However, Mrs. Voss had evidently requested that there only be the short ritual at the gravesite, and no public notices had been made of the time or place. As a result, only a small number of the family's friends and Matthew Voss’s business acquaintances were in attendance.

The gravesite was nestled in a little hollow that had captured tiny wisps of the early morning mist and swirled them around the feet of the small group representing Matthew Voss’s family, who stood to one side of the casket. The other mourners stood just a short distance away on the sunnier slopes across from the family. Annie, standing with the Steins, had a very good view of all that was going on. The sound of seagulls and the sharp tang of the sea air wafted in on the cool morning air; she took deep breaths, feeling her tiredness ease. Looking around her, she decided coming to the funeral was not such a bad idea. After all, experience as Sibyl had taught her to read faces and divine information from how people held themselves or related to each other. The important people in Matthew's life now stood before her, open for her scrutiny.

Annie easily recognized Matthew's son, Jeremy, from Hetty's description. With his height, black curly hair that tumbled over his forehead, dashing mustache, and furrowed brow, he reminded her of some brooding hero from a Gothic novel. She had not been surprised by Hetty's portrayal of Jeremy, which fit the image she had already developed from her talks with Matthew. Annie knew, for example, that the summers abroad, when Jeremy evidently spent his time traveling, writing poetry, and painting, had been a source of contention between the father and son. She also knew, when his company had encountered financial difficulties a few years ago, Voss cut off all funding to his son and demanded he return to San Francisco to take up a position in the furniture company. Matthew had hoped this would settle the young man, but he had indicated that it had not had that effect.

Matthew recently hinted he had some new scheme in mind to get Jeremy to change his ways. "I'll teach the young jack-a-napes the value of honest work, even if it kills him," had been Matthew's exact words. She wondered what the scheme had been and whether Jeremy had known about it before his father's death.

On either side of Jeremy stood two women dressed in deepest mourning. The striking young blonde on his left, dressed in an extremely smart black silk, leaned close to Jeremy, staring intently up at him. She was biting down on her full rosy lip and wrinkling her delicately arched brows above clear blue eyes in quite a fetching manner. Jeremy seemed oblivious to her. Annie was wondering who she was, since she knew Matthew had no daughters, when Hetty turned and whispered to her.

"Do you see to Jeremy's left? That's his fiancé, Judith Langdon. We were all really surprised when they announced last month. No one ever expected him to get caught so soon. Her mother was ecstatic. Judith is one of my most intimate friends, and I know for a fact that she is frightfully poor and needed to marry money. She's welcome to him. Just look at him. I'm sure he'll be a trying husband. My George never bothers me with a fit of bad temper."

Only vaguely listening to further revelations about what Hetty's George never did, Annie continued to study the scene in front of her. The motive of the young blonde’s mother might have been mercenary, but judging from Miss Langdon's expression, the daughter's was not. She wondered why Matthew had never mentioned the engagement.

A small movement turned her attention to the woman standing to Jeremy’s right. With shock, she realized the small, ethereal creature with an astonishingly tiny waist must be his mother, Amelia Voss. Even her long gauze veils couldn't hide the fact that Matthew's wife was much younger than her husband had been. Matthew had mentioned his wife's youth, but Annie realized that she had been picturing a woman who, after over twenty years of marriage and the birth of a child, had faded into a comfortable middle age. While it was impossible to distinguish much about her features or coloring from behind her veils, the bare hand that reached up and clutched her son's sleeve appeared exquisitely slender and pale. His fiancée may have been focusing all her attention on Jeremy, but all of his attention was turned to his mother. He took Amelia Voss's hand in one of his and drew his other arm around her waist, gently supporting her.

As he did so, Mrs. Voss turned her head to look over at a man who had moved to her other side. Just as Annie was wondering who he was, Mr. Stein enlightened her by muttering to himself, "Ah, there's Samuels. Good fellow. They'll need his support now more than ever."

So that was Malcolm Samuels––Matthew's business partner and oldest friend. Matthew had talked at great length about this man: stories of how they had met at a muddy river crossing on the way west, of the difficulties they had surviving the terrible year they spent panning for gold, and the risks they had taken in opening up San Francisco's first wholesale furniture enterprise. Quite soon, a division of labor between the two partners had developed. Matthew ran the day-to-day affairs of the company, including managing the factory. Samuels took care of the supply and sales sides of the business. He traveled up and down the coast, even taking trips back east and abroad to contract for lumber and to maintain their markets. Matthew had felt bad that the peripatetic nature of the business had kept Samuels a bachelor all these years.

Annie remembered him saying, "I had the best of the deal. Poor old Malcolm never got to settle down. He says the traveling suits him, but I know he feels the lack of a family. My wife and I have done our best to make him feel our home is his, but it just isn't the same."

As she watched Mr. Samuels shake hands with the minister, who had finally arrived to begin the service, she mused that traveling and bachelorhood certainly agreed with him. He looked at least fifteen years younger than Matthew had, although she had assumed they were nearly the same age. Although of moderate height, Samuels had a commanding presence, carrying his considerable weight well. Only the tiniest frosting of grey at the temples marked his thick, neatly brushed head of hair. His sideburns, beard, and mustache curled crisply around his mouth.
What a striking contrast the two men must have made
, she thought. She pictured Matthew, tall, stooped, with thinning grey hair and small paunch, wearing one of his rusty old black suits, standing next to this vigorous, handsome, elegantly dressed man. She found it difficult to believe that Samuels hadn't remained single by choice.

The minister then began to speak, and Annie realized she had been carefully avoiding the primary reason for being in this place at this time. Matthew Voss lay in the highly polished wooden casket standing slightly below her on the edge of the grave. And it was time for her to say her farewells and face the truth of her friend's death. On the surface, their relationship had been a business one. But she knew it was more than business. She had revealed a little of her history to him, something she had done with no other client. In turn, he had needed her, needed the chance to talk about his worries, to try out his ideas, to speculate about the future. And he had paid Annie the supreme compliment of accepting from her what help she could give. They had been true friends. Now he was gone, and she would miss him.