Maids of Misfortune (8 page)

She had learned one piece of information. Cartier seemed jealous of Miss Nancy's position in the household. Miss Nancy made it clear she was responsible for the day-to-day management of the house, but Cartier kept insisting on checking with Matthew's wife before she carried out any command. This, however, seemed to be a long-standing struggle; the icily polite conversations between Miss Nancy and Cartier contained a well-rehearsed quality to them. And Annie couldn't see how it had any bearing on Matthew's death.

Entering the warmly lit kitchen, Annie paused in surprise. Wong had completed the dish-washing. Miss Nancy had informed her that since Wong was responsible for cooking the dinner, it would be her duty to clean up afterwards. Because of her aching feet and shoulders, she had been dreading this task. Wong turned from the sink and waved her towards the large kitchen table, where he had set out a late snack for her.

No, Annie thought, not a snack, a piece of artwork! A thick blue kitchen plate sat squarely in the middle of a woven mat of burnt orange. Echoing the colors of plate and mat, a sky-blue vase held a single golden chrysanthemum. Continuing the autumnal color scheme, on the plate rested a thick slice of apple pie, its buttery crust baked so delicately that it was difficult to determine where the piecrust ended and the slab of mellow cheddar cheese beside it began. And as Annie sank gratefully into the seat in front of this culinary masterpiece, Wong added the finishing touches to the picture by placing at her side a delicately crafted cup of robin's-egg blue, in which strong, fall-colored tea swirled.

"Oh, Wong," Annie sighed. "You are wonderful! I don't know that I have ever seen anything so beautiful in my life." Her stomach then growled out its opinion, and she continued, laughing, "I am certainly sure that I have never seen anything as beautiful and utilitarian at the same time. It seems almost a sacrilege to disturb it by eating, but I am afraid that while the mind is strong, the flesh is weak."

With this, Annie picked up the fork and began to eat. She didn’t know if he understood her but hoped that at least her tone of voice conveyed her sentiments. As she finished up the pie and sipped at the tea, her spirits unaccountably rose. Wong sat down across from her and beamed. She smiled back, nodding in pantomime her appreciation. He was older than most of the Chinese she had known, with white hairs that looked like thin white wires threaded through the black braid that hung down his back. She thought Matthew had once mentioned that his manservant had started working for him in the mining camps. Wong must have some insight into who might have wanted his master dead. She wished she could remember some of the Cantonese she had learned from Choy, who worked for her family on their Los Angeles ranch while she was growing up. But she couldn't.

She knew that many Californians despised and mistreated the Chinese, called them dirty heathens, and worse. She felt quite differently. Since her mother had been frequently confined to bed by illness and her father was usually out managing the ranch when she was young, Annie had often been left to the care of Choy, their cook. She had found him a wise and gentle friend.

These bittersweet memories were swept away when Wong began to speak to her in clear, excellent English. "It is a pleasure to cook for one who finds joy in the harmony of what the eye sees and the tongue tastes, Miss. You seemed to be in need of renewal of both body and spirit."

Annie found herself staring, open-mouthed. Then she laughed. "Wong, for heaven's sake, why have you been pretending not to understand English?"

Wong smiled slightly and then shook his head gently. "Excuse me, Miss, I have not been pretending anything. I simply chose not to speak. I have found that there is often less misunderstanding that way. It seems to me that it is you who have been pretending, pretending to be a servant when you are not."

Annie felt a rising sense of panic. Had her secret already been discovered? She should never have let her interpretation of a dim-witted servant lapse in front of Wong. Or was he just referring to her ineptness? Was he going to give her away? She had to say something, quickly.

Trying to sound unconcerned, she said, "Oh dear, have I been doing such a bad job of it? I am afraid I haven't had as much practice as I ought. And I've been out of service for a while. I guess I've gotten rusty. Please, will you help me? You see, I really need this job. I intend no harm, and I believe that I can do some good."

Annie had leaned forward as she spoke, trying to impress upon Wong her sincerity. She found it difficult to read the old man's response because of the softer, flatter planes of his features. She was used to seeing harder angles and the telltale lines around eyes, nose, and mouth that pain, worry, fear, and laughter etched on even the youngest person. She wondered, as they both stared solemnly at each other, if Wong was having an equally difficult time reading her expressions. But no, she thought, as a servant he would have had to learn years ago how to discern the hidden meanings found in the faces of his alien employers.

Annie was anxiously awaiting his response when the sound of a bell from behind drew her attention. With some relief, Annie smiled tentatively at Wong and said as she rose, "Can we talk later? I have to see what Mrs. Voss wants."

Chapter Ten

Annie stood in front of Amelia Voss’s sitting room door and took a deep breath. She had to lay aside her concerns about Wong’s statement so that she could make the most of this opportunity. This would be the first time she saw Mrs. Voss up close, and she realized that she had been curious to meet Matthew’s beloved wife in person. She knocked on the door to the sitting room, and, at a quiet "come in," she entered. The different quality of this room from the rest of the house struck her immediately. First of all, the room seemed bathed in a warm rosy glow, as the light from the fireplace and the oil lamps filtered through thin embossed screens of red and pink. In addition, there didn't appear to be a hard or dark surface in the room. She saw none of the ornately carved tables and chairs and dark paneling that characterized the rest of the house. Mrs. Voss’s room, without the slightest hint of black, was papered and draped and upholstered and cushioned in a dazzling variety of brightly colored silks that seemed to give out light rather than to absorb it. Annie found the effect charming.

She felt no doubt about who was responsible for the room's decor. Wearing a richly embroidered dressing gown of deep burgundy that was elegant enough for street-wear, the woman sitting on one of the well-padded armchairs clearly belonged in this setting. Annie was again surprised by the youthfulness of Matthew's wife, for Mrs. Voss appeared even younger when no longer obscured by heavy mourning veils. There were some of the marks of maturity that testified that she was indeed a woman in her early forties and the mother of a full-grown son. But the sprinkling of grey hairs, the small lines around eyes and mouth, the slight softening of the flesh at the base of the throat only served to make the overall beauty of the woman even more remarkable. Her thick black hair swept down from a center part, massing in an intricate coil at the nape of her neck. Dark eyebrows, delicately arched, and equally dark eyelashes of unusual length emphasized the extreme whiteness of her complexion. But it was her eyes that dominated all of her other features. As Mrs. Voss looked up from her embroidery frame, Annie mentally reviewed all the terms for the color blue, trying to hit upon just the right word to describe these eyes. Azure, indigo, cobalt, turquoise. No, Annie thought, no word quite fit the unique color of the eyes of Amelia Voss.

Eyes whose depth completely contradicted the shallow torrent of words that began to issue from her mouth.

"Oh, my, it's the new girl, how simply lovely!” said Mrs. Voss with just the hint of her Southern birthplace. “Do come closer and let's get acquainted. You must think me terribly remiss to have engaged you without taking the time to even meet you. You will forgive me, won't you? I'm sure we will get along just splendidly now that we have met. Oh dear, I've dropped my thread. Oh, well, never mind."

Annie could well understand why Matthew had wished to spare his wife any knowledge of his financial difficulties.

Mrs. Voss gushed on, "I'm afraid that you will find me a terribly muddled sort of mistress, particularly now. But my sister-in-law, Miss Nancy, is so practical, and she takes care of everything. She always has."

At this, Mrs. Voss turned her head and threw a brief smile to her left, and Annie, following her glance, was startled to realize that Miss Nancy had been sitting silently in the corner the whole time. There was no answering smile on Miss Nancy's dour face. In fact, Annie could have sworn that Matthew's sister shuddered abruptly, as if Amelia Voss’s words had been the flick of a whip.

As Annie drew closer, Mrs. Voss continued. "Well, now, Lizzie, that is your name, isn't it? I remembered it especially because when I went to Miss Henderson's Finishing School, there was a lively young girl who served at table there. She was a great favorite with all the young ladies because she would buy chocolates and other goodies for us on her day off and sneak them to our rooms. Sweets were strictly forbidden. I did so love cream puffs, but that was certainly way before your time."

Annie had given her name as Lizzie when she had come about the job, wishing to prevent anyone from making a connection between Annie Fuller and the new servant. She had chosen Lizzie in part because it sounded so maid-like, and in part because for a brief time in sixth grade, friends had teased her by using that diminutive of her middle name, Elizabeth. She hoped that this tie to the past would be enough to ensure that when anyone called for Lizzie, she would remember they were referring to her. So far, it really hadn't been a problem because everyone simply referred to her as "girl," an appellation she found increasingly irritating.

Mrs. Voss continued to chatter on. "So, Lizzie, I hope that you will be comfortable here. We certainly do appreciate you helping us out in our time of trouble. With my husband's death, such a sad accident, so unexpected, we are simply at sixes and sevens, and…"

"Amelia, don't be a fool." Nancy Voss’s harsh voice cut across her sister-in-law's gentler tones and effectively silenced them. "The girl doesn't want to hear about Matthew's death. What she does want to hear is why she was called up here. Girl, fetch us a pot of tea. Wong will show you what is needed and will help you bring it up if you can't manage it yourself. That woman Cartier has gone to bed with what she calls a sick headache. More likely an excess of spite. So you will have to tend to Mrs. Voss for the rest of the evening. Well, don't just stand there, get along."

Annie curtsied in response and turned to execute her orders. But in doing so, she collided sharply with Jeremy Voss, who at that instant entered his mother's sitting room.

"Oh, I'm sorry, terribly clumsy of me," Jeremy apologized with a smile that quite transformed him from the brooding Byronic hero to a rather engaging schoolboy. "You must be the new girl. Won’t Cartier have her nose out of joint! She's used to being the only handsome servant in the house. The last girl, Nellie, wasn’t nearly as elegant as you. But don't you let Cartier get you down with that sharp tongue of hers. It's just jealousy!"

Mrs. Voss interrupted her son at this point, chiding, "Jeremy, do stop. You know I don't like you teasing Miss Cartier, and you are making poor Lizzie blush. Stop making mischief and let her get on with her duties."

Annie was indeed blushing, much to her irritation. Her husband had displayed just that sort of flirtatious charm, and she had grown to detest it. What was even more annoying, she had deliberately tried to look the part of a mousy domestic by wearing one of her most out-of-date and worn dresses and by pulling her hair severely back into an unadorned bun. The last thing she wanted was any unusual attention. Of course, judging by the smell of whiskey that emanated from Jeremy, he would have flirted with any female he ran into, and his mother was probably used to it. However, his jab at Cartier did bear further thought. Might the stylish lady’s maid have set her sights on the young master of the house? If so, how would she have reacted to his recently announced engagement?

As she left the room, she heard Jeremy say, "Mother, darling, you're out of bed. Are you feeling better? I'm sorry I've been out so much. I just couldn't stick it here with all the old vultures stopping by to make their insincere condolences."

Annie paused after the door was shut, hoping to be able to catch more of his words, but the door was too solid. Jeremy's voice was immediately reduced to an unintelligible murmur. She admonished herself for having shut the door completely. She must stop acting so well-mannered and get a bit more devious; otherwise, she'd never learn anything at all.

A short while later, when she returned to the sitting room, it was clear that something had happened to disturb the room's three occupants. Jeremy leaned against the fireplace, with his back turned to both his mother and his aunt, kicking moodily at a small cinder that had popped out onto the hearth. His mother was stitching furiously at her embroidery, eyes down and her breathing uneven. His aunt still sat silently in the shadows, her face a rigid, unreadable mask. But the glint of firelight reflecting off her eyes revealed that she was shifting her glance rapidly between her nephew and her sister-in-law, as if trying to read their minds. The air in the room palpably vibrated with the after-effects of a heated exchange abruptly broken off by Annie's entrance.

As she slipped quietly back and forth from the hallway table, setting up the tea service, silence in the room grew ever more awkward. Finally, the social habits of Mrs. Voss reasserted themselves, and she rose and went to the tea table to start pouring.

Nodding graciously to Annie, Mrs. Voss said, "Thank you, Lizzie. I do hope that Wong was able to help you with the tea things. When you have finished here, could you please prepare my bedroom? I shall probably retire soon. I haven't been well, you know, since the terrible ordeal of the funeral, and I really am completely done in."

Then, clearing her throat nervously, Mrs. Voss turned to her son and sister-in-law and attempted to change the mood by introducing a neutral topic of conversation. Annie watched in fascination as this gambit met with disastrously little success.

"Well, Jeremy, I received the sweetest little note of condolence from Judith this morning," Mrs. Voss remarked. "I meant to show it to you, but you had gone out already. You can't imagine how pleased I am that you have the love and support of such a wonderful girl to help you through these times. I remember how much…"

Jeremy turned around and snapped, "Mother, don't be such a romantic. Do you honestly think that Judith will stand by me? I'm surprised she hasn't broken off the engagement already!"

"Oh, Jeremy," said Mrs. Voss, "why would you say such a thing? Judith adores you."

"Well, that’s hard to believe since I haven’t been permitted to see her since the funeral. Somehow, she is never
at home
when I call. And I am quite certain that her mother will find someone else for her to
adore
quite easily, someone untainted by scandal who won't disgrace her proud Southern heritage," Jeremy replied.

His mother reached her hand out to him, and in a plaintive voice she said, "I am sure you have misjudged the situation. I can't understand why you are insisting that there will be scandal, anyway. Your father died of an unfortunate accident. Where is the dishonor in…"

Stepping back from her as if her touch might burn, Jeremy barked out, "Unfortunate accident! No, Mother, you cannot continue this charade. Father committed suicide. Mr. Dawson told you what was said at the inquest. To go on pretending that it was some sort of accident just makes all of us look ridiculous."

Annie, who had silently crossed over to Mrs. Voss's bedroom during this conversation, turned and paused just inside the doorway, hoping that no one would notice her. From this vantage point, she watched Mrs. Voss begin to weep. When Jeremy noticed this, he immediately turned contrite.

Going over and pulling up a chair next to hers, he said softly, "Oh, Mother, don't cry. I'm sorry. I haven't gotten much sleep lately, and I feel like my whole life has crashed down around my shoulders. I should never have taken it out on you. But don't you see, pretending only makes it worse. We've got to face up to the facts. It's no use otherwise."

"But, Jeremy, I still don't understand how it could have happened. Your father was so happy at Saturday dinner with his grand plans. Buying Malcolm out, making you a partner in the firm as a wedding present, and taking me to Europe! Why would he promise to do all that and then kill himself? It just doesn’t make any sense; it must have been an accident.”

Mrs. Voss gently shook her head, blotting her wet cheeks with the handkerchief Jeremy had retrieved from its newest resting place on the floor. She continued, in a rallying voice, "In any event, you mustn't despair. You have your whole life ahead of you, and you must not let your father's death or any of this interfere. If there has been a misunderstanding with Judith, talk to her and straighten it out. Your father would want that. I am sure she is just waiting to hear from you."

Jeremy sighed. "Mother, you haven't been listening. I can't go on as if nothing is changed. Somehow, we must try to straighten out our financial affairs. Even if Judith still wanted me, I couldn't afford to get married now. There's not enough money. I know we have been all over this, but as much as you and Aunt Nan don't like the idea, I can't see any way around selling our shares in the company. It’s all my fault. If only I hadn't been so stubborn and selfish."

Mrs. Voss sat up straight at this and exclaimed, "No, my darling boy, don't ever let me hear you say that. None of this is your fault. Besides, there must be money; how else could he have planned to pay Malcolm? I know the lawyers say there isn’t any, but your father…"

Jeremy's aunt stepped forward from the shadows. Annie almost gave herself away at this point by gasping; she had been so engrossed in the mother and son that she had forgotten Nancy Voss was even there.

The older woman rapped out in her rough way. "Jeremy, for once your mother is right. This tragedy is not your fault. And you should not have to bear the brunt of its consequences."

She then turned towards her sister-in-law and began to speak in a low, fervent voice. "Others are to blame, others who sucked your father dry, who took and took and never gave in return. It was by their hand that your father died. They are to blame, and they will suffer for it. I will see to that. As the good Lord said in Job, 'Look on everyone that is proud, and bring him low; and tread the wicked in their place.'”