Maids of Misfortune (21 page)

Annie sighed with relief. She knew that the absence of evidence in the rooms she searched might simply mean that anything incriminating had long since been gotten rid of; it had been, after all, over a week since Matthew Voss had been murdered. Annie had to note ruefully how contradictory it was for her to be relieved that she found nothing, since her reputed goal was to find something that would not only prove who killed Matthew but would restore some of the missing assets. Nevertheless, Annie was pleased that she hadn't found anything suspicious among Jeremy's things. In her heart, she knew she wanted the murderer to be a stranger, not one of Matthew’s loved ones.

This left the paintings themselves as possible hiding places, since she supposed that the back of frames might be a good place to stuff a sheet of paper or bank notes. Trying to be systematic, she first walked around the walls, taking each piece of artwork off of its hook and looking at its back. Thankfully, all of the work was cheaply framed and easy to examine. She dusted as she went, figuring she might as well make herself useful while she was hunting.

She turned next to the unframed canvasses that were leaning here and there. Annie had left them for last, hoping to discover some sample of Jeremy's own work among them. She started to walk over to a dark corner where she saw a few small canvasses were leaning against a cluttered table that was rammed up against the back wall and then she stopped, gasping. Reality as she knew it had just vanished.

There was no table, its top littered with objects; there were no blank canvasses leaning up against its legs. Instead, between the two windows, there stood a large oil painting that so accurately reproduced a table and leaning canvases that she had mistaken them for the real thing. She leaned forward, trembling fingers out-stretched, and touched the canvass. Up this close, she felt foolish at her mistake. Of course it was a painting; it was flat, the oil surface shiny, the paint strokes obvious. But when Annie stepped back, the illusion reasserted itself. The painter had so cleverly captured each nuance and shadow of reality and so perfectly recreated the lines of perspective that from a distance she once again found herself staring at what looked like three-dimensional objects.

Annie whirled around to look at one of the tables on the other side of the room that she had searched earlier and confirmed that it was the original subject of the painting. There it was, the same three canvasses leaning up against the same scarred legs and the same old paint-smattered smock hung up on a peg, providing a rich brown backdrop for the dirty rags, tubes of paint, stacked dusty books, scattered candle stubs, rusty knives, a button hook, and the tin of shoe polish that crammed the small table's surface. The only difference was that the real table did not have Jeremy's initials carved into one of its legs; the table in the painting did.

Unwanted, a thought niggled its way into her mind. Here before her stood the work of a great artist, the work of a man of incredible drive and discipline, a man whose father had called him a fool. Here before her stood an excellent motive for murder.

Chapter Twenty-nine:
Tuesday evening, August 12, 1879

The rest of the day Annie continued to pursue her thoughts about Jeremy and whether he might feel that his father’s plans were such a threat to his art that he was justified in killing him. While she couldn’t reconcile the premeditated nature of Matthew’s murder with her impressions of Jeremy Voss, the precision of his painting revealed a depth in him that she would never have imagined if she hadn’t seen the work itself. It was a puzzle. However, right before dinner, something happened that drew her attention away from this line of thought.

Shortly before seven, Cartier came down to the kitchen to ask Wong to open the door so she could leave for her night out. Annie, who had been chopping vegetables, waited until Cartier was out the door, and then she ran over to Wong. She asked him to keep the door unlocked while she stepped out to look for a missing bag of clothespins she thought she had dropped while taking in the washing. Once outside, she moved to the back of the yard. Having noticed earlier that this put her out of sight of the kitchen window, she then nipped through the back gate and into the alley. She thought that Cartier would certainly have made it to the street by that time, and she simply planned on running down the alley to see if she was waiting for a horse car or was walking up or down Geary. Annie was very surprised when she saw that Cartier was just standing at the end of the alley. She immediately stepped back into the bushes next to the gate, peeping carefully out to make sure Cartier hadn’t seen her. In less than a minute, a carriage pulled up, filling the end of the alleyway. The carriage door opened, a man’s arm reached out to assist Cartier inside, the door closed, and the carriage was on its way before Annie had a chance to blink.

Knowing it would be impossible to follow the carriage, she returned to the kitchen, mulling over the implications of what she had just seen. Cartier had been meeting a man, a man of some means if the carriage was any indication. This must be the
friend
she had been planning on meeting on Sunday. Had her message to the delivery boy yesterday arranged for this meeting, or was this something that happened every Tuesday on her night out? Who was he, and could he possibly be involved in Matthew and Nellie’s murders? She so wished she could talk about this with Nate. Annie had half been expecting either Nate or his uncle to arrive all day, given the intrusion of the police yesterday afternoon. As far as she could determine, Mrs. Voss hadn’t sent off a message to her lawyers, so perhaps they were unaware of what had happened.

The need to begin serving dinner precluded any more thought on the subject, and this was a dreary repetition of the night before. Wong was even more silent than usual during dinner, handing each serving to her wordlessly. The two ladies she served upstairs in the dining room were equally silent. Mrs. Voss ate very little of what Wong had prepared, and while Miss Nancy ate everything served, it was with no sign of enjoyment. Maybe each was wondering if the other had killed Matthew or Nellie, or perhaps both were worrying that Jeremy was the guilty party.

Jeremy certainly did his best to act the part of the guilty son when he came home right after dinner. Annie, removing the dessert dishes from the dining room, heard sounds from the front of the house. Mrs. Voss had skipped dessert and already gone upstairs to her sitting room, and Miss Nancy was just crossing into the hall. At the sound of the key in the door, Annie put down the dishes in her hand and slipped over to look out into the hall, doing so in time to catch the sight of the front door banging open and Jeremy staggering in, almost knocking his aunt off her feet.

Jeremy stepped back from Miss Nancy with a gruffly muttered apology, and then, after fumbling to lock the door behind him, he turned to make his unsteady way upstairs. Miss Nancy took one stride forward, grabbed him by the shoulder, and turned him back to face her. Annie noted how very tall the older woman was and that her grip looked like it had considerable strength to it. Jeremy stood, swaying slightly, looking sullenly down at his feet, while Miss Nancy began to berate him in her harsh twang.

"Drunk again, young man. Have you no honor? To shame this house, this family, and your father, who is barely cold in his grave. I have held my tongue, Jeremy, forgiven you and forgiven you, as God has commanded. Blamed everyone else, including your father for being so hardheaded about your painting and your mother for her sinful ways, her heartless neglect. But I can keep still no longer."

Jeremy looked up at this point and sneeringly said, "When have you ever kept still? Oh, yes, Aunt Silence, that's you. You never interfere. All forbearance, the silent martyr."

Miss Nancy jerked her head as if Jeremy had slapped her. She then pulled him closer to her, and she hissed out, "God said, 'Wine is a mocker, strong drink a brawler; and who ever is led astray by it is not wise.'
Proverbs
20. And the Lord said to the sons of Moses, 'Drink no wine or strong drink, lest you die.'
Leviticus
10. Don't you see? You must repent. Confess your sins. Only then will God help you."

Jeremy pulled sharply away from her grasp and stumbled backwards, his right hand flung upwards as if to ward off further verbal blows. Annie was appalled at the look of agony that contorted his face. Miss Nancy must have been moved as well, because her stance softened, and she muttered, "My poor child," as she moved toward him with her arms outstretched to embrace him.

But Jeremy shouted, "No, don't touch me!"

Then he turned and began to stumble up the stairs. Annie had to move closer to the dining room door at this point to keep him in view, so she was only a few feet behind Miss Nancy when his next words came. Halfway up, he leaned over the railing and in tones of loathing lashed out.

"Confess? Oh yes, I'll confess.
Mea Culpa. Mea Culpa
. I'm to blame. I'm a drunken loafer. A good-for-nothing. No talent. No ambition. No ability. Except to make everyone miserable and kill my father. I was very good at that. He kept saying it. 'You'll be the death of me. You'll be the death of me.' You heard him."

Jeremy sobbed once at this point but then went on in a rush. "But I am not the only one to blame. I can quote the Bible too. You made damn sure of that."

He continued in a singsong voice, "And Christ said, 'Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.'" Laughing harshly, Jeremy pointed a finger at his aunt. "I had help in making his life miserable, didn't I? Why do you think he was in such a rush to turn the business over to me? So he could get away from you. Take my mother away from your never-ending complaints, your black moods, your petty jealousies. God, we were a wonderful family to him. A failure for a son and a harpy for a sister. No wonder he couldn't stick it any more. The only joy in his life was Mother, and you tried to poison that too, didn't you? Well, don't try it with me. I'm not your child, and I never will be." With that, Jeremy turned and lurched up the stairs.

Chapter Thirty:
Wednesday morning, August 13, 1879

Annie shifted back on her haunches and viewed the gleaming flagstones of the kitchen floor with pride. Miss Nancy had announced this morning at breakfast that she wanted all the kitchen and scullery counters, cabinets, and floors washed and all the wood work on the first floor cleaned and waxed. So, while Annie had been downstairs in the kitchen, scrubbing away, up to her elbows in sudsy water, Wong had been upstairs polishing away, on his hands and knees.

Despite the physical demands of the work, Annie was in an improved state of mind from the day before, helped considerably by the fact that she had had a decent night's sleep. Last night, after helping Mrs. Voss get ready for bed and letting Wong out of the house, Annie was able to retire to her room by 9:30, and she had fallen asleep quickly, which was surprising, considering all the interesting information she had gathered that day. Not only could she have been kept awake going over Jeremy and his aunt’s fight, but two subsequent incidents should have been enough to disturb her sleep.

First of all, there was the mysterious letter to Jeremy. Annie had noticed that in his argument with his aunt he had overlooked two letters that were waiting for him on the hall table. Oddly, they had both been slipped through the mail slot well after the afternoon mail delivery, and, although she had no desire to interact with him in his inebriated and overwrought state, Mrs. Voss had instructed her to make sure he got these letters when he came home. So as soon as Miss Nancy made her way down to the kitchen, presumably to give Wong his orders for the next day, Annie had crept out of her hiding place in the dining room and snatched up the letters, hoping she could catch Jeremy before he made it all the way to his third floor room. As she mounted the back stairs, she looked at the letters, seeing that one of them was from Malcolm Samuels, which wasn’t that odd. The other letter, however, had no return address. The neat delicate handwriting practically shouted female correspondent, and Annie wasn’t surprised at all when she lifted the envelope to her nose to smell a light scent. When she handed the letters to Jeremy, who had been unsuccessfully trying to turn his door handle, she noted that it was the scented letter that he fixated on. He first stared at the envelope, as if it were a dangerous serpent, and then he snatched it to his lips, and the pain she saw reflected on his tear-stained face still haunted Annie the next day.

The second unexpected occurrence that should have kept her awake was the return of Cartier, who for some reason cancelled the rest of her night out. When Annie returned to the kitchen after helping Mrs. Voss get ready for bed, Wong informed her that she had just missed Cartier, who moments earlier had arrived at the kitchen door, asking admittance. Curious, Annie made a detour to the third floor on her way up to bed and knocked on Cartier’s door. She planned on asking the lady’s maid if she needed anything, but it was really an excuse to see if Cartier would explain why she came home early. Cartier never answered her knock; as Annie stood listening outside the door, she thought she heard a muffled sob. Finally, Annie trudged up to her own narrow bed in the attic, where her body's fatigue triumphed over the evening's stimulating surprises, and she instantly fell fast asleep.

She had slept through the night dreamlessly, and when she rose at five she had felt much refreshed. In addition, the day's work was less frustrating than the ironing had been, and this improved her mood considerably. Scrubbing was hard physical labor, but it was easy to do it well. Overall, she just felt more optimistic. She was now confident that Cartier would turn out to hold the key to the puzzle of the two murders. As for the other people in the household, Matthew’s loved ones, today it was easier to believe that Miss Nancy’s insinuations that Mrs. Voss and Malcolm Samuels were responsible for Matthew’s death were the imaginings of a bitter and jealous woman and that Jeremy was simply overcome by guilt about disappointing his father, not consumed by guilt over killing him.

And tonight she would be home! Perhaps for good. She had felt so lonely these last three days, hearing nothing from her friends. Not even a glimpse of Patrick on his beat. She had hoped that he might be able to stop by the kitchen on his rounds, maybe be able to tell her how everyone at home was doing. She would be so relieved to get back into her work as Sybil, and she worried a bit about a few of her clients who might unravel if she missed more than one appointment with them. Those she advised on financial matters didn’t worry her, although she might lose their business if she missed too many sessions. It was women like Margery Dunhill, struggling to placate an exacting mother-in-law and worried about her husband’s fidelity, that she regretted most having canceled. But with luck, she would be able to meet with her Friday clients and only have missed a week.

She also wondered what Nate was doing, if he had tried to see her. Probably not. After the disastrous carriage ride back from the beach, he most certainly would feel well rid of her. Anyway, she would have to decide tonight how to best convey what she had learned about Cartier to the police––whether to try to go through Nate or perhaps his uncle. But this would require her to explain how she had obtained her knowledge of the household. Maybe it would be safer to tell Patrick and see if he could relay the information without revealing its source. She also needed to decide if she should find another maid to replace her here at the Vosses’. Sunday night, she had asked Beatrice and Kathleen to be on the lookout for a replacement. Annie knew she couldn’t afford to delay Sibyl’s return to work much longer. But would it be right to send some poor girl into the house that might very well contain a murderer?
Well
, Annie thought to herself,
all these questions will be much easier to answer tonight when I’m home, bathed, and completely rested. Meanwhile, just look at how clean the floor is!

Everyone else in the household, even Cartier who was red-eyed and unusually subdued this morning, seemed to be finding solace in the details of everyday life as well. Perhaps that was why Miss Nancy had herself started the thorough rearrangement of the linen cupboards that had produced a pile of mending for Cartier to do, and Annie had been shocked when the lady’s maid hadn’t objected.
Unprecedented!
Mrs. Voss spent most of the morning in the front parlor, apparently answering the stack of condolences that had piled up in the past week. Stranger still, Jeremy had risen exceptionally early, announcing that he was going to his father's office at the furniture factory.
Maybe his aunt’s words about his drinking have finally gotten through to him. Or maybe there was something in the anonymous letter that has improved his disposition.
Annie had overheard Mrs. Voss tell Miss Nancy at breakfast how pleased she had been when Jeremy had agreed to meet Samuels at the factory in the morning to go over some of the decisions that had to be made about new orders and the factory production schedule.

In fact, everyone had risen early. Wong had arrived a little before five-thirty and had barely gotten the bread in to rise and Cartier's breakfast tray to her when Jeremy had rung for him to bring him water for shaving and a tray of coffee and biscuits. Jeremy must have slipped out soon after that to go across town to the factory, because at 7:30, when Wong had gone up to Jeremy's room to tell him that Malcolm Samuels had stopped by to accompany him to the office, he had already left. Wong told Annie later that Samuels had just laughed and made some remark about how forgetful Jeremy could be. He didn't seem terribly put out; in fact, he had asked Wong to bring him some coffee, since he had skipped breakfast, figuring he'd have it with Jeremy.

In any event, Samuels had already had his coffee and left the house by the time both Miss Nancy and Mrs. Voss rang for service at eight o'clock. This wasn't early for Matthew's sister, but it was much earlier than Mrs. Voss had gotten up during the time Annie had been working there. Mrs. Voss had begun her correspondence right after breakfast and was still at it when Annie came to her sitting room to announce that lunch was ready.

Lunch was not one of Wong’s better efforts. First of all, neither Annie nor Wong had time to prepare much for the meal. Wong had barely gotten the carpets laid back down in the dining room when it was time to fix lunch, and Annie had been caught in the middle of scrubbing the scullery floor when it was time to serve. She very hastily changed to a clean apron, but she couldn't hide the damp stains at the edge of her skirt and cuffs, and she was sure she smelled strongly of carbolic acid. The food itself was uninspired; the cold cuts were left over from the dinner the night before, the rolls were a bit burnt around the edges, and there was no fresh dessert so he had brought out one of the neighbor's condolence gifts, a rather sad-looking pudding. Neither Miss Nancy nor Mrs. Voss seemed to care. They were too busy arguing with each other to notice what they were eating.

Well, arguing isn't perhaps the correct term,
Annie thought to herself as she took the dessert dishes down to the kitchen. Miss Nancy had been reproaching her sister-in-law, and Amelia Voss, for once, didn't seem willing to listen patiently. Annie had been able to hear only bits and pieces of the conversation, but what she had heard had been intriguing. As she had entered the room with the first course, she'd heard Miss Nancy say that she thought that at twenty-three Jeremy was altogether too young to marry.

She'd gone on, ignoring Annie's presence, "I don't believe in a man marrying so young. You and Matthew were pushing him into it." Miss Nancy was dressed in her habitual black, and Annie thought she looked even more cadaver-like, if possible. The older woman shook her finger in the direction of Mrs. Voss, who was sitting quietly across the table from her. Clearly not expecting any answer from Mrs. Voss, the old woman went on in the same accusing voice. "Rushing him to grow up. He's just a boy. Why, Matthew himself was near twice his age before he tied the knot."

Annie almost dropped the plate she was placing onto the center of the table when Mrs. Voss suddenly replied, a distinct note of sarcasm in her soft drawl.

"Well, dear sister, we both know how you feel about Matthew's judgment at that mature age. I've heard for over twenty years about how a man plays the fool when he marries in middle age. I would have thought you would be glad that Jeremy was going to avoid that mistake."

Miss Nancy was so taken aback she had sputtered. Amelia Voss had quite kindly asked her sister-in-law if she'd caught something in her throat and if she could be of any help dislodging it. It was said with such sweet sincerity that Annie couldn't tell whether Matthew's wife was making fun of the older woman or not. Apparently, Miss Nancy was unsure as well, because she just sat silently staring at Mrs. Voss, as if she were a garden snake metamorphosed into a viper.

She evidently didn't remain speechless for long, because she was again haranguing Mrs. Voss about Jeremy when Annie came to clear off the main course and bring in the dessert. This time, the subject seemed to have shifted from when Jeremy married to whom he should marry.

Miss Nancy was again shaking her finger as she catalogued Judith Langdon's faults. "She's nothing but a scatterbrained girl and vain. Did you see the jet beads on her earrings at the funeral? I would have been ashamed to be seen flouncing myself around like that when I was her age. Of course, what would you expect from the daughter of that woman? Mrs. Langdon is a professional widow. I know the type. Trade on their misfortune so they don't ever have to do an honest day's work. I say she should be glad she had the comfort of a good man, and she should stop sniveling because she had the bad luck to lose him. Her husband probably died of neglect. Can't imagine she was a very good housekeeper. Too used to the good old days back on the plantation when she was waited on hand and foot by her slaves."

Here, Miss Nancy jabbed her spoon into her pudding with a flourish, and Annie envisioned her as a young Yankee soldier, bayoneting a Confederate with equal relish. The older woman then looked up at Mrs. Voss with a sniff and went on. "Young Judith won't be any better, brought up in boarding houses, dens of iniquity every one. No, Judith Langdon is no fit wife for my nephew, and I aim to tell him so. He won't have any trouble getting out of the betrothal. I am quite certain Mrs. Langdon would love to be shut of us––hasn't had the decency to call since Matthew's death. We're clearly not prominent enough a family for her blue blood."

Annie had her back turned to the table as she stacked plates onto the tray that was resting on the sideboard, so she didn't get to see the expression on Mrs. Voss’s face when she replied. But the sense of iron beneath the polite phrases was chilling.

"Dear Sister, I am afraid I must disagree with you. I have found Judith to be a sweet, honest, and refreshingly practical young woman. And as a daughter of the South myself, you can’t expect me to see this as a fault in her mother. Judith sent me a note yesterday afternoon, and she made it perfectly clear that she dearly loves Jeremy, as he loves her. I do hope that you will reconsider your decision to try and turn Jeremy against her. I would hate to see you do anything to estrange yourself further from him. I do know how important he is to you, and I promise you that I will fight you on this, and I will win."

Then, without missing a beat, Mrs. Voss’s voice changed, and she continued sweetly, "Now, Lizzie, would you please finish clearing the table and then bring me some tea in the front parlor? I find that I cannot bring myself to try this pudding. Mrs. Walters is a good soul, but I fear she has an inept cook."