Maids of Misfortune: A Victorian San Francisco Mystery

by M. Louisa Locke

  Annie responded quickly. "But that isn't true. He has been steadily investing for at least the past six months in a variety of money-generating schemes, almost all of them successful. He bought a good deal of property, stocks, and bonds. Granted, his liquid assets would be rather low at this point, but I would estimate that overall his net worth has increased significantly in the past few months."

  She stopped for a moment, trying to order her thoughts. She wanted to appear composed in order to convince him she knew what she was talking about.

  "You should have found records of these transactions. Deeds of property, stock certificates. Haven't you looked in his safety deposit box in the bank? I know he has one. That would clear up this so-called mystery."

  He shook his head. "Of course we looked there. Uncle Frank opened that and his safe at the factory. There were the usual documents you would expect to find, but none representing the assets you describe or any cash.”

  "Mr. Dawson, you've still not explained why any of this led you or your uncle to decide that Mr. Voss was regularly patronizing a prostitute, or that the prostitute was Sibyl. Are you one of those men who simply assumes that any working woman must be a woman of easy virtue?"

  He said, "Look, Mrs. Fuller. It was my Uncle Frank's idea. We were trying to find an explanation for his apparent insolvency. Uncle Frank simply speculated that if Matthew Voss was entangled with some woman, perhaps his wealth had gone for her support or to keep her quiet."

  He added, "You must, in all fairness, admit that this would not be the first time that a respectable merchant of this city found himself in that position."

  "I would strongly question whether any man who found himself in that sort of position could be called respectable," Annie replied tartly. "But this still doesn't explain why you decided Sibyl was the woman in question. Did Voss’s wife make this accusation?"

  He seemed shocked. "Good heavens, we have not even hinted at our suspicions to Mrs. Voss. She is already suffering enough. She keeps insisting his death must have been some sort of accident and the money must have just been misplaced. No, it was the appointment book and Mr. Voss's will that put us on to Sibyl. When my uncle talked to Mrs. Voss this afternoon, she suggested that Voss’s pocket diary might reveal something about his finances. My uncle and I went over the diary thoroughly, and for the most part we simply found what you would expect for a man of Voss’s standing and occupation. There were references to, and appointments with, the usual group of bankers and businessmen. Also the occasional social engagements, birthdays noted. Nothing unusual. However, there was one odd sort of entry we couldn't explain. Regularly, once or twice a week, the word Sibyl was jotted down. This had been going on for months."

  Annie wrinkled her forehead, still trying to understand how either Mr. Dawson or his uncle could have jumped to the conclusions they did from this piece of information. She said, "But how did you find me? I mean, if you had seen my card, or advertisement, or talked to anyone about me, they would have told you that Sibyl was a clairvoyant. But you obviously didn't know this when you came this evening."

  "Ah, but this is where the will came in. Mr. Voss had recently added a rather odd codicil to his will. Well, guess who was mentioned in the codicil!"

  "Not Sibyl!" was her startled response.

  "Yes, Sibyl, giving her address as well. That is how we found her, or, rather, you. And it seemed to confirm our suspicions. Why else would he have put a woman he wasn't related to in his will?"

  Of all the wrong-headed, idiotic, tortured twisting of logic, this seemed the worst, she thought. In low, fierce tones she began to tell him so in no uncertain terms. "Did you ever think that maybe, just maybe, he might have done so because they were business associates, or even friends? Of course not. Well, you were wrong, about everything. Matthew Voss was not an adulterer, nor was he a coward. Even if he had some recent financial reversals, which I don't believe, he would never have taken his life." She stopped, fighting back tears.

  Turning her face away and looking in vain for a handkerchief, she suddenly felt indescribably weary. She also felt self-conscious remaining in front of Mr. Dawson dressed as Sibyl. Her head ached under the tight wig, and she was sure that her tears were making a mess of her face. She just wanted this man, and his infuriating suspicions, to be gone.

  Blotting her face with the edge of her shawl, Annie said quietly, "Please, I have answered your questions, and you have answered mine. Will you now leave?"

  "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. Over all 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 have discovered who killed him. Goodnight, sir. Until tomorrow."

  Chapter Six

  Tuesday morning, August 8, 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; may
be 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 all week, 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."