Maids of Misfortune: A Victorian San Francisco Mystery

by M. Louisa Locke

  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 mamma'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 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 sea gulls 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 fiancé 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 tuned 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 si
des 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 badly 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.

  Remembering the first days of her own bereavement, Annie looked over at Matthew's wife, Amelia, and wondered what she was feeling at this moment. Would she truly mourn his passing? Or would there be anger, a sense of betrayal, or even relief? Would she have resented the fact that he turned to another woman, Sibyl, to share his thoughts and ask for advice? Perhaps not. From what Matthew had said about his wife, it was possible that Amelia Voss had been relieved that he had turned elsewhere with his concerns.

  "Such a sweet Angel," Matthew once said, "but completely at sea when it comes to worldly things. It was her Southern upbringing, you know. Yankee girls are taught to be more practical. Her mother made me promise when I asked for Amelia's hand in marriage that she would never ever have to worry her beautiful little head about money. And I have been able to keep that promise up till now, and will continue to keep it, God willing."

  Annie smiled at this memory, thinking of how fervent the old gentleman had looked as he made this vow. Then the sight of Matthew's wife placing her wreath on the coffin as it was lowered wiped away her smile. Matthew was dead now, and if his assets remained missing, Amelia Voss would have to begin to worry about money. His promise would have been broken. Oh, how he would have hated that!

  Moving slowly down the slope with others to place her flowers and give her condolences, Annie tried to say her silent goodbyes. But she was too angry to feel at peace. As she looked up, she saw she wasn't the only mourner with anger in her heart. Standing across from her, slightly apart from the rest of the family, an older woman glared fiercely into the grave being rapidly covered with flowers. She bore a remarkable resemblance to Matthew, but a Matthew filled with fury and despair. Almost as tall as Matthew had been, the woman had the same thinning grey hair, tied in a severe knot and covered by an ancient black hat with a veil thrust back to reveal her features. The thin shoulders that had drooped on Matthew were rigidly straight on her, and her long thin arms and the black-gloved hands were held equally rigid and straight at her sides. Annie found herself speculating whether or not this woman had a small paunch similar to Matthew's hidden under her tightly-laced corset. But it was her eyes, grey and piercing, that most reminded Annie of Matthew, and it was her bruised-looking, unblinking eyes that revealed a woman in anguish.

  Who could she be? For a moment Annie simply stared. Then several fragments of conversations over the past two days came together, and she knew the answer. First, the newspaper article had mentioned that Matthew was survived by a sister. Then Kathleen talked about an "old lady" who had fetched Patrick off his beat, an "old lady" who had clamored that murder had been done. At the time Annie had assumed that this referred to Matthew’s wife. Finally Nate Dawson had said that a small percentage of the company shares would go to Matthew’s sister, who must be the woman standing there at graveside.

  Yet how odd. Another person, like Judith Langdon, that Matthew had never mentioned. She could understand him not mentioning his son’s fiancé, but a sister! Maybe she didn’t normally live with them. Had she been visiting by chance? Annie turned and made her way to Mrs. Stein, who had moved up the hill after shaking hands with Amelia Voss.

  "Oh, I do feel for the poor woman." Esther Stein sniffed into her handkerchief. "We have never really been that close. Amelia was always more part of the younger set, but I can't help but think how frightening it would be if Herman was gone."

  Annie gave the kind-hearted woman a quick hug and said, "Now Mrs. Stein, your husband is not going anywhere--you are much too good to him. Besides, you have six children who would line up to take care of you. Your only problem would be that they might start fighting with each other over the privilege."

  Mrs. Stein chuckled at this and replied, "Oh my lord, what a thought. I just know they would plague me to death, giving me advice and help I didn't need. I'd better tell Herman he must promise to out-live me. I couldn't stand the aggravation!"

  Annie then turned Mrs. Stein gently to the side and nodded at the woman who was still staring into the now flower covered grave. "Is that Mr. Voss's sister?"

  "Of course it is, poor soul. That's Miss Nancy Voss. She will be bereft. She followed Matthew out west after their parents died and has kept house for Matthew ever since. Over twenty-five years, and in all that time she's never been apart from him. I wonder what she'll do now?"

  Annie was even more mystified. How could Matthew have lived most of his life with his sister, and yet had never once mentioned her? And why did she look so angry?

  Almost as if to answer her question, Miss Voss tore her eyes from the grave and turned her baleful look on a little tableau that had formed to her right. There was Mrs. Voss, leaning her head against her son's chest as if she was faint, with Jeremy tenderly murmuring in her ear. At the same time, Malcolm Samuels hovered over her, ineffectually trying to drape a shawl around her bowed shoulders, while Miss Langdon kneeled at her feet, offering to Mrs. Voss the black lace handkerchief she had dropped. Looking back at Matthew's sister, Annie saw her raise her upper lip in a sneer, then turn swiftly and walk off, alone.

  Chapter Seven

  Tuesday afternoon, August 7, 1879

  Annie wove her way through the crowded sidewalk along Sansome, in the thick of the San Francisco business district, trying in vain to keep up with Nate Dawson, who was striding in front of her. He had insisted in accompanying her home from the law offices of Hobbes, Haranahan, and Dawson, where she had dutifully signed the necessary probate forms to ensure that Madam Sibyl would get her inheritance--if they ever found the missing mining stocks. But he had immediately set a pace that seemed intended to leave her behind. From the moment she had arrived at the scheduled meeting, she had been confused by Nate Dawson’s behavior. Certainly their first meeting had been odd: a jumble of mistaken identities, sharp suspicions, and small kindnesses, resulting in a disconcerting sense of intimacy. At the end she had thought they had parted on good terms. This afternoon, however, he had been treating her
as if she were a complete, and very unwelcome, stranger.

  By contrast, his uncle, Frank Hobbes, who she had dreaded meeting, turned out to be a charming man. The family resemblance to his nephew was strong, but age had greatly tamed Frank Hobbes. At one time he must have been as tall and dark as his nephew, but middle age and too many years spent hunched over an office desk had reduced his stature, curved his back, paled his skin, and streaked his dark hair with white. He had the same high cheekbones and beak-like nose as his nephew, but the small pair of round, tortoise-shell glasses that perched on this nose turned these hawk-like features into the face of a rather amiable owl.

  Hobbes had completely disarmed Annie by first apologizing for the misunderstanding about Madam Sibyl and then telling her that he was interested in her assertion that Mr. Voss had recently been successful in his business investments. He said he had even directed his nephew to look into the list of assets that she had brought with her to substantiate that claim.

  “Mrs. Fuller’s father, Edward Stewart, was one of the best brokers on the New York Stock Exchange in the fifties,” he said to Nate. “Made his fortune and then moved out to California and dabbled in mining stocks. He was a good friend to me when I started out as a lawyer, gave me excellent financial advice. If Mrs. Fuller is half as smart as her father was, you would do well to listen to her.”

  Nate had not seemed at all pleased by his uncle’s remarks and had turned to the desk to shuffle various papers, completely ignoring her. In fact, the whole time she had been at the crowded and untidy law offices, he had barely said two words to her. Irritating man. This thought was interrupted when she was forced to slow down by the crowd of people waiting to cross Market Street. She saw that Nate was looking toward her over his shoulder.