Then Kathleen had grinned at her, no doubt trying to take the sting out of her words. But, nevertheless, she had been sending a clear message; she thought Annie simply would not be able to carry off her plan to work as a servant.
Annie had finally prevailed, but only later Wednesday evening after she had been forced to confess to the three women why getting into the Voss household was so urgent. It had been the perceptive Mrs. Stein who had winkled it out of her. Once again the four of them had been in the kitchen, arguing about Annie’s plan, as Beatrice and Kathleen cleaned up after dinner. Annie had come down as usual for a cup of tea after transforming out of her Sibyl persona for the day.
"Annie," Mrs. Stein's voice had been stern. "I think there is something you are not telling us. Is it the inheritance, dear? Is that why you are so anxious? I know it must be frustrating not knowing if you are going to ever get your legacy from Matthew Voss. But to rush into things won't help. Even if the stocks are found, from what Herbert explained to me, it might take months before probate is completed and you would be able to call them your own."
"Yes, but Mrs. Stein, don't you see, once they are found, I could borrow on the expectation of receiving them.…" She had stopped, aware she had revealed too much, but it was too late.
Dear Beatrice had reacted first. She had trotted across the kitchen and sat down next to Annie, grasping both her hands in her own. "Now, Annie, love. What is this all about? Why would you need to borrow money? What's gone wrong? I just knew that something more than that poor man's death was eating at you." Here Beatrice had looked over at Mrs. Stein with a significant nod. "Didn't I say that our Annie was worrying herself about something?"
Annie had gazed at the concerned faces surrounding her, basking in their affection, and then she had taken a deep breath and told them everything. She told them about her husband's debt, and Mr. Driscoll's threatening letter, and her hopes that the mining stock that Voss left her might help save the house.
And all three women had begun to talk at once.
"Well, I never, Ma'am! Can a man really do that, take the house right out from under a poor widow.…"
"Saints preserve us! Just when were you planning on letting me know about this, young lady, or did you think...."
"Annie, you should have told us, I am sure Herbert would have been able to.…"
Annie had been torn between laughter and tears at her friends' indignation. She explained to Kathleen that creditors were often successful in attaching wives' estates to settle their husbands' debts, and she apologized to Beatrice for not telling her earlier, and she had pointed out that since Mr. Stein had left on a business trip that Wednesday morning and wouldn’t be back for a week that she really couldn’t wait for his advice. There had followed a good deal more discussion, but when all was said and done, she finally had the women on her side.
From that point on, events had moved swiftly. Early the next morning Mrs. Stein sent a note to Mrs. Voss asking if she could use the services of a reliable housemaid. By midday she had received a gracious note in return asking if the servant in question could start early that Friday morning. Annie then had sent Jamie with a notice to the Chronicle announcing that, as of Friday, Madam Sibyl would be out of town for a week. Annie certainly hoped this wouldn’t lose her too many clients, but the consequences were so much worse if she had to sell the house that she felt the temporary loss of income was necessary.
After dinner Kathleen had gone through Annie’s clothes, picking out what would be suitable for a maid, and added one of her own starched aprons and caps to the suitcase that Annie was assembling. Kathleen also promised that she would try to track down the servant, Nellie, who had left her job right after Matthew’s death. She seemed to feel Nellie could tell them more than Annie would ever find out in a few days snooping. At this point Annie couldn’t help but think she was right. The rest of the evening had been spent with Beatrice and Kathleen trying to tell her everything they thought she should know to pull off her masquerade. Rubbing her sore right shoulder, Annie again thought how foolish she had been to dismiss their concerns. It turned out there was an enormous difference between managing a servant and being one.
A muffled noise outside in the hallway brought Annie sharply back to the present and she swiftly got to her feet. By the time the dining room door opened, she had stood up and was busily engaged in sweeping imaginary crumbs from the tablecloth. Her heart beating furiously, she turned and bobbed a short curtsey to the woman who had entered. She then covertly examined the older woman who was surveying the room. Up close, Miss Nancy Voss looked even more like a washed-out version of her brother Matthew. Somewhere in her late fifties, with a tall, spare frame and ramrod-straight back, Miss Voss had encased herself in an uncompromising mourning that eliminated any life or color that might ever had existed in the shades of grey that dominated her hair, skin, and eyes.
Miss Voss broke the silence with a voice that reminded Annie of flint. "That will do, girl. You can return to your duties in the kitchen now. You did all right tonight serving at dinner, a sight better than you did at ironing Master Jeremy's shirts this afternoon. Remember in the future that you mustn't let them get too dry, or the creases will never come out."
"Yes, Miss," responded Annie, who curtsied again and then left Nancy Voss staring into the dying embers in the room's large ornate fireplace. She longed to stay and talk to the older woman, but she had already discovered that in this household, except when acknowledging an order, servants were to be seen and not heard. So Annie did as she had been directed and made her way down the stairs to the kitchen.
"No gossiping with the other servants!" That was one of Cartier's rules, although Annie had noticed she had plenty to say, but it was all about Annie's duties as a servant. In contrast, the other servant in the household, the Chinese manservant Wong, had spoken not a word to her the whole time she'd been here, even when they had worked together getting dinner ready. She wasn't even sure he spoke English.
As for the Voss family itself, well! She hadn't gotten a glimpse of Matthew’s son, Jeremy, who appeared to have taken up permanent residence at his club. And Matthew's grieving widow, Amelia Voss, hadn't yet left her room; Cartier took all her meals to her. Except for a short visit from the dressmaker, who came to the house to do the final fitting for the new black morning dresses that she had ordered, Mrs. Voss wasn't seeing anyone. This meant the only member of the family Annie had had any contact with had been Matthew’s sister, Miss Nancy. And she wasn't exactly chatty. This evening was particularly odd, as Annie served the older lady in the dining room in solitary splendor. Although she was glad to have that practice before being asked to serve the whole family at once, it meant she had so far learned precious little, except how tiring it was to run up and down the stairs from the basement kitchen to the dining room.
She had arrived at the house this morning at six o’clock and had been busy doing the ironing and helping Wong prepare and serve meals since then. As a result Annie had found few opportunities for exploring. So far she had access only to the kitchen, the dining room, and the front parlor, and none of these rooms had revealed anything of interest, except that Matthew’s family had dutifully draped every possible surface of the public rooms with black crape. Even more frustratingly, Miss Nancy had explicitly instructed her not to go into Matthew’s first-floor study, the room she most wanted to search for clues about the missing assets.
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-was
hing. 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 bright-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."
Maids of Misfortune: A Victorian San Francisco Mystery Page 8