Cartier was literally rendered speechless in response to the Chief Detective’s words, pressing the handkerchief once again against her mouth and closing her eyes as if the headache had temporarily blinded her. Then, she drew herself to her full height and with exaggerated politeness deigned to answer him. “Sir, I am afraid that you are sorely ill-informed about the running of a superior establishment and the exceptionally important status of a lady’s maid such as myself in that establishment. Not surprising from one of your class, living in a provincial city like San Francisco. But, let me assure you, that a woman in my position would never share confidences with a common domestic like Nellie. I don’t suppose I exchanged more than two words with her outside of passing on orders from my mistress. I certainly would not be the person she would write to, if she were literate, which I sincerely doubt. Now, again, I must insist that I be permitted to retire.” And not waiting for a response from Mrs. Voss, Cartier swept out of the room.
“Tsch! Good riddance!” Miss Nancy spoke with disgust. “Amelia, I don’t know why you put up with her, surely you can find someone else who can do up your hair to your satisfaction.” Then, noticing that Annie was still in the room, Miss Nancy turned her gruff attention towards her, saying, “Girl, what in the dickens are you still doing here? We can pour our own tea, so get yourself down to the kitchen.”
Annie, feeling the attention of the two police officers turn in her direction, began to fuss with the sugar and cream pot, not daring to look up.
“See here, young lady. Before you go, let’s hear what you know about this business. You’ve been pretty quiet there in the corner. First, what’s your name?” the Chief Detective asked with a kind heartiness.
“My name’s Lizzie, sir, and I don’t know nothing about anything, sir.” Annie squeaked out.
“Well, that’s for me to determine, isn’t it my girl. Was yesterday your day off as well?”
“Yes, sir, I had the weekend off, didn’t come back until this morning.”
“And where did you go on your time off? You didn’t happen to see Nellie Flannigan anytime recently, did you?”
Annie froze. What should I say? He couldn’t possibly know who I really am, could he? No, this was a natural question of a servant, really the same one he had asked Cartier. Annie didn’t want to lie to the Detective, but suddenly her whole masquerade seemed threatened and the frightened note to her voice when she began to speak was no longer an act.
“Sir, I don’t know what you mean. Why would I see someone called Nellie? What are you saying?”
“Chief Detective, do leave the child alone,” Mrs. Voss’s soft tones intervened. “She never met Nellie, she just started working here last week as Nellie’s replacement. She came highly recommended by the wife of Herbert Stein, who I am sure would vouch for her if necessary. Now Lizzie, be a good girl, and go down and help Wong in the kitchen. Tell him that dinner will be served at seven.”
Annie was never more in charity with Amelia Voss than at that moment, and she made her escape without waiting to see if the Chief Detective objected. She was not, however, so flustered that she didn’t leave the parlor door cracked and linger outside in the hall long enough to hear the Chief Detective say, “Well, that’s all we can do for now. Are you sure that your son Jeremy won’t be home soon? I would like to see him before the inquest, which will be Wednesday morning. I must impress on you that it is of the utmost importance that he drop by the station. Just for a little chat. I must say he has been a difficult man to get hold of, and I won’t take it kindly if we have to come back hunting for him.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Monday Evening, August 13, 1879
An hour later, Annie came into the kitchen with more bad news for Wong. “I am so sorry. Mrs. Voss sends her most sincere apology, but she must ask that you delay dinner an additional half hour, until eight-thirty. Master Jeremy has come in and needs some time to get ready. I am to take water up to him, so that you do not have to leave the kitchen at this time.” Annie smiled ruefully at Wong. She had just returned with the last of the tea things.
Wong took the news with fortitude, for which Annie was thankful. Her mother-in-law had once employed a cook who in the same circumstances would have purposely burned all the courses to register her disapproval. Wong simply nodded and went to work trying to salvage what he could of his original menu. The asparagus soup would be fine, since it was to be served at room temperature; and he hadn't put the salmon on to broil yet, not planning on doing so until Annie took up the soup course. But the roast would soon pass from succulence to desiccation, and Annie couldn't imagine how Wong intended on saving the fricasseed quails.
Having had the dubious pleasure of relieving an unsteady Jeremy of his hat and coat when he came in the house, however, Annie appreciated Mrs. Voss's desire to give her son time to regroup, no matter what the cost to the quality of the meal and the temper of the cook. Annie doubted whether a half-hour would be sufficient time to sober him up, but it was better than nothing. Wong had the presence of mind to insist that Annie take up cold water instead of hot for Jeremy.
"It will wake him up to his responsibilities as a dutiful son and nephew," Wong said, with a hint of a smile.
As Annie watched Jeremy towel off his water-soaked head, she had to admit that it certainly seemed to do the trick. She suspected that this was not the first time that Jeremy had resorted to this remedy, because the young man didn't protest at all when she gave him the pitcher filled with ice-cold water, which she had drained from the icebox. Instead, he had actually managed to produce a ghastly grin for her benefit when he raised his head from dousing it thoroughly.
Normally Wong would have acted as valet to Jeremy, and, as she handed him a towel, she felt uncomfortable standing so close to him in his bare-chested state. Jeremy was only moderately muscled, and a bit thin for his height. Annie couldn't help but compare him to the only other man she had ever seen in this state of undress, her late husband. John had been of medium height and weight with rather narrow shoulders, but he had held himself very tall and erect, thrusting out his chest as if waiting for a medal to be pinned upon it. Annie remembered being charmed at first with the way this had given him a rather bantam-rooster sort of stance, but in time she had begun to associate it with a particularly bullying sort of male arrogance. All things considered, Annie thought to herself, she preferred Jeremy's tall, thinner frame.
She wondered what Nate would look like stripped to the waist. She suspected that, although he was as tall as Jeremy, his wide shoulders were probably more muscular. He had certainly felt very strong when he helped her out of the carriage on Sunday, and she remembered how hard and solid his chest felt as he had pulled her into his arms when they danced.
All of a sudden, the complete impropriety of her thoughts struck her. Looking up, she saw that Jeremy had finished toweling his hair and was staring at her. Annie immediately blushed, which Jeremy seemed to find quite amusing. Furious with herself, she snatched up the basin and pitcher, thereby spilling some of the water, and fled the room. The sound of Jeremy's laughter wafted after her. Once out of Jeremy's sight she slowed down, in part because it was awkward to carry a basin filled with water and a pitcher at the same time, but also because she was wrestling with thoughts she found contradictory and confusing. It had occurred to her that no one would find it terribly immoral for a servant to be alone with a half-dressed man. Female servants routinely were expected to serve their masters in the privacy of the bedroom, lighting the fire, bringing up the water or perhaps a cup of coffee in the morning, even if the master was still in bed. There had probably been ample opportunity for Jeremy to become intimate with Nellie if he had wished, and, from her boyfriend’s description, Nellie might have welcomed these attentions. Jeremy definitely could be the gentleman who was giving her gifts.
Such thoughts, intriguing as they might be, had to be put aside when Annie reached the kitchen. She had the misfortune of arriving just as Cartier did, complainin
g loudly over the fact that she hadn't yet received dinner. She had been waiting in her room, where she was accustomed to take her meal on a tray. Evidently Cartier hadn't heard about Jeremy’s arrival and the further postponement of the meal, and she was incensed that Annie hadn't come to tell her.
Since Annie had always been fairly friendly with her own servants, not hesitating to work side by side with them at some domestic chore, or sharing a cup of tea with them at the kitchen table, she felt Cartier's assertion of special prerogatives as an upstairs maid absurd. So, it was with little sympathy that she listened to her complaints this evening. Fortunately, before Annie lost her temper completely, Wong stepped in front of her and disarmed the situation by thrusting a fully laden tray into Annie's hands. With his back to Cartier, he rolled his eyes and wrinkled his nose in a comic piece of mime, then softly asked Annie if she could carry the tray upstairs to Cartier's room by herself.
Annie grudgingly acquiesced, and when she returned from taking the tray upstairs, she thanked Wong for intervening. "I don't know how you deal with that woman with such equanimity, Wong. She is so condescending."
"Well Miss, I find that by being patient with her face-to-face, my mind is easier when I am forced to give her the less desirable portions of food. Otherwise, I might feel very bad that it was she who got for dinner the breast of quail that burned a bit on the edge of the pan and will get for dessert the molded lemon jelly that was so thoughtfully given to us this morning by a neighbor."
Annie nearly laughed out loud at Wong's subtle form of revenge, but before she could comment she was distracted by the ringing bell that signaled that the Voss family was finally ready to be served dinner. For the next hour Annie had no time to think about Jeremy’s relationship to Nellie, or Wong’s attitude towards Cartier, as she shuttled trays and platters up and down stairs between kitchen and dining room. Feeling her arms and legs grow wearier and wearier, she greatly feared that she would trip and fall on one of the journeys or that she would let one of the plates crash to the floor as she made her way around the table.
To make matters worse, the dinner conversation remained firmly in the realm of innocuous discussions of the weather, so she didn’t learn anything that could help her investigations. This could have had as much to do with Jeremy's attempt to appear sober in front of his mother and aunt as it did with any desire on the family's part to hide things from the servant. Still, Annie was dismayed by the lack of any comment or concern over the news of Nellie’s death. Finally, Mrs. Voss signaled that dinner was ended and that Annie might begin to clear the table.
“Jeremy, would you please join me in my sitting room, the police have been here with some distressing news, and we need to talk. And Lizzie," Mrs. Voss spoke over her shoulder before leaving the dining room. "I know that with the wash and this late dinner it has been a very long day for you, and for that I apologize. Just get the table cleared and the room straightened before you retire.”
"How very kind," Annie said under her breath, as Mrs. Voss left. She then stuck out her tongue at the closed door and turned and viewed scene before her with a depressed sigh. It would take a good twenty minutes to clear the room and probably as many trips up and down the stairs. She had barely gotten four hours sleep last night, and she was actually looking forward to the cold hard bed that waited for her in the attic.
Just then the door opened slowly and Wong stuck his head in cautiously and entered. He was carrying a large tray, which he waved in front of her and said, "Miss, would you mind if we traded duties for tonight? I can clear the table. You can dry and put away those dishes that are already washed. I get very tired of the kitchen."
Annie's heart warmed once again to this kind man, wishing she could be completely truthful with him. "Bless you, Wong, I wasn't sure if I could make the trip between here and the kitchen one more time without accident. I would be glad to wash and dry all the dishes if you would just be the one to bring them to me."
And so, as the large kitchen clock chimed out ten o’clock, Annie was putting the last dessert dish on the shelf, while Wong entered with the dining room tablecloth draped over his arm. Her smile of greeting died when she saw the troubled expression on his face.
"What's wrong, Wong? Have I forgotten to do something?" she asked looking around the kitchen with confusion.
"No Miss, it is nothing that you or I have done. It is this house. I am afraid that the omens are not good for a return to harmony."
He then silently held out the tablecloth, which Annie could see held a dark red splotch in one place, hideously like blood. Although she knew that the stain must be from the burgundy that had been served at dinner, the hair on the back of her neck still rose.
She sternly told herself not to be so fanciful, and she chided Wong. "Why Wong, that is a rather dire conclusion to draw from a simple household accident. Don't tell me no one has ever spilled wine at dinner in this house before?"
Wong stared without blinking at her for a second, and then he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "Yes, Miss. Someone has. The night the master died. The mistress spilled her wine, as she did tonight. That was the first time that she ever did in all my years of service, Miss. The servant Nellie, it was her night out. She asked me to get rid of the stain. I did. I had to scrub long and hard, but I did. That night the master died. Now Nellie herself is dead. And here the stain is back. The omen is not good, Miss. I am afraid death will come again."
Chapter Twenty-eight
Tuesday Morning, August 14, 1879
As day followed night, the day after washday found Annie ironing. Some of the routine morning chores, like raking the coals out of the kitchen range and delivering breakfast trays, had become easier with practice, on this her fourth day as a servant. But ironing was a different matter, and she was finding the second time around that ironing was even more difficult than it had been last Friday. Lifting the heavy irons badly exacerbated the pain in her shoulder and arms. Try as she might, she seemed unable to determine which of the four irons heating up on the top of the stove was the right temperature. The only reason she hadn’t yet ruined any of the sheets she was ironing was that she carefully tested each iron on a scrap of cloth before using it, but this was enormously time consuming. To make matters worse, the day was unusually hot for San Francisco in August, and the whole kitchen felt like the inside of an oven. The only advantage that the ironing of sheets and handkerchiefs had over some of her other chores was that it gave her a little time to think about what she had learned the day before.
While she hadn’t had success in finding the missing assets, she did feel she had found some important information about the members of Matthew’s household. Everything she had seen or heard reaffirmed Annie’s impression that Miss Nancy didn’t like Matthew’s business partner, Malcolm Samuels, and that at the very least she was extremely jealous of her sister-in-law, Amelia. If either of them had turned up dead, Annie would put the angry old woman at the top of her list of suspects. But kill Matthew? Because he decided to close up the house and take his wife to Europe? It seemed unlikely, unless the older woman was deranged. And the ledgers Miss Nancy had taken suggested otherwise; it was more like she was looking for proof that either Samuels or her sister-in-law were responsible for Matthew’s death. On the other hand, the ledgers may have been simply the household accounts, and Miss Nancy may have just remembered where they were and acted on impulse. Annie needed to get a better look at them. Maybe she would get a chance the next morning when Miss Nancy left to do the marketing.
Then here was Jeremy, who was acting like a young man with a guilty conscience, but she still felt his motivation seemed weak. Despite Nate’s suggestion that Jeremy might have killed his father in a fit of anger over his thwarted artistic dreams, this seemed rather farfetched, since he was clearly worse off now than when his father was alive. While Annie could imagine either Jeremy’s mother or his aunt killing Nellie on his behalf, if they thought she was threatening Jeremy in some fashion, she was
having difficulty imaging either one of them killing Matthew to protect his son.
Then, maybe she was looking for too complex a motivation. According to Nate, Matthew had brought home nearly $1,000 in cash on Friday night, an enormous temptation to someone like Nellie or Cartier, and they would have had twenty-four hours to arrange with someone from outside to help stage a suicide to cover a plain and simple robbery. This seemed a rather more sophisticated murder than she would associate with Nellie or her boyfriend Jack. She again speculated that the mysterious gentleman in Nellie’s life who prompted Jack’s jealousy was some sort of skilled confidence man or professional burglar. The same scenario could fit Cartier as well. Annie found Cartier’s emotional response when the police questioned her about Nellie’s death, combined with her secret correspondent, very suspicious.
Thinking of mysterious gentlemen reminded Annie of the gentleman who had been hanging around the alley Friday night. He said he was looking for Jeremy, but that could have been a form of misdirection. Perhaps he was the friend Cartier was supposed meet but who stood her up on Sunday. If he was her accomplice in Matthew’s murder, she might have even made up the story about him not showing. The Chief Detective certainly hadn’t appeared convinced by her description of how she spent her Sunday afternoon off. For that matter, no one had seemed to have a very convincing alibi for Sunday afternoon, and Annie didn’t envy the police in their job of trying to confirm the truth of everyone’s stories.
Oh well, that is their job. My job is to make sure I have searched every nook and cranny of this house for the missing assets, Annie thought, as she folded another less than adequately ironed sheet and put it in the basket at her feet.
Maids of Misfortune: A Victorian San Francisco Mystery Page 20