Maids of Misfortune: A Victorian San Francisco Mystery

by M. Louisa Locke

  “Malcolm, her name’s Lizzie.” Mrs. Voss said. “Thank you Lizzie, if you would now kindly let Miss Nancy know that we would appreciate her company in the parlor. And then inform Wong that Mr. Samuels will be staying for dinner. Oh, and could you please bring Miss Nancy and me a cup of tea? Would you like anything to eat, Malcolm? I am afraid that dinner will be delayed.” Mrs. Voss smiled at Annie as she delivered her orders.

  “No, had a late lunch, I’m fine. As I was saying, I’ve a good man in mind; he’s done lots of criminal defense work. I don’t think you should bury your head in the sand, Amelia, Jeremy’s in a tough spot. I’ll….”

  Annie could no longer hear Samuels as she made her way down the hall, but she carefully examined the implications of what he had been saying as she went downstairs to the kitchen. Jackson must have finally arrested Jeremy! She wondered why Nate or his uncle didn’t come by to inform Mrs. Voss, and why Samuels was trying to steer Mrs. Voss to a different lawyer. She supposed that Nate might seem inexperienced to an older businessman like Samuels, and Annie had no way to really know how good he would be if it came to mounting a defense for Jeremy. On the other hand, if Samuels was the murderer then maybe he was simply trying to get Mrs. Voss to rely on someone else, someone who he could better influence.

  It was nearly twenty minutes later that Annie finally made it back to the parlor with the tea, and it appeared that Miss Nancy had just come down, since she was still standing when Annie arrived. She had scowled and muttered when Annie had conveyed Mrs. Voss’s invitation, but Annie was certain that the older women wouldn’t pass up on the chance to provide disapproving chaperonage for her sister-in-law and Samuels.

  Mrs. Voss had risen, dropping her embroidery frame, a few of the bright blue and green threads clinging to the dull black silk of her underskirt. “Please, dear sister, won’t you sit down. Dinner will be delayed and I’ve asked Lizzie….” Mrs. Voss suddenly noticed Annie as Miss Nancy moved. “Oh there you are, Lizzie, please come in and put that heavy tray down.” Turning back to Miss Nancy, she continued. “Samuels has been to see Jeremy this morning. He said that they only permitted him a few minutes with our dear boy, and then not alone. But….”

  Samuels interrupted her, “That damned interfering detective, Jackson, said that only Jeremy’s lawyers and family members could see him in private. That’s another example of Frank Hobbes and his wet-behind-the-ears nephew not doing right by Jeremy. They should’ve seen to it that I was granted permission to see him. Crommer, the man I spoke to you about, Amelia, he would’ve gotten me in.”

  Mrs. Voss fluttered over to the tea tray, where Annie had begun to pour the tea into two cups. Taking one cup she turned and handed it to Miss Nancy saying, “Please, do sit down. I thought that you would want to hear from Malcolm what Jeremy said when he saw him this morning, and then I thought that we might discuss what we should be doing to help him. Malcolm, how did Jeremy look? Do you think he is eating enough? Did the Chief Detective say whether or not Jeremy will be able to come home tomorrow?”

  Mrs. Voss took a cup and returned to the chair she had vacated, absent-mindedly picking at the threads on her skirt, while Miss Nancy chose to remain standing by the door.

  Samuels tossed off the last whiskey in his glass and said with some irritation, “Amelia, I told you, Jeremy looked terrible, I don’t care what Dawson said yesterday.”

  At this point Samuels moved over to where Mrs. Voss was sitting, softening his tone. “Listen, Amelia, I love the boy like he was my own, but the evidence is so strong, it’s shaken me. To make things worse, its quite possible the judge might make the bail so steep that I’m not sure we could raise the necessary amount. It might be better to conserve what little resources you have to help pay for his defense.” Pulling a chair next to Mrs. Voss Samuels leaned forward and took her hands in his, saying, “Dearest Amelia, you need to prepare yourself. I’m not saying give up. We will fight this thing together, the two of us. But ignoring the truth isn’t going to help Jeremy, and you must protect yourself. You’re not strong, and you need to….”

  Miss Nancy let out a noise halfway between a growl and a snort, and then said. “You two make me sick. I….”

  “Oh dear, I think I’ve lost my embroidery!” Mrs. Voss exclaimed, standing up suddenly, which forced Samuels back in his chair. She turned and patted the chair cushions, muttering disjointedly, “Was I sitting on it? No, not here. Then wherever could it be? I live in fear that someone will impale themselves on one of my needles. Oh, Lizzie, you’ve found it, clever girl.”

  Annie had to admire the way Mrs. Voss had defused what looked to be a nasty fight between her sister-in-law and Samuels, but she noticed that Mrs. Voss’s hand was shaking as she took the piece of embroidery from Annie.

  Mrs. Voss continued to fidget around her chair, supposedly looking for the needle that Annie had clearly seen stuck in the material, until Malcolm Samuels finally made a sound of disgust and got up and went and poured himself another drink.

  “Oh, there, I’ve found it,” Mrs. Voss exclaimed and then said, “Lizzie, we are fine here, but I suspect that Wong could use some help in the kitchen,” which gave Annie no choice but to leave the three occupants to their own devices.

  Half an hour later, when Annie served the first soup course, it appeared that little conversational progress had been made. Miss Nancy sat rigidly at attention, evidently trying to test the accuracy of the old saying “If looks could kill.” Samuels was still trying to convince Mrs. Voss of the necessity of finding another lawyer and hinting that the house might have to be sold in order to raise the necessary defense funds.

  By the main course a new topic had been found, the surprising news about Cartier and her beau. Samuels evidently found the story of Mr. Wellsnap extremely amusing.

  “Wellsnap’s the name you say? And you say he appears to be well to-do? Wellsnap? Nancy, wasn’t there a Wellsnap back in the fifties? Made his pile selling shovels to the miners if my memory serves me. Old man probably dead and gone by now, wasn’t any spring chicken back then. Well, if I’m right, your fancy maid’s done a good sight better for herself than she deserves. Sour face and nasty tongue she had on her. I hope for Wellsnap’s sake that marriage will sweeten her up a bit.”

  “Malcolm, there is no need to denigrate Miss Cartier in that fashion. She’s had a very hard life, and I am delighted she has contracted an advantageous marriage. Mr. Wellsnap seemed a very kind and sensitive man.”

  “Oh Amelia, stop talking such tripe," Miss Nancy snapped. "She’s fooled some idiot into thinking that he’s some kind of hero rescuing a damsel in distress, and Malcolm’s just angry because the one time he tried to pinch her bottom she slapped him silly.”

  Annie nearly dropped the platter of trout she was serving, which would have been a shame after all the work Wong had put into it. But this interchange did lighten her mood considerably.

  Chapter Forty

  After dinner was over, Annie scrubbed at a pale pink spot that stained the scarred and pitted top of the kitchen table. It had been blood red; at least she had made that much progress. But it didn't look as if the stain would ever completely vanish. There had been beets with dinner, and she had clumsily permitted some of the juice to spill when she had been transferring them from the pan to the serving dish. Wong and she had already washed up the pots and most of the dinnerware, but they were waiting for dessert to be over so she could finish clearing off the table and ask to be dismissed for the night. Finally, she was going to get her promised maid’s night out, and she could barely wait to escape from the house.

  Off and on during the day, Annie had found herself thinking about what the various members of her own household might be doing. In the morning she imagined the Misses Moffet having their morning tea, sitting in their matching chairs next to the parlor window, stitching intricate and precise seams. At mid-day, she thought of Lucy Pringle, eating one of Beatrice’s substantial lunches because she claimed that the high-priced food at the resta
urant where she worked was too rich for her stomach. In the afternoon she saw Barbara Hewitt sitting on the front porch, trying to grade high school essays while keeping an eye on her son Jamie, who would be playing with his new dog. Now, she yearned to be walking in her kitchen door, to see Beatrice making up dough to rise all night for morning sweet rolls, Kathleen, sweeping the back steps, and Mrs. Stein, sitting in the kitchen rocker, knitting and laughing over the antics of the kitchen cat.

  Annie longed so to be with them, longed for her regular days dispensing advice as Sibyl. Heaven knew how Sibyl’s Friday clients would react to having been turned away once again, but that was something she just couldn’t deal with now. Just as she couldn’t face the thought that she still had not figured out how to raise the funds to pay Driscoll without losing her home. What she had to concentrate on was finding some solution to the mystery surrounding Matthew’s death that didn’t result in his son being hung for murder and his wife and sister left penniless. Maybe her earlier speculation that Nellie had been in league with some confidence man, who then killed her, was the right angle to pursue. There was that strange man who was hanging around the back gate last Friday. She had forgotten all about him! She wasn’t sure she had even told Nate. He had asked for Jeremy, but maybe the man came out with Jeremy’s name as a blind; he had really been loitering around to see if Nellie was still working at the house. If she had been, that was her night out, and he might have been trying to talk to her, or even murder her in the back alley! Now that she thought about how the man had loomed over her and then just vanished, Annie was struck by how sinister he had seemed. She couldn’t wait to tell Nate.

  Annie’s thoughts then shifted to Samuels. What if Nate was right, and he was the murderer? From the moment Samuels had entered the house this afternoon he had rubbed Annie the wrong way. He was still charming, but she was no longer feeling quite as charmed. Maybe it was just that he had said such cutting things about Nate. For once she found herself in sympathy with Miss Nancy, who, no matter what her youthful feelings for him had been, now clearly despised Samuels. But did that make him a murderer? If Nate was able to find proof that Samuels had been embezzling money that would cinch it in Annie’s mind. But would it be enough to convince the police? Probably not as long as Samuels had an alibi and there was no proof that he had any way of getting into or out of the house the night of Matthew’s death. But that’s what made Nellie’s murder so significant. If she had found a way in and out of the house, then that would explain why Matthew’s murderer had to kill her.

  What if Nellie’s gentleman admirer was Samuels? Actually, if the murderer were Samuels, this would explain something that had bothered Annie when she cast Cartier and some unknown lover of hers as the villains. Even if Cartier had been able to let her accomplice into the house the night Matthew died, how would a stranger get Matthew to sit down and have a drink with him? But if the murderer were Samuels, he could have sent a second telegram, this one saying that he would be by the house late to discuss Matthew’s plans. Matthew could have let him in, they would have had a drink; Samuels could have destroyed the telegram. No, too complicated. When she thought more about it, Annie could see that all Samuels would have had to do was knock on the front door or study window, make some joke about getting back to town late and not wanting to wake the whole house, and Matthew would have let him in and one of the first things he would probably do is pour each of them a drink. But that still left the problem of how Samuels, without an accomplice like Cartier, could have let himself out of the house leaving all the keys in place and doors locked.

  Annie sighed. Maybe Samuels had helped Nellie get a duplicate key made so that she could get into the house on her mornings out, and he had gotten one made for himself at the same time! After Matthew’s murder, Nellie could have attempted to black mail him and got killed for her efforts. Nate might know how to go about finding out if the keys had been duplicated.

  Continuing with her scrubbing, Annie’s thoughts strayed again to Nate. She had to admit she was attracted to him. She felt safe with him. But not the kind of safe she felt with Mr. Stein, or her father, or Matthew Voss for that matter; because Nate also frightened her in a way that none of those men ever did. Remembering how protected and comforted she had felt each time he held her in his arms, Annie could also feel the under current of fear that had bubbled just below the surface. And she could hear that panicked fear reverberate through every argument she had had with him. Fear that Nate would try to dominate her, the way John had, demanding obedience in every aspect of her life.

  But yesterday afternoon, sitting across from her at this kitchen table, when he had essentially apologized for that behavior by saying that he wouldn’t tell her what to do, Annie had felt even more frightened. If she was honest, she feared herself more than Nate. She was afraid of her own weakness and need to depend on someone else. It had been Annie, herself, who had rejected her father’s suggestion of a marriage contract that would keep control of her dowry in her own hands; it was she who had given her husband the power of attorney to oversee the money she inherited from her father; it had been her fear of being left alone that had kept her from demanding a divorce; and it had only been the terrible years of complete dependence on John’s family that had taught her the true value of standing on her own. Now she was so frightened that all it would take is the soft comfort of a strong man’s arms to….

  Wong, who had just returned from serving Samuels his after-diner port, interrupted these thoughts.

  “Miss Lizzie, the Mistress has asked me to stay tonight, and she has given you permission to leave for your night out immediately. I will let Mr. Samuels out when he has finished his drink.”

  Annie wanted nothing more than to go home and be with the people who loved her, but she felt it was cowardly to go and leave this unhappy household. So she said, “Oh Wong, do you think I should? Doesn’t Mrs. Voss need me with Cartier gone?”

  Wong came over and took the scrub brush from Annie’s hand, saying softly, "Go, I will see to the mistress. I can do this at least for my master, take care of his home and his family as he always took care of me."

  Annie left the kitchen and hurried up the four flights of stairs to the attic. She had already packed her bag, putting everything she had brought with her into it, just in case she didn’t come back. Even if she had to return, it would be good to exchange all her clothes for clean things. She tossed her apron into the bag, gathered up her shawl, and grabbed her purse from the top of the wardrobe. She stuck the purse under her arm as she left the room hurriedly, not sure of what time it was.

  When she came into the kitchen she was relieved to see it was just a quarter to nine and that she had a good fifteen minutes before the horse car was due. She smiled warmly at Wong who went over to the back door, got the key off the hook, and opened the door for her. She could hear him locking it behind her as she stood on the back steps a moment. Annie took a deep breath and sighed with relief. She was free, if only for tonight. Glancing back, she saw Wong silhouetted against the kitchen window. She waved before turning; then she went down the path and out the garden gate. She thought, What if I don’t return and I never see him again? That would be so sad.

  With the evening fog moving in and the light failing, Annie had to make her way carefully. She could see better once she exited the alley, for on Geary at least the street lamps made some stab at penetrating the gloom. She noted the activity on the street. A carriage passed by, and she saw several pedestrians on the opposite sidewalk, no doubt hurrying home. It was all so completely normal. She walked slowly to the corner. She had about ten minutes to wait, assuming the horse car was on time, but she didn't mind. The damp air felt cool on her cheeks and refreshing after the close confines of the house.

  Annie put down her bag and opened her purse to get out the five-cent fare, so she would be ready to give it to the conductor. She realized instantly that there was something wrong; the purse was too light. In fact it seemed empty. Scrabbling aro
und in the bottom of the purse she encountered only one thing in it, a long thin object that seemed metallic. How odd, she thought, when she held the object up to the light. It's a long buttonhook. Whatever was a buttonhook doing in her purse? She never carried one with her. Usually hers resided on her dresser, along with her combs and brushes. Of course, now it should be safely packed in her bag. Puzzled, she held the purse up to the light as well and saw with a shock that it wasn’t hers. Although identical in size and shape, this purse had a different pattern of beading on it than hers.

  Staring at the empty purse and the buttonhook, Annie felt at a loss. The only thing she could figure was that there must have been somebody else's purse along side hers in the top of the wardrobe, probably Nellie's. Annie wondered why the previous maid had left it. The top shelf of the wardrobe was way above eye level; perhaps it was a spare and Nellie hadn't noticed it when she left.

  Well, there was nothing else to do. She'd have to go back and fetch her own purse to get the fare. Picking up her bag, she strode back down the street and back down the alley, hurrying this time. The light was almost gone now, but her eyes had become adjusted to the dimness, so she didn't have too much difficulty making her way through the garden path up to the kitchen door. As she went along she thought more about the purse. It must have been Nellie's, since she had been living in that room for nearly two years. As she came up to the back door, Annie mused over the oddity of the buttonhook, wondering why Nellie had carried one in her purse.

  Leaving this conundrum be, she knocked on the back door to the kitchen, but heard no movement from within. She moved to the window on the right of the door and, crouching down, she peered in through the bars. She saw no sign of Wong. He must have been called upstairs. What a bother! She didn't want to make her way all the way round to the front of the house and ring the bell. She went back to the kitchen door and knocked again, more loudly, and then went back to the window to observe the result. Still nothing.