The Only Gold (10 page)

To everyone’s amusement, the boys seized the box and went to work. Jonah suspected they would have taken on the job without recompense, but the reward lessened any temptation to pocket a coin or two. Reid, straightening, clapped Mr. Fisher on the shoulder. “They’ll have it up in a few minutes. Mr. Campbell will keep a sharp eye on the proceedings,” he added more quietly, and Simon hastily nodded. The staff went back to their work at a glance from Reid, who then addressed the customers. “I do apologize for the commotion. If you’d all just consider it nothing more than a tale to liven up conversation around the supper table, I’d be grateful.”

There was a soft chorus of chuckles, and Reid secured their affection with a grin. “Thank you….” He swung back to Mr. Fisher. “Allow us to provide you with a new bag to replace this one. Margaret, would you be so kind as to take Mr. Fisher upstairs for a cup of tea while he waits?”

“Certainly.”

As they passed, Reid spoke in Jonah’s ear. “Your office, please.” An unobtrusive push in that direction got him moving, and Jonah went without protest, too stricken to resist. He settled in front of the desk, but couldn’t bring himself to do anything until, a few minutes later, Reid appeared. Closing the door, Reid sat across from him. “Are you all right?”

His tone was too gentle to determine whether he inquired merely out of form. And Jonah was too uncomfortable to answer honestly. “If you’re discharging me, please say so. I need no solicitous preface.”

Reid’s lips quirked, but the weight of his amusement remained in his eyes. “If we discharged everyone who dropped the occasional bag of gold, there wouldn’t be anyone left to count it. Anyway, I don’t know how we’d replace such a hardworking assistant cashier.” Reid rose. “As easy as it might be to find one less difficult to work with.”

Jonah opened his mouth to defend himself, then shut it. When Reid had gone, he tried to push the whole incident to the back of his mind and concentrate on the books. He couldn’t, not with the worry that Mr. Grandborough or Mr. Naughton might come in to express their disapproval. But neither man came, and at three o’clock, Margaret appeared. “Mr. Hylliard asked that you close today.”

“Where is he?”

“Upstairs,” she said in surprise. “I thought you knew.”

His lingering uneasiness sharpened to alarm. He left the office and started up the stairs, to be met halfway by Horace Naughton, who greeted him as affably as ever. “Mr. Hylliard tells us you’ve been under the weather. Perhaps you should head home early. I will close, with Mr. Campbell’s assistance.”

“I’m quite all right. I thought we were meeting at three.”

“We decided to get on with it,” Horace said. “A good deal to cover, you know.”

“Yes, but… I thought you would want me to attend. At least for a little while. Mr. Hylliard is not prepared to answer on discounts… nor anything, for that matter.” A guilty tug at his conscience made him hesitate. “I mean only that he hasn’t been here long enough—”

“Mr. Hylliard is managing nicely. And if there is anything more we need, we will certainly consult you. You won’t be discouraged now, will you? Everything will be quite all right.” Mr. Naughton looked as though he wanted to say more. Instead, he put a plump arm around Jonah’s shoulders and guided him back down the stairs. “Go on home and rest, and if you need the remainder of the week to get back on your feet, take it.”

“I can’t—”

“You can, indeed. You must look after yourself, my boy. We need you.”

Jonah wanted to believe it—might have, if Mr. Naughton hadn’t been in the process of shunting him out the door. And heading home at such an hour felt far from right. In the falling snow, Jonah stopped and looked back at the bank, up the gray granite’s smooth lines to the second floor’s arched windows. It startled him to see Reid there, intent, contemplative, absent the artful grin. Grandborough appeared at his side and followed his gaze to the street—and Jonah. To Jonah’s immense relief, Grandborough did smile, with his usual expansive cheer. He waved a shooing hand, and Jonah went, but not without one more backward glance at Reid, in grim expectation of the arrogant smile he would find directed his way.

But Reid’s expression hadn’t changed. Perhaps he was at last beginning to feel the weight of the job he’d taken on. The directors would not let him do as he pleased and were perhaps even now taking him to task. They would set right whatever Jonah had not been able to.

Spirits
lifted, Jonah made his way home as the clouds gave up their burden in great, soft flakes landing soundlessly around him. He was ready for the hearth fire when he came in, but found he could not enjoy it in solitude. Winnie and Edith were taking tea with a visitor, a young woman he’d never met. Debating whether or not to go in, he nearly jumped out of his skin at Cyrus’s voice behind him.

“Quite the little doll, isn’t she?” Cyrus peered between the pocket doors. “Prospective boarder to take old Bertie’s room when he and Liliane pitch off. Her name’s Clara Kitchner, and I don’t believe she’s married.”

The ideal boarder, in Cyrus’s view. Jonah mused that it would at least be quieter next door, with no unseemly noises at odd hours. Miss Kitchner, poised primly on the armchair nearest the fire, appeared to be of a refined, even retiring nature. Features that were surely cherubic in repose were, for the moment, drawn tight with disapproval as Edith laid out the usual terms.

“She thinks it’s too expensive,” Jonah whispered.

“It is,” Cyrus said with a snort. “Even for a second-floor room. But I hope she’ll take it.” He gave Jonah a glance. “You look chilled to the bone, dear boy. If you go in, for God’s sake, don’t warn her about Edith’s cooking.”

“I don’t think I’ll go in,” Jonah began, but it was too late to follow through, as Winnie sprang from the settee and made straight for him.

“Her hearing’s better than old Bones,” Cyrus muttered.

The fat orange mouser Winnie had rescued four years before from a garbage pail had come into Edith’s good graces because of his exceptional hearing; Jonah had not seen a mouse in the house since Bones’s commission. Winnie, as well, knew what was going on in her house at any hour of the day. She swept into the hall, and like a hangman ready to escort the next in line to the noose, seized upon him and pulled him through the doorway.

“Don’t mention the food!” Cyrus hissed as he went.

Winnie closed the doors, leaving Cyrus on the other side. She was beaming as she turned back to Jonah. “Here’s our dear Mr. Woolner. He’s rarely home at this hour, Miss Kitchner—and my, the snow you’re covered in, you poor man. Take off your coat, dear, and sit by the fire. I’ll just hang it for you.”

Jonah gave up his coat and scarf and reluctantly took the cup of tea Edith passed to him. He stole a look at Miss Kitchner, who was studying him back, guardedly. Clearing his throat, he tried on a polite smile. “Lovely weather we’re having.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “It’s snowing.”

Jonah swallowed a mouthful of hot tea. “Yes. So it is.”

“Some people are very fond of snow,” Winnie said earnestly.

There was a gleam of impatience in Edith’s eyes. “You asked about our residents, Miss Kitchner. Mr. Woolner has been a resident here for….” Edith glanced at him. “Fourteen years, isn’t it?”

“Fourteen,” Miss Kitchner said, sounding impressed. “You must find it quite to your liking, then.” She turned to Edith. “You have many single men boarding?”

“We board men, women, and married couples,” Edith said a little stiffly. “But I assure you this is a respectable house. Callers are not permitted in the rooms, of course, and we make the parlor available until eleven.”

“Until midnight on Saturdays,” Winnie said, smiling. “We don’t wish to discourage a blossoming romance.”

“I suppose not,” Miss Kitchner said, her disapproval a revived glimmer.

“However,” Edith went on, quite capable in Jonah’s opinion of matching glimmer for glimmer, “we maintain strict standards of propriety. And while we may have a tendency to mother our residents….” She glanced pointedly at Winnie. “We nevertheless expect everyone to mind the house rules and keep a decorum and restraint customary in any decent household—”

The parlor doors rattled apart, and Liliane strolled in, rose-cheeked, furs and feathers glistening with snow, the crook of one arm laden with packages. “
Bon jour
,” she said cheerily. “I am in time for tea!” Her eyes fell on Jonah and widened. “You cannot be home so early,
mon chaton
.” She laid a velvet-gloved hand on his shoulder. “It is nothing wrong—”

“No, no. Not what you think.” Jonah did not want to go into it further and set down his cup. “You are indeed in time for tea, and I will give up my chair, for I’ve things to do upstairs.”

Liliane unpinned her hat and brushed at the snowflakes sparkling in her dark hair. Jonah noticed the way she took in the proceedings, and he knew she’d summed everything up in an instant. He introduced her to Miss Kitchner, who looked dazed by the invasion.

“I would be delighted to show you our room,” Liliane said. “Will you come up?”

“Not just now,” Edith said. “We haven’t concluded our interview.”

“Ah, you will give me the chance to tidy it,” Liliane said with a laugh. “As Jonah is home, I will steal him away. He has promised to help me with the sash that sticks—”

“What?” Edith’s cheeks flushed. “You’ve said nothing about that to us. Please remember, Mrs. Hawes, that anything requiring repair must be reported to either Winnie or myself. We take care of repairs right away,” she said to Miss Kitchner, who looked dubious.

“Oh of course,” Liliane said. “I am so sorry. I simply forgot.” She wrapped her hand gently around Jonah’s wrist and pulled. “Jonah will tell you if it is needed. Yes?”

Jonah let her steal him away, despite the trace of impropriety about it. He had visited the bedroom and adjacent sitting room she shared with her husband and had always found it a perfect disgrace of clothes, books, and other belongings scattered everywhere. He imagined she would be quite the disaster when she did go to housekeeping, but Bertram had the means to provide a servant or two, to assure callers would not be scandalized.

Jonah was scandalized himself to be dragged past the sitting room to the private corner occupied by dressing table, wardrobe, and the bed with its wrought iron buried under gowns, stockings, and garments of a more delicate nature. Realizing that Liliane was unwrapping the packages from her shopping expedition, he retreated to the sitting room. She peered around the Japanese screen and smiled. “It is quite safe.” She held up a handful of linen collars, and Jonah sank back in relief.

“Which of your windows stick?” he asked.

She came out from the bedroom and sat penitently on the ottoman in front of him. “None. I only said it to save you. Miss Kitchner….” Liliane wrinkled her nose. “She does not smile.”

“I suppose you’re right. But perhaps she has a reason. I haven’t felt very much like smiling, myself.”

“And this is why you are home so early?”

Jonah told her why, and when he’d finished, she patted his knee. “No need to fret. I will help you with this Monsieur Hylliard. What is he like?”

“He’s sly, conceited, overbearing—”

“Old?”

“Well, no older than I am—”

“But bad-tempered,” Liliane said, nodding.

“I’m not sure I would say so. Though he’s shown a flash of temper once or twice.”

“He is handsome?”

“Liliane, you’re married.”

She laughed. “My heart is sated, but my eyes still feast. Does he smile?”

“I suppose he does. Certainly when he thinks he’s gotten the better of me.”