The Only Gold (16 page)

Jonah
mused over the evening more than once during the quiet Sunday that followed. By Monday morning, he had begun to ponder whether Reid would remain even another month at the bank. The man seemed so unsettled, restless. Jonah could not recall seeing much in the way of personal possessions in his room. The place hardly felt lived-in, and the only explanation seemed to be that Reid didn’t plan to stay much longer.

Half-expecting a still wistful, contemplative Reid to appear, Jonah jumped inwardly when a voice boomed with confident cheer through the glass partition. “Woolner! My office. Quick now.”

Jonah was quick, following him into the cashier’s office to inform him it was inadvisable to speak at a volume capable of carrying to the lobby and perhaps the street.

Reid ignored that entirely. “Have a seat. Margaret’s sent word she’s a little low today—nothing serious, but I told her to stay home and rest. I’ll take over her duties, and I’d like you to handle some of mine.”

“I don’t mind taking on the bookkeeping—”

“I’m sure you don’t, but let’s be efficient about it.” He was grinning, and Jonah sighed. The old, impertinent Reid had returned.

“Very well, but be certain you check Mr. Campbell’s books with care. He is too fond of abbreviations that will allow him to more speedily finish the day.”

“What’s wrong with abbreviating?”

“An excess of abbreviation leads to illegibility.”

“Any ideas what an excess of regulation leads to?”

Jonah smiled. “A well-run bank.”

Reid made a derisive noise at that, but his face was alight with good humor. He scooped up the letters Simon had left on the desk and handed them over. Jonah followed him to the door, to be brought up short when Reid stopped and turned—so near that Jonah noticed a pale scar beneath his jaw. He started to retreat, and Reid’s voice, soft, caught him. “That smile’s not half bad. Shame you’re so sparing with it.”

Jonah could only stare at him, until it registered that Reid had, in a backhanded fashion, paid him a compliment. The realization left him at a further loss for words. Worse, Reid seemed to enjoy his discomfiture. Jonah slipped past and shut himself in his own office to gather his wits. He should have had the presence of mind to say something. Reid was too forward—entirely too forward—and though neither Helen nor Margaret nor Alice seemed to mind, a bank was no place to engage in flirtation. Not, of course, that Reid had flirted with him, but it might well be perceived that way….

If only he had said something at the time; now there was nothing for it but to bring it up when the opportunity arose. Not relishing it, Jonah tried to focus on the work at hand. Slowed by a leaky pen and thoughts that would not stay on task, he tossed the third copy of the same letter into the basket and jabbed the blotter irritably with the nib. “I smile when there is reason to smile,” he muttered. “Rather than going about with one ready-made to suit every occasion. Sparing, indeed.”

Over the course of the afternoon, opportunities did arise for a private word with Reid, and Jonah let every one slip from his grasp. By day’s end, he thought the subject might be broached when Reid came in with the totals. But Matthew came instead, and shyly folded his lanky frame into the seat beside Jonah’s desk. “Mr. Hylliard says I’m to inform you he’s gone over Simon’s balances twice and intends a third, just to be safe.”

Jonah snorted softly. “Of course. Thank you, Matthew. If you’ll stay a moment, I’ll look over your numbers. Unless Mr. Hylliard has done that too.”

A stifled laugh escaped Matthew, and he quickly ducked his head. “No, sir. He said you… no, sir, he hasn’t.”

Though he had a good idea already, Jonah couldn’t resist asking. “Just what did he say?”

Red-cheeked, Matthew shifted in the chair. “He was only joking.”

“Knowing Mr. Hylliard, I’m quite sure of that.”

“It was truly only a joke, sir. You have a good head for numbers.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Bent over the totals, Jonah stole a sidelong glance at him. “You like Mr. Hylliard.”

“Well….” Matthew seemed to choose his words with care. “I like everyone at the bank, sir. Mr. Hylliard’s been kind—”

“He’s been quick to befriend everyone.”

Matthew brightened. “He’s been thinking about ways to improve security.”

“Has he?” Jonah didn’t know how Reid might improve Grandborough’s security by insisting on day locks and encouraging the habits of a watchman who’d taken to drink.
Such tactics would better serve someone planning to rob the bank. Perhaps he would do well to keep James Carson’s gun handy.
“Did Mr. Hylliard offer you any specifics?”

“Well, not exactly. But he did ask me to come up with some ideas.”

“You?”

“Yes, sir. Because of my particular interest in it.”

Jonah laid down the pencil. “Your particular interest? I didn’t know—”

“Oh, that’s all right, sir. Not everyone does. I keep up with newspaper stories about robberies. It’s real interesting.”

“I daresay. But there’s little to fault in Grandborough’s security.”

“Mr. Hylliard says it can always be better.”

Reid certainly possessed no shortage of opinions.
“You agree with him?”

“Well….” Matthew seemed wary again. “I guess if bank burglars are always coming up with new ideas for breaking in, we’ve got to find better ways to keep them out. Mr. Hylliard was telling me about the Boston robbery in the summer of ’86. The burglars were just about fearless, I think. Blasted the vault to atoms and got away with near a million, if you count securities. Of course there wasn’t much about it in the newspapers because of Mr. Cleveland’s wedding.”

“I do remember. They captured at least one of the fellows.”

“Just one. Someone who worked in the bank.”

“So the thieves had some knowledgeable assistance.”

“Yes, sir. But he paid for it dearly.”

Jonah’s annoyance at such a betrayal faded to vague uneasiness. “I remember that now. They shot him for his trouble.”

Matthew nodded. “The cashier.”

Jonah let the subject drop and gave all his attention to proving up the balances, hoping to deny Reid the opportunity for further jokes at his expense. With the next board meeting, he found his chance to address the speed with which changes were taking place, and he was not surprised when the board approved Reid’s latest suggestions.

Reid did not appear to make much of that triumph; when the board moved on to the more mundane task of discounts, he seemed distracted and went down the list of loans at a breakneck pace. But the board would not be hurried—not, at least, when it came to money owed. It was well after five when the meeting adjourned—and Reid, Jonah noted bemusedly, was the first to leave.

Jonah came downstairs to see him in the lobby, coat and hat in hand as he bid goodnight to the staff. When Reid went out, a sudden sense of urgency propelled Jonah to get his own coat and go after him. Something was amiss, and he had to find out what. He flew from the lobby into the gathering twilight, in time to see Reid climb into a cab. Jonah waved down another cab and directed the driver to follow. He hated the subterfuge, but his doubts regarding Reid had taken on a new and disquieting aspect, one he could not ignore.

Expecting
the cab to head to Reid’s decrepit rooming house or a nearby restaurant, Jonah was intrigued to find it proceeding further up William. If Reid was heading to supper, he was certainly going out of the way for it. Perhaps Simon had not been mistaken about Reid’s visit to James Street. But why in the world a man of Reid’s means and respectability would resort to the very lowest sort of commerce, Jonah could not even contemplate.

The cavernous arch of the bridge loomed ahead. Fighting a deeper stirring of uneasiness, Jonah let the cab continue into the gloom and emerge on the other side, in less familiar territory. As they turned onto Pearl, his interest in Reid’s destination vied with growing doubt over the wisdom of traveling any further into the Fourth Ward. The overcast heavens left a deeper pall over already gloomy streets, but the imminent rain did not deter the crowds. There was life and movement to rival Wall Street at its busiest hour. When Reid left the cab and continued down the street on foot, Jonah reluctantly gave up his own cab and followed. Hemmed in by tenant-houses and saloons on one side, pushcarts on the other, he found the way slow going. Worried he might lose sight of Reid, he abandoned the sidewalk for the roadway, but it was hardly more easily maneuvered.

He regretted the impetuous chase. In the dwindling daylight, he could only keep intermittent track of Reid, far ahead. He had not seen a single cab since his own cabbie had snapped away from the curb with obvious relief. Strangers surged by him, some with the gleam of disturbing purpose in their eye as they passed a little too close. He held on to his pocketbook, thankful he had a walking stick in hand. The trek home would be perilous after dark if he could not find a cab.

Reid was apparently accustomed to navigating the neighborhood. Losing him again, Jonah put on a desperate burst of speed. In the sea of heads, the one he had been straining to track did not reappear. Jonah kept on for another block, peering into shop windows in case Reid had stopped along the way. Only when he noticed light pouring from the open doorway of a saloon did he become conscious that twilight had passed into dusk and the scent of rain was heavy in the air. Wagons and carts still lumbered along the road, but there was not a cab to be hailed. He would have to find his way back to familiar scenery before he could locate a ride home.

The difficulty lay in determining from where he was starting. He saw no guidepost on the immediate corner and had a feeling that, had there been, it would have stirred nothing in him but the alarm one associated with certain street names. He had to ask someone for directions; a worrisome prospect, if everything he’d heard about the neighborhood was true.

For some minutes he stood watching customers go in and out of the saloon at a shockingly constant rate. A number of them left the establishment in an abrupt fashion, with the proprietor’s assistance. Jonah hesitated to stop anyone going in or out, sensing it would not be well-received. Reluctant to accost the unchaperoned women who came past, he finally realized he had no choice. They appeared to be the only ones sober enough for conversation.

“I beg your pardon….”

Her bedraggled brown shawl wrapped over her dark hair, the woman stopped in the doorway and looked, unsmiling, in his direction. Jonah stepped out of the shadow of the door. “I’ve gotten turned around, and I’m not sure of the way to William Street. I would be grateful for your assistance.”

Her gaze traveled boldly over him from head to toe, and the smallest smile curved her lips. “You’re lost. Poor lad. William, you say? I’ve been up and down William. Ain’t seen you a’fore.”

“I don’t live there—”

“I should say you don’t. You’re looking for someone, then. A lady friend?” Her smile turned coy, and she came closer, letting the shawl fall away from her thick, unkempt curls. “William’s that way,” she said, with the careless wave of a bare forearm toward the other side of the street. “But you won’t get back before the rain starts. Come have a little supper?”

Taken aback, he declined as politely as he could and made his escape. But her direction only led him to the dim environs of a street that ended at a high wooden fence. On both sides, brick houses rose four stories, every window dark. Frustrated, Jonah turned back, to see the woman had followed him. With her came the broad-shouldered bulk of a man in a black overcoat and seaman’s cap. In a flash, Jonah realized his mistake, but he was not prepared to suffer the loss of every penny in his pocket because of it. As the two of them neared, he took a firm grip on his walking stick. “What do you want?”