The Only Gold (5 page)

Before Jonah could answer, the doors were pushed apart, and Edith, the plainer of the sisters both in dress and manner, stepped smartly into the hall. “Come along,” she said, and continued in the direction of the dining room. Whether Jonah’s arrival or the advent of supper roused the others, they surged out of the parlor, Cyrus at the lead. He drew the cigar from between his lips, brushed his thumb over his gray moustache, and regarded Jonah with eyes as quick to see as Winnie’s. Before Winnie could weep, Edith scold, or Cyrus plunge into a familiar lecture on how to handle bank directors, Liliane stepped out of the parlor and settled her serene gaze on him. “Bertie has gone to bed with a cold, and I have no one to escort me to supper. If you would be so kind?”

Her voice was quiet but enchanting with the cadences of her native Giverny, as if she still resided among lavender flowers under a blue sky. That Bertram Hawes had spirited her away to live in the noise and bustle of New York sometimes seemed a crime. Bertram and Liliane were the most temporary of boarders, newlyweds who intended to set up housekeeping the moment their home on 23
^rd
Street was finished. In the meantime, other boarders and visitors alike fell for Liliane, and she was always warm with sisterly affection in return—too much so, Edith asserted. Jonah, in particular, had wakened her sympathies. She and Winnie both conspired, he thought, to keep him from being too much on his own.

Which was unfortunate, because that was the way he often preferred it. But he could not decline her request of the moment, even if all he wanted to do was crawl into bed and draw the covers over his head. He offered her his arm, much to the envy of Fenton and Kemble, the current residents of the mouse hole. The two of them trailed after, apparently determined to win the chance to sit beside her. Liliane’s amusement at that did not mask the concern in her eyes as she studied Jonah. “It is done, then?”

“Is it so obvious?”

“I’ve seen your face these past weeks. Always with hope… but now it is gone.” She gave his arm the smallest squeeze before he drew free to pull out her chair.

“Quite gone.” Jonah sat, feeling all eyes upon him. “They’ve given the position to someone else.”

Everyone began protesting at once, which should have cheered him. But not even Edith’s roast, unexpectedly edible, could improve his turn of mind. He gave up after two bites. “If you will forgive me, I would like to retire early.” He attempted a smile. “I cannot be late tomorrow.”

Winnie seemed set to fuss, but Liliane came to his rescue. “A wise course, if you are going to prove to Monsieur Grandborough the error of his ways.”

He looked at her gratefully before escaping up the stairs. Only when he had turned the key in the lock and dropped onto the chaise under the bay window did he let the bitterness of his disappointment wash over him. It found voice somewhere between a sigh and a humorless laugh. Dragging off his glasses, he buried his face in the cushion. The days ahead were destined to be the same, a miserable mix of humiliation and frustration. Reid, he knew, did not trust him any more than he trusted Reid. And Jonah could not disagree with the man without risking censure from the board. Reid would be watching his every move, alert for any opportunity to keep the assistant cashier in his place.

Jonah turned onto his side, hooking an arm over the mahogany crest, and let his attention stray to the window, where stars reigned in a cold sky. The sycamore’s pale, spindly limbs were bare of the snow that had been there the day before. A mild winter it was, promising an early spring. Jonah longed for May and the flutter of green outside the window. Maybe Margaret was right and Reid would not remain long. Certainly a fellow could hope. But Mr. Grandborough seemed to like him and would no doubt persuade him to stay. Reid, for the most part, had handled himself well, so well he’d hardly required an assistant. The staff had fallen for him, and he could probably turn the bank topsy-turvy if he wanted, with no one to stand in his way.

Almost no one. Jonah sat up and began to undress. Let Reid watch his every move; he would return the favor, and in so doing, protect the bank until Mr. Grandborough did see the error of his ways. If Jonah had not yet proven himself the most able of cashiers, he would redouble his efforts until there could be no mistake about who really had the bank’s best interest at heart.

Fresh determination burning in his breast made it difficult to fall asleep, and when he woke, he was sleepy yet. Shaking it off, he washed and dressed and caught an early omnibus to Broadway.

The
fallen snow had gone, but the air stayed crisp. Jonah’s lungs ached by the time he marched up the steps, past the granite pillars, and through the bronze-paneled door into the bank. He did not care to court pneumonia, but it seemed a small risk compared to courting a bank failure—the possibility of which loomed larger when he came upon Reid and the night watchman, Liam Abbott, in the midst of discussing the qualities of Abbott’s favorite whisky, which they appeared to be passing between them.

Fortunately, the few clerks within earshot were preparing for the day and paying them no mind. Jonah, catching Reid’s nonchalant glance his way, deemed it a more productive exertion to deal with the night watchman first. “Mr. Abbott, it is well past seven. Why have you not gone home?”

Liam turned bloodshot eyes on him. “I wanted to meet the new cashier. And he was kind enough to spare me a moment.” Hiding the bottle away in a coat pocket, he combed the black curls off his forehead and returned his soiled old derby to its place. “Just the man for the job, I think.” Abbott kept his gaze sharp on Jonah, no doubt to make sure the sardonic edge in his remark had not gone unnoticed.

It hadn’t, not by Jonah nor, Jonah sensed, by Reid, who only shook Abbott’s hand and bid him good-bye. The moment Abbott had gone, Reid turned on one heel and headed for his office without so much as a “good morning,” leaving Jonah no choice but to hurry after him. “Mr. Hylliard—”

“You’re early today,” Reid said, without a glance back as he kept up a smart pace along the corridor.

“I’m….” Stung, Jonah let an indignant note creep in. “I am ordinarily on time.”

“I see. So yesterday was the exception, not the rule?”

“Mr. Hylliard, about Liam Abbott—”

“He doesn’t seem to like you.” Reid stopped at the door, turning to Jonah with a sparkle of good humor in his eyes. “I hope that’s also the exception rather than the rule.”

“Well, I haven’t made a habit of imbibing with him in the lobby.”

At the arch retort, Reid only laughed. “I asked him to assist me with something, and in the spirit of goodwill, he offered me a taste of his spirits.”

“Assist you? With what…?” That question was answered as Reid swung the door wide and left it open for Jonah to follow. “You’ve—”

“Shifted things around a little.”

“Indeed.” The desk, now tucked in the corner nearest the door, no longer had command of the room. The armchair had been relocated to a spot near the window, allowing the windowsill to serve as footstool. The bookcase stood where the desk had been, in easy reach from the armchair. “Why—”

“Discourages visitors from reading over my shoulder.” Reid sat at the desk and leaned back, propping his boots on the stack of ledgers piled on the floor. “So… What’s the trouble between you and Mr. Abbott?”

“We’ve had words.”

“Words?”

“I have been understanding of Mr. Abbott’s desire to keep warm through the long evenings, but I expect him to be generally as sober at dawn as he was the night before.”

Reid sat further back, fingers laced over his stomach. “Not too many people live up to your expectations, I would guess.”

“You can’t be serious. You’re saying I’m in the wrong?”

“Mr. Abbott seemed sober enough to do his job.”

“He may have managed it last night, but that isn’t always the case.”

“Then why haven’t you discharged him?”

“He… does his job.”

Reid studied Jonah for a long, uncomfortable minute. “Thwarted a robbery or two?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. Twice, last summer.”

“So you’re forgiving of any man willing to risk his life for the bank.”

“A bank is only as strong as its reputation.”

“And the words you’ve been having—”

“Mr. Abbott has been drinking more heavily, of late.”

“Trouble at home?”

“Not that I know of.”

Reid nodded. “What do you know?”

“I am not one to pry.”

“Not even for Mr. Grandborough?”

Jonah drew a breath. “I have work to do.”

“Don’t run away just yet.” Reid was back on his feet. “I’d like you to start with the correspondence. Mr. Grandborough’s tour of the bank was a little quick, and I want to ask Mr. Campbell to take me around the offices before we open.”

“Mr. Campbell?”

“Yes. Any objection?”

“I shall be surprised if Mr. Campbell is further along than Broadway at this hour. I….” Jonah saw no alternative. “I will take you around, if you wish.”

Reid raised an eyebrow. “You don’t mind?”

“Of course not.”

Jonah noted as they left the office that Reid had managed to procure a morning coat and more somber, if still colored, silk tie. No pomade tamed his hair, neatly short above his collar, yet tousled like a boy’s, showing every sun-washed shade from brown to gold. His clean-shaven features made him even more youthful—too young, perhaps, to be taken seriously as a bank officer. Doubting he was much over thirty—if that—Jonah wanted to ask his age, but supposed it would not be perceived as an innocent inquiry. “We may as well begin upstairs.”

“Mr. Grandborough’s office?”

“And Mr. Naughton’s, yes. Some of the directors also keep an office upstairs, but seldom use it. There’s a boardroom—”

“We don’t need to go up. Has a telephone been installed?”

“Mr. Grandborough has one in his office, but I don’t believe it sees much use, either. The telegraph’s in the boardroom.”

“Anything on the third floor?”

Jonah shook his head. “Lacey, Sewell & Meade—attorneys—have the third floor, William Street Insurance the fourth.”

“So we’ve only the one vault?”

“Mr. Grandborough deems one sufficient.”

“Even with the government deposit upcoming?”

“We’ve a surplus of two million in cash and gold. I think we can accommodate another five hundred thousand.”

A step ahead, Reid threw him a glance over one shoulder. “I hope that pride doesn’t come with any dangerous blinders.”

Jonah stopped in his tracks. “I am well aware of the strengths of this bank. And the weaknesses.”

Reid merely smiled. “And you’ve all the latest safeguards against those weaknesses.”

Jonah moved through the wicket gate and past newly arrived clerks yawning at their desks, to where the vault door dominated the south wall of the lobby, far back from the bank counter. He waited while Reid unlocked the vault gate. “Mr. Grandborough has given you the combination?” He stepped forward. “If you haven’t memorized it—”

“I’ve got it.” Reid spread a hand over the dial and spun it deftly. He eased open the vault, and his gaze settled, to Jonah’s satisfaction, on the imposing boltwork and the time lock mounted in the door. “A Model Two-Eleven. Not bad.”