The Only Gold (6 page)

“You’re well-versed in the trade, then.” Jonah opened the gold-plated bronze case to expose the two black-enameled dials set at zero. “You know how to set it, I assume.”

“I’ve had some practice.” Reid turned toward the vault interior. “How are the compartments divided?”

“The first two for Mr. Campbell, the rest as you’d expect.”

“I’d expect you may do it differently here.”

Jonah moved past him into the vault. “First and second compartments for the paying teller….” He paused, his hand on one of the compartment’s two locks. “Remind me to give you the combination.”

“Top or bottom?”

“Mr. Campbell has the combination for the top locks.” Jonah continued down the length of the wall. “Receiving, cashier, collection clerk, discount clerk—”

“Do you use a day lock?”

“That is not our practice.”

“It saves time.”

“And increases the risk of a loss.”

Reid regarded him with an expression Jonah couldn’t read. He seemed equidistant between impressed and exasperated, if such a thing were possible. “You’ve got this place battened down as fair as I’ve ever seen. Not even one small tumbler out of place.”

“The locks are there for a reason.”

“Most banks use day locks without any trouble. I see no reason Grandborough cannot do the same. Instruct the staff….” Reid was regarding him again, inscrutably. “Perhaps I should. Unless you know how to set the combinations one tumbler off?”

“Implementing this without the board’s approval—”

“Do you trust the people who work here, Mr. Woolner?”

Taken aback, Jonah looked into Reid’s altogether too calm and steady countenance and wondered if the other banks he’d worked in had welcomed such reckless changes thrown at them with gale force. “I trust the staff,” Jonah said, and unable to stop himself, let the truth follow. “I cannot say the same of you.”

He expected anger, but Reid’s eyes brightened with a sincere pleasure buttressed by the self-assured lift of his lips. He seemed to think he had leave to do as he liked. Jonah could not let him go on thinking it. “You still answer to Mr. Grandborough and the directors, you know.”

The smile only sweetened as Reid leaned in and enunciated quietly but distinctly. “Open the compartment, please.”

Jonah hesitated. He was not choosing his battles wisely. Day locks were a worry, but not significant enough to leave the bank without an assistant cashier—especially when the assistant cashier was the only one standing between a well-respected banking house and an arrogant cashier apparently intent on sending it to ruin. But to give in entirely, when he disagreed—it was galling. He stepped back from the compartment. “Thirty-six. Twenty-one. Eighteen.”

Reid hung his head forward and closed his eyes, a snort of laughter escaping him. Jonah warily kept up his guard. “I will protect the bank—”

“From me,” Reid finished for him. “Yes, I think you will.” He worked the dial briskly. “Setting a day lock is simple enough.” He positioned Jonah in front of the compartment door with a firm push. “Pay attention to the way it feels.” He splayed fingers over Jonah’s, and Jonah could not help noticing how callused they were, how sun-browned. “Turn the dial just a little, until….” Reid’s voice was low yet resonant. And too close. “Feel it?”

“Yes….” Aware of how low his own voice was, Jonah cleared his throat. “Yes.”

“Good. When you want to open it, just turn back till it stops.” Reid nudged the dial and opened the door. “There you are. Unfastened in the wink of an eye.”

“Easy work for a thief. He need only take a chance on turning it to the right or left.”

“As busy as this bank is during the day, it’s not likely anyone will have the opportunity to slip back here and test for day locks.”

“Not likely, but possible.” A rush of exasperated breath warmed Jonah’s neck, and he drew a sharp breath of his own, involuntarily. “I think we’re done,” he said, with a backward step toward the door. “Shall I take the letters or exchanges?”

Reid glanced at him sidelong, a sly glint in his eye. “Which would you prefer?”

“Why do I think you mean to assign whichever I don’t?”

“Because you’re an excellent judge of character.” The sly glint became a full-fledged grin. “I’ll take the exchanges.”

In the morning quiet, Jonah worked steadily to catch up with the correspondence. He was nearly ready to post the stack when, just after noon, he heard Simon barrel into the cashier’s office. Through the glass came his voice, as usual a little too familiar, but surprisingly respectful for Simon.

“He’s presented a check for payment.”

“He hasn’t been introduced?” Reid asked.

“Never seen him before.”

Jonah went to the door. “You know the rules, Mr. Campbell. Tell him to bring someone who may vouch that he is who he claims to be—”

“Hold on a minute.” Reid turned to Simon. “Is it a small check?”

“Twenty dollars, sir.”

“In your judgment, may we waive the rules in this instance?”

Jonah blanched. “Mr. Hylliard, Grandborough Bank does not pay out funds without proper identification.”

“Well, let’s see if we can identify this poor fellow, shall we?”

The poor fellow in question was respectably attired in what appeared a new suit, incongruously matched with an overcoat out at the elbows and a pair of boots that had surely taken him a good many miles. With his hat in his hands, he waited away from the busy row of cages and looked up anxiously every time someone walked past.

“Santo Coletti,” Simon whispered. “Says he’s employed by a watchmaker—or about to be. They sent him some money to come here and find a place to board.”

“He must have some sort of letter of introduction,” Jonah said. “Where is the watchmaker’s?”

“Further down William, I think.” Simon shrugged. “Can’t speak much English. Not sure he understood half of what I said to him.”

“How much did you understand of what he said to you?” Reid slowed as the three of them approached the counter. “Anyone at the bank speak Italian, Mr. Campbell?”

“Not that I’ve heard.”

“All right, then. Mr. Woolner and I will take care of it.”

As soon as Simon had returned to his window, Jonah caught Reid by the sleeve. “We’ve had sharpers in the bank before,” he said quietly.

“He looks like a sharper to you?” Reid seemed surprised.

“Well….” Jonah had to admit Coletti looked more like the potential victim of a sharper, but…. “Looks sometimes deceive.”

“Yes. And sometimes they don’t.” Freeing himself from Jonah’s grasp, Reid greeted Santo Coletti with a welcoming smile and outstretched hand. “Signore Coletti?”

Mr. Coletti’s brown eyes flooded with relief. “Si.” He held out a crumpled check. “Is all right?”

Reid glanced at the check. “Emmett Tyler? He’s just hired you?”

“Si, Signore—”

“I’m Reid Hylliard. This is Mr. Woolner.”

Mr. Coletti extended a piece of paper. “Cassiere. Signore Woolner.”

Jonah realized Emmett Tyler—and likely many other depositors—labored under the assumption that Jonah was cashier. Reid quickly corrected that perception. “I’m cassiere, sir. Mr. Woolner is….” He hesitated with a bright glance at Jonah. “I don’t know the word for right hand. Never mind. Signore Coletti, have you been to see Mr. Tyler today?”

“I try.” Mr. Coletti looked even more anxious. “He say no.”

“No? He told you he couldn’t see you today?”

“He say….” Mr. Coletti raised the paper and pointed to it. “Come back.”

“He left you a note?” Reid asked.

“Perhaps he’s gone to dinner,” Jonah said. “Or closed early for some reason. Whatever the case, we require identification, Mr. Coletti, before we can pay on this check.” When Mr. Coletti raised bristle brows in confusion and shook his head, Jonah tried again. “Can you prove you are Santo Coletti?”

Mr. Coletti laid a hand on his breast. “Santo Coletti, sì.”

“Yes, sir. Can you provide any other evidence of your identity? Or perhaps have Mr. Tyler come with you tomorrow to make an introduction?”

“Tomorrow? Not tomorrow. The room. I lose it….” Bewildered eyes shifted to Reid and the check in his hand. “It is not all right?”

Reid smiled, the smile Jonah already knew with every instinct not to trust. “Mr. Woolner, how is your digestion?”

“My… I beg your pardon?”

“If you will please fetch your coat and kindly bring mine, Mr. Coletti and I will meet you on the steps. Mr. Campbell, we will be back shortly.”

In no
position to protest, Jonah held his tongue and brought the coats. Surely Mr. Tyler would be back in residence by the time they arrived. But after a fifteen-minute walk in the face of a crisp wind, they found the shop still shut, with a notice indicating the owner would return in the afternoon. Ready to go back to the bank, Jonah did protest when Reid stopped in front of one of the eating houses so popular with the young stockbrokers and clerks. As Mr. Coletti went in ahead, Jonah remained on the threshold. “You can’t be serious.”

“You’ve eaten here?”

“No—”

“Do you eat any place other than that café across the street from the bank?”

“I can’t think what business that is of yours.”

“None, I suppose. It isn’t true, is it, that you lock yourself in the vault at night and sleep curled up on a pile of discounted paper and old notes?”

“Say what you like, Mr. Hylliard. I am not easily baited—”

“Did you know the clerks are wagering on whether you’ll stay or go?”

“Nor am I easily chased away.” Jonah meant to show no more than an impervious cool, but the retort sounded defiant.

Reid did not seem in the least displeased. In fact, he was fairly beaming. “Good man,” he said with sudden warmth and went inside, leaving Jonah in the doorway. Nettled, Jonah was sorely tempted to turn right around and go back to the bank alone. It had been a good ten years since he’d succumbed to the questionable expediency of dinner at an eating house. The fare was prepared with a style little progressed beyond the Neanderthal at his fire. And he had no desire to dine with Reid, no matter the fare. But he could not offend Mr. Coletti or Emmett Tyler, a fact of which Reid was no doubt aware and, judging by his smile as Jonah appeared at the table, reveling in.