The Only Gold (2 page)

At the cashier’s door, he knocked and was glad at once to see the welcoming smile on Mr. Grandborough’s bearded face as he rose before anyone else to admit Jonah. “Just the man we were waiting for. Jonah, I would like you to meet Reid Hylliard. Reid, this is Jonah Woolner, our assistant cashier.”

Assistant. He’d begun to loathe the word. Fortunately, he would not have to endure it much longer. When Reid stood, hand outstretched, Jonah took it, matching the man’s polite smile with one of his own. “A pleasure, Mr. Hylliard. Will you be opening an account with us?”

“In a sense.” Behind the smile, Reid seemed to be taking the measure of him. “I understand you’ve been at Grandborough fourteen years.”

“Not quite that long, sir. Thirteen years and ten months.” He couldn’t conceal the question in his eyes as he turned back to Mr. Grandborough.

If the bank president noticed it, there was no sign in his usual brisk manner. “Jonah, please sit. I’d like to have this matter disposed of before we open for the day.” Mr. Grandborough laid broad hands on the desk and laced his fingers. “This will be a momentous year for Grandborough National Bank.” His smile stretched until his blue eyes were quarter moons shining under bushy silver brows. Jonah could tell by Naughton’s and Gavet’s beaming countenances that they savored the new title as thoroughly. He savored it himself.

“A momentous year,” Mr. Grandborough went on. “It is no small matter to be designated a national depository, gentlemen. We have always sought to combine prudent management with the adoption of sensible innovations, a policy which has won us the confidence of not just the community, but the president himself. I will not, however, permit us to become complacent in our success. No, indeed. To that end, I’ve spoken with the directors, and we’re agreed that, for the betterment of the bank, we should seek to view our inner workings through a new pair of eyes.”

The sudden knot in Jonah’s chest threatened to choke the breath out of him.
Dear God, it was true.
He
was being discharged.
“Sir, if I may—”

Mr. Grandborough turned to him, still smiling, and mowed down the protest before Jonah could gather up steam. “In this, Jonah, we will require your assistance. Mr. Hylliard comes to us with extensive banking experience. He’s assisted before in the transition from state to national, and he can see us safely through our apprenticeship, as it were.” He chuckled, the others joining in, and Reid smiled.

“I’m grateful for the opportunity.”

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Hylliard. As I was saying, you’ve all the skills we require, lacking only a familiarity with our own standards and practices. For that, you may rely unequivocally on our assistant cashier. Jonah has been taking on the cashier’s work since Mr. Crowe’s passing. For nearly fourteen years, he has been as steady and circumspect as any bank president could wish.”

The note of fatherly pride made Jonah’s heart only ache the more. “I have always worked for the betterment of the bank, sir.”

“Of that, I have no doubt.”

“Yes, so you will understand if I—”

“Don’t decide anything in haste,” Mr. Naughton said suddenly, and shifted an uncomfortable gaze toward Mr. Grandborough, who only shook his head, attention still affectionately directed at Jonah.

“Our Mr. Woolner does nothing in haste.” He rose. “A tour of the bank is called for, I think, and introductions all around.”

Jonah found his own feet. “I… must put my things away, if you will allow me a minute.”

He escaped across the lobby to the cloakroom, and in the close confines, collapsed on the seat beside the lone window. The room smelled damp from clothes and overshoes encrusted with melting snow. The two rows of coats in their cubbies on each side of the narrow room sheltered him from voices drifting in, at least until Helen appeared—trailed by Simon Campbell, who probably feared she would miss some morsel of gossip in relaying it secondhand.

“Oh, Mr. Woolner….” Helen exhaled the words and pressed clasped hands to her chest as if she had expelled her last breath. “It cannot be—”

Simon ceased cracking gum long enough to interrupt her. “You sacked, then?”

Jonah stood and began to unbutton his coat with hands he would allow to be nothing less than steady. “I am not, as you put it, sacked, Mr. Campbell. You’d best get back to work, the two of you. You’ll want to make a good impression on your new cashier.” Though he didn’t suppose he had.

“Oh, Mr. Woolner—”

“He’s in?” Simon looked astonished. “Damn—”

“Not at the bank, if you please.” Jonah hung his coat, smoothing the shoulders to be sure it draped evenly on the wooden bar. Snow sparkled against the black worsted, and he brushed it away with burning fingers; he wanted to run outside to bury his hands and face in it. He turned back to two troubled visages and a smile came, out of necessity. “Nothing to worry about. Our positions are secure.”
Perhaps too secure.
“Back to work, please.”

Simon raised a coppery eyebrow. “Think you’d be mad the old man passed you over.”

Jonah shook his head. Supervising Simon Campbell was one task he did not envy the new cashier. “We are about to open, Mr. Campbell. The ledgers—”

“On your desk, sir. Or
his
desk, as the case may be.”

“We’re to go to him?” Helen asked, as if the idea cut her to the quick.

“Yes—”

“And treat him same as we treat you?” Simon asked.

God forbid.
“Treat him as you treated Mr. Crowe. I have not been, nor will I be, chief cashier. At least, not in the eyes of the directors.” Jonah stopped himself from saying more. He’d felt mostly numb and bereft, but now a sense of injustice was creeping in, and he would only regret letting it show. “Please tell Mr. Grandborough I will be out in a moment.”

The only place left to escape curious stares was the washroom, and he went there to try again to collect himself. The face in the glass appeared unusually pale, but there were no telltale signs of moisture on his lashes to give him away. It was fortunate he’d become so practiced at hiding things. Perhaps he should pinch his cheeks after the fashion of Helen MacDonald whenever John Darlington came into the bank. He combed his hair and straightened his tie, instead. It was back to his old office now: his desk with the worn-smooth cubbies, his chair with its sideways wobble, his ever-leaking radiator. He would miss Mr. Crowe’s office and the way the sun came in so cheerfully in the afternoons. Of course he would still be called in to take instruction from Mr. Hylliard.

The face in the glass looked back at him in resignation. He had performed conscientiously so that none could find fault with him.
What had Mr. Grandborough called him? Steady. Circumspect.

And still not suitable.

The board’s decision was made. He might consider leaving Grandborough altogether, but he wouldn’t. He could not leave the bank in other hands. Reid Hylliard might know more—might be the cleverest cashier in the state—but he didn’t know Grandborough Bank. He didn’t know its ins and outs, its quirks and practices. And no one was in a better position to enlighten Reid on those matters than he. Not even Mr. Grandborough, himself.

Jonah squared his shoulders and assumed an air of ruthless self-possession. He would be as proficient and cooperative as expected. No one would have reason to gossip about him at the end of the day. And a long day it would be. The pity of staff and depositors alike would have to be borne, as well as any commiseration awaiting him at home. He dreaded simply going into the lobby, but he’d lingered long enough to fuel a likely rumor that losing the promotion had quite destroyed him.

And rumor was all it was.

He marched out of the washroom and nearly ran into Margaret Noble, poised to knock. No pity to match Helen’s deluged him from Margaret’s direct gray gaze or her cordial smile. Sympathy, yes, but even that was offered in thrifty measure. It brought to mind how she had once admonished a downhearted Helen to give up dwelling in the shadows when the sun shone just around the corner. Jonah knew it was not merely talk, as Margaret seemed to live accordingly, despite—or because of—her widowed state.

“Mr. Grandborough wished me to collect Mr. Crowe’s keys….” She coughed gently. “Your keys to the vault gate.”

“Mine? Mr. Grandborough has his own—” Jonah bit back the rest, certain he could not be a more blessed fool. “For Mr. Hylliard. Of course.” He handed her the keys. “I suppose he’ll want the desk keys too. I’ll bring them,” he added as she once more extended a hand. “Mr. Hylliard should not attend the correspondence without my assistance.”

Margaret looked approving. “You are always the gentleman. Would you rather…?” She held out the vault keys.

Jonah hesitated only an instant. He supposed there was nothing for it but to surrender with dignity. “Yes, I think I should. Thank you, Margaret.”

“You’ll be all right, my dear,” she said quietly as he moved past her. He found some comfort in her thinking so. His own confidence remained on fragile ground, threatening to topple altogether at the sight of newly arrived directors crowding into Crowe’s office to welcome their cashier and shake hands all around. Jonah slipped inside his own office further along the corridor and closed the door. It took him a minute to fumble the key into the drawer lock and retrieve his old copy book. It had lain forgotten since he’d taken on all the bank correspondence in the last year. Now he would be reduced to those duties Reid saw fit to give him.

He locked the empty drawer and trod an uneasy path back to the cashier’s office. Laughter came from within, and through the beveled glass, Jonah saw the directors listening attentively as Reid rambled on, no doubt about his vast wealth of experience in various banks around the state. About to knock, Jonah went in uninvited instead. He hadn’t the title, but he’d worked too long in the cashier’s office to be made to feel he must ask permission before entering.

The laughter dwindled to quiet chuckles, and Jonah wondered if a guilt-stricken conscience or two provoked the businesslike demeanor suddenly overtaking everyone. In the quiet that reigned, he felt he should say something.

“Good morning.”

They stepped gingerly with their replies, no one remarking on anything other than the weather as they bid him good morning and left the office one by one. He smiled politely as if it were merely another day at the bank and mused in amazement that the searing humiliation hadn’t left him a pile of ash on the floor. He wanted to walk out, too, out of the building and away from his failure, away from the pity he knew everyone felt, whether they showed it or not.

Reid rose from the broad sill where Mr. Crowe had once kept a row of prize-winning gladioli. “I think I’m somewhat at your mercy, Mr. Woolner.” He moved toward the desk that was almost a vault itself, with its array of drawers, shelves, pigeonholes, and an expansive writing surface locked, for the moment, behind its cover. Placed against the wall to afford a view out the window, it was a pleasant place to work.

Jonah unlocked the cylinder and slid it back. “It sticks in certain weathers, but you’ll get the feel of it.” He held out the key, and Reid took it.

“I wasn’t just referring to the desk—”

“Of course.” Jonah met an expectant gaze. “I am at your disposal.”