The Only Gold (8 page)

“I am woefully without any of the three, but I will certainly recommend you to all the ladies I know.”

“What a dear you are.” Alice ignored Honoria’s warning cough. “Come with us to see Mr. Hook, won’t you? He’s the most frightening creature, and I’d feel better with an officer peering sternly over my shoulder at him. Jonah, you as well, if you will.”

“There’s no need to worry,” Jonah said. “I believe Mr. Hook has already approved the sum you require.”

Reid cast him a bemused glance before turning his attention back to Alice. “I don’t know that I peer as sternly as Mr. Woolner, but I’m yours for as long as you wish.” He offered her his arm, and instantly Honoria was on her feet. Alice gave him a resigned smile and proceeded on ahead, her governess at her heels. As Reid followed, Jonah watched his easy gait, wondering at how comfortable he seemed, how utterly self-assured in any situation, as if he believed he had nothing to prove to Grandborough or the directors, nor any need to worry over whether Jonah might report his questionable decisions to the board.

Reid certainly risked Honoria’s—and perhaps Grandborough’s—wrath by flirting with Alice. Alice didn’t mind it. For all the years he’d known her, she’d been an ambitious girl, her father’s daughter. Her father kept a strict eye on her, but had permitted her friendship with Jonah, perhaps thinking him a respectable choice when his daughter chose to marry. Jonah admired her, but no other feelings had asserted themselves in the years since, and he did not imagine himself a suitor. Still, watching her flirt with Reid left him strangely lost again, as if everything in his life seemed destined to slip away from him. Reid had been her first choice for the unpleasant task of dealing with Mr. Hook. Perhaps now she saw Jonah as her father saw him. No longer suitable.

Really, it was just as well. Marriage was not meant for everyone. Jonah returned to his examination of the balance books and tried to pay little mind when, some time later, Reid and Alice passed down the corridor, voices raised in lively discussion. She was thanking him—unnecessarily, Jonah thought, since there had never been any doubt of Hook’s approval. Reid appeared to have quite the talent for turning strangers into friends. Those strangers who could do him some good, at any rate. Jonah realized he would have to watch out for Alice, because as intelligent as she was, she could know little of the type of man who charmed a lady only to dally with her and leave her with empty promises or worse.

He would have to keep a sharp eye on Reid in every respect.

His place lost in the debit column, he began again and worked through until he was prepared for the morrow’s exchanges. Mr. Satterfield came by with the cart for the books, and Jonah handed them over. The bank was quiet as he put on his coat and hat and started for the lobby door. Through the lofty windows looking out upon William Street, slim shafts of rosy light entered. It warmed the wide expanse of marble, burnished the brass trim of the counter lamps, and imbued the lobby with a tranquil glow. Beyond the four windows, the world was similarly bathed. It was an evening too inviting to resist.

Jonah went to the stairs and took the four flights to the roof at a pace that left him breathless. The exertion was repaid when he stepped out into that soft light, and the wind swept him a welcome, nearly taking off with his hat. He bared his head as he walked to the coping and looked into the street below. Lights of the man-made sort were just coming to life, illuminating a street still heavy with traffic in all directions. Around him, other rooftops were uninhabited havens, and he seemed the only one aware of the coming storm.

He pressed his hands flat to the cold ledge and closed his eyes as the wind buffeted him with unceasing strength. His skin tingled under its bite, his hair whipped into his eyes, and he took off his glasses and pocketed them. The world was blurrier hence, but it needed to be no clearer. With the warming, rosy light fading fast, he found comfort still in the ever-shifting shades of gray. He let the elements have at him, pushing, chilling, waking him to sensations other than his aching head and the anxious thoughts that had been building all afternoon. Not even the first cold flake on his cheek could drive him indoors. Nothing could.

“Have a care, Mr. Woolner. Don’t want to end up in the street, do you?”

Nothing
except that. The spell broken, Jonah turned, fumbling for his glasses. “Mr. Abbott. You’re early.”

Liam Abbott stood in the midst of the wicker chairs the third-floor attorneys had brought up in wistful anticipation of an early spring. He was bundled in a heavy coat that didn’t obscure the bottle weighing down one pocket, nor the gun in the other. “Roof ain’t the best place in a storm. ’Specially for a man half-blind already.”

Jonah shivered, abruptly aware of how cold it was. “I am not half-blind, and I’ll thank you to keep your personal remarks to yourself. Why are you up here? Has Mr. Satterfield gone?”

“He knows you’re still here,” Abbott said, as if that answered the question. “Can’t say it’s smart, wandering up here at closing. We might’ve locked you out. That’d make for a long, cold night.”

“I would hope you’d check the roof before locking the door.”

“Only checked it now on account of Mr. Hylliard’s asking.”

“Is he still here?”

“He asked this morning,” Abbott said. “Told me to keep sharp for anything out of the ordinary and let him know about it. Any particular reason you’re up here?”

“None that is any of your concern.” Jonah started past him, slowing when Abbott went on in a softer voice.

“That what you want me to report to Mr. Hylliard?”

Jonah twisted mid-step to fix on the man’s sullen face. “You may tell Mr. Hylliard whatever you like. If I were you, I would not rely too heavily on him to excuse you if you continue to fall down in your responsibilities to the bank.”

A corner of Abbott’s mouth lifted, allowing a trace of contempt amidst his usual bitter humor.

Jonah turned away. “Attend to your job, please, Mr. Abbott.”

Finding
the omnibuses overflowing, Jonah walked a distance through the swirling snow until he located a streetcar with standing room for one more. He dreaded any further shows of sympathy or questions regarding his day, but he was too cold and tired to do anything but go home. He wanted nothing more than a bite to eat and a hot brick to take upstairs, but he could not escape the parlor without falling into Winnie’s solicitous hands. She had him in Cyrus’s favorite armchair in an instant, with his feet on the stool. “You can’t go about in this weather, at this time of night, dear. Don’t you know that’s how gentlemen catch their deaths? And I can’t think you’ve the best constitution to begin with.”

Since Winnie was firmly convinced that no gentleman in her care was blessed with a suitable constitution, Jonah let the remark pass and smiled patiently at the rest. “The bank may close at three, but that does not end our day, you know.”

“But you’ve missed supper. And Edith prepared the loveliest roast pork and potatoes to cheer you up.”

“Did she?” He buried a yawn behind his hand. “I’m so sorry, Winnie, I must go to bed.”

“I shall bring your tea up, then. No, don’t argue. You can’t sleep well without some supper.” She followed him to the stairs. “Sunday afternoon, we’re having another luncheon. I meant to tell you last night. You’ll….” She crept nearer, lowering her voice. “You’ll bring that young lady from the bank, won’t you? Miss Grandborough? Edith and I would quite like to meet her.”

Jonah looked into the woman’s hopeful face and felt a pang of conscience. His mention—once—of Alice had brought about all sorts of unwarranted conclusions on the part of everyone in the house. Entangled in half-truths, he hadn’t made an effort to clarify things, and now it was too difficult. “I will certainly ask her.”

“Do, my dear, and tell me, so I may plan accordingly.”

A spinster by circumstance, Winnie should have been a widow by right. Forbidden by her father to marry Thomas Strong before he’d marched into battle, she was left without him or his name—only his memory. Jonah had heard the story from Edith of Winnie’s refusal to wear mourning dress, and the considerable scandal it had caused. But Edith’s telling of the story was not without sympathy. Thomas had loved Winnie in the soft colors suited to the pale beauty she had been in youth. Winnie could not bear to have him look down from Heaven to see her draped in black.

In the long years afterward, she had taken up the habit of matchmaking among the boarders, perhaps to ease her own loneliness—although her efforts exasperated Edith to no end. Jonah supposed Winnie might well have his wedding planned before he had even gone so far as to fall in love. He bid her goodnight and went up to a room made bearable by a low fire in the grate. Surprised and grateful, he dropped into a chair to remove his shoes, only to wake a few minutes later to a knock at the door. A sleepy-eyed Lansy in a damp apron handed over a tray of tea and gingerbread, curtsied, and left.

Jonah ate, and with a warm stomach and warmer sheets, crawled into bed, but he’d only begun down the twilight road when once again it commenced: the steady, subdued thump of a bedframe against the wall. He supposed a married couple was entitled, but he wished Liliane and Bertram had moved into any room but the one beside his.

As a couple residing in a crowded boarding house might, they kept their intimacies confined to respectable hours and concluded said proceedings without undue commotion. Jonah seldom heard much beyond the beat of the bedposts against the wall, and he was thankful for that. But what he did hear—the occasional muffled endearment, a low cry—kept him awake until well after all had gone silent next door.

Sleepy now, still he was transfixed and losing the battle against imagery that insinuated itself into his thoughts. Bertram’s hands on her skin, creating friction where perspiration threatened to diminish it, finding hidden places where even the lightest touch was maddening. His mouth, hard, pressing, demanding, on hers. His weight and warmth enclosing her, melting over her with animal strength and need, with human longing, reducing every civilized sense to primal sensation. Rocking her on a dark ocean where each moment was lived, where all she felt was his touch, all she tasted his skin, all she saw his gaze as he sought to fall and be lost in hers.

The brick had surely been left too long in the fire. Jonah pushed away the blankets and climbed out of bed, his nightshirt sticking to his skin. He crossed to the furthest corner of the room and cracked open the window to let the chill seep in. Still he burned, and still the tap of the bed against the wall made its way to him. He leaned back on the chaise and stretched out his legs, willing the cold air to make the room tolerable for sleep. He could not close his eyes, not yet, without picturing Liliane and Bertram tangled in bare, breathless embrace. As an aid to sleep it was quite inadequate. He ached, himself, in a most inappropriate fashion. He laid a hand upon his lap, and the treacherous organ stirred, making matters worse. If he did not give in, he would never sleep. It felt criminal to find himself aroused by his neighbors’ intimacies. But other fantasies that crept from the dimmest corners of his mind were worse.

In among those fantasies, two memories flitted in and out—one sweet, one sharp. The sweet was an afternoon of long ago and a lonely riverbank from which he’d seen two boys his age splash and play—and kiss. The sharp, though, dominated these days; the one that surged to mind when he needed that touch. His grip through the cotton nightshirt made him tremble, and he closed his eyes, falling back to a dark, humid hallway in a Bowery row house notorious for its low women. Why he’d been there—all he remembered was escaping from the perfumed, painted creature kissing him, to end up alone in an unfamiliar hall. The proprietor blocked his way—intentionally, Jonah knew now—watching him out of black eyes under heavy brows, smiling at him like they shared secrets no one else could guess.