Free The Only Gold by Tamara Allen Page A

without protest, too stricken to resist. He settled in front of the desk, but couldn’t bring himself to do anything until, a few minutes later, Reid appeared. Closing the door, Reid sat across from him. “Are you all right?”
     
    His tone was too gentle to determine whether he inquired merely out of form. And Jonah was too uncomfortable to answer honestly. “If you’re discharging me, please say so. I need no solicitous preface.”
     
    Reid’s lips quirked, but the weight of his amusement remained in his eyes. “If we discharged everyone who dropped the occasional bag of gold, there wouldn’t be anyone left to count it. Anyway, I don’t know how we’d replace such a hardworking assistant cashier.” Reid rose. “As easy as it might be to find one less difficult to work with.”
     
    Jonah opened his mouth to defend himself, then shut it. When Reid had gone, he tried to push the whole incident to the back of his mind and concentrate on the books. He couldn’t, not with the worry that Mr. Grandborough or Mr. Naughton might come in to express their disapproval. But neither man came, and at three o’clock, Margaret appeared. “Mr. Hylliard asked that you close today.”
     
    “Where is he?”
     
    “Upstairs,” she said in surprise. “I thought you knew.”
     
    His lingering uneasiness sharpened to alarm. He left the office and started up the stairs, to be met halfway by Horace Naughton, who greeted him as affably as ever. “Mr. Hylliard tells us you’ve been under the weather. Perhaps you should head home early. I will close, with Mr. Campbell’s assistance.”
     
    “I’m quite all right. I thought we were meeting at three.”
     
    “We decided to get on with it,” Horace said. “A good deal to cover, you know.”
     
    “Yes, but… I thought you would want me to attend. At least for a little while. Mr. Hylliard is not prepared to answer on discounts… nor anything, for that matter.” A guilty tug at his conscience made him hesitate. “I mean only that he hasn’t been here long enough—”
     
    “Mr. Hylliard is managing nicely. And if there is anything more we need, we will certainly consult you. You won’t be discouraged now, will you? Everything will be quite all right.” Mr. Naughton looked as though he wanted to say more. Instead, he put a plump arm around Jonah’s shoulders and guided him back down the stairs. “Go on home and rest, and if you need the remainder of the week to get back on your feet, take it.”
     
    “I can’t—”
     
    “You can, indeed. You must look after yourself, my boy. We need you.”
     
    Jonah wanted to believe it—might have, if Mr. Naughton hadn’t been in the process of shunting him out the door. And heading home at such an hour felt far from right. In the falling snow, Jonah stopped and looked back at the bank, up the gray granite’s smooth lines to the second floor’s arched windows. It startled him to see Reid there, intent, contemplative, absent the artful grin. Grandborough appeared at his side and followed his gaze to the street—and Jonah. To Jonah’s immense relief, Grandborough did smile, with his usual expansive cheer. He waved a shooing hand, and Jonah went, but not without one more backward glance at Reid, in grim expectation of the arrogant smile he would find directed his way.
     
    But Reid’s expression hadn’t changed. Perhaps he was at last beginning to feel the weight of the job he’d taken on. The directors would not let him do as he pleased and were perhaps even now taking him to task. They would set right whatever Jonah had not been able to.
     

     

     
    Spirits lifted, Jonah made his way home as the clouds gave up their burden in great, soft flakes landing soundlessly around him. He was ready for the hearth fire when he came in, but found he could not enjoy it in solitude. Winnie and Edith were taking tea with a visitor, a young woman he’d never met. Debating whether or not to go in, he nearly jumped out of his skin