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
“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
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