Chapter 30
Brows rising, Jonathan nodded. “I sent word straightaway, but he and his family are abroad at present, and I do not know if my letter arrived before they left for the next city.”
“That is unfortunate.” Frowning slightly, Mr. Eden leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers once against the armrest. “I recently encountered an opportunity that struck me as particularly well suited to Mr. Kingsley’s interests. A pity.”
Jonathan’s ribs squeezed tight, and he straightened. “I could telegraph him.”
“Oh, no, no.” Mr. Eden waved the suggestion aside at once with a genial smile. “You needn’t bestir yourself. Another opportunity shall present itself in time.”
Yet despite the gentleman’s reassurance, Jonathan thought of the ledgers that required balancing and the salaries that needed to be paid.
Mr. Eden’s guidance had already steadied matters more than Jonathan cared to admit aloud, and the prospect of gaining the support of Eden every creak of the floorboards made her pulse jump despite the emptiness surrounding her.
And by the time she reached the study door, her hands felt like ice.
Pushing the door open, Nora slipped inside and eased it shut behind her.
The study smelled so strongly of Papa that she half expected the gentleman to be there, but the space was empty.
Afternoon light stretched across the orderly stacks of correspondence and ledgers standing upon the great mahogany desk, and Nora approached slowly, the soft rustle of her skirts sounding far too loud in the stillness of the room.
For several moments she simply stared at the desk whilst her pulse beat heavily against her ribs.
What precisely was she hoping to find? She had no answer for that, but she reached for the uppermost stack of correspondence and began carefully sorting through it one sheet at a time.
Every paper lifted was returned to precisely the same angle and position from which she had taken it, smoothing the edges carefully as though Papa might notice the slightest disturbance.
Shipping figures. Investment summaries. Letters from clients written in varying degrees of panic or gratitude depending upon whether fortunes had risen or fallen. Figures stared back at her in orderly rows. All meaningless numbers. All unremarkable.
Nora turned next to one of the drawers Lionel had rifled through days earlier, opening it far more cautiously than he had.
Inside rested a stack of reports, and sifting through the pages, her attention drifted across figures and summaries that blurred before her eyes.
Nora couldn’t say for certain what any of it meant, but she searched each paper nonetheless—when her eyes caught upon a familiar name.
Hatcher that confidence alone steadied something inside Jonathan that weeks of balancing ledgers and sleepless nights had worn nearly threadbare.
Claiming the money came from dividends made Jonathan’s stomach sour, but there was a balance between transparency and revealing too much.
Every business and organization made decisions that were inconceivable to those not in the thick of things, and whilst individuals could be reasoned with, humanity as a whole was far too apt to leap to conclusions and be led by popular opinion.
And truly, was there any harm in paying dividends from his own pocket?
The housing would fill eventually. The cities were growing too quickly for it not to.
What threatened the company now was not the quality of the projects, but fretful investors pulling out at precisely the wrong moment, and if a temporary measure preserved confidence, what harm was there in it?
The profits would come eventually.
Besides, if Uncle Oliver’s investment came through, this all would be a moot point.
Jonathan’s stride quickened as he turned onto the broader thoroughfare, and Lombard Street’s polished grandeur gave way to Holborn’s busier commercial thoroughfares crowded with warehouses, printers, solicitors, and the practical machinery that kept London’s economy moving.
Ordinarily, the sight of Hatcher & Byrnes would’ve tightened the old knot of worry between his shoulders, but today, Jonathan took the steps lightly.
The familiar bustle of the office embraced him, and several clerks glanced up with polite greetings as Jonathan crossed the outer rooms to his private office—but he halted on the threshold when he found Father seated before his desk.