A gatekeeper stood in the courtyard. The fellow wore a ridiculous liveried costume of pink and crimson wool trimmed in gold braid, a bicorn hat, and a scepter. Eliza smothered a smile as she approached him.
He touched his hat to her. “Good afternoon, miss. May I help?”
“Cheerio! I’m looking for Sir Mark van Bergen.”
“Ah, yes, Sir Mark—I was told to expect his lady,” said the man with a twinkle in his eye. “Follow that passage to the Directors’ Parlours, and a clerk will be happy to receive you.”
Eliza nodded her thanks, and then stepped inside the passageway. As she walked the length of it, the heels of her shoes clicked against the gleaming marble floor and echoed off the sumptuous paneling. Electric lanterns hung at intervals and tasteful artwork decorated the walls. A few employees hastened past her with polite nods of acknowledgment, yet she felt their eyes linger over her figure.
A woman was a rare sight in the Bank.
Old habits died hard and Eliza quickened her step to outpace them. She didn’t care for their gaze and dreaded the feeling of guilt and the sense that she did not belong here. Thankfully, she soon reached the end of the long corridor to discover an empty waiting room.
“Hullo?”she called.
A brace of young clerks emerged through a doorway, summoned in some surprise by the sound of her feminine voice. Otherwise, the Bank was as silent as a tomb.
“Yes, miss?” asked one lad. He must’ve thought her lost.
“I’m here to see Sir Mark van Bergen.”
He nodded. “May I tell Sir Mark who’s calling?”
“Miss Summersby,” she replied. “He knows me.”
“Very good, miss. Wait here please.”
She stood in the center of the room, admiring the slant of light through the lone window framed in serviceable brocade. A potted fern sat on a wooden stand, and a suite of sturdy chairs were pushed against the perimeter. It was a comfortably appointed space, but visitors were not encouraged to linger there. Everyone must be brisk and efficient about their business, and then be on their way.
Soon the clerk returned. “If you would be so good as to follow me, Miss Summersby.”
He led her further into the labyrinth. Deeper into the bowels of the Bank of England until she felt certain she would never find her way out.
But a tap against a doorframe revealed the corner office of Sir Mark van Bergen, who was all too happy to receive her.
“Eliza, at last!” Mark wore reading spectacles, she noticed. The wire-rimmed glasses rested upon his nose, for he must’ve forgotten to remove them in his excitement.
His workspace was darkly paneled despite the bright light beaming through a bank of windows. A mahogany desk dominated the room, and two brass-studded leather chairs sat before it. Otherwise, the office was lined with bookshelves stuffed with ledgers, record books, and copies ofthe Financial Times. A framed photo of his family rested on his desktop, reminding him of all that he’d worked for.
Mark admired her pretty clothes. His keen eyes raked over her with obvious admiration. A low heat simmered in his gaze, making her heart race. Making her smile as she reached for the man she loved.
“Are you pleased to see me?” she asked.
He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her very near. “As pleased as Punch. Now kiss me.”
She shook her head and teased,“Youkissmefirst.”
He did so without any hesitation. Their lips pressed and feathered together. His hands traced her waist, cupping her bottom as he deepened their embrace. He didn’t care who might’ve walked by or that anybody might have seen them. He seemed elated that she had come, for her presence was the high point of his afternoon.
Eliza was glad to be missed, to be wanted. Releasing him, she took a turn about the room. “How long have you been in this office?”
“Four years,” he said. He propped his backside on the polished desktop, letting his long, trouser-clad legs swing freely. “I worked for a firm of Quaker bankers before they were bought out by Barclays. I and the other partners profited from the deal. Some even retired on the money from the sale, but I felt I was too young for that, so I began the second act of my career here at the Bank of England.
“Some folk find it dull work,” he continued, “I’m afraid this immutable institution lacks the excitement of managing other people’s money. Young men of the City crave the thrill of speculation rather than setting rates.”
Eliza knew that he’d been savvy in his youth. He was a talented and successful gentleman who’d saved his bank when others had failed, turned a substantial profit, and ultimately ascended to the Court of Directors. She was happy to have him now, though she wished she could’ve witnessed his meteoric rise.
“What would you do with my money,” she asked him, “if I placed it in your care?”
