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June shook her head immediately. “Today’s delivery day. Mad can take care of things while we leave for a bit.”
A few minutes later, they bundled up in wool coats, scarves, and sturdy boots and went out to the footpath. They linked arms companionably as they headed toward Hyde Park along the same streets they’d roamed as girls. On Charles Street, a row of tall, narrow Georgian town houses was arranged like books on a shelf. Tall wrought-iron railings surrounded Berkeley Square, a private area of green lawn, plane trees, and prim little benches.
It was the kind of day that couldn’t decide whether it wanted to move forward into spring or turn back to winter. The wind was just as conflicted, changing direction every few seconds. Overhead, the heavy layer of cloud was split here and there, like the skin of overripe plums after too much rain.
When they reached South Audley, Reina finally spoke. “I don’t want to explain where the information came from, but . . . there are suspicions about Mr. Farlow. Accusations of fraud and mismanagement. His bank may be in crisis.”
It took June a moment to absorb that. “But you ain’t got nothing to do with it?”
“Not directly. But the authorities need evidence to warrant an investigation . . . falsified records, forged statements . . . and I’m probably the only person outside the bank who would be able to obtain it.”
“What if you don’t?”
“Then after enough time has passed, the bank will start missing interest payments, and customers will pull their money out, and it will all collapse. But the longer it’s allowed to go on, the more harm will be done to thousands of people. Many will lose everything they have. Some families won’t survive.”
“Blimey,” June muttered. “Who’d of thought Mr. Farlow would turn out to be a Judas-faced sack of guts and gall bringing folk to ruin—”
“We can’t jump to conclusions,” Reina said hastily. “William may have made a mistake, but . . . I can’t believe he would commit fraud on this scale. I know he cares about working people. You’ve heard him talk before about the customers who bring in their hard-earned shillings to his bank, and how he values their trust. Maybe someone working beneath him is to blame.”
“But if there’s dodgy goings-on at the bank—you said before that Mr. Farlow’s always one to keep a close eye on his business. How could he not know about it?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know.” Reina looked increasingly rattled. “It’s not like him. It makes no sense.”
“You’d best get to the bottom of it, then.”
“I don’t want to.” Reina sounded suffocated.
“Why the blazes not?”
“Because it’s William. My mentor, my friend who’s wise and honorable and kind, and—how could I betray him after all he’s done for me? I care for him, and admire him, and—I couldn’t feel all that for him if he were guilty of something this terrible. Could I?”
“You spoon,” June said fondly, and sighed. “You think he’s done it. Or you wouldn’t be talking to me about it.”
Reina was miserably silent as they continued to walk.
“I know why this is so hard for you,” June said after some pondering. “You like all them distinguished old gent types like Mr. Farlow. Always have. It’s on account of how your dad never gave you the time o’ day. Deep down you want them blokes to take a shine to you, pinch your cheek, and tell you what a smart, good girl you are.”
“I do not—” Reina began, but paused to give it some thought. “Bollocks,” she said grimly. “I’m Jane Eyre minus any integrity or self-respect.”
June sighed with fond exasperation at her friend’s habit of bringing book-people into a conversation. “We’re talking about real life, Queenie. Those old gents won’t never approve of women like us. You know that. They think houses are nice cozy boxes to keep us in, and they don’t want none of us roaming free outside. You ain’t never going to be allowed into their clubs and restaurants. You know all that, but you still want their liking.”
“It’s natural to want someone’s approval.”
“Yeah. But you just gone from being a woman who wants their approval to a woman who’s about to hold ’em accountable. That’s why you’re scared.”
Reina clung to her arm with the grip of a near-drowning victim. “June . . . have you ever had any suspicions about William’s character? A sense there was something sneaky or crooked about him?”
“Nary a once.”
“Neither have I.”
“Bloke’s always seemed good as gold to me.”
“Yes.” Reina let out a shaky sigh. “My instincts tell me he’s innocent.”
Although June was sympathetic, she made a scoffing sound. “Those ain’t instincts, they’re feelings. What’s your brain telling you?”
Silence.
