Page 5

Reina had been waiting on a hard little chair for the better part of an hour, watching the activity in the banking hall of Farlow’s Mayfair branch. Her bottom was numb, her legs and feet prickling. Now and then she wiggled her toes inside her ankle boots to keep them from falling asleep.

She would have liked to lean back, but the mass of her bustle took up most of the chair and obliged her to perch on the front edge.

The wire cage stuffed with horsehair was tied beneath the skirts to enlarge a woman’s backside to absurd dimensions. Walking with it bouncing and bumping behind was like being harassed by an amorous sofa cushion. Nevertheless, the style was inescapable. Even girls of eleven or twelve could be seen lugging elevated humps behind them, like small unhappy camels.

Reina and the bank’s other female customers had been corralled into a waiting area at the back, partitioned off by a waist-high wall. Now and then an attendant came to escort one of the women to a designated cashier. Once her business was concluded, the attendant would accompany her to an exit before he went to fetch the next woman.

“Why can’t we walk up to the cashier without an escort?” Reina wondered aloud, mystified by the time-consuming process.

An elderly woman sitting next to her, who was discreetly trying to reanchor a tiny velvet hat amid the cottony swirls of her hair, replied with an ironic smile. “If we had no gentleman to lead us, my dear, we might become lost in this great big room.”

Reina smiled back at her. “Are you a regular customer?”

The woman nodded, still poking about with the hatpin. “My husband opened an account for me.”

“How nice,” Reina said sincerely.

“Yes, I do like the independence of it. Although one feels rather like an exhibit at the zoo, having to wait behind this little wall.”

Reina let out a huff of laughter and reached to help her with the hatpin. “May I?”

“Thank you,” came the woman’s reply as she leaned forward.

Deftly, Reina maneuvered the tip of the long pin beneath a portion of the soft white hair, and through the other side of the hat. “Is the wait always this long, then?” she asked, capping the pin with care.

“Usually longer.”

“Bother. I don’t see why we can’t stand in line.”

“I was told that ladies, not being naturally business-minded, would slow everything down with all our mistakes and questions.”

“Would we? I’ve been watching the cashier lines for nearly an hour, and the ladies seem to be much quicker than the men. As for being business-minded—that’s a skill any of us could learn.”

“Dear me. You’re not one of those modern women, are you?”

Reina tilted her head a little to the side. “Modern in what way?”

“Wanting equality and so forth.”

“I certainly wouldn’t mind having equal access to bank cashiers,” Reina said dryly.

The older woman’s shoulders hitched in a resigned shrug. “Men’s time is more valuable, I suppose.”

“Oh, I don’t know . . . it depends on how you determine the worth of something. People started using gold for currency because it was scarce, reliable, and useful. By those measures, women’s time is even more valuable than gold.” Reina winked as she added in a conspiratorial whisper, “That’s why everyone wants to steal it.”

They laughed quietly together.

An attendant came to the partition. He was gangly and a bit spotty, with the slightly underbaked look of a man barely past the age of twenty. Clearly, he longed to be doing anything other than shepherding women through the bank.

“Your turn, miss,” he managed to say, stifling a yawn.

Reina stood and adjusted her skirts, tucked a leather document wallet beneath her arm, and went with him into the main hall.

“I’d like to meet with a receiving cashier, please,” she said.

“Er . . . no, miss. What you want is the paying cashier, for withdrawals.”

“Thank you, but I’m not here to make a withdrawal. I want to open an account.”