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The banker looked up at the sound of a tentative knock on his office door. His assistant knew he didn’t want to be interrupted. It must, and had best be, something very important. Otherwise, it was about time the lad found a new employer.
“Come,” the banker called, returning his attention to the page in front of him. “If it’s a depositor, it better be a sum large enough to warrant the disruption,” he said as the door opened and footsteps entered.
“Sir.”
He glanced up to see his assistant standing before his desk, clutching a piece of paper.
“There’s a woman here to see you,” the lad said.
“A woman? Why do you think I should see her?”
“It’s a long story, sir.”
“Condense it,” he said, setting aside his pen and leaning back in his chair. He was curious to learn if the woman’s story was compelling, or if his assistant was incompetent.
“She says her husband left to visit friends, with no word when he’ll return. He didn’t leave her with enough money to live on. She sold some of her jewelry to pay the servants, but that money ran out and they left. She tried to set enough money aside for food, but it turned out her husband hadn’t paid the rent and she hadn’t kept enough to cover it. She was thrown out with what she could carry and was robbed of that.” His assistant took a deep breath. “To make matters worse, she’s with child.”
“Very touching,” the banker said, picking up his pen and returning to his work. “But this is a bank, not a shelter for vagrants.” He would send the lad off with a little extra money and a nice letter of reference. He was a good enough worker, but needed to be somewhere requiring less in the way of intelligence. Perhaps he could assist an attorney.
“Sir, I really think you should see her.”
“Why is that?” he asked, not looking up. Or maybe he wouldn’t include the extra coin.
“It’s who she is, sir. I think one of your most important depositors would be upset if you turned her away. She wrote it down.”
His assistant slid the piece of paper he’d been clutching across the desk. The banker read it and set his pen aside again, looking up. “You should have told me that at the beginning. Show her in.”
As his assistant left, he studied the paper, hoping he hadn’t left her waiting too long already. He’d keep the lad after all, and give him a little extra at the end of the quarter. In very neat handwriting, the page before him read: Mrs. Wickham. Georgiana Darcy Wickham.
