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a safe haven from her father’s wiles and wrath.
    Pamela marveled that a divine providence appeared likely to send her into the household of Henry Jennings, the man who had ruined her late husband and disrupted her life. For what purpose? she wondered. For personal revenge? No. She had grown beyond that. But was she somehow destined to bring him to justice? Perhaps.

C HAPTER 9
    A Companion
    14–15 May
    Â 
    S unday morning was cool and wet. Pamela went as usual to worship at the Church of the Ascension. Located within sight of her former town house on West Tenth Street, the church could have served as a depressing reminder of how much she had lost. Instead, it was a beacon of hope, largely due to Mr. La Farge’s magnificent mural painting of Christ’s ascension into Heaven.
    On this occasion, Brenda joined Pamela. Usually the young woman stayed home on Sundays and studied. Today she had asked to come along. One of her teachers had stirred up in her an interest in La Farge’s art.
    During the organ prelude, Pamela became aware of someone staring at her. She drew a mirror from her bag and scanned the nearby pews behind her.
    The curious person was a woman about fifty, sitting off to the right in a fashionable mauve silk dress with a high neckline and a collar of pearls. The upper sleeves were full, while the lower clung tightly to the arms, making them look like canoe paddles. From Peter Yates’s description almost two months ago, Pamela recognized Gloria Prescott’s strong chin, long thin nose, and regal posture. Her companion, a bearded, portly gentleman in a dark gray suit, was Mr. Fisher, the president of Jack’s bank and Pamela’s nemesis.
    Neither Gloria nor Fisher had ever attended this church. So Pamela assumed that they had come to observe her. Today, she was wearing a simple, red silk gown from Macy’s and had washed her hair. Brenda had put it up into an attractive knot at the nape of the neck. Fisher’s spies might have noticed the recent improvement in Pamela’s appearance. A sign of suspicious affluence, it probably strengthened his belief that she had hidden away some of the bank’s money.
    The couple remained for the service without participating in it. After the postlude they conspicuously arranged to confront Pamela in the vestibule.
    Fisher tipped his hat. “You look very well today, Mrs. Thompson. Yes, quite chic, as the French would say.” He studied her with cold, searching eyes. “I understand that you have found employment at Macy’s. I see that they pay very well. When they asked for a recommendation, I was happy to give it to them.”
    From the ironic tone of his voice Pamela understood that he had told Macy’s she was untrustworthy and most likely criminal. How had Prescott managed to defend her? She stared at Fisher unapologetically until he appeared uneasy.
    â€œMr. Prescott and Macy’s seem pleased with my work,” she said serenely.
    Then she turned toward Gloria. She must be curious about her husband’s new female assistant, a novelty that might have attracted the public’s notice—and her envy.
    The expression on Gloria’s face was difficult to read. Her eyes spoke of bitter resentment, of perceived injustice, and possibly of a sad remembrance of a lost husband. Her face was still beautiful, but crow’s-feet had begun to appear at her eyes and betrayed her age. Still, she carried herself erect, chin high. It would be folly to trifle with her.
    Gloria glanced dismissively at Brenda standing off to the side. “Is this one of the waifs you have rescued?”
    Pamela put an arm around the girl’s shoulder. “She’s Brenda Reilly, my ward and best friend. Now we must be going. Mrs. Henry Jennings is expecting us at her home.” Pamela guided Brenda to the door.
    Pamela’s parting shot seemed to momentarily disconcert Gloria and her banker. They stared wordlessly at each