If Kesgrave had thoughts on the matter, he did not express them, but Bea applauded this coldhearted approach. “A relentless taskmaster is exactly what one looks for in a banker.”
A dark flush suffused Mr. Mayhew’s cheeks, and unable to stop himself, he looked at Bea with ardent dislike. The extent of his resentment did not surprise her, for he had been thwarted in his plan to increase his social standing and he did not seem like a man accustomed to the experience of being denied something he desired.
That, too, was the consequence of having his name carved in stone on the entrance to the establishment.
Contemplating the banker’s well-developed sense of entitlement, Bea had little trouble imagining him chopping Mr. Réjane’s head off in a fit of annoyance at the prospect of the French chef leaving his employ a moment before he was ready to release him from it. Then, having made quick work of the head, he tossed the cleaver under the cabinet and toddled off to bed, confident the constable would believe whatever addle-witted story he told him and the staff would clean up the mess.
’Twas not the scheme of a Machiavellian genius, to be sure, but Mr. Mayhew did not strike her as particularly intelligent.
Smoothly, the banker transformed his glare into a smile as he transferred his gaze from Bea to Kesgrave.
“It is not relentless to provide comprehensive services to our clients,” Mr. Mayhew said with studied ease, his hands ceasing to tug on the cloth square as he grew comfortable with a subject familiar to him. “It is good business. I myself am available on the weekend for consultations and even visit my office on Sundays from one to three. Of course, I attend the morning church service and urge my clerks to do the same, for there is no material wealth without spiritual wealth. I am a devout believer in divine guidance and frequently consult a spiritual adviser. To be open on Sunday is highly irregular and frowned upon by many, but I think risking public censure to fulfill my customers’ requirements demonstrates Mayhew and Co.’s commitment to their satisfaction. And you must not worry about my clerks. They are well compensated for their diligence. They know my success depends on them and are properly grateful for the trust I place in them.”
“I find your display of business acumen quite reassuring,” Bea announced. “Your determination to coerce my assistance in securing Kesgrave’s business made me worry about the inferiority of your bank.”
Mr. Mayhew laughed awkwardly, with more vigor than sincerity, and complimented her grace on her sense of humor, which was…ah…unique. “You do enjoy teasing me, don’t you? Always making little jokes at my expense. Coerced!” he repeated, shaking his head in wonder, as if incapable of thinking of such witty sallies himself. Then he turned his attention to the duke and his voice grew grave. “But do allow me to be serious for a moment, your grace, for this house has great cause to be somber. Early this morning we suffered an unparalleled tragedy, as my chef was brutally slain. The constable was no help in the matter, as the incompetent man has convinced himself that Monsieur Alphonse accidentally killed himself with his own kitchen device. That is why I was asking—no, imploring—the duchess to look into the matter on my behalf. An unconventional request, I know, but I heard from so many people how handily she extracted a confession from Lord Wem at the Stirling ball and thought she could perform the same service for me. She is a very capable woman, so skillful and clever, and you are to be congratulated on making an excellent choice, your grace. But my ability to think clearly must have been corrupted by shock, for I realize now how untenable the request is. If her interest in my decapitated chef became public knowledge, she would be exposed to the most vicious gossip and at such a delicate time, when the ton is still marveling at your unexpected choice. Everyone assumed you would wed Lady Victoria, whose grace and beauty are universally admired, and the last thing I want to do is draw further attention to the differences between the two ladies. It was inexcusably selfish of me to have even entertained the thought, your grace, and I do hope you will forgive me for contemplating for even one moment exposing your wife to mockery and revilement. The idea of anyone thinking your wife morbid or unnatural causes me tremendous pain.”
Bea listened to this lengthy speech in fascination, for it was a marvel of opportunism and self-interest, the way he abased himself before the duke while also trying to direct his actions. It had been shrewd to imply society’s disapprobation because it made the inevitable outcome of her behavior central to the conversation and represented an essential truth: No man wanted the ton examining his wife’s conduct and finding it wanting.
It was, she thought, the first sign of intelligence she had seen in him, for if he was indeed guilty, then removing her decisively from the investigation was the best chance he had of keeping the truth from coming to light.
But no. Barely five minutes ago he had been perfectly happy to allow her to proceed as long as he could personally benefit from it.
That opportunity had passed, and yet Mr. Mayhew was still determined to wrench something for himself from the experience. He had merely adjusted his approach, seeking to earn Kesgrave’s goodwill by presenting himself as a partner in a most cherished goal: preserving the duke’s good name.
Kesgrave, however, had no concern for the repute of his name, at least not yet, and had little patience for men trying to earn his favor. Bea rather thought the latter would be known to
