Bea sought to put his mind at ease by assuring him none of the servants described the incident as such, but Mr. Mayhew, taking her statement as confirmation that the servants had chattered freely about private matters, only in slightly different terms, was further agitated by this proof of their perfidy. Morose, he stared abstractedly into his empty teacup.
Although her patience was worn thin, Bea allowed him a moment to sulk over the supposed disloyalty of his staff before interrupting his blue study to inquire after the identity of the person.
Sighing, Mr. Mayhew returned the cup to the table and provided a name.
But only a name, which was also unhelpful.
“And where can Mr. Bayne be found?” she asked.
“Fleet Street,” Mayhew replied, “number one.”
The address alone conveyed nothing useful to Bea, who knew the banker’s curt answers were designed to obfuscate, but Kesgrave recognized it. “One Fleet Street is the site of Mayhew and Co.’s offices.”
Startled by his knowledge, Mr. Mayhew grinned broadly and said with a hint of wonder, “Why, yes, it is. Has his grace honored us with a visit? Perhaps you were seeking information about our institution, as Coutts no longer satisfies? Please know, sir, that I am at your disposal for a comprehensive tour of the premises whenever you desire. No time is inconvenient, no time at all.” Then he reminded the duke that he himself attended to business on Sunday as well. “From one to three.”
As Kesgrave had no complaint with his current financial arrangements, he paid the offer scant heed and asked if Mr. Bayne was a clerk at the bank.
Mr. Mayhew, however, considered the query to be an indication of interest and proffered immediate and generous praise of his employee. “Mr. Bayne is indeed a clerk and an exceptional one at that. He is everything that is amiable and reliable, as well as thorough and discreet. It would be my pleasure to introduce you to him—or to any of the other clerks we employ. They are all exceptional, to a man.”
“What if Mr. Bayne does not wish to meet with the Duke of Kesgrave?” Bea asked.
The banker could not conceive the premise of the query and repeated it softly to himself several times as if hearing it in his own voice would somehow make it intelligible. “But he would want to meet with the Duke of Kesgrave!” he exclaimed excitedly before turning to his grace and apologizing for the slight. “I assure you Mr. Bayne bears you nothing but the utmost respect and would gratefully welcome the opportunity to demonstrate that to you personally. You have only to say the word.”
It was a remarkable little speech, fawning on behalf of a subordinate who was denied the option of a dignified response, and Bea marveled at the new and endless depths to which the banker would sink in his pursuit of Kesgrave’s goodwill.
“Yes, yes, Mr. Bayne is wonderfully eager to abase himself before the duke to secure a portion of his deposits,” she said humorously. “That is naturally understood by all. But let’s pretend for a moment that he doesn’t want to meet with Kesgrave. Would you respect his wishes and allow him to decline?”
His eyes seemed to pop out of their sockets as he goggled at her as if she were a veritable ninny. “Respect his wishes? Allow him to decline? My dear duchess, you seem to have mistaken Mayhew and Co. for an assembly at Almack’s. It is not run by an assortment of patronesses all having equal say. I am in charge and keep a firm hand on the tiller. A very firm hand,” he repeated for the duke’s particular benefit.
“Why did you not want Mr. Réjane to meet with a clerk from your bank?” Bea asked. “What was your objection?”
Mr. Mayhew smiled patronizingly and chastised her for her irrepressibly female habit of puffery. “My goodness, you are determined to transform a molehill into an imposing mountain, are you not, your grace. Already I’ve explained that I had no quarrel with the introduction. I made the request and Mr. Bayne decided against it for reasons of his own, although he indicated—again, as I previously said—that the timing was not propitious for him.”
“I don’t know, Mr. Mayhew,” she said thoughtfully, shaking her head in mild disapproval, “allowing clerks to determine which meetings they will agree to attend sounds very much to me like a lax hand on the tiller.”
It was a credit to the banker that he managed to keep a polite smile firmly affixed to his face, for his eyes glowed hotly with anger as he assured Bea that the subtleties of helming a business were too complicated for her to comprehend. Her husband, he rushed to add, understood them precisely, for he was a formidable man, an estimable man, a great man who had managed his estates with wisdom and efficiency.
As Mr. Mayhew rattled off his list of laudatory adjectives, Bea thought he needed to be more careful, for the excessiveness of the catalogue seemed to veer into parody.
Kesgrave, ignoring the litany of praise, explained that Mr. Mayhew had no intention of approving the loan. “But he could not refuse it outright because that would offend the man who prepared the lavish feasts that drew his new clients, so he created a procedural barrier. Or, rather, obstacle, which is a more precise description. Plainly, Réjane asked Mayhew and Co. to extend him a loan, and Mayhew replied that it would be inappropriate for him to approve the request, given the nature of their relationship, and explained that the decision would be up to his
