“I have heard about his calm disposition from several people now,” Bea observed.
“He was a tranquil soul, our Monsieur Alphonse,” she said warmly. “It was a trifle disconcerting when he first arrived because one expects one’s French chef to be demanding and tyrannical, and it seemed like perhaps he was not quite as excellent as he was reported to be, for surely he should lose his temper sometime. Creation is a force, is it not, your grace?”
Bea nodded vaguely and said, “And given his tranquil soul, what do you make of his violent argument with Mr. Mayhew yesterday?”
Her hostess blinked several times, as if not comprehending the query, then turned to her husband and gently upbraided him for provoking the poor chef when his temper was already frayed by dinner preparations. “I know it was only a small party, but your guests were so important,” she said before providing Bea with a list of attendees. It was obvious from her air of expectation that she thought the new duchess would be impressed with her connections, but she managed to hide her disappointment when none of the names sparked recognition. “I suppose even someone as evenly tempered as Monsieur Alphonse could not help but lose his patience every once in a while. I am sure Mr. Mayhew did not mean to goad him, did you, my love?”
Emphatically, the banker did not! His entire ruse had been devised around the purpose of placating the man indefinitely.
Learning now of the ploy, his wife chided him for failing to plan for every contingency. “It was inevitable, I think, that he would decide to pay a call on the bank to meet the man who held sway over his future. I do not blame him at all for getting so wretchedly upset, for it was an unkind trick to play on a beloved member of our household. But recriminations must wait,” Mrs. Mayhew said sadly, “for focusing on the mistakes of the past will bring us no closer to discovering who did this unimaginable thing. I trust you will tell me, your grace, how I may be of help. Is there other information I can provide?”
Although Bea agreed wholeheartedly with Mrs. Mayhew’s opinion of the long-term prospects of her husband’s scheme, she could not overlook the timing of Mr. Réjane’s curiosity. As likely as it was that he would eventually desire to meet the banker who would decide his loan, it was still strange that he decided to make the visit on the morning of an important dinner party. What had made the meeting so urgent that it could not wait one more day?
“How did Monsieur Alphonse seem to you when you met to finalize the menu?” Bea asked, trying to identify the moment when something could have gone awry for the chef.
Mrs. Mayhew’s brow furrowed in confusion. “The same as always: cheerful, thoughtful, eager to return to the kitchen. For the main course he was making quail à la Saint-Jacques, a delightful dish we have served at least a dozen times before so he was confident in its execution. Is that what you mean? I’m not sure I understand the question.”
But Bea rather thought she did, for this was exactly the information she sought. As of the time of Mrs. Mayhew’s conference with Mr. Réjane and the housekeeper, the chef had appeared untroubled. Whatever spurred his visit to the bank had not yet occurred.
“What time was your meeting?” Bea asked.
Mrs. Mayhew pressed her lips together thoughtfully and said four o’clock. “Or a little after. Maybe a little before? I rarely look at the clock. I am sure Mrs. Blewitt will be able to supply the precise time. Have you spoken to her? If you are going to conduct a thorough investigation, then you must interview all the servants. It is the only way to get a complete picture of the horrible event as it transpired.”
Bea agreed that an interrogation of the full staff was required and noted the look of delight that flitted across the other woman’s face.
“You must remain as long as necessary to find the villain,” Mrs. Mayhew said soberly. “The situation is highly unusual, but we do not mind at all. In truth, we are gratified by your interest, are we not, Mr. Mayhew?”
Her husband concurred, and taking advantage of their willingness to cooperate, Bea asked them both to account for their movements during the night—between one-thirty and five a.m. specifically.
Deeply offended, the banker inhaled sharply and said, “Well, I never!”
But of course he had—and within the past hour, for Bea’s earlier interrogation had clearly implied that she considered him among her list of suspects. Possibly, he was insulted on his wife’s behalf. Regardless, there was far less space in the modest-size dressing room for bounding around the floor in a temper and he contended himself with huffing repeatedly. His wife, in contrast, recovered just enough vigor to clap her hands together merrily and announce that it was above all good things to be suspected of murder by the Duchess of Kesgrave.
“In all my calculations, it is the one thing I never considered,” Mrs. Mayhew admitted freely. “As you are our new neighbor, I’ve imagined our meeting a dozen different ways. I
