But Bea shook her head and reminded him that per their prior agreement, he should be asking that question, not she. “That particular line of inquiry falls under your purview. Divide and conquer, you recall? I will continue to operate under the assumption that Monsieur Alphonse was the target, as I believe that is more likely the case.”
Mr. Mayhew did not like this answer and opened his mouth to counter it, but before he could speak, his wife ardently endorsed the conclusion. Then she turned to her husband with her lips in a sympathetic moue and apologized for not being able to offer her support.
“But I wish to align myself with the Duchess of Kesgrave by agreeing with her,” she explained before hastily adding that this new alliance did not indicate anything worrisome in her regard for him. “I am as fond of you as ever, my love.”
Her claim to affection did little to mollify the banker, who felt that his concerns were not being taken seriously. Mrs. Mayhew cooed soothingly as Bea asked to speak to her maid.
Roused out of his sulks by the request, Mr. Mayhew protested the insult, for his wife’s word was inviolate and required no verification from the servants.
“Of course! You must confirm my story with hers,” Mrs. Mayhew said with an approving nod as she applauded the duchess for her thoroughness. “Do wait here while I fetch her.”
But that would never not do, for it would give the women an opportunity to align their version of events, and Mrs. Mayhew, realizing it a moment after she made the suggestion, chuckled in embarrassment. Instead, she asked her husband to summon the maid using the bell tug in her bedchamber. He complied at once, providing her with the opportunity to lavish praise on him behind his back.
“I love him dreadfully,” she confessed, “but he is so unassuming, which I know you might have a little trouble believing because of how greatly he has botched this tragedy. I think he was just so grateful to have a benign excuse that he grasped onto Parsons’s understanding with both hands, and naturally his confidence swayed the constable. It is so awkward, isn’t it, having a murder in one’s very own home. But obviously we want justice for the poor dear and that is why I am so grateful to you for offering to help us make sense of this tragedy. I just wish I knew what Parsons was about, blaming the chopping device. I am sure, though, that his motives are as innocent as my husband’s.”
Her tone, however, was dubious, and Bea wondered what the other woman knew about the butler’s relationship with Mr. Réjane. Any attempt to extract information, however, was thwarted by a smiling assurance that she knew nothing about the interactions among the staff and repeated exhortations that she should apply to the housekeeper for further details.
“If there is anything to know about Parsons’s relationship with Monsieur Alphonse, Mrs. Blewitt will be in full possession of the details,” she said positively. “But as I said before, it is impossible to ignore feuding servants, so I am certain there is nothing to know.”
As she had indeed said this very thing before, Bea began to wonder if it was a case of protesting too much. Twice she had obliquely referred to friction between Mr. Réjane and other members of the staff: Gertrude and Parsons. Did she truly believe one of them was responsible for the heinous act or was she simply diverting attention away from her husband?
Mrs. Mayhew was a smart woman and knew how suspicious her husband’s behavior in regard to le peu appeared. She had remarked upon it twice now.
What did it say about a man’s innocence when even his wife feared he might be guilty, Bea wondered.
Before she could arrive at a conclusion, Mayhew came back and a few minutes later his wife’s maid rapped lightly on the door. As she entered the room, Kesgrave rose to his feet to give her his seat, but Mrs. Mayhew, unable to bear the thought of a duke standing in her dressing room, jumped up and said Annette must use her chair. A second later, however, she realized that meant returning the duke to his rickety seat, which was also untenable, and she directed her maid to take the recently vacated chair, then urged Kesgrave to assume her own.
The banker nodded his approval and seconded the antics by insisting Annette had excellent balance, but his wife, worried the observation implied that the duke’s equilibrium was less than exceptional, insisted that Kesgrave return to the wobbly heirloom
As ingratiating as always, Mr. Mayhew agreed enthusiastically with this revised plan, announcing that his faith in the duke’s balance was absolute, and Kesgrave, no doubt as irritated by their fatuousness as by their servility, shuffled the pair out of the room so that he and Bea could have a candid conversation with the maid. As the door closed in her face, Mrs. Mayhew lauded his practical-minded approach (“With a killer afoot, there is no time to dawdle!”).
The maid stood silently during the exchange, and Bea, assuming she felt reluctant to sit in their company, urged her to take the seat.
“We have only a few questions,” she explained. “I trust you know why we are here.”
Annette—a rail-thin women of modest height, olive skin and a slightly crooked nose—nodded definitively. “Oh, yes, your grace. The whole house knows. Everyone is talking about it.”
Bea was tempted to ask what the servants were saying, for the ones who were critical of her interference might have the most reason to resent it, but she did not want to start off the interview by appearing to pry excessively. Her first question, therefore, was simply a request that she describe the events of the night before and early morning.
Concisely,
