“Followed by a frenzied ransacking of her private possessions,” he said.
“A thoughtful search,” she corrected but knew the distinction was not as clear as her emphatic tone implied. If only they’d made their foray under the cover of darkness with the fire of discovery propelling them forward. Now, in the bright light of day and after several hours of consideration, the hunt for Mr. Réjane’s hidden object felt intrusive, almost like the invasion Kesgrave claimed it to be, and like any incursion, it required a careful negotiation of terms. The details would have to be worked out in advance before a single drawer could be inspected.
It was so inefficient, the demands of diplomacy, and yet it was not the inefficiency of the endeavor that had her taking the stairs more slowly than usual.
No, it was the looming awkwardness of the forthcoming conversation. It was perfectly wretched to have to tell one’s housekeeper that her suitor’s seemingly earnest proposal of marriage had been naught but a ploy to gain access to her room to use it as a strongbox. If Mrs. Wallace put any stock at all in his offer, then she would find this information to be a cruel betrayal.
Furthermore, the revelation would require her to contemplate just how her employers had arrived at their distressing conclusion. As she was a reasonably intelligent women, the obvious answer would occur to her quickly enough: Baffled by his offer, they had turned the matter over and over again in their heads until they found an explanation more outlandish than the act itself.
Mrs. Wallace would be mortified to realize she was the target of so much ducal consideration and confusion. The poor woman would probably never be able to raise her head again in the presence of Kesgrave and would be well within her right to hold the new duchess responsible for the humiliation.
So much for establishing herself with the staff, Bea thought wryly.
All this awfulness could have been avoided if Kesgrave had simply allowed her to pursue her supposition the night before. Her plan had not been without its drawbacks, she conceded, but it had had one significant advantage: the disorienting nature of sudden arousal. Awakened from a deep sleep, her wits nicely scattered, Mrs. Wallace would have stood bemusedly by as her things were carelessly rummaged through by the Duke and Duchess of Kesgrave.
Like a horde of locusts clearing a field, they would have been gone before she scarcely knew they had been there.
Quick and clean, all feelings spared!
But no, Kesgrave had to insist on respecting his servant’s privacy.
Did he not comprehend what being lord of the manor meant?
As churlish as she was with Kesgrave for creating what she considered to be an intolerable situation, she refused to hand the matter over to him. The notion that Mr. Réjane had hidden something of great value in the housekeeper’s rooms was hers, and she would be the one to explain it to Mrs. Wallace, no matter how wildly implausible it sounded.
There was always a chance—slim, she felt, but no less real—that her conclusion entirely missed the mark, and if that was the case, then it would be her name the staff bandied about in the servants’ hall, not the duke’s.
At the bottom of the staircase they turned right and immediately encountered Joseph, who, spotting the duchess first, smiled in greeting, for her presence belowstairs was already a familiar sight. A moment later, however, his eyes perceived the duke, and he straightened his posture so forcefully Bea feared his spine would crack.
Knowing better than to show concern for his physical well-being, Bea dipped her head in acknowledgment and wished him good morning.
“Good morning, your grace,” he said, speaking a little louder than was necessary in his anxiety.
Or perhaps, Bea thought, he was alerting his colleagues to their presence, for the other servant they encountered en route to the housekeeper’s rooms already had his eyes tilted down when they passed.
Mrs. Wallace was standing on the threshold of her office and did not appear unduly alarmed by their presence—an impressive accomplishment, Bea decided. Given the subject of their previous discussion and how infrequently Kesgrave visited the lower quarters, the housekeeper must have some inkling of the impropriety or discomfort to come.
Bea greeted her warmly and announced they had a matter they needed to discuss with her right away.
“Of course, your grace,” Mrs. Wallace murmured, “please come in.”
Although Kesgrave professed to be afraid of earning his staff’s disapprobation by invading their private quarters, he displayed no ill ease at being in Mrs. Wallace’s small office. Smoothly, he gestured to a chair, encouraging the housekeeper to take a seat, complimented her on the cheerful assortment of yellow roses that sat in a white porcelain vase on her desk, and received her gratitude with a gracious nod. Then he leaned against the door.
Bea, perceiving it was her turn to speak, decided there was no point in gently working her way up to the awkward topic. She would state it simply and without equivocation. “Mrs. Wallace, it has come to my attention that Monsieur Alphonse may have used his visit to you on the day he died as an opportunity to hide something in your office.”
The housekeeper was as skilled as the rest of the servants at concealing her emotions, but she could not smother the shock that entered her eyes or resist the urge to look at Kesgrave for confirmation of his wife’s statement. Her surprise was fleeting, however, for only a moment later, she returned her gaze to the duchess and announced that she had no recollection of her visitor behaving in a manner that suggested he had a secret object to hide.
“He sat in that chair,” she explained, indicating the one Bea currently occupied, “and spoke to me for about thirty minutes.”
As much as Bea appreciated Mrs. Wallace’s dispassionate response, she could not help being slightly taken aback by it and wondered at
