She expected him to laugh, for he usually took her nonsensical condescension in the ridiculous spirit it was intended, but instead he stood up, took several steps and said with ardent disapproval, “You are appeasing me.”
Although she was taken aback by the accusation, she made no effort to deny it. Having been disconcerted by his umbrage and lacking a full understanding of it, she had indeed taken the easiest path. Nevertheless, she did not think his description was entirely accurate. “On the contrary, I am placating you. To appease you, I would have to accede to your demands, of which you have made none. Rather, I am trying to make you less severe by introducing a new topic. I would have thought the matter of your demotion would have been sufficiently insulting to your ego to distract you from your ill humor.”
Even as his lips remained tightly pressed together, Bea thought she could detect a lightening of his expression. “And now you are trying to cajole me,” he said.
Again, she was compelled to disagree. “I believe the term you want in this instance is tease, for I have made no effort to flatter you. Far be it for me to lecture you on the differences between words, for you are the pedant in the family, but you seem to be having trouble today grasping the subtle distinctions in meaning. But you must not worry. I am here and have ready access to a dictionary to ensure your diction is as precise as always. And now you might think I am coaxing you out of your bad temper, but I am in fact still teasing you.”
Kesgrave laughed, and returning to the settee in three easy steps, took her hands into his own. “Calling thirty-seven guineas a paltry sum was ill-considered, which I knew the moment I said it, and yet I took a pet when you very reasonably pointed it out. Please forgive me.”
Bea observed that obviously there was nothing to forgive, because people were allowed to have bouts of churlishness if they so desired—to which Kesgrave promptly responded that he had been surly. “Churlish implies a sort of mean-spiritedness and I was merely bad-tempered.”
Delighted by his return to form, Bea provoked him further by defending her term (“I meant it in the sense of a lack of civility or graciousness”), and the exchange devolved in a display of affection that was directly at odds with the goal of attaining justice for the slain Frenchman.
Aware of the disservice, Bea struggled to put some distance between her and the duke, an act made more difficult by the fact that she lay beneath him on the settee. In a matter-of-fact tone that belied the way her blood was pounding, she said, “Regarding the thirty-seven guineas.”
Kesgrave, perceiving her intention, immediately altered his position so that she could rise into a sitting position with a modicum of dignity. Then he laughed softly and said, “I knew it was a demotion.”
Bea took a steadying breath and marveled again that she could still feel so much for him. She would have thought that the consummation of their relationship would have in some way tempered her desire. Instead, it appeared to have intensified it. “Your inability to grasp the urgency of the investigation puts you at a disadvantage with the murderer, who did not consult the patronesses of Almack’s regarding the proper hour for decapitation.”
“Surely, three a.m. is the proper hour for decapitation,” he murmured.
Allowing for the accuracy of the remark, Bea replied, “Nevertheless, your refusal to invade Mrs. Wallace’s room until proper visiting hours is the one deficiency that stands against you. But your superiors are confident you can learn from your mistakes and quickly recover your position.”
“Ah, so you admit it was an invasion,” Kesgrave said with air of vindication.
“And your frivolousness,” she added, “so that’s actually two deficiencies. Nonetheless, we are partners, though not what you would call equal ones, and we must devote some attention to discovering the source of Mr. Réjane’s small fortune. It is possible, yes, that the money was his own savings, accumulated over a period of several years, but given the fact that he required a bank loan to help his brother, I think it’s far more likely that it belonged to someone else. I think the obvious person in this situation is Mr. Mayhew himself.”
Kesgrave nodded firmly. “As you pointed out, few of the servants would be in the position to accumulate so much wealth and if they did it would have taken them several years. None of the younger members of the staff could ever hope to save that much money.”
“You think the butler could have,” Bea said, following his line of thought.
“His salary over several years would make it possible, and if Réjane stole his life savings after endangering his position, an enraged Parsons might have struck back. It would explain the violence of the assault.”
Bea agreed with his assessment and added that the groom could have also amassed the tidy sum over the course of years. “Or Mrs. Blewitt. Any of the upper servants could have saved thirty-seven guineas if their salaries were commensurate with their position. But it seems likelier that the source of the money is the Mayhews, either master or mistress. I lean toward the former because of the timing of his call to Mrs. Wallace, which followed a trip to the Mayhew & Co. offices to inquire about his bank loan only to discover that he had been fobbed off with a lie. We knew he was irate and probably felt he was owed compensation by—”
She broke off with a gasp as another idea occurred to her.
Excitedly, she said, “Kesgrave, he was in the bank.”
At first, he did not comprehend the meaning behind her emphasis and looked at her with confusion, but he quickly grasped her intention. “You think he took
