“Is it so implausible?” she asked, anticipating his rejection of her theory. “As I said, the timing hits the target in the center and explains why he felt compelled to leave the house in the middle of preparations for a large dinner party. Having stolen the money from Mayhew & Co., he had to remove it from the house at once. And if we are looking for a source of a sizable collection of coins, I hardly think we can do better than a bank.”
“On the face of it, yes, a bank is an excellent place from which to steal a small fortune, for that is where fortunes of all sizes reside, but in actuality the money at a bank is well guarded and secure. If Réjane had a talent for picking locks, he might have made a go of it after several days of research to discover where the money was stored and learn the guards’ schedules. And then he would have to move at night, at a quiet hour when the bank was all but deserted and even then, at least one guard would remain on duty. Also, Mayhew intimated that some of his clerks remain in the building overnight. Possibly, he could arrange the thing for during open hours, but that, too, would require a fair amount of research. Furthermore, his best chance would be to assume a disguise and pretend to be a large depositor and fling around great amounts of money to disconcert and lull the clerk into providing you with the opportunity to act,” he said thoughtfully. “But what you are suggesting—an impromptu theft conceived and executed on a whim—is impossible.”
It might have indeed been beyond the chef’s capabilities, but Bea thought that Kesgrave, who possessed the required lock-picking skills and, apparently, a wily and devious mind, could accomplish the task with aplomb. She could not say why she found the prospect of the duke being capable of great feats of larceny so appealing and yet, for some reason, she did. Contemplating it, she was almost inclined to reinstate his position as full partner on the spot. “Very well, let’s say he did not get the money from the bank.”
“He did not,” Kesgrave interrupted, objecting to her speculative tone.
Bea eyed him balefully. “Didn’t I just say that, your grace?”
“No, you did not.”
Having owned herself deeply enamored with his pedantry, she could hardly quibble about it now. “Very well. As Mr. Réjane could not possibly have got the money from the bank—there, I trust that is unequivocal enough for even you—let us consider from where else he might have stolen it. From a reserve Mr. Mayhew keeps on hand to pay for minor expenses, one supposes. Tell me, Kesgrave, where do you keep your pin money?”
Even before the duke could protest the description of his cache as something so delicate as “pin money,” she realized her error. “Good God, Beatrice, you are a dunderhead!” she cried in disgust as she leaped to her feet, suddenly too filled with energy to sit still. “Stebbings all but told you where Réjane got the money.”
She did not have to elaborate, for Kesgrave was only a step behind. “Mr. Mayhew’s coat.”
“The silk weave with the cerulean stripes,” she added as she strode toward the ornate fireplace, with its lavish bouquet of roses spilling out of a glass vase.
“I do not doubt his dressing room is exactly where Mayhew keeps his coins and banknotes,” the duke said. “It is not an uncommon spot for such storage. Unless Mayhew is particularly careful with his things, the valet would know precisely where the cache is. If he did not discover the victim with the coins in his hand, then he must have suspected what he was about.”
“We must interview him again,” Bea said tersely. Clearly, Stebbings knew a lot more information than he had revealed the day before.
Kesgrave agreed at once.
Gratified, she announced she would fetch her pelisse from upstairs and be ready to leave in five minutes.
But the duke had another idea. “No, let us stay here and I will send a footman to bring him to Kesgrave House.”
Although her instinct was to object to the delay—would he never grasp the importance of urgency?—she quickly perceived the advantages of the alteration, for they were all around her in the gilded ceiling and the marble hearth and the Aubusson rug, which was still pristine despite years of abuse. “Oh, yes, that is an excellent plan. We shall intimidate him with the opulence of your drawing room and he will tell us everything we want to know, perhaps even confess to the crime,” she said, regarding him with sincere admiration. “I must commend you, your grace, on possessing such a wily and devious mind.”
His lips quivered as the duke shook his head. “As much as I desire your approval, Bea, I had nothing conniving in mind. I simply have no inclination to return to Mayhew’s home, for in doing so I would be forced to converse with him again and I will not do that for anyone, not even you, my love.”
But Bea, who was determined to see him as a diabolical genius, rolled her eyes at this demurral and grinned.
Chapter Sixteen
Bea knew that the next time Marlow grumbled to his fellow servants about their brash and assertive mistress he would start with the unutterable vulgarity of her inviting the neighbor’s valet to enter Kesgrave House through the front door.
The front door!
If the butler had possessed a string of pearls, he would have clutched them in dismay until his knuckles turned white.
Lacking the adornment as well as the freedom to express his outrage, he nodded slightly and murmured, “Very good, your grace.”
As he left the room, Bea shook her head sadly and said with pursed lips, “You have offended the butler with your cunning scheme to intimidate Stebbings.”
“It was not a scheme,” Kesgrave said again. “I was simply desiring my own comfort.”
“There is no need for false modesty,
