Although she knew he was trying to manipulate her, she could not resent the effort, for regardless of his status—guilty or innocent—he had every right to try to save himself by employing whatever means were at his disposal.
And like every other member of the staff, he had pointed the finger elsewhere.
Recalling their previous interview, she asked if he still thought Henry was responsible.
Blushing brightly, he shook his head and said that the footmen would never have killed Monsieur Alphonse over a little snoring.
“A little snoring?” Bea repeated wryly. “Last time we spoke you said it sounded like a dozen horses thundering down the lane.”
Stebbings lowered his eyes again to the carpet and muttered something about the effectiveness of a well-placed pillow over a fellow’s ears. Then he mumbled an apology for attempting to mislead her and the duke. “I knew with our argument in the dressing room that I appeared guilty and I wanted to supply a better suspect. It is a measure of my desperation that the only name I could come up with was Henry. He could never have done it, for he is quite mild-mannered and gentle for all his strength. If I had been thinking clearly, I would have said someone more notoriously volatile like Gertrude in the kitchen. She has a terrible temper and little control over it. Everyone has witnessed it, even Mrs. Mayhew,” he said offhandedly, then he stiffened in his chair as a thought struck him. “Yes, even Mrs. Mayhew. She was meeting with Mrs. Blewitt in her office one morning when Gertrude had a most alarming tantrum. And it was particularly egregious because that was the time Gertrude threatened to assault Monsieur Alphonse with a clever. You must ask…I mean, you should ask Mrs. Mayhew about the incident. I think you will find it speaks to Gertrude’s lack of control. Even with the mistress in the room she could not restrain her anger.”
He was doing it again, Bea thought, supplying another suspect, a better one who, he must know, had already been brought to her notice.
And yet she could not entirely dismiss the information, for his observation was accurate. Even with the lax supervision at 19 Portman Square the staff knew better than to lose their tempers in the presence of the family. Once, when she was sneaking out of the house through the servants’ entrance, she heard Dawson upbraiding Harris sharply for spilling milk into the eggs after assuring him with soothing calm in the breakfast room that it was no bother. That the kitchen maid could not show the same restraint was very damning indeed and allowed for the possibility that she had lashed out at Mr. Réjane later for the drubbing she had suffered at Mr. Mayhew’s hands during the dinner.
Revealing nothing of her thoughts, Bea thanked him for sharing his opinion and looked at Kesgrave to see if he had any questions. Assured he had none, she announced to the valet that their business was concluded at that time.
His color still high, Stebbings nodded profusely and owned himself to be deeply grateful for her consideration. “I promise everything I have told you is the truth. I will not lie to you again, your grace.”
As soon as Marlow had shown the valet out, Bea turned to the duke and said, “We seem to be acquiring new suspects, rather than culling them.”
Kesgrave dipped his head in acknowledgment and added that Stebbings’s motive was particularly strong—stronger, to be sure, than the kitchen maid’s. “It was clever of him to make it a matter of temperament.”
“Yes, and he does have a point. Having had the self-control to implement a yearslong scheme to steal money from his employer, he hardly seems likely to act with such immoderation or abandon,” she said, then sighed deeply and leaned her head against the back of the settee. “He has put us in a devil of a fix.”
Kesgrave, who was sitting in the wooden chair Stebbings had recently vacated, stretched out his long legs and crossed them at the ankles. “How so?”
“Mrs. Mayhew,” she said.
He raised an eyebrow, still not comprehending her meaning.
“We are obligated now to ask her about the incident between the kitchen maid and Mr. Réjane,” she explained.
Readily he agreed. “And?”
“And we decided earlier that we would not return to number forty-four, and we cannot invite her here, for being invited to Kesgrave House is one of Mr. Mayhew’s chief desires. If you will recall, it was on his original list of demands. I simply cannot abide the prospect of giving him anything he wants. Perhaps we can meet her in the square,” she said thoughtfully, standing to look out the window at the verdant lawn across the way. “I can post a watch in front of her house, and when she goes outside, we can bump
