“Now who is displaying a lack of urgency?” he asked, clearly entertained by her proposal.
To be sure, he was only teasing her, but his point was well taken. Waiting for Mrs. Mayhew to appear was a time-consuming and unreliable approach, and remaining on hand to hold the supposedly impromptu conversation would mean she could not pursue other lines of inquiry.
It was not a viable option.
“You are right, Kesgrave,” she admitted with a faint air of defeat, “we must strengthen our spines and invite her here. But we will remove the cakes so that she cannot claim we had her here to dine. I’ll write the note while you ring for the footman to take the tray away.”
The duke cheerfully did as instructed and found himself summoned only a moment later by his steward, who hoped to take advantage of his presence to address further issues involving the roofs.
Bea kept the missive curt and to the point, making it clear that she had a few more questions to ask regarding Monsieur Alphonse’s death and that Mrs. Mayhew would find only glancing hospitality: “As you are far too busy to linger.”
When Mrs. Mayhew arrived a half hour later, however, she announced that she had rescheduled all her commitments for the entire afternoon so that Mrs. Mayhew could remain as long as the duchess required. “I could not bear it you had felt rushed on my account, your grace. You must give me no consideration at all. My goodness, this is a lovely room,” she said, her head tipped back as she admired the frescoes on the ceiling. “So very grand. I have told Mr. Mayhew on more than one occasion that our home requires more ornamentation, for our drawing room is really quite plain, but he cannot be swayed by my appeals. He likes his creature comforts and cannot tolerate the thought of craftsmen in and out of the house for months. But if he could see the beauty of your drawing room, I am sure he would change his mind.”
It was a plea, of course, for the duchess to invite her husband to visit so that he may inspect the grandeur of Kesgrave House for himself. “I have far too much respect for Mr. Mayhew to doubt the firmness of his convictions,” Bea said.
Mrs. Mayhew laughed lightly at this statement, indicating that she perceived its undertone, and allowed that the esteem was earned, as her husband could be quite stubborn. “But even he could not resist such splendor. I feel certain he would modify his position just upon entering this room,” she said, coughing lightly and immediately apologizing for the interruption. “It is merely that I am parched.” Pause. “So very parched.”
“You must not think that I mind your little cough,” Bea assured her before she could make some endearingly deprecating comment about how she was feigning thirst to wrangle tea. “My aunt had a dreadfully persistent one last winter and I grew quite accustomed to ignoring it. Now then, taking you at your word to show you no consideration, I shall cut right to the heart of the matter and ask about an incident you witnessed in the kitchens involving Gertrude and Monsieur Alphonse.”
Mrs. Mayhew, reaffirming her pledge to be the most helpful suspect the duchess had ever interviewed, immediately apologized for not being able to help. “I cannot recall any incidents involving Gertrude and Monsieur Alphonse. I can describe several interactions between Mr. Mayhew and Monsieur Alphonse,” she said, as if offering a consolation prize, “for I was a party to several of their menu discussions, and I can speak in great detail of the conversations Monsieur Alphonse and I had, for I was known to seek him out upon occasion to request a particular dish. But I am afraid I cannot provide information about interactions between staff members. If you would like, I can arrange an interview with Mrs. Blewitt, who will no doubt know exactly which incident you are interested in.”
Bea thanked Mrs. Mayhew for her offer but assured her that this incident did indeed involve her. “It occurred while you were belowstairs.”
Mrs. Mayhew’s expression, alas, remained an unhelpful mix of incomprehension and confusion. “I am still not quite sure what that has to do with me.”
“You were in the housekeeper’s office,” Bea added.
Now the banker’s wife perked up. “Ah, there, you see! Mrs. Blewitt is precisely to whom you should talk. Shall we interview her together? I think she will find my presence reassuring.”
If Beatrice decided to interview the housekeeper again, she would certainly not do so in the presence of her mistress. “Let us approach the matter from a different direction. Mrs. Mayhew, when were you last in Mrs. Blewitt’s office?”
“Thursday,” she said promptly, an eager smile spreading across her face as she leaned forward, delighted to finally be of help. “I met with Mrs. Blewitt to finalize the menu for Friday’s dinner party. Mr. Mayhew usually takes care of such matters, but he was called away at the last minute and I was required to step in. It was so very inconvenient because I was on the way to the milliner to buy a new hat.”
“And while you were finalizing the menu for the party, did an incident occur between Gertrude and Monsieur Alphonse?” Bea asked.
“No,” she said with firm resolve.
“Are you sure?”
Mrs. Mayhew trilled with amusement. “Am I sure? My dear duchess, Monsieur Alphonse sat next to me the entire time and I am sure the kitchen maid did not enter the room once.”
“And before that, when were you in Mrs. Blewitt’s office?”
“Good gracious, the time before that…” she murmured, her nose scrunching in thought as she considered the question. “The time before Thursday…the time before.…perhaps early March? I do recall that it was quite chilly in her office because her fire had run out of coals, but maybe it was late February? It’s dreadful, your grace, because it’s so difficult to recall and yet I do so
