Mrs. Mayhew closed her eyes as if concentrating very hard and remained silent for a full minute. “My visits to her office are infrequent because it’s far easier to summon her to the drawing room. But I do like to pop belowstairs without notice every so often because it keeps everyone on their toes. That is a management tip I would give if I presumed to give management tips to duchesses. Like on Thursday, when Mr. Mayhew was called away to meet with his new investor, Mr. Bayne, and I had to step in to discuss the menu, I could have done it in the comfort of the drawing room, but I realized it had been quite a while since I had looked in on the servants unexpectedly. And of course everything was running smoothly, just as I anticipated—as you yourself have no doubt observed, having spent some time down there yourself. It’s such a strange idea to contemplate, the Duke and Duchess of Kesgrave in one’s very own servants’ hall. I do not recall when that humble room has been so honored before. Of course, Mr. Mayhew and I would be deeply grateful for the opportunity to entertain you in slightly more splendor. You must not worry that my husband will pester you with talk of the bank, for it would be a purely social occasion. Mr. Mayhew can be a tiny bit single-minded in the pursuit of new business—it comes, I think, from being the eldest of so many brothers and wanting to prove himself capable—and some people might find that intensity a little off-putting, but that is why he has me. I am the civilizing force in his life, reminding him that most people do not want to be regarded only as potential depositors.”
Mrs. Mayhew continued to prattle, apologizing for her husband’s enthusiasms while lauding his many triumphs and deploring the pressures to succeed in a family business, but Bea had stopped listening. As soon as she had heard the name of the new investor, her mind began to assemble puzzle pieces, for it seemed too coincidental that the fictional clerk to whom Mr. Mayhew referred Mr. Réjane’s business shared a name with a new investor.
No, the more likely explanation was the banker had been lying again and, lacking the ingenuity to invent a new name, defaulted to one he had already used.
As Mrs. Mayhew appeared to be no closer to the end of her monologue, Bea was compelled to interject.
Her guest, afraid that she had rattled on too long, apologized with a hint of mortification and said that she may have allowed her determination to be helpful get the better of her. “I wanted to give you every detail I remember in case I know something important. I will try to be more judicial in the future.”
Bea thanked her for both her enthusiasm and restraint before following up on the piece of information that interested her. “Mr. Mayhew did not consult with Mrs. Blewitt on Thursday to finalize the menu because he had a meeting with Mr. Bayne, an investor?”
“Yes, yes, he did, but that is not at all unusual. He meets with investors frequently.”
“And are they all named Mr. Bayne?” Bea asked.
Disconcerted by the question, for she had not missed the satirical note in the duchess’s tone, Mrs. Mayhew laughed awkwardly and said with hesitance, “Well, no, they have names particular to their families. Mr. Illing is called Mr. Illing, and Mr. Scott is called Mr. Scott. I am sure the other members of Mr. Bayne’s family are also called Bayne, although having met none of them, not even Mr. Bayne himself, I cannot swear to it.”
As Bea was increasingly convinced the investor called Mr. Bayne was no less a figment of Mr. Mayhew’s imagination than the bank clerk of the same name, Bea was hardly surprised she had yet to meet him. “And Monsieur Alphonse was at this meeting?”
Now the banker’s wife was completely mystified and stared at her host in utter befuddlement. “Monsieur Alphonse? Attend a meeting with an investor? It would be highly unconventional for Mr. Mayhew, of the estimable Mayhew & Co., to bring his chef to a meeting with an investor. I suppose if the meeting was to discuss funding a joint venture with Monsieur Alphonse, it would not be so strange. I do recall Monsieur Alphonse being quite determined to help his brother establish a patisserie, but I do not believe he was seeking investors. It is possible I am wrong, as Mr. Mayhew does not discuss the particulars of bank business with me.”
“I did not mean the investor meeting,” Bea struggled to clarify. “I meant the meeting with Mrs. Blewitt to discuss the menu for the dinner party on Friday.”
“Oh, that meeting?” she said, giggling self-consciously at the misunderstanding. “Of course, that was what you meant. Good gracious, you must think I am a silly goose to make such a muddle of it. I came here so determined to help and now I am wasting your time! Yes, Monsieur Alphonse was there. After all, we were discussing the menus and reviewing what was available at the market because having the right ingredients is vital to a meal’s preparation. You cannot make duck à l’orange without duck or l’orange, although Monsieur Alphonse would never have made anything with citrus because Mr. Mayhew detests the flavor. Too strong. Oh, dear, I cannot imagine what we are going to do without him.” As if struck anew by the consequences of his death, she paused to sigh sadly and shake her head with mournful regret. But then her features brightened as she lifted her gaze. “I cannot tell you, your grace, how grateful I am for your interest. The situation was being handled in the most rag-mannered fashion until you stepped in. Blaming that idiotic
