To be sure, Bea would permit no such thing, and ignoring the second invitation to dine just as assiduously as she had ignored the first, she sought to confirm that Monsieur Alphonse was present when Mrs. Mayhew announced why she was stepping in for her husband at the meeting. It was, however, a futile endeavor, for her guest claimed to have no recollection of any particulars that did not pertain specifically to the menu, and as if sensing the duchess’s disappointment, proceeded to relate every detail she could recall. As she listed the several dozen ingredients that went into all seven layers of the gâteau à la mousse, Bea began to suspect something slightly nefarious was afoot, and she went to the window to make sure Mrs. Crackenthorpe of The Tatler was not hovering in the square noting the number of minutes the banker’s wife remained inside Kesgrave House.
Bea would not put such a maneuver past either of the residents of number forty-four.
Even so, she saw only a maroon landau with a pair of bays drive by.
If Mrs. Mayhew was employing an extreme dilatory tactic to puff up her own importance, it was for nobody’s benefit but her own.
The idea amused Bea, for she had spent countless hours in drawing rooms with Aunt Vera and Flora, and neither one had ever felt gratified by the experience.
Ah, but she was a duchess now.
Bea returned to the settee and sat down as Mrs. Mayhew lamented the challenges of finding strawberries at Christmas.
Christmas? Bea thought, surprised to discover Mrs. Mayhew had rambled as far back as December while she was examining the square for interlopers. It was unacceptable, traveling backward in time, and she decided she had to end the session immediately or listen to another year’s worth of menus.
Interrupting curtly, she said, “I must bring this interview to an end now, Mrs. Mayhew, as I am in the middle of an investigation and do not have time for a social call.”
Although Bea’s intent had been to be abrupt and a little rude, her guest took no exception to her words, smiling brightly and murmuring, “Social call, yes, of course. I apologize for allowing our social call to run on a little too long. It was merely that I was overtaken by the comfort of Kesgrave House. Such a pleasure to see that its interior matches the gracious perfection of its exterior. I have often wondered, walking by it daily. But do allow me to leave you now in peace. I am grateful for your hospitality, your grace, and hope that I may be able to repay the kindness in the near future if you are amenable. But ,of course, I understand if you are not. You only have to say, for I am as determined to be as good a friend to you as you require.”
Once again, Bea found herself almost charmed by Mrs. Mayhew’s sycophancy, which possessed an appealing guilelessness. By openly stating her intention to be as ingratiating as possible she eliminated much of the heavy maneuvering that usually undergirded excessive flattery.
The lightness of her touch contrasted sharply with her husband’s oozingly aggressive approach, which, Bea realized now, assumed a sort of unqualified success and blamed its target when it fell short. It was this sense of entitlement that gave Bea her most enduring disgust of Mr. Mayhew and the reason she could not eliminate him from her list of suspects even though more likely ones had recently emerged.
To that end, she resigned herself to summoning yet another servant to Kesgrave House.
Chapter Seventeen
The duke appeared in the drawing room just as Joseph was setting a new tea tray on the low table next to the settee, and examining its contents, Bea tilted her head thoughtfully. It seemed to her that the pile of tea cakes could be higher. Mrs. Blewitt was a housekeeper, after all, and would not be as easy to impress as Stebbings.
“Do see if we have more tea cakes in the kitchen, for I want the plate to create a sense of abundance,” Bea said to the footman, “and let’s use the more impressive teapot.”
Although clearly confused by her request, Joseph nodded firmly and promised to return with the items posthaste.
Kesgrave, amused by her description, asked if she imagined a shelf with teapots arranged in order of impressiveness.
In fact, this was exactly what Bea saw when she pictured the copious storage in the butler’s pantry, with its lavish collections and neat assortments. “Given your aversion to the servants quarters, your grace, I do not know how you can be convinced they are not. Regardless, Joseph understood my request perfectly.”
“I suspect you mean adequately,” he said.
“Either way, Mrs. Blewitt will be impressed,” she said, before inquiring, as always, about the roofs.
“They will hold for another day,” he said vaguely, leaving his wife to wonder if he meant the inconvenience of dealing with them or the structures themselves. “And your conversation with Mrs. Mayhew? I trust it was productive?”
“Mrs. Mayhew certainly found it so, for she effortlessly accomplished her goal of sitting in the drawing room of Kesgrave House for a full forty-five minutes,” she said wryly. “If I had not interrupted a lamentation on the difficulty of finding strawberries in December, she would no doubt be here still, prattling cheerfully about the scarcity of grouse in July.”
Kesgrave looked at her as if she had said something at once shocking and amusing. “Why a grouse shortage in the summer? Did they all decide to fly north to the Arctic in search of cooler weather?”
Bea, who had only intended to make a point about Mrs. Mayhew’s loquaciousness, not to accurately represent
