Bea paused to allow her listener to do just that, and it appeared to her that Mr. Mayhew actually made an effort to visualize the expression on the unknown woman’s face.
“She could not conceive what it meant,” Bea added, “so she gave it to me. Naturally, I was perplexed as well because it is a very strange thing for one’s housekeeper to find under her flower vase. I could not figure out its meaning until I came across a familiar name. I trust you know which one I mean.”
Alas, he did not. “A familiar name?”
“Mr. Bayne,” she said.
Comprehension, finally!
But even as awareness glinted in his eyes, his demeanor remained calm as he said without a hint of self-consciousness, “Oh, I see, you found the list of my employees’ salaries.”
His placidity was, she believed, further proof of his cunning nature. A less sly creature would have revealed a measure of apprehension at learning that his elaborate scheme to defraud his brothers out of thousands of pounds per annum had been discovered. But by all indicators, Mr. Mayhew minded it not one wit, and realizing that, she decided to alter their plan slightly in hopes of disorienting him in another way.
“As soon as I read the name, I perceived the truth,” she said. “Mr. Bayne killed Monsieur Alphonse at your behest.”
As the statement was patently absurd, she was hardly surprised when Mr. Mayhew responded with amusement, first gurgling gently and then guffawing riotously. Doubling over, he clutched his stomach as if trying to contain his humor, then recovered his sense to look at Kesgrave. His voice brimming with compassion, he said, “Women indeed, your grace! You warned me of your wife’s flights of fancy, and yet I was still unprepared for her outlandish conclusion. My dear duchess, I fear you are wildly off the mark. Mr. Bayne could not have possibly killed Monsieur Alphonse at my behest for the very simple reason that Mr. Bayne does not exist. I am sure I told you this already.”
“That is a lie!” Bea declared hotly. “You are lying about Mr. Bayne to hide your guilt. If I cannot interview him, I cannot discover the truth. You are determined to block my investigation.”
Again, he regarded Kesgrave sympathetically and shook his head, deeply saddened by the display. “To what investigation do you refer? The one your husband apologized for this afternoon? My dear duchess, you are mortifying yourself with these outrageous accusations. Come, let us have no more talk of it. Mrs. Mayhew and I are planning a trip to Paris to find a new chef. I am sure a man of your distinction, Kesgrave, is well traveled. What do you advise for first-time visitors to the city?”
“Yes,” Mrs. Mayhew said, joining the conversation, for she was as eager as her husband to smooth ducal feathers, “do give us advice, your grace, for we are eager to take instruction. Being without the comforts of home can be challenging. How do you mitigate that influence?”
“No, no, no,” Bea cried angrily, stamping her feet in excessive frustration because she believed that was what the banker believed silly women did. “Mr. Bayne has to exist. He draws a salary from your bank. I demand to be introduced to him at once.”
“I must ask you to calm yourself, your grace,” Mr. Mayhew said harshly, then immediately apologized to Kesgrave for his presumption. “Of course it is not my place to admonish the duchess, but getting worked up over a fictitious character is not how we behave in the best drawing rooms.”
Graciously supplying the banker with the length of cord he required to hang himself, Kesgrave assured him that it presented no problem for him. “You must act according to your conscience.”
Fervently, Mr. Mayhew agreed. “I must.”
“If Mr. Bayne does not exist, how can he be on a list of employers who get paid regularly?” Bea asked, her tone piercing and shrill. “I’ll tell you the answer. He cannot. It is impossible. A phantom cannot draw a salary!”
“It is simple, your grace,” he said calmly. “I draw Mr. Bayne’s salary.”
It was a measure of his ingenuity that he could own his guilt whilst smiling innocently.
His wife, who did not possess her husband’s steely nerves, leaped anxiously into the conversation to ask the duke about the Luxembourg Gardens. “Tell me, your grace, is the Medici fountain worth a visit? I have heard conflicting reports. Apparently, it fell into disrepair, but Napoleon diverted some funds to restoring it?”
But the mention of diverted funds was not quite the sweeping subject change Mrs. Mayhew had hoped for, and she fell silent, pressing her lips together almost painfully.
Bea ignored her entirely and looked accusingly at the banker. “You drew the salary? But that is theft!”
“My dear girl, I own the bank. I cannot steal from myself,” he explained with a look of amused condescension that he directed at the duke. “I am not surprised you cannot understand that. You are female, after all, and limited in your ability to think through complicated matters. It is not your fault that numbers confuse you. Nevertheless, I would beg you to cease humiliating your husband.”
Ah, yes, her husband.
Did Mr. Mayhew not find it curious that the duke had yet to intercede?
Surely, if he was embarrassed by his wife’s intractability, he would put an end to it. He had certainly proved himself autocratic enough.
Bea continued to argue. “You are stealing from the bank’s other owners, your own brothers!”
Somehow, he managed to retain his calm, dismissing this charge as easily as the others. “My brothers draw a nice living from Mayhew &
