Page 22 of A Death, A Duke, And Miss Mifford
Having sated his hunger, Henry waved for the footman and requested the chance to offer the chef his compliments.
"Of course, Your Grace," the footman answered, "Monsieur Canet will be delighted."
Perhaps not for long, Henry thought, though inwardly he doubted that a man who could perform such heavenly feats with potatoes might be capable of murder.
The footman led Henry to the kitchens, where they found the chef smoking a pipe by the open back door. He turned, all Roman nose and dark brow, as Henry and the footman entered, casting them both an impatient glare.
"Oui?" he demanded of the footman, who blushed with embarrassment on Henry's behalf.
"His Grace wishes to speak with you, monsieur," the footman stammered, wringing his hands nervously.
The French man did not look remotely awed to find himself in the presence of a duke, Henry noted. Canet turned his brown eyes to Henry and waited impatiently for him to speak.
"I'd actually like a word alone, with Mr Canet," Henry said to the footman, who duly obliged them by scampering from the room.
"I wish to compliment you on your fine cooking," Henry continued, once they were alone. It was always best to lead with a compliment, he knew--especially when dealing with a man in possession of some terrifically impressive carving knives as Monsieur Canet had displayed upon the wall.
"Merci," Canet gave a smug smile, turning to Henry with interest now, "Am I to take it that you wish to offer me a position at the manor?"
"Ah..."
The idea had not even occurred to Henry, but now that he mentioned it, it would be rather nice to be served such gourmet fare every evening.
"I cannot be bought," Canet continued, with a pompous toss of his--admittedly luscious--brown locks, "I am a believer in theégalitéof men; every English man has the right to sample my creations, not just the aristocracy."
"I doubt every English man could afford lunch here," Henry replied dryly. He understood what Canet was about now; a revolutionary idealist with more words than conviction. The guests at The King's Head were hardly the poor and huddled masses--they were, each one, decidedly genteel and moneyed. And Canet himself did not look like a starving idealist; his boots were Lobby's, if Henry was not mistaken.
"I also wished to enquire about any dealings you might have had with the late Mr Parsims," Henry continued, glad that Canet's outburst had allowed him to forgo any further politeness.
The chef's eyes flickered momentarily, but long enough for Henry to note the panic in them.
"I did not know Mr Parsims at all," Canet shrugged, "I have never had any dealings with that man."
"Really?" Henry raised a brow.
"Really," Canet nodded, tapping his pipe impatiently against the door frame.
"Then why was your name included in a list of people that Mr Parsims appeared to believe owed him money?"
Victory was sweet; Canet paled, the hand which held his pipe shook furiously, and he licked his lips nervously.
"It was?" he asked, nonchalantly, though it was a beat too late for genuine innocence.
"Yes," Henry watched him carefully, "You're listed as owing two crowns; that's quite a sum of money."
"Perhaps he expected me to donate to the church from my wages," Canet shrugged, though his brown eyes would not meet Henry's, "I did not know Mr Parsims, but I have heard enough to learn that he was a man who felt the world was in his debt."
"Where were you last night?" Henry questioned, unwilling to allow Canet think he was off the hook.
"Here," Henry was offered a Gallic shrug, "You may ask any of the staff; they will tell you that I worked until eight o'clock and then retired to my rooms. Edward, the footman, brought me up coal at about ten, as I was running low."
"I shall confirm that with Edward," Henry replied, still suspicious of the French man, "Though that would only confirm your whereabouts at ten o'clock and Mr Parsims was murdered after eleven. Plenty of time to sneak out, if one wished to."
"I did not wish to," Canet's eyes were cool, "Now, if you will excuse me, I have a soufflé to which I must attend."
There was nothing in the world that Henry loved more than a good soufflé. Had he less pride, he might have tried to sneak back into the dining room to order a bowl, but he resisted the temptation. Henry gave the chef a stiff nod, to let him know that he was dismissed and left the kitchen, stopping only to confirm with the footman that he had brought coal to Canet's rooms the night before.
"That I did, Your Grace," Edward confirmed, though his youthful face was awash with uncertainty.
