Page 76 of A Single Thread of Moonlight

Her face was pale. “I know what you’re going to say,” she said, “but I knew nothing about this, nothing!”

“What am I going to say?” I asked, a thread of steel in my voice.

“You think – you think that my mother had something to do with your father’s death.” She forced the words out.

“Yes,” I said. “I always have done, though I had no proof.”

“He fell from his horse!” cried Cassie.

“My father?” I lifted my voice. “My father? Fell from his horse?”

Cassie flinched. “I know he was a great rider, but the ground was uneven. There was a rabbit hole.”

I gave a short bark of laughter. “Next you’ll be telling me he was a drunk, like the others, with his silver flask. But I know it was her. And now I know why.”

Cassie made a sudden noise and swayed in her seat. I thought for a moment she was going to faint, and I quickly got up to sit beside her, resting my arm around her shoulder to steady her.

“Cassie?” I said. “Oh, Cassie, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it that way, she’s your mother. It’s only that I’m so mixed up and angry I can hardly think straight. Are you all right?”

“It’s not that,” she murmured. She closed her eyes briefly, grimacing. “Well, not only that. When you said about the drinking – and the silver flask – I remembered something, something from that morning, and I can’t … I don’t want to…”

“What was it?” I asked, a feeling of urgency humming through me. “What did you remember?”

“It was the morning that he died. I saw—” Cassie turned to me, her eyes enormous. “I saw my mother putting something in a silver flask.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

That evening I claimed to have a headache and stayed in my room. I couldn’t possibly sit at a table, make polite conversation, and smile at the woman I now knew had poisoned my father.

It all made perfect sense. That was why my father had fallen from his horse; because Helena had slipped something in his drink.

My head was spinning as I turned all the pieces over in my mind. There was the letter from the solicitor, but that alone wasn’t proof of what Helena had done. How could I possibly prove such a thing? Cassie was just a child when she saw what she did. She could hardly be said to be a reliable witness.

The hours crawled by, slow as treacle, as I stared unseeingly into the fireplace. Finally, at midnight, there was a knock at my door and Cassie let herself in. We had agreed that we would meet at twelve so that we could go and talk to Tookes and Mrs Chambers together, without being disturbed. Cassie had sent them a note asking them to wait up for us.

We made our way to the housekeeper’s room in silence.

“Come in, girls, come in,” Mrs Chambers clucked when we arrived, settling us into chairs and placing warm teacups into our cold hands. She fussed around us like a mother hen.

Tookes stood at attention, his face immobile but his eyes alert.

“You both look dreadful,” Mrs Chambers said, once we were sitting comfortably. “What on earth has happened?”

For a moment there was no sound except the crackling of the fire.

“Cassie and I went to see Father’s solicitor today,” I said finally, “and we found out that Father had been about to petition the courts for a divorce from Helena when he died.”

Mrs Chambers sucked in a horrified breath, and even Tookes flinched.

“You cannot be serious!” Mrs Chambers exclaimed. “They had their differences, but divorce! No, I cannot believe it.”

“It’s true, Mrs C,” Cassie said quietly. “Iris has the letter.”

I produced the letter from my pocket and Tookes stepped forward to take it from me.

“With this revelation in mind,” I continued carefully, “I feel there is now a very clear motive for Helena to wish my father ill.”

“Iris!” Mrs Chambers flashed a glance at Cassie. “We already discussed this. Your imagination…”