Page 77 of A Single Thread of Moonlight

“There’s evidence now,” I said, looking at Cassie. “A witness.”

“On the morning of the accident,” Cassie began, her voice quiet but firm, “I saw my mother putting something in a silver drinking flask.”

“My father’s flask,” I finished. “Helena poisoned him.”

There was silence, and Mrs Chambers and Tookes exchanged looks. Mrs Chambers’ eyes filled with tears, and she shook her head at Tookes, as though they were having a silent conversation. Then Tookes crouched down beside my chair and took my hand. It was a very un-Tookes-like gesture.

“Lady Iris,” he said, “when you spoke to us about this last time, we neither of us wanted to do anything to harm the memory you had of your father. The two of you were so close – like peas in the pod, people used to call you. And so, I’m afraid we weren’t exactly truthful about what happened that day.” He paused and frowned. “Not that we lied, but we perhaps softened the truth. Now I see it has led you into thinking something much worse and for that I am sorry.”

“Tookes,” I snapped, my nerves frayed, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Again, the two servants shared a look, and Tookes drew himself up. “Very well,” he continued steadily. “It is true that Miss Cassie saw Her Ladyship filling His Lordship’s flask, but this she did every day at his request.”

Cassie’s grip on the arms of her chair relaxed slightly.

“Why?” I asked, bemused.

“Your father was drinking far too much, and that’s the truth. He drank brandy all day, every day, more and more. Her Ladyship challenged him about it and so he insisted his wife be the one to keep his flask filled. They argued about it often. I think it pleased him to force her to undertake the chore.” Here Tookes handed the letter back to me. “I hate to say it, but I don’t believe he was perfectly in his right mind at the end. You can see here from his handwriting that he was under the influence when he wrote it – it’s not in his usual style at all. He had become more and more paranoid, more determined to cut the family off from the outside world. His behaviour had grown quite … erratic.”

I looked at the shaky letters, the ink stains. Tookes was right. I shook my head, refusing to take it all in. My father, a drunk – I could just about believe it. Certainly enough people had told me. But not in his right mind? It couldn’t be true. Could it?

I thought about the things I had learned over the last week. The way my father kept to himself, our lack of visitors, the fights between him and Helena. The fact he had been willing to drag his wife through a public divorce case, possibly to lie and ruin her to achieve it. My mother, shut away in her room. Hiding places up the chimney, secret compartments…

“But still,” I said weakly, desperately, “Helena could have adulterated his drink that day, put something in it?”

Here, something like embarrassment crossed Tookes’ face. “That she couldn’t, miss. As you know, it was I and old Kielty who found your father that day. What with the shock and all, I’m afraid we both had need of a swig or two from that flask, and neither one of us suffered any ill effects.”

“Mr Tookes!” Mrs Chambers puffed herself up, seemingly more horrified by this information than by any of the rest. In other circumstances it would have been funny.

“So, my mother had nothing to do with it?” Cassie asked.

Both servants shook their heads.

“Believe us,” Mrs Chambers said firmly. “It was a tragic accident.”

“And, I fear, an inevitable one,” Tookes added gravely.

I sat back in my chair, all the breath leaving my body in one exhalation. So that was it; the whole mystery uncovered. There was nothing amiss with the will. Helena had no hand in what happened. It was all an accident, one brought about by truths about my father that I had never known. Everything I had thought, everything I had done up to this point had been based on my own wrong assumptions.

“Iris?” Cassie crouched down in front of me. “Are you well?”

“I have no idea.” The words came out somewhere between tears and laughter. “But I suppose I will be.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

I wasn’t sure what to think or feel about the revelations that had taken place. I also wasn’t sure what to do next.

Perhaps it would be best to let Iris Scott-Holland die. Being Iris Grey was not so bad, after all, and the things that had meant so much to me – the house, and my father’s memory – suddenly seemed, well … complicated.

I spent the next morning smiling and flirting mechanically with Stefan. His solid, undemanding presence was a relief and, as if sensing my turmoil, he made every effort to tease me into good humour.

That afternoon, thanks to the unseasonably warm weather, we took tea outside. A table had been dragged out to the lawn, where all signs of my shooting contest with Nick were long gone.

Helena was wearing a spring green dress and a straw hat. She looked young and happy. I watched her, laughing and talking with her guests, playing the hostess to perfection.

The truth of what had happened between her and my father was a surprise. Part of me was even able to summon some sympathy for her. Then I remembered every vicious flash of those green eyes, every time she had locked me alone in my room, denied me supper, kept me from riding – whatever punishment she thought best fit my imagined crimes. I had been a child, and yet she had barely troubled to conceal her animosity towards me, had – in fact – made every effort to let me know how she disliked me, had chipped away at me with spiteful comments, had told me I brought it all on myself with my behaviour.

When Father had died she had not bothered to hide her opinion that I was an annoyance that she would rather be rid of. I had lost my parents, and she was determined to take my home. Looking at her now, bright and cheerful, enjoying every luxury that Holland Hall had to offer, I found it difficult to relinquish my deep mistrust of her.