Page 96 of A Single Thread of Moonlight

“I stitched this, right after my father’s accident. Yesterday, when we talked about it, you said that Agatha gave me the bobbin of silver thread to use.”

“That’s right,” Cassie agreed.

“I thought it was hers,” I said, a hitch in my voice, “but you said that you found it.”

“We did find it,” Cassie said slowly. “She kept it because it was so pretty. She really was trying to be nice to you for once—”

“Yes, I know,” I said impatiently. “That’s not important now. What is important is where Agatha found it.”

Cassie smiled. “It was funny, actually. We found it in the woods, near the path that runs back to the house. We were both convinced at the time that it had been left by fairies … what have I said?” I could tell from the way she was looking at me that all the colour had left my face.

I glanced at Nick to see if he had made the connection. The grimness in his own eyes told me he had.

How might you bring a horse down? Something strung across the path it always travelled, something light and fine that no one would notice, something that would be invisible to a rider, a rider who had drunk too much, something that would be easy to get rid of afterwards…

I looked at the embroidery again, and this time I felt my stomach turn. All this time it had hung here on the wall.

The murder weapon.

Cassie was still looking at me in confusion. “Iris,” she said. “What’s the matter?”

I couldn’t bring myself to tell Cassie the truth. That her mother was a killer.

“I need to … go…” I managed. “Sorry, I have to…” I didn’t finish the sentence, just lurched through the door.

“Should I go after her?” I heard Cassie ask. “Does she need help?”

“No, no.” Nick was reassuring. “I know just what to do.”

Nick caught up to me in the hallway and opened the library door, pushing me gently inside. He pushed me down into a chair, poured a glass of brandy and put it in my hand. I just stared at it. I think it was about eight o’clock in the morning.

“Can it be true?” I whispered.

“It’s possible,” Nick said cautiously. “The pieces all fit together.”

“If my father was going to divorce Helena, she would have been desperate enough to do it,” I said, certainty edging my voice. “It wouldn’t even be difficult, given the state he was in, the way he was drinking. Such an accident was probably inevitable. And no one would suspect foul play – they all knew what he was like.”

“That’s what makes it a clever plan,” Nick agreed. “No one would suspect. No one but you.”

“And who was going to listen to a grieving child?” I stared into the glass of amber liquid. “There’s no proof,” I said finally. “It’s just a guess.”

“It’s an answer.” Nick crouched down in front of me, wrapping his hand around my wrist. He took the glass from my hand and put it on the table beside me. “One that you didn’t have before. We can try and find proof; we can confront Helena.”

We.

I managed a watery smile, then crumpled back into the chair. “It’s all a lot more complicated than I thought it would be.”

I closed my eyes for a moment. When I opened them, Nick was still there in front of me, a worried frown pinching between his eyes. I lifted a hand and rested it for a moment on his cheek. He leaned into my touch.

“For now,” I said more firmly, “I think we should keep our focus on Stefan. Once the ball is over, we can decide how to proceed. Because I think I will have to be Iris Scott-Holland again.”

“No name can change what you are.”

“And what is that?” I asked with a smile. “An infuriating baggage?”

“Heard that, did you?”

“Yes, I thought it was incredibly romantic.”