Chapter 2: The Wife's Perfect Lie
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Thomas stood motionless in the corridor, his hand hovering near the doorknob.
Inside the dining room, a chair dragged across the floor.
Richard's voice was quiet when he finally answered.
“Find out what, Victoria?””
“Nothing.””
“Don't insult me.””
“I said nothing!””
The sharpness of her reply made Thomas flinch.
He had heard Victoria speak cruelly to servants before. She could dismiss a housekeeper with a sentence and reduce a young maid to tears with nothing more than a look.
But he had never heard her sound afraid of her husband.
Richard spoke again.
“You told me I was imagining things when I said you had been hiding documents from me. You told me I was paranoid when I asked why you had transferred money from our joint account.””
Victoria's voice softened.
“Richard, you're exhausted. You've been working too much.””
“And now my wine is apparently dangerous.””
“Because Thomas is incompetent!””
“Then explain the vial he found.””
Silence.
Thomas's stomach tightened.
Richard had seen it.
He had somehow discovered the vial.
Victoria's next words came out slowly.
“What vial?””
Richard gave a humorless laugh.
“The one Thomas brought to me after you went upstairs to change for dinner. The one that was hidden beneath your chair.””
Thomas stared at the floor.
He had not known Richard had seen him retrieve it.
“Richard,” Victoria said, “you cannot seriously believe I would poison you.””
“I haven't said that.””
“You're looking at me as though I murdered someone.””
“Then help me understand why you look as though you're about to faint.””
A glass struck the table.
“I have spent twelve years of my life making this house a home,” Victoria snapped.
“I have stood beside you through every business crisis, every public scandal, every miserable night when you came home and treated me like an inconvenience. And now you're taking the word of a servant over your own wife?””
Richard did not answer immediately.
When he did, his voice had lost its anger.
That made it more frightening.
“I remember our wedding day, Victoria.””
She said nothing.
“You wore your mother's pearls. You cried during the vows. You told me you wanted us to grow old together.””
“I meant it.””
“Then tell me what happened to us.””
Thomas heard the faint rustle of fabric.
Victoria was moving around the room.
“People change, Richard.””
“Yes. They do.””
He paused.
“Some change because they suffer. Others change because they discover they can get away with anything.””
The door suddenly swung open.
Victoria stood before Thomas.
Her eyes were dry, but her face was pale.
“You may leave,” she said.
Thomas bowed.
“Of course, madam.””
She stepped closer.
“Not to the kitchen. Not to your room. You will go directly to the service entrance and wait there until I call for you.””
Thomas kept his expression neutral.
“May I ask why, madam?””
“Because I said so.””
He lowered his gaze.
“Yes, madam.””
As he turned, she caught his wrist.
Her fingernails dug into his skin.
“If you value your position, Thomas, you will remember that you saw nothing tonight.””
He looked at her hand.
Then at her face.
“I saw a glass break, madam.””
Her grip tightened.
“And accidents happen every day.””
“Indeed.””
For one dangerous moment, neither moved.
Then Victoria released him.
“Go.””
Thomas walked down the corridor, but he did not head toward the service entrance.
Instead, he slipped into the small pantry beside the kitchen, where the shelves of polished silver blocked the view from the hall.
He could hear Mrs. Bell moving pots around in the kitchen.
He could also hear footsteps approaching.
Victoria's voice drifted through the doorway.
“Mrs. Bell, I need you to prepare another glass of juice.””
“Certainly, my lady.””
“Apple and pear. Freshly pressed.””
“Yes, my lady.””
“And bring the bottle from the pantry.””
Thomas's breath caught.
The bottle.
He remembered seeing a glass bottle on the counter earlier that afternoon. Victoria had brought it into the kitchen herself and instructed Mrs. Bell to keep it separate from the household supplies.
At the time, it had seemed unremarkable.
Now, Thomas understood why Victoria had been so particular.
Mrs. Bell hesitated.
“My lady, shall I prepare it in the usual way?””
“No. Use the bottle I gave you.””
“Of course.””
Victoria's footsteps receded.
Thomas waited until the kitchen door swung shut before stepping out.
Mrs. Bell was standing beside the counter, staring at a dark green bottle.
“Thomas,” she whispered, “what is happening?””
“Don't touch that bottle.””
She recoiled.
“Good Lord. What is it?””
“I don't know. But I believe it has something to do with the wine.””
Mrs. Bell looked toward the corridor.
“Should we call the police?””
“Not yet.””
The words came out before Thomas had fully considered them.
He hated the sound of them.
Not yet.
As if he had any right to decide when a crime deserved to be reported.
Then he remembered Richard's expression when the glass shattered. The bewilderment. The betrayal. The way he had looked at his wife as though he were trying to recognize a stranger.
“We need to tell the master everything,” Thomas said.
“And we need to make certain nobody drinks anything Victoria prepares.””
Mrs. Bell nodded.
“I'll tell him.””
“No. Stay here. If she asks, you know nothing.””
“And you?””
Thomas picked up the vial from the cloth.
“I'll tell him what I saw.””
He returned to the dining room.
Richard stood by the fireplace with his hands clasped behind his back. Victoria sat at the table, one hand resting beside the fresh glass of juice.
She had regained her composure.
When Thomas entered, she smiled.
“There you are. I thought you had gone.””
“I apologize, madam.””
Richard turned.
“Thomas, come here.””
The servant approached.
“Tell me precisely what happened this evening. From the beginning.””
Victoria's smile vanished.
“This is ridiculous.””
Richard did not look at her.
“Thomas.””
The servant took a breath.
“I saw Lady Whitmore drop a small vial beneath her chair. When I attempted to retrieve it, she told me to leave it alone. I noticed a residue inside the vial, and I became concerned when I saw her pour your wine.””
“Did you see her put anything into it?”” Richard asked.
Thomas hesitated.
“No, sir. Not directly.””
Victoria leaned forward.
“There! You see? He admits he saw nothing.””
“But I saw you watching the glass,” Thomas replied.
“And when the master reached for it, you tried to move it away.””
“I was trying to prevent another scene!””
Richard picked up the vial.
“Is this yours?””
Victoria stared at it.
“I have never seen that thing before.””
Thomas felt his heart sink.
The lie had come too quickly.
Richard placed the vial on the table.
“Then you won't object to our having it examined.””
Victoria stood.
“You cannot be serious.””
“I am entirely serious.””
“You would invite strangers into our home to investigate a ridiculous accusation?””
“If it is ridiculous, they will establish that.””
“And if they don't?””
Richard looked at her.
“Then we will have a different conversation.””
For the first time that evening, Victoria seemed unable to find an answer.
A knock interrupted them.
Mrs. Bell entered carrying a silver tray.
On it sat a tall glass of pale golden juice.
“Your juice, sir,” she said.
Victoria moved quickly.
“Thank you, Mrs. Bell. Leave it here.””
The cook set the tray down, then looked at Thomas.
It was a brief glance.
But Richard noticed.
“What is it, Mrs. Bell?””
“Nothing, sir.””
Richard's eyes narrowed.
“Everyone in this house seems to have something to hide tonight.””
He walked to the table and lifted the glass.
Victoria's entire body stiffened.
“Richard,” she said quickly, “perhaps you should wait until after dinner.””
“Why?””
“Because you've had wine.””
“I haven't had a single sip.””
“You know what I mean.””
“No, Victoria. I don't.””
He held the glass up to the light.
The juice looked perfectly ordinary.
Then he turned to his wife.
“You prepared this for me, didn't you?””
“Yes.””
“From the bottle you brought into the kitchen?””
Her face went white.
“How do you know about the bottle?””
Richard lowered the glass.
For the first time, Victoria realized she had made a mistake.
A terrible one.
Richard set the juice down with deliberate care.
“Thomas tells me he saw a vial beneath your chair. Mrs. Bell tells me you insisted on using a separate bottle for this drink.””
He looked toward the cook.
“Is that correct?””
Mrs. Bell's hands trembled.
“Yes, sir.””
Victoria laughed desperately.
“This is madness! I wanted to make you something special. That's all.””
Richard's gaze returned to the glass.
“Then you'll have no objection to drinking it.””
Victoria stopped breathing.
The silence that followed was so complete that the ticking of the grandfather clock sounded like a hammer striking metal.
“Richard,” she whispered, “please.””
His expression changed.
Not anger.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
“Please?”” he repeated.
“Why are you asking me to spare you from drinking something you made for me?””
Victoria took a step backward.
“I don't feel well.””
Richard pushed the glass toward her.
“Then we should call a doctor. But first, answer me one question.””
She stared at him.
He pointed at the juice.
“Is this the same drink you intended me to have tonight?””
Her lips trembled.
Thomas watched her hands curl into fists.
Then, with a voice barely louder than a breath, she answered.
“Yes.””
Richard nodded once.
“Good.””
He lifted the glass and placed it directly in front of her.
“Then drink.””
Victoria looked at the juice.
Then at her husband.
And finally, at the servant who had destroyed her carefully laid plans.
For the first time since Thomas had entered Whitmore Manor eleven years earlier, he saw genuine hatred in her eyes.
Not hatred for Richard.
Hatred for the man who had stopped her.
And when Richard reached for the telephone to call the police, Victoria suddenly screamed.
“Don't you dare!””
The glass rattled against the table.
Richard froze.
Victoria's chest rose and fell rapidly. Her carefully arranged composure had collapsed, leaving something desperate and ugly beneath it.
“You don't understand,” she gasped.
Richard slowly withdrew his hand from the telephone.
“Then explain it to me.””
She looked at the glass.
Her mouth opened.
No words came.
Richard's voice turned cold.
“Victoria, what exactly is in that juice?””
She pressed both hands against the edge of the table.
And whispered a name that made Thomas's blood run cold.
“Daniel.””
Richard stared at her.
His face changed so suddenly that Thomas almost stepped forward to catch him.
“Daniel?”” Richard repeated.
Victoria began to cry.
But Richard did not move toward her.
Instead, he looked at the glass of juice as though it had suddenly become a window into a nightmare he had spent years refusing to see.
“Tell me,” he said.
“What does my brother have to do with this?””
May you like
Victoria covered her mouth.
And from somewhere upstairs came the sound of a door slamming.
