Libby nodded. ‘I knew my cousin was dead, and I had no idea who I could trust. I didn’t know if the murderer would be found at all, and if the truth came out – if people knew it was me, not Clemmie, who was descended from Lettice, then I’d be at risk too, wouldn’t I. So I lied. I’m sorry for that.’

‘You shouldn’t be,’ Caro said. ‘If things had been different, that lie could have saved your life.’ She’d seen the madness in Juliette’s eyes that night. If she’d known there was another threat to her future, Caro had no doubt that Juliette would have dealt with it the same way she had the others.

Rosalind topped up Libby’s empty glass, the sound of the whisky glugging out of the bottle too loud in the quiet room. Caro didn’t think any of them had anything to say to fill the silence.

Apart from Hugh, it seemed.

Pushing himself from the wall, he staggered towards Libby, kneeling in front of her. ‘But now the truth is out and you’re here. You’re home, with your true family. You’re my heir, my only blood relative. My niece, as well as Letty’s granddaughter. You’re the continuation of the Davenport line, when I thought all hope of that was gone.’

He reached forward to touch her hand, reverence glowing from his face, but she snatched it out of his reach.

‘No,’ she said, quietly but firmly. ‘I told you, I was ready to walk away from it all. I am Libby McKinley, not Davenport. Leave me Lettice’s books in your will if you want, I’ll be proud of her legacy. But you, this family, cost me my cousin. I want nothing to do with you ever again.’

She downed her second glass of whisky, slammed it onto the table beside her, and got to her feet. ‘Thank you, ladies, for helping to find justice for my cousin.’ She looked at Caro, and winced. ‘And I’m sorry again, about …’ She waved a hand near her head to indicate Caro’s painful wound.

Caro shrugged. ‘No harm done. Well, not permanently, anyway.’

‘Good luck,’ Posy said. ‘With everything.’

‘You too,’ Libby replied. ‘And I’ll see you on set for the film, I’m sure.’ She shot a look at Hugh. ‘I won’t let this family take away from my real legacy. The pleasure that Lettice Davenport brought to millions of people through Dahlia’s stories.’

‘I’m glad,’ Rosalind said.

As Libby left the room, the three Dahlias turned to Hugh, who still sat on the floor, looking more broken than Caro had ever seen a man.

Rosalind heaved a sigh, then crossed towards him, helping him into the chair. She spoke softly to him, but Caro couldn’t make out the words. She wasn’t sure she wanted to.