Chapter 4
CERENSTHORPE ABBEY, HAMPSHIRE – PRESENT DAY
‘Gulliver, what’s happened?’
Tabitha ran towards him, her heart pounding.
‘She’s gone,’ he wailed. ‘She’s gone. I tried so hard, but she’s gone.’
‘What do you mean, “She’s gone”?’
She crouched in front of him. His skin was ashen, cheeks hollow, eyes red raw above his dark stubble. He looked ill, broken.
‘Left me…’ he whispered, then howled; a sound of pure collapse.
Tabitha had never seen anyone unravel so completely.
Her mind raced as she tried to decide what to do for the best. Edith would be distressed to see Gulliver in this state, although, his mother, Molly, would be practical.
Yet, he was so far from his usual laughing, teasing self, Tabitha wondered whether Molly would baulk with shock and be more of a hindrance.
The blood on his hands was turning darker as it dried, a shadow of threat on his long-fingered artistic hands.
If in doubt, she thought, follow family rules.
She pulled her phone from her handbag and called her sister Tamar.
Tabitha was the fourth of five sisters, after Suzannah, Tamar and Bathsheba, with Eve the youngest. Each of the sisters had – as they described it to each other with a great deal of laughter – ‘different skills’, which was the reason as teenagers they had created the rule to always consult each other first if they were in a situation where they felt out of their depth.
Suzannah and her husband Resman were both solicitors, Tamar was a doctor, Bathsheba was a scientist and Eve was a chef.
Until six months earlier, Tamar had been a GP, but she had decided she wanted a change.
After several years of watching the youngest Mundy sister struggle with infertility issues, this had inspired Tamar to move into research to help other women in similar situations to Eve.
However, today, Tamar’s years as a GP were Tabitha’s lifeline.
‘Hey, Tabs,’ said Tamar, answering on the second ring. ‘What’s up?’
‘A bit of a family rules situation,’ replied Tabitha, moving away from Gulliver.
‘You OK?’
‘I’m fine. It’s Gulliver, I need some advice.’
Tabitha explained the strange situation and after a prolonged silence, Tamar said, ‘Do you think he’s dangerous?’
‘What? No, he’s distraught, not violent.’
‘Why is he distraught? And, where’s Lucia?’
‘Not here,’ said Tabitha with a tremor of unease.
‘And he’s covered in blood?’
‘He suffers from terrible nosebleeds,’ said Tabitha. ‘He hasn’t murdered anyone.’
‘If you say so,’ Tamar murmured. ‘Check his pupils; either pinpricks or huge dilation could mean drugs. Smell for alcohol, too, on his breath or skin. If you find either, call 999 – he could lash out. Is anyone there to help you?’
‘Seb and Nancy are usually nearby,’ Tabitha said.
Seb and Nancy Taylor worked in the abbey gardens four days a week. An active, practical pair in their fifties, they were steady presences – and, if needed, Seb was strong enough to restrain Gulliver.
‘Have their number handy,’ said Tamar, ‘but if Gulliver’s calm, coax him inside. Tea helps – the sipping slows the breath, steadies the body. What’s he doing now?’
Tabitha turned, Gulliver was hunched on her doorstep, rocking like a wounded child.
Her chest tightened with pity, until he pushed his tangled hair out of his strangely blank eyes and she saw again the red smears of blood across his hands.
She gave an involuntary shiver; there was a darkness to him, a sense of brooding loss.
Was he going to lose control? she wondered and was about to step away from him and fetch Seb, when she saw his tears and she knew what to do.
‘He’s crying,’ whispered Tabitha. ‘Leave it with me, Tay.’
She clicked off the call and returned to Gulliver, who was leaning back, his head resting on the front door, his cheeks wet. As she approached, he wiped his face with the heels of his hands, his face a blank mask of sorrow and loss.
‘Sorry,’ he said croakily, as she approached. ‘I didn’t want to go up to the house covered in blood and scare Auntie Edie.’
‘What happened?’
‘Nosebleed,’ he said, holding up his encrusted hands, ‘and no handkerchief.’
‘Come inside and let’s get you cleaned up,’ said Tabitha. Then, unable to contain her fears, she asked, ‘Where’s Lucia?’
‘Tuscany,’ he replied, but his voice was low, defeated, soulless.
‘But you live in Rome…’
‘Not any more,’ he said, shuffling inside.
‘Go and sit in the living room,’ said Tabitha, before heading towards the kitchen.
The interior of Tadpole Cottage was an eclectic mix of modern and traditional, the two blending seamlessly.
There were four square rooms downstairs of equal size, including the living room, where Gulliver sat on the pale green sofa, his head in his hands.
Two contrasting armchairs were grouped around a low square table and a television on a glass and chrome stand.
The walls were painted a pale yellow that shimmered in the setting sun, with matching curtains at the wide windows.
The kitchen opened through an archway and was brand-new, with sleek sage green cupboards and tiles in a variety of heritage pastel shades.
Another archway led through to the dining room, giving an open-plan feel.
‘The walls were too thick to remove,’ Molly had explained when she and Edith had first shown Tabitha around. ‘We thought archways were an elegant solution.’
‘The colours are traditional,’ Edith had said, ‘but Lucia assured us they were very fashionable.’
Tabitha, at this point unaware of Lucia’s place at Cerensthorpe Abbey, had thought she might have been the interior designer and had admired her taste.
Now, she pulled a deep ceramic basin from the cupboard and filled it with warm water, then scooped up two clean tea towels and a hand towel, carrying it all into the living room. She placed the bowl on the table beside Gulliver before speaking in a soft, calm voice.
‘I’m going to help you wash away the blood,’ she said, her voice gentle but firm.
Gulliver started, looking at her as though seeing her for the first time.
‘Tabitha,’ he exclaimed, then he looked down at his hands.
Confusion flickered in his eyes and Tabitha felt a cold chill run down her spine as he murmured, ‘Lucia,’ before shaking his head.
‘I had a nosebleed,’ he repeated and looked at the bowl and towels, his eyes welled with tears.
‘You’re very kind, but I can wash my hands in the kitchen, you don’t need to pander to me. ’
She considered him for a moment, then passed him the towels.
‘Use these,’ she said, ‘while I make a drink. Doctor’s orders. Apparently, sipping a hot drink helps to regulate your breathing and calm your mind.’
‘Dr Tamar, I presume?’ he said, but for the first time since his arrival, there was a hint of a smile in his voice, a flicker of the Gulliver she knew, before his face fell again.
‘Who else?’ she replied, forcing a smile.
Tabitha hurried away, wondering whether to call her sister back. Gulliver’s expression was one she recognised: the result of unexpected trauma and, despite her comments to Tamar, she remained concerned about Lucia’s well-being.
One step at a time, she thought, flicking on the kettle, but she could not understand why Lucia would be in Tuscany, when the couple lived and worked in the capital, nearly one hundred and eighty miles away.
In an attempt to calm her own jangling nerves, she focused on the ritual of making tea, the simple actions creating normality.
Although he usually eschewed it, she put a heaped spoonful of sugar into Gulliver’s drink before carrying the two blue striped mugs into the living room and placing them on the square table.
‘Let me take the bowl,’ she said, and Gulliver passed it to her from where he had balanced it on his lap while he washed his hands.
She threw the pink-tinged water down the sink and, after rinsing it thoroughly, placed the bowl in the dishwasher, returning to the living room and sitting in the armchair opposite Gulliver.
He clasped one of the mugs, staring at the golden-brown liquid as though it might provide solace or answers.
She picked up her mug and sipped her tea.
‘We weren’t expecting you until later tonight,’ she said.
‘I caught an earlier flight.’
‘Edith will be delighted to see you,’ replied Tabitha. ‘So will your mother.’
Tabitha halted, staring into her drink, unsure where to take the conversation next.
When she had moved to Cerensthorpe Abbey, her friendship with Gulliver had been instant, but within a month, he and his wife Lucia had moved to Rome.
The easy camaraderie between Tabitha and Gulliver had continued whenever they had spoken online concerning her work in the house, but despite his easy-going nature, she had always felt she should hold him slightly at arm’s length.
Gulliver was the heir to Cerensthorpe Abbey, and she was an employee.
One day, she might be working for him, rather than Edith, as such she was determined to keep a level of professionalism within their relationship.
Despite him turning to her for assistance, to delve further into Gulliver’s private life felt like an intrusion. With another sip, she allowed the hot liquid to soothe her and decided to leave it to him to confide in her, rather than plying him with questions, no matter how gentle or well meant.
After a stretch of silence, Gulliver spoke, his voice cold. ‘Auntie Edie will be delighted when I tell her Lucia and I have separated.’
‘You’ve separated?’ said Tabitha in surprise.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Less than two years and my marriage is over.’
‘It’s none of my—’ she began, but he interrupted.
‘You’ll find out anyway, so you might as well hear the truth from me.
Throughout our relationship and marriage, Lucia has been seeing another man.
He’s older than her and, until recently, was married.
However, he’s now a widower. He’s clicked his fingers and Lucia has run into his waiting arms and his palazzo in the Tuscan countryside. ’
‘No,’ she said, staring at Gulliver in horror.
‘Yes,’ said Gulliver. ‘Funnily enough, Auntie Edie was always wary of Lucia, she once told me she thought there was unfinished business in her past. When I told Auntie I was planning to propose, she asked, “Is her heart free to marry yours?” and I laughed, thinking Auntie Edie was being a fussy, superstitious old lady. Auntie’s very astute, especially about other people’s feelings and what they’re concealing. I should have listened to her.’
Gulliver placed his mug on the occasional table beside him and stretched out his hands; small flecks of blood clung to his fingernails, and he grimaced.
‘Do you have a nail brush I could borrow?’ he asked, and Tabitha nodded, waving him towards the stairs.
‘In the bathroom, help yourself,’ she said. ‘Are you planning to go up to the abbey this evening or to your mother?’
‘Both,’ he said, ‘and I’m sorry for landing on your doorstep in such a state.’
‘Any time,’ she replied as she gathered their mugs.
‘You were the one person I knew who wouldn’t panic at my appearance.’
He smiled, but it was a weak imitation of his usual expression.
‘I’ll tidy myself up, then go and break the news.’
Tabitha watched him disappear up the stairs, then heard the click of the lock on the bathroom. Her heart broke for Gulliver, she understood the betrayal of lies.
She walked into the kitchen and loaded the mugs into the dishwasher, wondering about Gulliver’s comment that his aunt would be ‘delighted’.
She had never picked up on any genuine animosity between the women: the occasional snipe but nothing out of the ordinary.
Perhaps Gulliver was mistaken and had misinterpreted Edith’s comments.
‘None of my business,’ she murmured to herself, reaching for her phone to message Tamar and assure her all was calm.
She pressed send as Gulliver returned. He remained ashen, but the frailty that had engulfed him as he had sat sobbing was gone.
‘Thank you, Tabs,’ he said, running his hand through his black hair and giving her a grateful smile. ‘The day you answered the advert to come and work here was a good one for us all. I feel as though there’s a grown-up in charge when you’re around.’
‘Thanks, I think,’ she replied.
‘At least I can rely on you,’ he said, and with a brief smile, he scooped up his bag from where he had dropped it in the hallway when she had steered him inside and left, slamming the door behind him.