Chapter 10
CERENSTHORPE ABBEY – PRESENT DAY
‘This is astonishing,’ said Molly as she examined the printout half an hour later.
Edith gave a Cheshire Cat smile.
‘I never doubted it,’ she declared. ‘The moment I met Tabitha, my sixth sense told me she was destined to be at Cerensthorpe Abbey; this was obviously the reason why. She’s the chosen one who will the find the Chaucer.’
‘It’s a lovely idea, Edith, but we do need to be a little bit realistic,’ Tabitha said, as she looked up from her notebook. ‘Finding a second potential clue doesn’t mean a hidden literary treasure is a foregone conclusion.’
‘True,’ agreed Edith, ‘but it’s very exciting.’
Tabitha returned to her notes, hoping her matter-of-fact tone would quell Edith’s exuberance. Upon returning to her office, Tabitha had phoned her to update her on the discovery.
‘Molly and I are in the orangery examining one of the lemon trees for rot,’ Edith had said. ‘We shall be with you in a matter of moments.’
Tabitha had hung up, wondering whether this was true or a suitable cover story for the two women to be seen whispering together, no doubt discussing Gulliver’s unexpected arrival instead.
As they had entered her office, Tabitha had heard Molly say to Edith, ‘He brought Moonshadow back to the stables two hours ago, but no one’s seen him since. ’
She felt their unease leeching into the atmosphere like poison; then Edith had squeezed Molly’s hand and said in a low voice, ‘He needs space. He will be home soon.’ She had turned to Tabitha and beamed, drawing her into a hug. ‘You, my clever girl,’ she had said, ‘must tell us everything.’
Tabitha had talked Edith through her discovery and, ever since, the focus had become the unexpected new clue.
Now, Molly placed the printout beside Tabitha and drew up a chair.
‘The references are Celtic, aren’t they?’ she said.
‘Yes,’ Tabitha replied, pulling a large reference book of Celtic mythology towards her.
‘Morrigan, or The Mórrigan, is a goddess from Irish folklore. She’s primarily associated with war and fate, particularly with prophecy and the predicting of the outcome of battles.
She was often known as “the great queen of battle”. ’
‘But why does the clue reference a bird with a warrior soul?’ asked Edith.
‘According to this,’ Tabitha pointed to the enormous book, ‘there are numerous legends suggesting that when entering battle, Morrigan transformed into a sparrowhawk.’
Tabitha could not help but smile at the astonished expressions on both women’s faces.
‘And the next section: “Let Lugh’s light lead the way, As you stand on the tide, Of a changing world”?’ Molly asked.
Tabitha checked the index and found several entries for Lugh.
‘Lugh is known as the god of light, wisdom and healing,’ said Tabitha, her eyes sweeping further down the page.
‘There’s a legend where he gave humans the gift of speech, but he’s most well known for being one of the highest gods in Irish mythology.
When he was a baby, his grandfather, Balor, threw him into the sea to rid himself of a child he saw as a potential rival.
The sea god Manannán mac Lir cared for Lugh until he was old enough to return to the land and live with his uncle, the smith god, Goibhniu. ’
‘His connections to the sea would explain the line about the tide, but why is it a changing world?’ asked Molly.
‘Lugh’s world changed when he returned to the land,’ suggested Edith.
‘It might be,’ said Tabitha, reading the short poem again, ‘but what’s the link between the two gods?’
She typed both names into a search engine and looked at the screen in surprise.
‘Apparently, they do interconnect,’ she said. ‘Legend says they were both necessary for victory in the Tuatha Dé Danann’s battles. Morrigan’s strategic insight and Lugh’s martial prowess were crucial for success.’
‘Who or what were Tuatha Dé Danann?’ asked Edith.
‘They were a mythical race in Irish folklore who had several battles with the Fir Bolg, who were the fourth group of people to settle in Ireland. The Tuatha Dé Danann were the winners with their superior magical skills,’ said Tabitha, reading from the screen.
‘The Internet does have its uses,’ said Edith, her eyes shining in excitement.
‘It’s fascinating,’ agreed Molly, ‘but what does it mean? Where’s it supposed to lead?’
Tabitha shook her head. ‘I’ve no idea,’ she said. ‘While I’ve been checking the references, I’ve been racking my brains for a reference to a sparrowhawk in the objects I’ve already catalogued but have drawn a blank.’
There was no mention of a painting of a sparrowhawk, neither were there any ornaments, nor, she internalised a shudder, any sparrowhawks in the taxidermy exhibits which lurked in various parts of the abbey.
But, she reasoned, her work at Cerensthorpe Abbey, while extensive, had barely touched the surface of the vast collection within its walls.
‘Luckily, as soon as you mentioned a sparrowhawk, I knew exactly where it was pointing,’ said Edith with a smug smile.
‘Why didn’t you say?’ admonished Molly with a laugh.
‘This was such fun and I wanted to discover the reason why,’ said Edith, levering herself out of the chair. ‘There’s been a sparrowhawk in this house as long as this family has been named after birds. Come with me.’
‘What does she mean, named after birds? Do you mean apart from the Swanne surname?’ asked Tabitha as she and Molly followed Edith into the corridor and back towards the entrance hall.
‘Edith’s surname is Swanne, but, rather bizarrely, before that, the family name was Raven.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, you must ask Edith to show you the family tree; there’s a copy in the scriptorium,’ said Molly.
‘Gulliver and Edith have probably told you the house was left to Mary Boleyn, after her mother, Elizabeth, died, it then passed to her daughter, Kathryn Carey who married Sir Francis Knollys and, eventually it passed to one of Francis and Kathryn’s youngest daughters, Maud Knollys.
There are very few records about Maud and many biographies of Mary Boleyn and Kathryn Knollys claim she died as a baby, but we have records of her marrying a Sir Peter Raven in 1565. ’
‘Are the records in the archive in the scriptorium?’ asked Tabitha.
‘No, they’re too delicate to be kept here and are in a vault in the bank.
We have transcripts and facsimiles for reference, though.
After that, the house passed through the sons, all bearing the Raven name until the eighteenth century until there were no sons, only an heiress, Elizabeth Raven, and she married Gilbert Swanne. ’
‘Is that why there are so many bird images around the house?’ asked Tabitha.
‘Yes. For a while, the sons were named after birds, too, but even the Victorians realised that was a foolish idea and it died out.’
‘What about Gull?’ Tabitha could not help but ask. ‘You gave your son a bird name.’
‘Unintentionally,’ said Molly. ‘Gulliver’s father was named Lemuel after the character in the Jonathan Swift book Gulliver’s Travels, which had been his father’s favourite.
Lem always hated his name, but he loved the name Gulliver.
It was only after Gull was christened he realised he’d inadvertently returned to the naming of children after birds. ’
‘I’d assumed the bird obsession was due to the family being named Swanne. I had no idea it had such a long history,’ Tabitha said, then her historical brain asserted itself and she continued. ‘If Edith’s family is descended from Maud Knollys, then she’s a distant ancestor of Anne Boleyn, too.’
‘Yes, but for some reason, Edith is wary of discussing the Boleyns in too much detail,’ said Molly. ‘She once told me the Boleyns were cursed.’
‘Cursed?’
‘It’s a superstitious thing and Edith claims only the heir is allowed to know the full story. I believe she’s told Gull—’
‘Here we are,’ came Edith’s voice, cutting across the conversation.
The two women had dawdled behind and now hurried up a short flight of stairs off the main staircase. It led to a narrow corridor housing the old school rooms. They were currently being used for storage; the task of cataloguing it all would eventually fall to Tabitha.
‘A sparrowhawk,’ said Edith, her arms spread wide in the manner of a magician’s assistant.
In the gloom of the dimly lit corridor, it took a moment for Tabitha to understand; then she realised the finial on the newel post at the top of the stairs was carved into the shape of a bird of prey.
‘Look at the inscription,’ said Edith in excitement.
Tabitha lit the torch on her phone and examined the ancient wood, carved down one side was the name:
Morrigan
‘It’s a sparrowhawk,’ continued Edith.
‘And the part about Lugh?’ asked Molly.
Edith reached over and flicked a switch, the carving lit up and from the shadow it cast, it looked as though waves were rippling across the walls.
‘These rooms were where we studied,’ said Edith, pointing along the cramped corridor. ‘My father once said to me and, my younger sister, Phyllis, “When you leave here, your childhood is behind you and you stand on the cusp of the changing tide.”’
‘It certainly fits,’ said Molly, ‘but, if this is supposed to be a treasure hunt, where’s the next clue?’
Edith’s smile faded and as the three women gazed around, Tabitha heard a noise, the squeak of a board, as though someone stood out of sight around the bend of the corridor and a waft of the cloying perfume her mother had once used, Poison, with its overwhelming scent of tuberose lingered.
‘I was so excited about solving this clue, I’d forgotten it was supposed to lead to another,’ lamented Edith.
‘Unless, there never was a trail,’ said Molly.
Tabitha did not feel it was her place to join in with the conversation and instead took a few steps away, peering around the bend, but there no one there.
It’s an old house, she thought. The noises and groans are from the walls, perhaps I imagined the scent.
Instead, she returned her mind to the issue at hand. She was unsure the reference to Lugh was as simple as the carved finial doubling up as a light. It felt too vague. Instead, she shone her torch around the passageway to see if there were any dark corners where another clue might be inscribed.
Outside, there was a crackling sound and lightning ripped across the sky, infusing the corridor with a blinding blueish light. Tabitha stared in surprise as words appeared on the panelled wall above her head, vanishing seconds later.
Spinning around, she looked up and high above her was a stained-glass window.
A tall, willowy man stood in the centre and the name Lugh was inscribed in italic letters at his feet, but above his head were four lines of poetry in tiny writing.
As she had done with the painting, Tabitha snapped a series of pictures on her phone, adjusting the light and zoom until she was certain she had a clear image, then she turned to Edith.
‘I think I’ve found the next clue…’
But before Edith or Molly could respond, the huge front door below them crashed open and they heard a man’s voice shouting their names. He sounded frantic, terrified.
‘Edith, Molly, are you there?’
‘We’re here, Seb,’ called Molly, running down the stairs towards the gardener.
‘You have to come,’ shouted Seb. ‘It’s Gull, he’s on the roof, I think he’s going to jump.’