Chapter 17 #2
‘A fortune,’ said Tamar, nibbling on a breadstick from a packet Tabitha had placed on the table. ‘Do you think Edith will want to continue with the search?’
‘Once she’s sure Gull is recovering, I suspect she will.’
‘What’s the next clue?’ asked Tamar. ‘Perhaps we can solve it for her.’
‘We could try,’ said Tabitha, stirring the pasta sauce before dropping the spaghetti in the boiling water.
Tabitha pulled her phone from her back pocket and scrolled through the images she had taken of the stained-glass window bearing the words of the next clue.
‘It’s a bit strange,’ she warned, but on Tamar’s insistent nod, she read aloud:
‘“To call what waits, both lost and found,
Let golden note through air resound.
Blow the whistle – two for joy,
And magpies stir with dark employ.
Blood shall stain the river’s thread,
As wings veil truths the past has bled.
Who comes at call is most to fear –
The danger lies when they draw near”.’
‘It’s strange and creepy,’ said Tamar. ‘Read it again.’
As they drained the pasta, added the sauce and served their dinner, the sisters analysed and discussed the meaning of the clue.
‘The first few lines must relate to the whistle from line three,’ said Tamar. ‘“Blow the whistle”…’
‘“Two for joy” is obviously a reference to the poem, “One for sorrow, Two for joy”,’ replied Tabitha.
‘How old is the poem though? Depending on when this was written, it might not be relevant.’
Tabitha looked it up on her phone.
‘It says the rhyme was first published by Samuel Johnson, but it doesn’t give a date,’ said Tabitha. ‘It does state the origins are far earlier and from British folklore.’
‘In the Piero della Francesca painting The Nativity, there’s one magpie watching over the scene. It’s thought to represent the sorrows to come for the Virgin Mary,’ said Tamar. ‘I wonder if the origins of the rhyme are from there?’
‘How on earth do you know that?’ asked Tabitha with a surprised laugh.
‘Piero della Francesca was also a mathematician and my darling hubby has – as you’re aware – always been a maths geek. He’s a huge admirer of della Francesca’s work,’ said Tamar. ‘We saw the painting at the National Gallery in London when there was an exhibition of his work a few years ago.’
‘Well, aren’t you two sophisticated,’ said Tabitha, exaggerating the last word to a drawl.
‘You betcha,’ said Tamar.
Tabitha scrolled through her phone again.
‘His dates are 1415 to 12 October 1492,’ she said. ‘If he used the symbolism, the folklore around single magpies being bad luck must go back a lot further than Samuel Johnson, who was alive between,’ she checked her phone, ‘1709 and 1784.’
‘Are there any paintings with magpies in the house?’ asked Tamar, topping up their glasses.
‘Nothing obvious springs to mind, but I don’t know the house as well as Edith,’ said Tabitha. ‘What do you think the rest of it means?’
‘“Blood shall stain the river’s thread. As wings veil truths the past has bled. Who comes at call is most to fear – The danger lies when they draw near”,’ read Tamar aloud and then she shuddered. ‘It sounds like a curse.’
Tabitha remembered Molly’s comments about the Boleyn curse and a shiver ran down her spine.
‘Could the “river’s thread” part be a reference to the River Ceren?’ asked Tamar, following her own train of thought. ‘Was iron ore ever mined on the estate? Iron ore can make rivers appear to run red, which might look like blood.’
‘Does it?’ said Tabitha, trying to ignore the whisper of foreboding as Tamar nodded in response to her question.
‘No one has ever mentioned that there was mining on the estate, but we could check with Edith. Although, if the water of the Ceren ever ran red, I’m sure she would have mentioned it; she loves telling gruesome legends about the house and grounds.
’ She paused to eat a forkful of spaghetti, then continued, ‘Do you think the last two lines could be a link to the blowing of the whistle? The sound of the whistle summoning a deadly foe.’
‘Yes, but what about the other lines, they’re the most gruesome – “Blood shall stain the river’s thread”. If there’s possibility of a natural phenomenon causing the water to turn red, do you think it means if you blow the whistle, blood will be spilled, enough to make a river?’
‘I hope not,’ said Tabitha. ‘Perhaps “river” is a geographical clue?’
‘Which brings us back to the Ceren,’ said Tamar. ‘This is ludicrous, it could be anything.’
‘The other two clues referenced items in the house,’ said Tabitha. ‘One was a painting, the other was the finial carved like a hawk next to a stained-glass window.’
She hurried from the room, returning with her laptop.
‘Let me search the spreadsheets to see if the word “magpie” or “blood” or “whistle” or “two for joy” pop up,’ said Tabitha.
‘Even before I came, there was a rough inventory which Molly had begun to compile. Her attempts and the realisation of the enormity of the task made Edith understand it would be a full-time job to properly catalogue the house and its contents, which was why they advertised.’
‘You check, I’ll clear up,’ said Tamar and raised her hand to silence Tabitha before she could protest. ‘I’m invested in this now, I want to solve the clue.’
Tabitha grinned at her sister before turning her attention to the database.
Opening Molly’s first chart of artefacts, which she had spaced out by hand on a simple document, Tabitha tried the word ‘magpie’ with no luck, the same for ‘whistle’.
The second also proved disappointing, but there were two more in the files Molly had created, one entitled:
To Be Repaired
the other:
To Be Thrown Away?
Good luck with that, thought Tabitha as she opened the first one, Edith hates parting with anything.
A moment later, she let out a cry of excitement.
‘This must be it,’ she said as Tamar hurried to her side. ‘“A taxidermy model of two magpies, one wears a golden hawking whistle around its neck, there is a river on the painted image behind them which appears to be red and they are sitting on a book”.’
‘Amazing,’ exclaimed Tamar. ‘Where is it? Can we go and look at it?’
Tabitha scrolled through the annotation and wrinkled her nose in frustration.
‘It’s in the barn.’
‘Let’s go,’ said Tamar, but Tabitha shook her head, shutting her laptop.
‘We’ll have to wait until tomorrow.’
‘Why?’
‘The barn is full of all the things Edith refuses to throw away, it’s packed,’ said Tabitha. ‘We’ll ask Molly if she knows whereabouts this display is or we could be searching for days.’
Tamar’s disappointment dissipated almost immediately.
‘Perfect, we can spend the rest of the evening catching up, then have a treasure hunt in the morning,’ she said. ‘More wine or tea?’
Tabitha looked at her irrepressible sister, Tamar’s curly blonde hair bouncing in her enthusiasm and her clear green eyes sparkling.
‘Wine,’ said Tabitha. ‘I’ll message Molly and ask her to meet us tomorrow.’
She put her laptop back in its case and, wandering into the living room, lit the new scented candle she had bought in Tamar’s honour before reaching for her phone.
As she typed out the message to Molly, the flame flickered and bent sideways: the Mott-Drayson feather flame.
Outside, she heard a strange high-pitched bird cry, a curlew, she thought, recognising the sound from growing up in Pembrokeshire where the birds gathered on mudflats, and an uncanny feeling of cold enveloped her.
A moment later, the flame straightened and Tamar entered with two large glasses of wine. Tabitha took hers gratefully and decided not to mention the flame.