Chapter 18 #2
A crack like jagged lightning snaked down the left side. Despite the damage, the panel remained within the frame of the box, trapped, like the two birds inside.
Tabitha’s stomach knotted. The scene was grotesque, and yet the whistle drew her eye.
‘I’m glad he didn’t throw it out; otherwise Edith’s treasure hunt would be over.’
‘Do you honestly think this hideous thing will help us?’
‘The other clues have all led somewhere. We have to look.’
Gulliver stared down at the tortured birds.
‘Where though?’ He gave half a smile, his eyes amused, even though his tone was mock-stern. ‘I refuse to dismember the magpies to check whether the clue is inside.’
‘Gross,’ said Tabitha with a shudder, the thought of touching the dusty, dead birds made her fingers tingle with revulsion, but there was a small spark of relief in sharing the dark humour with Gulliver. ‘We’ll have to take the case apart to check whether the clue’s inside.’
‘Really?’ said Gulliver, a naughty grin illuminating his face. ‘Smashing the case might mean it has to be thrown away. At last.’ He raised his arms in mock triumph, his T-shirt riding up to reveal tanned skin. Heat flickered through Tabitha before she forced a laugh.
‘Not until we’ve checked for more clues.’
There was a noise behind them and they both turned to see Molly and Tamar gingerly picking their way through the thin space Gulliver had cleared.
‘It’s hideous,’ exclaimed Tamar and Molly grimaced in agreement.
‘There are some old newspapers near the door,’ said Gulliver. ‘I’ll fetch them. We can put them underneath and smash the broken panel into them.’
He edged back around the case and past Tabitha, his leg brushing hers as he passed and he paused, their eyes meeting for an infinitesimal moment. She saw a flicker of passion and, again, felt her own attraction to him rise unbidden like a snake, then he looked away and the connection broke.
Gulliver returned within minutes and the four worked together, spreading newspaper and old blankets around the case.
Gulliver pulled on a pair of protective leather gloves and, using a small hammer he had found on one of the shelves, tapped the panel with the long crack.
The glass shattered and, with great care, he cleared the broken shards.
‘Let’s take a closer look,’ said Gulliver, kneeling down. Tabitha crouched beside him.
‘Can you reach the whistle?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ said Gulliver, reaching inside and unhooking it from around the neck of the bird.
He sat back on his haunches and rolled the golden whistle over in his palm. Tabitha gasped in surprise. It was exquisite, engraved with vines and tiny birds, intertwined were words.
‘It says, “Two for joy”,’ said Gulliver.
‘It’s a hawking whistle,’ said Tabitha.
‘How can you possibly know?’ asked her sister.
‘On my fifteenth birthday, Mum took us on the Bird of Prey experience. Do you remember?’
‘It poured with rain.’
‘But, before we had to abandon it, the woman who was calling the birds home blew a whistle similar to this one.’
‘I don’t think anyone should blow that until it’s been disinfected,’ said Molly.
Gulliver raised his eyebrows in amusement. Before he could speak, Tabitha leaned forward and examined the rest of the display. The back of the box was lined with board with a rudimentary painting of a red river glued straight to it.
‘There’s no way anything can be hidden in the box,’ said Gulliver, leaning closer to Tabitha, their arms touching. She knew she should pull away but found she could not move, did not want to break the body contact.
‘What about the book?’ asked Tabitha.
She felt Gulliver’s muscles clench as he braced himself to touch the cowering magpie who perched on the cover. His gloved hands closing around it with surprising gentleness, he placed it to one side before picking up the book.
‘It’s real,’ he said, his eyebrows raised in surprise. ‘A History of British Birds, Part One, by William Yarrell.’
‘Open it,’ said Molly in excitement.
He flicked through the book before shaking it to see if a piece of paper with the next clue fell out. ‘Nothing.’
Tabitha felt a stab of disappointment, then she had an idea, ‘Is there a picture of a magpie or an entry about them?’
‘Brilliant,’ said Tamar.
Gulliver turned to the index and flicked to the relevant entry. His eyes widened in astonishment.
‘There’s another clue,’ he exclaimed.
‘No,’ gasped Tabitha.
‘It’s hard to read in this light, let’s take it outside,’ he said.
‘Let me have the whistle, Gull,’ said his mother. ‘I’ll take it home and disinfect it.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he lifted the golden whistle to his full lips.
‘Wait!’ Tabitha’s pulse jumped, an unexpected wave of fear overwhelmed her as the words of the poem swirled around her mind: Who comes at call is most to fear –The danger lies when they draw near. ‘The clue warned, it summons danger.’
‘Superstitious, Tabs?’ Gulliver teased, a hint of fear hidden in his taunt, but before she could stop him, he blew.
Two short sharp blasts split the air.
The sound pierced her, cold and unnatural.
Fear gripped her chest. She lunged forward, hand outstretched, and as she did, her foot slipped.
Gulliver caught her, arms tightening around her waist, pulling her against him.
For a heartbeat, she could not breathe, could not look away from the expression in his eyes.
The flair of attraction, of more, of love?
Heat rolled through her, dizzying, darkness fluttered at the edge of her sight.
‘Stay with me, Tabs,’ she heard him say as her vision faded, then cleared, but he had scooped her into his arms, hurrying her to the cooler air outside.
Then a voice cut the air, cold, angry.
‘Well, doesn’t this look cosy.’
Lucia stood in the doorway, her eyes narrowed in fury.