Chapter 32 #2
‘I’m sorry,’ he said and he looked so forlorn, Tabitha resisted the urge to hug him.
‘Come in,’ she said, stepping aside to let him pass. ‘I was making tea, but it’s past four o’clock and it’s a Saturday, so wine is acceptable. I’ll fetch the glasses and corkscrew.’
Gulliver was about to speak, but she turned away.
Only in the living room, with a table firmly between them, would she allow herself to listen.
She needed a barrier. He was a tactile man and her defences were low; one glass of wine might be all it took for her to yield to the fierce pull she fought to suppress whenever he was near.
She placed the glasses and corkscrew on the coffee table and sat on one of the armchairs, leaving Gulliver on the sofa.
With a grin, he twisted off the screw top. ‘I’m not classy enough for a cork,’ he said as he poured the wine, pushing the glass towards her.
She raised it to him, then sipped. It was heady, delicious, thick with spices and rich fruit: it was an expensive bottle, despite its screw top.
‘Please forgive me,’ he said. ‘I should never have kissed you, but you looked so wretched, I wanted to take away your pain.’
Tabitha felt herself melt a little, then she shook her head, reminding herself Gulliver remained married, even though his behaviour suggested otherwise and he was planning a divorce.
‘No more apologies,’ she said. ‘There’s never a good way to explain how Blake died. It’s why I leave people to draw their own conclusions, but I wanted you to know. Even if I was rather emotional…’ Her voice faded away.
‘Don’t apologise, please,’ he exclaimed. ‘You had every right to shout at me, I behaved appallingly.’
‘You didn’t know,’ she said, ‘and how could you possibly have guessed? And you didn’t behave appallingly, I…’ she hesitated. ‘I enjoyed our kiss.’
Gulliver had been savouring a mouthful of wine, but at her words, he choked, spluttering.
‘So did I,’ he said.
For a moment, they gazed at each other, then Tabitha broke their eye contact.
‘Shall we move on?’ she suggested, her voice gentle.
‘It’s probably for the best,’ he said. ‘For now.’
And Tabitha felt a burning, anticipatory glow, which she hastily quashed.
‘How’s Edith?’ she asked, sipping her wine.
‘Better, but the doctor wants to do more tests,’ he replied. ‘Her symptoms are unusual and he’s concerned there might be an underlying problem we haven’t yet discovered.’
Her conversation with Tamar whispered around her head and she wondered whether to share her sister’s suspicions, but Gulliver was speaking again.
‘Auntie’s agreed to the tests, but she said at her age, if they do discover another illness, she wouldn’t want extensive or intrusive treatment. Auntie Edie also said there were to be no tears, she’s in her nineties and has lived an extraordinary life.’
They stared at each other, neither wishing to consider the loss of the magnificent woman who was the beating heart of Cerensthorpe Abbey.
Tabitha stared at Gulliver and decided, for now, to put Tamar’s suggestion of poisoning aside.
If the opportunity arose to speak to the doctor, she would take it, but there was no proof and she did not want to cause more damage by making such an accusation.
‘In that case,’ said Tabitha, ‘we should try to solve the clue from the clock. The outcome might be the boost Edith needs to make a speedy recovery from whatever ails her.’
‘Do you have any thoughts?’ asked Gulliver.
‘I wonder if it’s linked to Wilbur’s first diary entry, when he wrote about The Boke of St Albans – The Social Rank unable to tell Gulliver that if her theory was correct, he and his wife might be distant cousins.
‘What’s the clue?’ asked Gulliver and Tabitha pulled her phone from her pocket, searching for the words.
‘“Aerie, mantling, cadger and mews.
The bound home of the words for clues
Behind we wait, in the unknown space
Full of power and guile and grace”.’
Tabitha added, ‘these are all hawking terms. I wondered if the second line “The bound home of the words” could mean a book, the Boke of St Albans? It’s a long shot, but do you have a copy in the library?’
‘Not as far as I know, but there are a select few items in the scriptorium,’ said Gulliver. ‘After it was renovated, Edith put the older tomes in there. Do you think it could be another reference to the Yarrell?’
‘No,’ she said, ‘the Yarrell was linked to the magpies and the whistle. This says it is near an “unknown space”.’
‘The fabled hidden room?’ suggested Gulliver.
‘Exactly.’
‘We could check in the library,’ he said. ‘Edith’s idea of arranging the books logically is to sort them by who bought them. There are several shelves she always claimed were owned by Wilbur. We could see if any of his books fit with the final line: “Full of power and guile and grace”.’
He stood up and picked up the bottle and his glass.
‘Do you mean now?’ asked Tabitha.
‘Why not? We can drink in the library as easily as here,’ he said as her eyes widened in surprise.
‘But the books?’
‘It’ll be fine,’ he whispered, in a mock-conspiratorial tone, ‘I know the owner.’
Tabitha giggled.
‘Unless, of course, you’re planning to throw your wine up the walls,’ he continued, leading the way. ‘Then you’ll be restricted to a travel mug with a lid.’
‘Over there in the corner,’ said Gulliver, placing the wine and his glass on a large table in the centre of the room, ‘those are Wilbur’s shelves.’
Tabitha positioned her glass beside his, then followed him to the bookcases. The library was an odd shape, with angles in unexpected places, hidden alcoves and strange, secluded enclaves. Gulliver was already approaching one of the quirkier-shaped sections.
‘Are you sure?’ asked Tabitha. ‘It’s a very small collection. In his diary, he struck me as an intellectual.’
‘No, although his bluff worked,’ said Gulliver with a laugh.
‘Apparently, he liked to pretend he was a mild-mannered, bookish chap, but actually he was a proper hunting, shooting, fishing man. He also adored the bright lights of London. I think the most intellectual thing he ever did was keep that diary. His putting pen to paper was so out of character, it’s why Auntie Edie has always been convinced he did it for a reason – to lead us to the secret room. ’
‘He does mention it,’ said Tabitha. ‘He states the expert from the British Museum insisted he should have a secure place to put the manuscript, so he built a space to house it safely.’
With great care, they examined the three bookcases.
There were a number of classics: the complete works of Charles Dickens, William Thackeray, George Eliot, and to her surprise, Jane Austen and the Bronte sisters.
However, none of these books looked as though they had ever been read.
Next were sporting books, which were far more well-thumbed, but nothing pertaining to the clue.
She began searching the lower shelves, while Gulliver checked the third bookcase. There was an eclectic mix of cheap paperbacks, almanacs, crumbling hardback versions of long-out-of-print memoirs. She had reached the end of the shelf, when Gulliver called her.
‘Tabs, look!’
‘What have you found?’ she said with a thrill of anticipation.
‘These are all bird books,’ said Gulliver, ‘and the middle one is The Boke of St Albans.’
The books sat in perfect alignment: a configuration of three placed in a small indentation at the top of the bookcase.
‘Why have I never noticed them before?’ said Gulliver as they gazed at the trio. ‘Do you think the one in the middle looks odd?’
‘A bit,’ she agreed, ‘it doesn’t look real. Why don’t you pull it and see if it opens a secret door.’
‘Fingers crossed,’ he said, but to their disappointment, as he tried the first book, Bird of Prey Husbandry, then The Boke of St Albans, neither moved.
‘Have you seen the title of the third book?’ said Tabitha, with sudden understanding.
‘“The Power and Grace of the Bird in Flight’’,’ read Gulliver. ‘It’s the last line of the clue.’
Gulliver reached up and tried to pull the third book off the shelf. To their amazement, it tilted towards him and, as it did, the entire bookcase, shifted forward several inches. They both gasped.
With great care, Gulliver eased the bookcase towards him.
A cloud of dust erupted and they both coughed and sputtered.
When it cleared, Gulliver lit his torch and they peered into the gap.
Both of them stared in bewilderment: it was as Edith had suspected and Wilbur had known: a small square space, the secret room.
‘This is crazy,’ said Gulliver, looking inside. ‘You wait here, run for help if I disappear into a chasm.’
Tabitha gave a nervous laugh as he edged his way inside. She shone her phone torch to give Gulliver as much light as possible and then she heard him swear.
‘What is it?’ she called.
‘Wilbur was telling the truth,’ came Gulliver’s muffled voice. ‘There’s a glass box and inside is a cardboard box, written on the top it says: “Chaucer’s manuscript”.’