‘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 bookGulliver’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
