‘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.
18
CERENSTHORPE ABBEY – PRESENT DAY
The day was sultry, heavy with the smell of mulched leaves, fallen from the avenue of ancient trees leading to the barn. A Saharan dust storm had swept across the country in the early hours, leaving a film of orange grit and dust patterns. The accompanying wind had dropped and an unseasonably warm sun beat down from a hazy sky. The light prismed through the remaining sand as it shifted, dispersing through the air, creating a peculiar golden glow, as though the day itself were holding its breath.
Tabitha and Tamar, dressed in jeans and short-sleeved tops, walked along the path towards the barn, discussing the treasure hunt. When they had been deciphering the clue, their hopes had been high, but as they approached the vast building, Tabitha felt her positivity leaching away. There were hundreds of items inside, all chaotically deposited over the years; she realised it could take weeks to search through them.
The doors were flung wide to admit light and air into the dingy building and muffled voices floated out to greet them: the deep baritone of Gulliver and the higher pitch of his mother, Molly. The text Tabitha had sent the previous evening hadnot been answered until this morning. Molly had phoned and declared she knew exactly which item she meant.
‘It’s awkward to reach,’ she had explained. ‘Edith has moved a great deal into the barn, but I’m sure the magpies are in the far corner. One of the glass panels is cracked, so we stored it safely out of the way. I’ll ask Gull to help; it’ll do him good to start taking an interest in the abbey again.’
‘I hadn’t realised you faced such a challenge cataloguing the house,’ Tamar said, as they paused outside the barn.
‘This has been the problem all along,’ said Tabitha. ‘There’s never been a plan. The house has been in Edith’s family for centuries and each generation has simply moved things around. She decided on a complete inventory when she realised Gulliver was about to inherit chaos. She hoped the Chaucer might turn up.’
‘Do you think it exists?’ asked Tamar.
‘It’s possible,’ admitted Tabitha, ‘but whether it does or doesn’t, it’s important to Edith. For her, it’s a link to her father and grandfather, whom she adored. If I’m only here for a year, I’d like to do something positive to help her.’
‘And you’re definitely planning to leave after a year?’ asked Tamar.
‘Unless they extend my contract,’ said Tabitha.
The thought of leaving the abbey always made Tabitha go cold. She had found sanctuary here, a place to hide while she grieved, and she was loath to give it up too soon. The longer she lived in Tadpole Cottage and worked with Edith, wandering the corridors of Cerensthorpe Abbey, the more she felt at home. If she were to depart after twelve months, she knew leaving the old house with its beautiful grounds would be even more of a wrench than leaving the apartment she and Blake had shared.
A loud crash from within the barn broke her reverie.
Molly emerged, laughing, dust in her hair. ‘Tabs, Tamar! Perfect timing,’ she exclaimed.
All Tabitha’s sisters had helped her move in, meeting Edith, Gulliver and Molly in the process. Tamar had also stayed a few months earlier and, like everyone at Cerensthorpe Abbey, she was greeted like a long-lost family member.
Molly hugged the two sisters and Tabitha breathed in her Chanel No. 5 perfume. The powdery scent clung to Tabitha’s skin. Molly was in her early sixties but looked younger, with light brown hair and blue eyes, a clear, smooth complexion and gently rounded figure. Today, she was dressed in cut-off denim shorts and a shocking pink T-shirt with the wordBelievein sparkly gold letters.
‘Can you credit this heat?’ she said. ‘It’s unnatural this late in the year.’
‘It was so unexpected, I had to borrow clothes from Tabs,’ said Tamar.
‘Don’t worry, it’ll probably rain by this afternoon,’ Molly replied with a grin. ‘Come and see what we’ve done. We’re clearing a path to the back corner, where the magpies have been stored these last twenty years. Slow going, though. Your help will make all the difference.’
‘Is Edith here?’ asked Tabitha, as they walked into the barn. She was concerned the older woman might overexert herself.
