‘I wonder if there’s a tradition for updating them after a divorce,’ he said, his voice flat.
‘Gull, I’m so sorry…’ began Tabitha, but he shook his head, halting her sympathy.
‘My choice,’ he said. ‘It’s why Lucia is so angry. She thought she’d be able to come back, apologise, cry, I’d forgive her as I have whenever we’ve rowed in the past and everything would be back to normal, but…’ he hesitated, ‘things have changed, and despite my outbursts when I came home, I know my feelings for her are… different. Not as strong, perhaps gone.’
His chestnut-brown eyes held her gaze and Tabitha forced herself to look away, her heart pounding. What did he mean? His feelings were gone? How could someone switch off their emotions with such rapidity?
‘Gone?’ she said, unable to help herself.
He shrugged. ‘When I first met Lucia, I was dazzled by her,’ he said. ‘She knew about art, she was funny, well-travelled and incredibly glamorous. When she walked in a room, all eyes were upon her, but it was me she chose. I’d always been shy around girls, probably because I’m an only child and went to an all boys school. I had a steady girlfriend in my teens, but she ended things when we went to university. After that, there was no one serious. Lucia was a revelation and I was swept along by her enthusiasm, hardly able to believe my luck that she seemed to be in love with me. It was after we were married, I realised I’d seen what I’d wanted to see rather than what was there.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Tabitha.
‘I realised her humour was cruel, she could be impatient, unkind, manipulative. But I loved her, so I defended her, tried to understand why she seemed to have changed. I thought it was because of her family, they were always at loggerheads, and I tried to offer her a safe space to heal, to grow. I thought I couldfix her, make her into the person she’d appeared to be when we first met. It’s being back here which has made me realise, she was never the person I thought. She played me. I don’t know why, but the truth is, I don’t think Lucia ever loved me and I’ve realised my feelings for her were never love: infatuation, feeling flattered, a certain amount of bravado at having found such a stunning wife – but not love.’ Gulliver stopped, his eyes clouded with sorrow.
Tabitha squeezed his hand and said, ‘Thank you for confiding in me. Shall we look at the family tree?’
Gulliver smiled. ‘Yes,’ he said and there was relief in his eyes at Tabitha changing the subject, ‘it’s a spectacular document.’
Tabitha watched as Gulliver pulled on cotton gloves, handed her a pair and unrolled the huge scrolls. As the shimmering images were revealed, Tabitha understood why the family had chosen to store it in the scriptorium. The ancient room was an appropriate home for the majesty of the huge document with its copperplate writing and intricate illustrations. Shields bearing images of original coats of arms were surrounded by sinuous swirling patterns and heraldic beasts. The family names were written in the darkest of black ink, tracing the Swanne line from the eleventh century.
‘It’s stunning,’ sighed Tabitha, her eyes moving to the first entry.
Lady Aveline de Cerensthorpe, who had founded the original convent, followed by her son, Lord Edgar de Cerensthorpe, and a string of names, before, in 1498, a square of beautifully written text gave details of the convent becoming part of Lady Elizabeth Howard’s dowry upon her marriage to Thomas Boleyn.
‘This is where our family line begins,’ said Gulliver, pointing at the image of a white falcon beside the face of a black bull, joined to the Howard lion. It was presented as it appeared on the Howard coat of arms: demi-lion rampant pierced throughthe mouth by an arrow. ‘The de Cerensthorpes were distant Howard cousins and the last abbess, Margery de Cerensthorpe, petitioned the crown for aid. The easiest way to assist was to include the abbey as part of Elizabeth Howard’s dowry, then she and Thomas Boleyn could take over the financial responsibility. Margery made the application, but by the time Elizabeth’s request to convert the convent into a secular house had been granted, Margery had died and Sister Anne was abbess, she was given the honorary title of Lady Anne Reynolds.’
Tabitha read the names of the Howard and Boleyn families: Mary Boleyn, wife of Sir William Carey, and the names of Mary’s two children – Kathryn Carey who married Sir Francis Knollys and Henry Carey, 1st Baron Hunsdon, who married Anne Morgan.
Tears welled in Tabitha’s eyes at the beauty of the document, the history wound into the ink, the wonder of ancient blood passed down through hundreds of year, linking the man beside her to these infamous people.
‘We have some amazing documents,’ said Gulliver, returning to the drawer. ‘Although, these are copies; the originals are very fragile and are stored in a secure facility. There’s a letter written by Maud Knollys, who inherited Cerensthorpe Abbey to her cousin, Jane Carey, shortly before Jane’s marriage to a Sir Thomas Mott. Jane and Thomas were planning to stay at Cerensthorpe while their house was renovated.’
‘I’d forgotten you’d mentioned there was a Mott,’ said Tabitha pulling her phone from her pocket, opening her genealogy app and handing it to Gulliver.
‘Of course,’ he said, looking at the names. ‘When you told me your family legends. Your “natural-born witch” – Jane Carye married Sir Thomas Mott. Do you think it’s the same person? The surname is spelled differently.’
‘There was no standard name spelling in the sixteenth century, but I remember being intrigued by it, in case it was a link to the Boleyns via Mary Boleyn’s marriage to William Carey.’
‘Tabs, this is exciting, you have a Carey in your family tree?’
‘Yes, but it isn’t necessarily the same family as yours; there were many people called Carey.’
‘It must be,’ he said. ‘It’s too much of a coincidence. How can we check?’
‘Are there any dates on the letter?’ said Tabitha. ‘Let’s see if they tally with the dates I have for my Sir Thomas Mott and Lady Jane Carye.’
Gulliver placed a folder beside Tabitha and pulled out a scan of a short note.
‘There’s a translation here,’ said Gulliver, ‘the original writing is quite challenging.“My dear cousin, it will be our delight to have you and your Thomas to stay for as long as necessary. Cerensthorpe Abbey is a place of peace and joy, the perfect home for you to begin your marriage together…”Look, it’s dated 1597.’
‘My Thomas Mott and Jane Carye married in 1597,’ Tabitha said as she checked her app as she felt a cold shiver run the length of her spine.
‘Do you think it’s the same people?’ asked Gulliver.
‘Yes, I think it is,’ Tabitha exclaimed. ‘I did some research into Jane Carye and she’s mentioned in the Hunsdon Paper by Henry Carey as “one of my young daughters Jane and Mary” and she appears in 1593 records as a maid of honour to Queen Elizabeth I, who would have been her cousin.’
Gulliver scrolled through Tabitha’s family tree, following the Mott line through numerous name changes: Drayson, Cox, Winter through to Tabitha’s mother, Madelaine Jones.
