I knew she was talking about Billy Bradley, the Spook's apprentice before me who'd died.

    'Billy's gone, Meg,' the Spook explained gently. 'I've told you that already. Don't worry about it. Life goes on. You'll have to get used to Tom now' 'But it's another name to remember,' Meg complained sadly. 'Is it worth the effort when none of them last very long?'

    Meg didn't start on our supper right away.

    I was sent to get more water from the stream and it took me a dozen trips back and forth before Meg was finally satisfied. Then, using two of the fireplaces, she began to heat the water, but to my disappointment I realized that it wasn't for cooking purposes.

    I helped the Spook to drag a big iron bath into the kitchen and fill it with hot water. It was for Meg.

    'We'll retire to the parlour,' said the Spook, 'so that Meg can have a little privacy. She's been down in that cellar for months and wants to freshen up.'

    I grumbled silently to myself that if my master hadn't locked her down there she could have kept the house clean and tidy for his return each winter. And, of course, that led to another question - why didn't the Spook take Meg with him to his summer house at Chipenden?

    'This is the parlour' said my master, opening the door and inviting me in. 'This is where we do our talking. This is where we meet people who need our help.'

    Having a parlour is an old County tradition. It's the best room, as posh as you can make it, and it's rarely used because it's always kept nice and tidy to receive guests. The Spook didn't have a parlour back in Chipenden because he liked to keep people away from the house. That's why they had to go to the crossroads under the withy trees and ring the bell and wait. It seemed that the rules were going to be different here.

    Back home on the farm we didn't bother with a parlour either, because seven brothers made us a big family, and when we all lived at home, we needed all the rooms just to live in. Anyway, Mam, who wasn't born in the County, thinks that keeping a parlour is a really daft idea.

    'What's the use of a best room that's hardly ever used?' she always says. 'People can take us as they find us.'

    The Spook's parlour wasn't really that posh, but the battered old settee was as comfortable as the two armchairs looked and the room had warmed up nicely, so no sooner had I sat down than I began to feel sleepy. It had been a long day and we'd walked for miles and miles.

    I stifled a yawn but I couldn't fool the Spook. T was going to give you another Latin lesson but you need a bright sharp mind for that' he said. 'Straight after supper you'd better take yourself off to bed, but get up early and revise your verbs.'

    I nodded.

    'Just one more thing' my master said, opening the cupboard next to the fireplace. He pulled out a big brown glass bottle and held it up high so I could see it. 'Know what this is?' he asked, raising his eyebrows.

    I shrugged, then I saw the label on the bottle and read it out to him. 'Herb tea' I said.

    'Never trust the label on a bottle' said the Spook. T want you to pour half an inch of this into a cup first thing each morning, fill it up with very hot water, stir it thoroughly and give it to Meg. Then I want you to wait around until she's finished every last drop. It'll take a while because she likes to sip it. That'll be your most important job of the day. Always tell her it's her usual cup of herb tea to keep her joints supple and her bones strong. That'll keep her happy.'

    'What is it?' I asked.

    The Spook didn't answer for a moment.

    'As you know, Meg's a lamia witch,' he said eventually, 'but the drink makes her forget who she is. If s a dangerous and upsetting thing for anyone to remember who they really are, so hope that it never happens to you, lad. It'll be an especially dangerous thing for all of us if Meg remembers who she is and what she can do.'

    Ts that why you keep her in the cellar and away from Chipenden?'

    'Aye, best to be safe. And I can't have folks knowing she's here. No one would understand. There's a few in these parts who remember what she's capable of -even if she can't herself.'

    'But how does she survive without food all summer?'

    'In their feral state lamia witches can sometimes go without food for years, apart from insects, grubs or the odd rat of two. Even when they're domestic like Meg, going hungry for months is no problem. And as well as making her sleep, a large dose of the potion has lots of nutrients, so Meg comes to no real harm.

    'Anyway, lad, I'm sure you're going to like her. She's an excellent cook, as you'll find out soon enough,' said the Spook, 'as well as being a really methodical and tidy person. She always keeps her pots and pans as clean and shiny as new and sets them out in the cupboard exactly as she likes them. Her cutlery is the same. Always tidy in the drawer, knives on the left, forks on the right.'

    I wondered what she'd have thought of the mess we'd found. Maybe that's why the Spook had been so anxious to make sure that everything was made clean and tidy.

    'Well, lad, we've talked enough. Let's go and see how she's doing...'

    After her bath, Meg's face had scrubbed up to a nice healthy pink so that she looked younger and prettier than ever, and even with her silver hair you'd have thought her half the Spook's age. She was now wearing a clean frock, which was brown, the colour of her eyes, and fastened at the back with white buttons. It was hard to be sure, but they looked like they'd been made from bone! I didn't like to think about that. If it was bone, where had it come from?

    To my disappointment, she didn't make the supper. How could she when there wasn't any food in the house apart from half a mouldy loaf?

    So we had to make do with the last of the cheese that the Spook had brought with him for the journey. It was good County cheese, a nice crumbly pale yellow, but there wasn't anywhere near enough of it to satisfy three people.

    We sat round the kitchen table nibbling at it slowly to make it last. There wasn't much conversation: all I could think about was breakfast.

    'As soon as it's light, I'll go and get the week's provisions,' I suggested to the Spook. 'Should I go to Adlington or Blackrod?'

    'You just keep away from both villages, lad,' said the Spook. 'Especially Blackrod. Bringing provisions is one job you won't have to do while we're staying here. Stop worrying. What you need is an early night, so get off to bed now. Yours is the room at the front of the house - go and get a good night's sleep. Meg and I have a few things to say to each other.'

    I did as I was told and went straight to bed. My room was a lot bigger than the one I'd been given back in Chipenden, but it still only contained a bed, a chair and a very small chest of drawers. Had it faced the rear, I'd have been able to see nothing but the sheer wall of rock at the back of the house. Luckily it was at the front, and the moment I raised the sash window, I could hear a very faint murmur from the stream below and the whine of the wind gusting past the house. The cloud had cleared and a full moon was shining, casting its silvery light down into the clough to be reflected back by the stream. It was going to be a cold, frosty night.

    I stuck my head out of the window for a better look. The moon was sitting right on top of the cliff directly ahead, looking impossibly large. Against it, in silhouette, I could see someone kneeling on the facing cliff, looking down. In an instant the figure was gone, but not before I'd seen that it was wearing a hood!

    I stared up at the cliff for a few moments but the figure didn't reappear. Cold air was beginning to fill the room so I closed the window. Was it Morgan? And if so, why was he spying on us? Had it been Morgan watching us too when we were getting water from the stream?