"No, Father," I told him, "it's not that at all. It's far worse. She belongs to the dark. She's a malevolent witch."Father Stocks halted. I stopped, too, and he stared at me hard. "Are you sure about that, Tom? Malevolent or falsely accused-which one is it?"When she looked at me, I felt cold. Really cold. I sometimes feel like that when something from the dark is near -"Sometimes or always, Tom? Did you feel it when you went off alone with young Mab Mouldheel? If so, why did you go?"I mostly feel cold from the dead or those who are part of the dark, but it's not always the case. But when it's as strong as it was with Mistress Wurmalde, then there can be no doubt about it. Not in my mind. And I'm sure she was short-sniffing me."Perhaps she has a slight head cold, lad. Don't forget that I'm a seventh son of a seventh son, too," said Father Stocks, "and I also feel this warning, this cold you're talking about. But I must tell you that I've never once felt it in the presence of Mistress Wurmalde."I didn't know what to say. I'd felt the warning cold for sure and seen her sniffing. Could I have been wrong?

"Look, Tom, what you tell me isn't proof, is it?" the priest continued. "But let's be on our guard and think about it some more. See if you feel the same when you meet Mistress Wurmalde again."I'd rather spend the night somewhere else," I said. "When Mistress Wurmalde looked at me, she realized immediately that I knew she was a witch. It's a warm enough night. I'd be happy to sleep under the stars. I'd feel a lot safer, too."No, Tom," Father Stocks insisted. "We'll sleep at Read Hall. That would be wiser. Even if you are right about Mistress Wurmalde, she's lived here undetected for several years and has a comfortable life -one that the role of housekeeper won't give her elsewhere. She won't do anything to undermine that or give herself away, so I think we'll be safe enough for one night, don't you? Am I right?"When I nodded uncertainly, Father Stocks patted my shoulder. We continued toward the house and walked up to the side door for the second time that day. Once again, the same maid answered the priest's knock. But, to my relief, we didn't have to talk to Mistress Wurmalde again.Upon being informed that her master had ridden to Colne to speak to the commander of the garrison there, and that we were to be guests at Read Hall, the maid went off to tell Mistress Wurmalde.

She soon returned alone and showed us into the kitchen, where we were given a light supper. It was cold mutton again, but I didn't complain. Once we were alone, Father Stocks blessed the food quickly, then ate heartily. I just looked at the cold meat and pushed my plate away, but it wasn't because it looked so unappetizing.Father Stocks smiled at me across the kitchen table; he knew that I was fasting, preparing for danger from the dark."Eat up, Tom-you'll be safe enough tonight, I promise you," he told me. "We'll face the dark soon enough, but not in Magistrate Nowell's house. Witch or no witch, Mistress Wurmalde will be forced to keep her distance."

"I'd rather play safe, Father," I told him."Suit yourself, Tom. But you'll need all your strength in the morning. It's likely to be a difficult and anxious day."I didn't need reminding about it, but I still declined to eat.When the maid returned, she glanced crossly at my full plate, but rather than clearing the table she offered to show us up to our rooms.They were adjacent and on the top story, at the front of the east wing of the house, facing the wide gates. My room had a large mirror directly above the bed, and I immediately turned it to the wall. Now, at least, no witch would be able to spy on me using that. Next I raised the sash window and peered out, drawing in gulps of the cool night air. I was determined not to sleep.Soon it started to grow dark, and somewhere far away an owl hooted. It had been a long day, and it became harder and harder to stay awake. But then I heard noises. First the crack of a whip and then horses' hooves pounding gravel. The sounds seemed to be coming from the rear of the house. To my astonishment, a coach and four came round the side and continued down the carriageway toward the gates. And what a coach! I'd never seen anything like it in my life.It was black as ebony and so highly polished that I could see the moon and stars reflected in it. The horses were also black and wore dark plumes, and as I watched, the driver cracked his whip above their backs. I couldn't be certain, but I thought it was Cobden, the man who'd driven our cart to Malkin Tower. Again, although it was difficult to be sure at that distance, it looked as if the gates had opened by themselves and then closed after the coach had gone through. There was certainly no sign of anyone in the vicinity.And who was inside that coach? It was impossible to see through the windows because of the dark curtains behind the glass, but it was a carriage fit for a king or queen. Was Mistress Wurmalde inside? If so, where was she going and why? I was now wide awake. I felt sure she'd return before dawn.

Footprints

I watched for half an hour and nothing happened. The moon drifted slowly down toward the west, and at one point there was a brief but heavy shower of rain, a furious cloudburst that left copious puddles on the carriageway. But soon the rain cloud floated away and the moon bathed everything in its yellow light once more. About another fifteen minutes passed, and I was now struggling to keep awake, my eyes beginning to close, my head starting to nod, when suddenly I was jerked alert by the hoot of an owl somewhere in the darkness. Then I heard the distant sound of galloping horses and carriage wheels.The coach was heading straight for the gates; just when the lead horses seemed about to crash right into them, they opened of their own accord. This time I saw it clearly. An instant later the coach was racing toward the house, the driver cracking his whip as if his very life depended on it, only slowing the horses as they reached the fork that would bring them round to the rear of the house.Suddenly I knew that I had to see if Mistress Wurmalde was in that coach. I had to be sure it was her, and I had a strong feeling that I would see something vital.

One of the back bedrooms would afford such a view. I assumed the servants had their own quarters, so apart from the priest and me there should be nobody on this floor. At least I hoped not.Nevertheless, I stepped out into the corridor cautiously and listened. All I could hear was loud snores from Father Stocks's bedroom, so I walked down the short passageway opposite until I reached a row of bedroom doors. I eased open the first one and crept inside, trying to make as little sound as possible. It was empty and the curtains were drawn back, allowing a narrow silver shaft of moonlight to enter. Quickly I walked over to the window and, keeping in the shadow of the curtain, peered out. I was just in time. Below was a gravel courtyard pitted with puddles of rainwater. The coach had halted close to a flagged path that led to a door down to my right. I watched the driver climb out and this time got a good look at his face.

It wad Cobden. He opened the carriage door wide and stepped back, giving a low bow.Mistress Wurmalde climbed down very slowly and cautiously, as if she were afraid of falling; then she stepped carefully across the gravel and up onto the flagged path before sweeping on more swiftly toward the door, the hem of her bell-shaped skirt brushing the ground, her haughty head held high, her gaze stern and imperious. Cobden ran ahead and opened the door for her, again giving a low bow. A maid was waiting just beyond the doorway; she curtsied as Wurmalde entered. When the door closed, Cobden went back to the coach and drove it out of sight behind the stables.I was just about to leave the window and go back to my own room when I noticed something that sent a chill straight to my heart. Although the gravel was still waterlogged, the flagged path -was quite dry and Mistress Wurmalde's footprints were clearly visible alongside those of the driver.I stared at them, hardly able to believe what I was seeing. Her pointy wet footprints started at the end of the path and -went right up to the door. But there was a set of smaller footprints between them. Three-toed animal footprints, no larger than those of a very small child. But not those of a creature that walked on all fours.