The constable rode slightly ahead and nothing much was said but for a short exchange between the two men who shared the cart with us."Constable Barnes don't look happy," one said with the merest hint of a smile."If he keeps downwind, I will be!" replied his companion.On our way back down through Goldshaw Booth, there were more people on the main street. Some seemed to be going about their business while others lounged on corners. A few were standing in open doorways, gazing out expectantly as if waiting for us to pass through. There were a few catcalls and jeers and a rotten apple was hurled at us from behind, just missing the constable's head. He turned his horse angrily and unfurled his whip, but it was impossible to identify the culprit. To more jeers, we continued down the main street, and I was relieved when we were in open countryside again.As we reached the gates of Read Hall, Constable Barnes spoke for the first time since we'd begun our journey back. "Well, Father, we'll leave you now. We'll meet here at the gates an hour after dawn, and back to the tower we go!"Father Stocks and I clambered down, opened the gates, and after closing them behind us, began to -walk up the carriageway between the lawns, while the constable rode away and Cobden continued in the same direction, presumably taking the two bailiffs home before returning to Read Hall. This was my chance to tell the priest about Nowell's housekeeper."Father, I've something to tell you about Mistress Wurmalde --""Oh, don't let her bother you, Tom. Her snobbery just comes from an inflated sense of pride. The fact that she looked down her nose at you is her problem, not yours. But at heart she's a good woman. None of us is perfect."
"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.