"But where's the big house?" I asked. There was no sign of a building of any kind, and I wondered if it was hidden behind some trees."This is just the laund, Tom-which is another name for a deer park. All this land belongs to Read Hall. It'll be awhile before we reach the hall itself and the inner grounds. And it's a dwelling that befits a man who was once high sheriff of the whole County."

Chapter VIII

Mistress Wurmalde

SET in its own grounds within the laund, Read Hall was the most impressive rural dwelling I'd ever seen, more akin to a palace than the home of a country gentleman. Wide gates gave access to an even wider gravel carriageway that led straight up to the front door. From there, the gravel forked right and left, giving entry to the back of the building. The hall itself was three stories high, with an imposing main entrance. Two ivy-covered -wings extending to the front formed an open, three-walled courtyard. I regarded the expanse of mullioned windows with astonishment, wondering how many bedrooms there must be."Does the magistrate have a large family?" I asked, regarding Read Hall in amazement."Roger Nowell's family did live with him here once,"

Father Stocks replied, "but, sadly, his wife died a few years ago. He has two grown-up daughters who've found themselves good husbands to the south of the County. His only son is in the army, and that's where he'll stay until Master Nowell dies and the lad comes back to inherit the hall and land."It must be strange to live alone in such a big house," I observed."Oh, he's not exactly alone, Tom. He has servants to cook and clean and, of course, his housekeeper, Mistress Wurmalde. She's a very formidable woman who manages things very efficiently. But in some ways she's not at all what you'd expect from someone in her position. A stranger who was unaware of the true situation might take her to be the mistress of the house. I've always found her courteous and intelligent, but some say she's got above herself and puts on airs and graces beyond the call of her station. She's certainly changed things in recent years. Once, when I visited Read Hall, I knocked at the front door. But now only knights and esquires are welcomed there. Well have to use the tradesmen's entrance at the side."So, rather than leading us up to that imposing front door, Father Stocks took us down the side of the house, with ornamental shrubs and trees to our right, until finally we halted before a small door. He knocked politely three times. After we'd been waiting almost a minute, he knocked again, this time more loudly.

A few moments later a maid opened the door and blinked nervously into the sunlight.Father Stocks asked to speak to Master Nowell, and we were shown into a large, dark-paneled hallway. The maid scuttled away, and we were left waiting there for several more minutes. The deep silence reminded me of being in church until it was broken by the sound of approaching footsteps. But instead of the gentleman that I'd expected, a woman stood before us, regarding us critically. Immediately, from what the priest had said, I knew that this was Mistress Wurmalde.In her late thirties or thereabouts, she was tall for a *woman and carried herself proudly, shoulders back and head held high. Her abundant dark hair was swept sideways over her ears like a great lion's mane-a style that suited her well, for it displayed her strong features to good effect.Two other attributes attracted my gaze, so that it involuntarily flicked rapidly between them: her lips and her eyes.

She concentrated upon the priest and didn't look at me directly, but I could tell that her eyes were bold and piercing; I felt that had she so much as glanced at me, she would have been able to see right into my soul. As for her lips, they were so pale that they resembled those of a corpse. They were large and full, and despite their want of color she was clearly a woman of great strength and vitality.Yet it was her clothes that gave me the greatest surprise. I'd never seen a woman dressed in such a way. She wore a gown of the finest black silk with a white ruff at the collar, and that gown contained enough material to dress another twenty. The skirts flared at the hip to fall in a wide bell shape that touched the floor, obscuring her shoes. How many layers of silk would you need to achieve an effect like that? It must have cost a lot of money; such apparel was surely more suitable for a royal court."You are very welcome, Father," she said. "But to what do we owe the honor of your visit? And who is your com-panion:The priest gave a little bow. "I wish to speak to Master Nowell," he replied. "And this is Tom Ward, a visitor to Pendle."

For the first time Mistress Wurmalde's eyes fixed directly upon mine, and I saw them widen slightly. Then her nostrils flared, and she gave a short sniff in my direction. And in that contact, which lasted no more than a second at most, an ice-cold chill passed from the back of my head and down into my spine. I knew that I was in the presence of someone who dealt with the dark. I was filled with the certain conviction that the woman was a witch. And in that instant I realized that she also knew what I was. A moment of recognition had passed between us.A frown began before quickly correcting itself, and she smiled coldly, turning back to the priest. "I'm sorry, Father, but that won't be possible today. Master Nowell is extremely busy. I suggest that you try again tomorrow-perhaps in the afternoon?"Father Stocks colored slightly, but then he straightened his back, and when he spoke, his voice was filled with determination. "I must apologize for the interruption, Mistress Wurmalde, but I wish to speak to Master Nowell in his capacity as magistrate. The business is urgent and will not wait."Mistress Wurmalde nodded, but she didn't look at all happy. "Be so good as to wait here," she instructed us. "I'll see what I can do."We waited there in the hallway. Full of anxiety, I desperately wanted to tell Father Stocks my concerns about Mistress Wurmalde but feared that she might return at any moment. However, she sent the maid, who led us into a large study that rivaled the Spook's Chipenden library both in size and in the number of books it contained.

But while the Spook's books came in all shapes and sizes and in a wide variety of covers, these were all richly bound in identical fine brown leather. Bound, it seemed to me, more for display than to be read.The study was cheerful and warm, lit by a blazing log fire to our left, above which was a large mirror with an ornate gilt frame. Master Nowell was writing at his desk when we entered. It was covered in papers and was a contrast to the tidiness of the shelves. He rose to his feet and greeted us with a smile. He was a man in his early fifties, broad of shoulder and trim of waist. His face was weatherbeaten-he looked more like a farmer than a magistrate, so I supposed he liked the outdoor life. He greeted Father Stocks warmly, nodded pleasantly in my direction, and invited us to sit down. We pulled two chairs closer to the desk, and the priest wasted no time in stating the purpose of our visit. He finished by handing Nowell the piece of paper on which he'd written down the testimonies of the two witnesses from Goldshaw Booth.The magistrate read them quickly and looked up. "And you say Father, that they would swear under oath to the facts stated here?"Without a doubt. But we must guarantee that they remain anonymous."Good," said Nowell. "It's about time the villains in that tower were dealt with once and for all. This may be just what we need to do it. Can you write, boy?" he asked, looking at me.

I nodded, and he pushed a sheet of paper toward me. "State the names and ages of the kidnapped, together with descriptions of the goods taken. Then sign it at the bottom."I did as he asked, then returned the paper to him. "I'll send for the constable, and then we'll pay a visit to Malkin Tower. Don't worry, boy. We'll have your family safe and sound by nightfall."It was as we turned to leave that, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw something move in the mirror. I might have been mistaken, but it looked like a brief flash of black silk, which vanished the very moment I looked directly at it. I wondered if Wurmalde had been spying on us.Within the hour we were heading for Malkin Tower.The magistrate led the way, seated high on a big roan mare. Just behind and to his left was the parish constable, a dour-faced man called Barnes, dressed in black and riding a smaller gray horse. Both were armed: Roger Nowell had a sword at his hip, while the constable carried a stout stick with a whip hooked to his saddle. Father Stocks and I rode in an open cart, sharing the discomfort with the two bailiffs the constable had brought along. They sat beside us silently, nursing cudgels but not making eye contact, and I had a strong feeling that they didn't want to be on the road to the tower.