‘The old ways won’t do any longer!’ she cried. ‘It’s time for change!’

There was real authority in her voice: this was no longer the mud-splattered Lizzie who had taken refuge with us in the buggane’s tunnels – though she still twisted her mouth and spoke in a heavy Pendle accent.

‘You’ve enemies across the sea to the east. Captured the County, they have, and now they’ll be looking this way. They’ll want to seize your land and make slaves of you all, there’s little doubt about that. This is no time for dithering; no time for empty talk. A parliament ain’t needed now. What good is a talking-shop when we need action? Want a strong single voice, you do. Need a different type of rule. It’s me you need! I’ll be your queen. I’ll protect you. Support me and keep your freedom. It’s your choice.’

Putting emphasis on the word ‘your’, she extended her left arm and brought it in a slow arc from left to right, pointing her index finger at her audience. The rings on her fingers and the diamonds in the tiara sparkled. She was indeed acting like a queen now – regal, powerful and commanding. She was telling these people that they had but one choice, and that was to obey her.

There was a low grumble of dissent – though one or two men smiled and nodded. Did they actually see her as a future leader, one who would drag them along in her wake?

Lizzie ignored the mutters. ‘It’s a different life for everyone here now. Let the prisoners go, I have. They were Lord Barrule’s prisoners, not mine. His time is over, so I’ve released them and now the cells are empty – except for the spook, of course. But others will join him in my dungeons – those who oppose me.’

This time the mutters became a rumble, then a roar of disapproval.

‘You’re either with me or against me!’ Lizzie’s voice cut through the uproar.

In response, a man rose to his feet; next to him was a very finely dressed woman with silver-grey hair, her gown rivalling that of Lizzie’s. An expression of alarm on her face, his wife grabbed his arm and tried to pull him back into his seat. But he shrugged her off and strode forward to stand directly before the high table.

Florid of face and slightly overweight, he looked prosperous and commanding. But here he was dealing with something beyond his experience.

He pointed a finger at Lizzie and opened his mouth twice before any words came out. His hands were shaking and his forehead glistened with sweat. ‘You are a stranger to our island,’ he told her in a quavering voice, ‘an interloper, a refugee – and a witch to boot! How dare you stand before us and assume such a title? What right have you to declare yourself our sovereign?’

Lizzie smiled malevolently. ‘A ruler needs to be strong, and I’m the strongest here!’ she said, arching her back. ‘You’re challenging my right to rule, old man. For that, your life is forfeit!’

She stamped her foot three times, muttered something under her breath and pointed the index finger of her left hand straight at the man, whose face was already contorted with terror.

His hands went to his throat, and I could see his eyes bulging from their sockets. He made no sound, but blood started to ooze from each nostril and dribble down over his mouth before dripping off his chin. Then he fell forward and collapsed, striking his head hard against the flagged floor. He lay there perfectly still.

Lizzie had killed him stone dead.

The grey-haired woman got to her feet and, with a cry of anguish, rushed forward to help her husband. But she never reached his body.

Lizzie made a sign in the air and chanted the words of a spell. The woman fell to her knees, her hands fluttering in front of her face as if warding off something terrifying.

I was aware of another commotion at the back of the room, where the prisoners had been seated. Someone was trying to force her way towards us but was being restrained by the yeomen. It looked like Adriana. What was wrong with her? If she wasn’t careful she’d be returned to the cells.

But Lizzie wasn’t finished yet. This was a clear demonstration of her power, its aim to cow her audience so that none would ever dare oppose her again. She stamped her foot three times and, in a loud, imperious voice, uttered more words of enchantment in the Old Tongue. I was still learning that language, a relative novice, and they were chanted so quickly that I could neither catch nor understand them. But the consequences were immediate and terrifying.

All the torches in the room flickered and died down, and we were plunged into almost total darkness. Wails of fear went up from the gathering. Then the huge figure of a man began to form in the air above Lizzie. It looked like a trapped spirit summoned from Limbo. At first I thought she had summoned Bill Arkwright again, but as the apparition took shape, I saw that it was the ghost of the man that Lizzie had just killed. Around him swirled the gloomy grey mists of Limbo.

‘I’m lost! ’ the spirit cried. ‘Where am I? What’s happened to me?’

‘You’re dead and finished with this world for good,’ Lizzie snapped. ‘What happens to you now depends upon me. I can keep you trapped in that mist for ever or I can let you go free.’

‘Go? Go where?’ asked the spirit.

‘Either to the light or to the dark, whichever your life on this earth has fitted you for. What’s your name? What did you do upon this world while you lived and breathed?’

‘I’m the chief miller at Peel, a hard-working man. My name is Patrick Lonan and I’m a member of the Tynwald…’

No wonder Adriana had needed to be restrained by the yeomen. Lizzie had just killed her father.

The witch gave a low, cruel laugh. ‘You were a member of the Tynwald. Now you’re just a lost spirit. You serve me and you’ll do my bidding. Return into the mist and await my call!’

The ghost of Patrick Lonan gave a wail of fear and began to fade. The torches flared into life once more, revealing the terrified faces of the guests. Many were on their feet, about to try and leave the hall. The yeomen looked just as scared, in no state to detain any who tried to flee. But Lizzie immediately took control of the situation.

‘Be seated!’ she commanded. ‘All of you. Do it now or join the dead miller!’

Within seconds they had taken their places again. I looked at the table at the back but could see no sign of Adriana. The woman, whom I took to be her mother, was still on her knees, trying to fend off some unseen attacker. Her whole face was twitching, her body starting to convulse. She was muttering gibberish, driven to the edge of insanity by Lizzie’s magic.

I looked at Daniel Stanton. He was just as terror-stricken as the rest of the gathering, clearly in no position to make an attempt on Lizzie’s life.

‘You’ve seen what I can do,’ the witch cried out. ‘Death awaits those who oppose me – along with fear and suffering beyond the grave. I will allow the Tynwald to meet one last time in order to dismiss the Ruling Council and declare me ruler of this island. Get ye gone! All of you! Any who wish to serve me may return to the keep at the same time tomorrow night and I will receive your obeisance then.’

The hall emptied quickly and I saw that Lizzie had a triumphant look on her face. She signalled to two of the guards and pointed to the miller’s wife.

‘Take her home – to die!’ she commanded. ‘Let her be an example of what happens to those who displease me.’

They dragged Adriana’s mother away, still wailing with distress.

‘Out of my sight, you two!’ she said, pointing to me and Alice. ‘Go back to the tower. I want to talk to my seneschal in private.’

I thought briefly about simply following the other guests out of the great hall and over the moat. But then we’d never manage to get back into the keep to rescue the Spook. And anyway, I doubted whether Lizzie would allow it – her power over me was still strong. So I obediently followed Alice across the courtyard to the tower. We went up the stairs and into my room and sat together on the window seat. Outside it was very dark and neither the moon nor the stars were visible; just a few lanterns flickered on the distant boundary wall.