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mother is sickly these days. Without work I won't be able to care for her."
    Gertrude turned back to Millicent and appraised the girl's frantic expression. Oh yes, this would be easy.
    "You know of Lark Willoughby, do you not?"
    Millicent nodded. "Yes ma'am. Everyone knows of Lark. She's good with herbs and for using ointments and salves and such for making folks well. I've been to her place myself to get treatment for a scalded hand. Whatever she did worked wonders. Not even a blister remained the next morning."
    Getrude smiled warmly - as warmly as she could - then her face grew serious. "Well, it has come to my attention and the attention of a few other devoted Christians in the village that Miss Willoughby may not be what she seems and that she is using more than herbs to heal." She paused for effect.
    "Witchcraft," she hissed conspiratorially. "The girl's using black magic, in league with the devil."
    Millicent suddenly looked puzzled. "But...if it be helping the good folk of the village, how can it be of the devil?"
    "It just is!" screamed Gertrude, and Millicent jumped and quailed before the older woman, whose face was now red with fury. "If it is not of God, then it is of the devil!" She stopped then, and composed herself. "Now," she said, forcing her voice to a softer tone. "Millicent, I'm willing to forget your thievery if you can possibly remember one or two things you have seen at Lark Willoughby's cottage that could stand as evidence of our suspicions."
    "You want me to inform against her?" Millicent looked stricken. "Why? To what end?"
    Gertrude reached out and took the younger hands gently in her own.
    "To save her soul, of course," she said, her high reedy voice shaking with false emotion. "Tis likely that poor Lark doesn't recognize the devil's hand in her work, or how his assistance stands to taint those who come to her for aid. We - the church ladies, I mean - merely intend to help her understand this. But we can't help her without the word of someone who can remember - in detail - something to prove our suspicions."
    "And you promise not to hurt her?" Millicent's lip was trembling and a tear slipped down her cheek as she asked the question.
    "I promise I won't hurt her," said Gertrude, thinking that the girl before her was incredibly stupid. No, she'd never lay a hand on the high-minded little forest waif. That would be a task for someone else.
    Millicent took a deep breath. "Well, she can talk to birds."
    "Really? What kind of birds?"
    "Owls. There was one outside her cottage the last time I went there. It screeched at her and she threw it a bit of meat. It seemed unnaturally tame. And she has a cat that follows her everywhere. A black one."
    Gertrude nodded. "Go on," she said hastily.
    "And the day I scalded my hand she gave me ointment but also asked if she could do a bit more to help me. Of course I said yes and she said she would need a lock of hair. I gave it to her and the next day." She looked at her hand. "I never expected it would heal so fast."
    Gertrude raised her eyebrows. "Anything else?"
    "Yes," said Millicent reluctantly. "Her cottage is full of strange things. There are carvings in the beams that I don't recognize and herbs I've never seen before. There are deer antlers on the shelves and the clay from of a --well --an unclothed female tucked away in the corner cabinet. I saw it when she got the bottle for the salve."
    "Hmmm. Thank you, Millicent." The older woman smiled. "You did very well." Then her face grew serious. "In a few days time I will need you to repeat what you have told me to Reverend Pratt. That is the only way we will be able to help poor Lark. After you speak to him, and only afterwards, will we consider this matter resolved. Do you understand?"
    The girl swallowed hard and nodded.
    "Very well, then," she said. "You may go."
    "Not so fast." Lester stepped forward, rubbing his meaty hands together. "I think she needs a bit of a reminder of what will happen if she tells a