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eyes while the world spun and rocked about her and the screaming went on. She heard Miss Mackie hurtle past her making gasping noises; the yelling stopped, there was only Miss Mackie ’ s voice. She raised her head a fraction of an inch and saw them coming out of a door at the side of the barn; Miss Mackie led them by the hand. James was limping and Bobby ’ s face was covered in blood, blood which poured from his nose, saturating his Fair Isle jersey, splattering the white crocuses. Janet started to scream. ‘ Come out of there at once, Janet, ’ yelled Miss Mackie. ‘ I ’ ll deal with you later. And stop that ridiculous noise. ’ Janet stayed where she was, screaming and hanging on to the ground. Nanny came and walloped her and marched her into the school. Miss Mackie was sliding a great black iron key down the back of Bobby ’ s shirt to stop his nosebleed. Mothers and nannies stood by in pregnant silence. His nose stopped bleeding. His bloodstained jersey was removed and replaced by a spare and girlish cardigan. His face was washed. James ’ s knee was bandaged. Only the crocuses bore witness to the horror that had been.
    ‘ Now, ’ announced Miss Mackie, ‘ it ’ s time to ask some questions. And about time too. ’ Janet found a voice, unusually high and staccato, ‘ Where ’ s the witch gone? ’ ‘ That ’ s quite enough, Janet. We ’ ll hear from the boys first. Come along, James, tell us the truth. ’ The moon face of James ’ s large and masterful mother hung above him. ‘ We were only trying to fetch the wee cat for Janet. ’ ‘ What wee cat? ’ ‘ She said there was a wee lost cat there, ’ James sobbed anew. ‘ She said it was going to die, ’ Bobby mumbled, clutching his mother ’ s hand, tears pumping down his cheeks. ‘ So what ’ s this cat, Janet? ’ Janet wept silently; she shook her head about and wept. ‘ You ’ ve just been up to your tricks, haven ’ t you? There was never a cat up there; you were teasing the boys. And now look what ’ s happened. It ’ s a lucky thing they fell on the straw. It ’ s a lucky thing for you there ’ s not a broken leg. All those rotten floorboards. You know fine none of you can go up there. I ’ m ashamed of you, Janet, you ’ re the oldest in the school. I thought I could trust you. ’ Janet had a dim memory of hearing these words before, then she remembered; it was after Rhona had risen from her tomb. Anger and outrage welled within her: she would speak the truth. ‘ It was because, of the witch. I wanted them to see if the witch was there, ’ she wailed. ‘ Don ’ t talk such nonsense; you know as well as I do that witches are only in fairy stories; and you read far too many of those, if you ’ d like my opinion. ’ The mothers exchanged satisfied glances: they all thought Vera went too far in her choice of children ’ s reading; and she smoked cigarettes and wore slacks. ‘ So if you sent them to look for a witch, why did you say it was a wee lost cat? ’ demanded manly Mrs Marriot, her faint but dark moustache moistly atremble, her eyes beadily accusing. Janet put her thumb in her mouth; she saw the mothers in their circle around her and each face was stiff with distaste, anger, scorn. They were like a whole coven of witches, but she did not feel afraid of them, only cold and angry; there was no point in telling them the truth. She had tried; a waste of time.
    Home she went in mutinous silence, with Nanny and a chastened Francis, to face the wrath of Vera and Hector. In the late afternoon she sat sullen and alone in the chill damp of the spring garden; she watched the pale bright sky dim and deepen to luminous blue while the birds ’ jostling voices faded into sudden single notes of sweetness. In the air was sadness and excitement. After a little Rab came and sat beside her and she wrapped herself about his golden shoulders and felt warm. Dandelion ’ s form looped through the dusk, back arched, tail aloft,