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Chapter Four
The Lord of a Burning Manor
    When the clock struck twelve noon that day, Queen Mary rode up to the gates of Scuggate Manor. Her captain hammered on the great front gate. A kitchen boy tugged it open a crack and looked out.

    â€œWhere is Lord Scuggate?” the angry captain growled.
    The kitchen boy wiped his nose on his sleeve.

    â€œSnnncccct! Dunno, pal! Lord Scuggate went out hunting on the moors at sunrise. He’s never usually this late, though. His dinner’s getting cold. He never likes to miss his dinner.”
    The poor people of Bewcastle had come from the fields and the houses to stare at the queen and her soldiers and servants.
    Children with runny noses threw mud at the polished breastplates of her guards...

    ...then ran and hid behind their mothers’ skirts.
    The queen turned her flat, pasty face to the captain of the guard. “What sort of greeting is this for a queen?”

    The captain shrugged. “A messenger was sent to warn Lord Scuggate last night, Your Majesty.”
    She looked at the barred gate and her voice rose. “So? Where is Lord Scuggate?”
    Along the road ran a man, dripping water. He raised clouds of dust from his boots and stumbled when the sole of one flapped and let in stones. His breeches were torn and tangled with brambles. His cap slipped down over his sweating red face and his jerkin was muddy.

    â€œI am Lord Scuggate, Your Majesty; sorry, Your Majesty, I was delayed.”
    The queen looked at him with disgust.
    â€œDelayed?”

    â€œI was trying to catch a witch, Your Majesty,” he whined and mopped his face with a muddy sleeve – just wiping streaks of brown on his purple cheeks.
    â€œWhere is this witch?” the queen demanded. She wrinkled her nose as if he stank like a tramp – which he did.

    â€œShe escaped, Your Majesty. I was planning to burn her in the market place, as a sort of welcome for Your Majesty! We people of Bewcastle know how much you enjoy a good burning!” he said, flopping his hands weakly.
    The captain of the guard drew his sword and strode towards Lord Scuggate.
    He smacked the lord on the back with the flat of the sword. “How dare you!” he hissed.

    â€œHer Majesty’s judges may send some evil men to be burned. But Her Majesty does not like to do it.”
    The captain slapped Lord Scuggate on the backside and the fat lord howled.
    â€œOuch! Sorry! We had heard about Bloody Mary and...”
    Smack! “ Never call her that! How dare you!”

    Smack! “ Ouch!
    Sorry, Queen Bloody...”

    Smack! “ Ouch!
    Sorry...”

    The queen turned in her saddle and looked at Scuggate Manor.
    â€œIs this pitiful pile yours?” she asked.
    â€œYes, Your Queenness,” Lord Scuggate babbled and burbled.
    â€œI will show you who enjoys a good burning!” She turned to her captain. “Burn down his house!”

    Before the clock struck quarter past, the stables had been emptied of horses and the hay set alight. The servants fled as the fire spread. The powder in the gun-room exploded and the sky was filled with crimson flames and black smoke.

    Queen Mary nodded. She turned her horse and led her followers away from Bewcastle.
    A sobbing Lord Scuggate was led away to the stocks to be pelted with rotting fruit.

    There is a hill that looks down on the town. A grey-haired woman in a black dress stood on the top and shook her head.
    Old Nan.

Chapter Five
Sir James’s Terrible Tale
    I went to the Cross Keys Inn when the queen had gone and was given a job as a serving maid.

    I was invisible, as ever, as I served ale to Sir James Marley and Father Walton later that evening. I sat at a table and listened to the tale Sir James had to tell.

    â€œI’ll never go out on those moors again,” he groaned.
    Father Walton’s nose, sharp as a starling’s beak, twitched. “Tell me about it.”
    Sir James began and I, the invisible