The Maid, the Witch and the Cruel Queen
Illustrated by Helen Flook
A & C Black ⢠London
This book is dedicated to the memory of
the tens of thousands of harmless men, women
and children who suffered horribly because of silly
superstitions about witchcraft â Terry Deary
Reprinted 2008, 2010
First published 2003 by
A & C Black Publishers Ltd
36 Soho Square, London, W1D 3QY
Text copyright © 2003 Terry Deary
Illustrations copyright © 2003 Helen Flook
The rights of Terry Deary and Helen Flook to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work have been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
eISBN: 978-1-40811-889-4
A CIP catalogue for this book is available from the British Library.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means â graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or information storage and retrieval systems â without the prior permission in writing of the publishers.
This book is produced using paper that is made from wood grown in managed, sustainable forests. It is natural, renewable and recyclable. The logging and manufacturing processes conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.
Printed and bound in Great Britain
by CPI Cox & Wyman, Reading RG1 8EX.
Table of Contents
Chapter One The Messenger in Gold and Red
Chapter Two The Cruel Killing Queen
Chapter Three The Cottage in the Heather
Chapter Four The Lord of a Burning Manor
Chapter Five Sir James's Terrible Tale
Chapter Seven Old Nan's New Guard
Chapter One
The Messenger in Gold and Red
I remember the day Queen Mary Tudor came to our town. It was the most fearsome, exciting and heart-stopping day of my life. I'll remember it if I live to be a hundred.
I was a serving girl at Lord Scuggate's manor house â a small castle, really. And I was invisible!
No, really!
I carried the food and the wine from the kitchen to the table and all the grand folk in the great hall ignored me.
They never said “Please”, they just held out a wine cup to be filled. They never, ever said “Thanks!”. It was as if I wasn't there. Invisible in my shabby black dress.
My mouth stayed shut. But my eyes could see and my ears could hear. That summer evening there was a sudden hammering on the door. Lord Scuggate looked furious.
“Who dares to knock at a Scuggate door that way?” he demanded.
I hurried over the rushes on the stone floor and opened the door. A young man in a coat of blood-red and gold threw his handsome head up and marched in. The hounds by the fireside growled.
“Lord Scuggate of Bewcastle?” the young man asked, and his voice whined like a leaking trumpet.
“Who wants to know?” his lordship asked. “What sort of slabberdegullion are you to come barging in on Lord Scuggate and his guests?”
Sir James Marley of Roughsike squeaked and tried to shake Lord Scuggate's arm.
His lordship shook him off.
“I'll have you stripped and whipped and dragged at the cart's tail all the way to the gallows!” he yelled at the messenger.
He swelled like a pig's bladder that the boys blow up to play football. His face was purple. “I'll have you⦔
