things.’ She said this to herself rather school-marmishly and suddenly I noticed that her red tresses were shot with silver.
‘You are the witch,’ I said.
‘Of course I am, child. What did you suppose? And no doubt in that childish world where you were born, all witches are wicked.’
‘Most of them,’ I admitted apologetically.
‘Of course. And those who seek us out are always innocent, never foolish or avaricious or covetous. Pah! Your mother came and begged me to help her. She wanted me to open the way to the world she had seen, and she wanted the man she had seen to fall in love with her. I tried to reason with her. You have only seen him, I told her. He might be a fool or a boor, or cruel, or worst of all, dull. But no, she must have him and no other. And nothing would do but that he must fall in love the minute he sets eyes on her. Now why would any girl want a man whose love can be bought by nothing more wondrous than a pretty face and shapely form?
But she would not listen, of course. The young are so conservative in their desires. It is the desires of the old that are marvellous and difficult, except for those fools who want only to be young again. Well, I tried to talk her out of it, but she would not be swayed, so still seeking to daunt her, I named such a high price I could not believe she would agree to it. Her immortality must be given up to open the way and her firstborn daughter must be surrendered to me before she became a woman, in payment for the charm to ensure the man would love her when he set eyes on her. She did not even try to bargain, the little fool. And having made the offer, I had no choice but to go ahead with it. There are rules that govern such bargains and even witches are subject to them.’
She looked out the window and, seeing that the sun had set over the autumn forest, she rang a bell at her elbow. Griselda came hobbling in to lead us to our chambers. I went meekly, bathed in the copper bowl of lukewarm water, then I donned the gown that had been laid out, a gorgeous dress of citrine silk that fell from my shoulders and brushed the floor. Griselda came to help me fix my hair and I let her do as she wished, gazing into the mirror and thinking that Rose had been taken by the witch instead of me, and somehow it must be put right.
When I was led to a vast dining room an hour or so later, the policeman was there alone, clad, to my surprise, in his own dark trousers and grey shirt. He stared at me and I felt the blood heat my cheeks.
‘You look like a princess,’ he said.
‘Of course she is a princess,’ said Madame Torquemada, entering resplendent in a gown of peacock purple and brilliant turquoise, though there was now a good deal more grey than red in her hair. ‘So was her mother, for all her silliness and deceits. A faerie princess, I mean, as opposed to the princesses of your land. There, all young women are princesses, but here or there, only a few have what it takes to be queens.’
‘A prince?’ I asked rather stupidly, for I was somewhat confounded at being told I was a faerie princess.
‘Growing up,’ Madame Torquemada said tartly. ‘Learning to think as well as feel. Girls who think are rare in any world.’ She went to the long, polished, wooden dining table and waited pointedly until the policeman came to pull out her chair for her. Then he came to seat me, before taking the other chair. Only then did I notice there was a fourth setting. Was it for Griselda? Somehow I could not imagine the doddering old servant sitting down with us. Rose then? I felt a thrill of excitement at the thought.
‘You were telling us about Willow’s mother,’ prompted the policeman, as he obeyed Madame Torquemada’s instruction to fill our first glasses with a pale topaz-coloured wine. I noticed with slight dismay that there were five glasses before me, ranging from the small one we held now, to a very large balloon and ending in a tiny glass thimble. I sipped frugally at the light yellow wine, delighted at the