“Elias, will you let me explain?”I tried to speak, but I could not force the words out. I nodded once, and cleared my throat. “Yes.”“You hav... to promise me that you will not tell a living soul about this. Please, Elias, swear that you will keep this between us.” Her tone was almost pleading, and she looked at me in earnest.I thought of turning to flee, but I knew Margaret, and the thought that she could be something evil was beyond imagining. A servant of the devil, like witches were reputed to. ? Freddie Clegg looked up from the guidebook to the array of gilt-framed oil paintings that lined the high-ceilinged room, with its twisting, uneven timber floor. It wasn’t hard to imagine, Freddie thought, earlier times with the St John-Ferris family parading in this airy, well-lit room. Now, though, the Barbour -wearing, Ugg-booted, bucolic set of National Trust members elbowing their way through the house would be the last thing that any of the earlier householders would have welcomed.?Makes. More

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