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Bellamy.
    â€œGoeth where?” asked The Axeman.
    â€œWell, go back to wherever you came from,” she said.
    â€œWhere I cameth from? Can’t goeth back there. No, this be the spot I used to liveth on and this be where I be staying.”
    â€œWhere have you come from, then?”
    â€œI were buried in that there field in the centre of the village. Me thinketh it belongeth to Farmer Giles now, The Mayor of Fort Willow. Used to belongeth to our feudal Lord, so it did, in myn day. Lord Fortesque as his name be. I believeth they must needs be relations. I knoweth Farmer Giles liveth in the Manor House, Lord Fortesque’s summer house.”
    â€œWhat? Are you saying that you lived in medieval times and you’ve come back to life?”
    â€œThat be it, lady. Hitteth the nail on the head so ye hath. My soul were disturbed. Me and my fellow-villagers were burieth in the field and would hath been happy to stayeth there for ever. But we was duggeth up and we hath cometh back. You seeth, I hath nowhere else to goeth. I belongeth here, I were here before ye or thy husband was even born.”
    â€œYou can’t stay here! Not dressed like that and holding a double-headed axe. What will the neighbours say?”
    â€œI be not budging from here. This be where I liveth,” he said.
    â€œWe’ll wait and see about that when my husband gets back.”
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Chapter 11
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    In a street not far from Mrs Bellamy’s, Molly was unpacking her wedding gifts and wondering where to put the vases their friends had given them. She had got over the shock of her ruined wedding, thinking that as long as she and Jake loved each other, they’d be OK.
    She heard a strange noise at her back door which led to the garden. Maybe Jake had come back from work early. Why would he use the back door? He never did that. Or maybe she was hearing things. But as she went into the kitchen she could definitely see a shadow behind the frosted window panes. Then a fist knocked lightly on the glass... Molly opened the door a little and saw a young maiden in a bonnet holding a basket of freshly cut daffodils.
    â€œGood day to ye, Molly. I hath bringeth ye some flowers,” the young lady said, pushing the door open with her crook and stepping into the kitchen, “if ye putteth these in one of those beautiful vases, they shall looketh so pretty.”
    â€œSorry, but do I know you?” Molly asked.
    â€œI doth nat thinketh so,” answered the maiden.
    â€œSo what are you doing here?”
    â€œI hath just picketh a few daffodils from myn garden. As I sayeth before, I be going to helpeth you arrangeth them in one of those vases...”
    â€œYOUR garden. Sorry, but there’s something very wrong here. And it’s MY garden you’ve just picked those flowers from. Anyway, why are you dressed like that and talking in old language? Is it April fool’s day, or something?”
    â€œDresseth like what? Talketh like what?” the maiden said. “It be ye who dresseth and talketh strange.”
    â€œWell... you’re dressed like you’ve just come out of some old picture-book, looking like Little Bo Beep in that bonnet.”
    Marian was wearing a pale-blue bonnet and a matching long puffy dress with a little lace-edged crisp white apron over it.
    â€œYes, ye be nearly right. I didst keep some sheep in this garden once, but myn name be nat Little Bo Beep. It be Marian. Sorry to seeth there be no sheep and lambs grazing around the garden now. You should keepeth some sheep, ye know, they eateth the grass, keepeth it tidy. I hath madeth such pretty warm winter dresses for mynself and breeches for myn brothers out of their wool.”
    â€œBreeches for your brothers! What are you on about? Now, if you are on your way to some fancy-dress party and popped in here to play a prank on me, you could have fooled me. But the joke’s over, OK? End of. Finished. Just put the flowers down on