“Well, I won’t hear any more of this nonsense!” she said. She was becoming impatient and wanted to drop the subject, but Mrs. Bramble seemed to be bursting with more to say. “Oh, out with it then! I dare say you might explode if you don’t share what’s on your mind, Mrs. Bramble.” She let a laugh escape, because it was all starting to sound ridiculous.

“This isn’t a funny matter, my lady. You should hear the stories they tell downstairs: stepmothers being chased off cliffs and their souls being trapped in mirrors. One child’s guardian was thrown from a tower, and another was slaughtered by the man who married her daughter! The Many Kingdoms is not a safe place.”

Lady Tremaine wondered if the servants weren’t just winding up poor Mrs. Bramble. “Those sound like fairy stories to me, Mrs. Bramble. And when by the way did you have time to hear all these stories? You came directly here to unpack my things.”

Mrs. Bramble took a book from her large carpetbag. “They aren’t fairy stories, my lady. They are witch stories. True stories all recorded by foul witches who meddle in the lives of unsuspecting women.” Mrs. Bramble looked desperate, and it became clear to Lady Tremaine something might be amiss with her lady’s maid. She was, after all, quite old and would sometimes go on about odd things, but Lady Tremaine had never seen her get this worked up before.

“I see, Mrs. Bramble,” she said, feeling a bit sad because she feared it might be time for Mrs. Bramble to retire. Of course, if it was best to replace Mrs. Bramble, Lady Tremaine would arrange a lovely cottage for her where she could live out her retirement, but she hadn’t expected to have to make this decision during what was supposed to be her holiday away from household concerns.

“Here, my lady, take this and read it.” Mrs. Bramble held up the book. “All the signs are there. You are just the sort of woman to fall into one of these stories. Beautiful, rich, sweet, and kind, tragically lost her husband too soon. But something will change; you will change. I don’t know if it’s the Many Kingdoms or the witches, but something causes the stepmothers in these stories to transform into horrible people. And it’s not just the stepmothers; it’s anyone these witches choose to meddle with.”

Lady Tremaine sighed. “And what makes you think these witches will choose to meddle with me, my dear Mrs. Bramble? What do they know of me, living all the way in London so far away from these Many Kingdoms? What could these witches possible want with Lady Tremaine?”