Thanks to chelsiesouloftheabbey for a delectable prompt on Tumblr. I couldn't resist! I hope you enjoy this little romp into another universe.

Charles swore as he spat sour milk onto the ground. Not again, he thought. It must be this damn heat making it spoil so fast. He went into his cottage to find the bottle of milk so he could dispose of it. He had to go into the village for a few things later, so he could buy more milk then. Charles went back outside to enjoy a few minutes of the cool morning air when his two farm workers, Drewe and Blake, arrived. They were good young men - strong, loyal, and hardworking. Without them, his orchard would not thrive as it had for the last decade.

"Morning, chaps," Charles greeted them.

"Let's hope so," Drewe replied. "Yesterday wasn't so good. Half the apples on the trees were rotten. I don't see how they could have gone bad so fast. We check their growth every day."

"Maybe the peaches will be in better shape," Blake said hopefully.

"We'll make a thorough check today, sir," Drewe promised.

"I know you will, lads," Charles told them. "It's not your fault. Some years the harvest just isn't good." He hoped that yesterday's harvest wouldn't be an accurate prediction of the rest of the year.

Charles left Drewe and Blake to their work and went inside. "William!" he called out to his son. "William!" He looked around the house and shrugged, a little irritated. If the boy had waited a little while he could have run his father's few errands, but as it was Charles was going to have to go himself. He grabbed his bag and headed out, taking a quick peek into the stables. As he had expected, Bella was gone. William loved to ride, even if it were just to the village and back. Charles didn't mind the walk, though. It wasn't far from the orchard to the Downton marketplace. He picked up a few items he needed, left a pair of William's shoes with the cobbler for repair, and went looking for the dairy farmer's wife. When he arrived at her usual spot, she was missing. He asked at the neighboring stall and was told she wasn't there.

"She hasn't got anything to sell!" the butcher explained. "All of her milk is sour."

Charles frowned. "Mine was sour this morning, too. Is she keeping it too long before bringing it to market?"

"No, not at all." The butcher leaned toward Charles and spoke in a low voice. "All the milk is sour. Straight from the cow."

"I've never heard of anything like that!"

Just then, a young man joined the conversation. "That's not the only strange thing happening in Downton," Alfred told them. "My son cries day and night. The medicine woman can't find anything wrong with him, but Ivy and I have hardly slept a wink for the last week."

"Half my apples suddenly went bad yesterday," Charles added.

"Suspicious, isn't it?" the butcher asked. "I think it's the old witch in the woods, casting her evil spell on us."

Charles was skeptical. "I doubt that. She's a harmless old crone. I've hardly ever seen her even come near the village."

Other villagers were drawn to this conversation and joined in, most of them agreeing with the butcher's idea that the old witch in the woods was responsible. "Then how do you explain what's been happening here?" someone demanded.

"It could be any number of things," he replied. "Coincidences."

The crowd in general disagreed with him and their murmurings grew louder and more angry. Before long they had hit on the idea of sending someone to confront the witch in her home. They were arguing over who might be the best man for the job when the mayor walked over to the group.

"What's this?" Robert wanted to know.

Charles spoke up. "These fellows are blaming some bad fortune on the witch in the woods."

The mayor scoffed. "That's nonsense."

"That's what I said."

The crowd became boisterous again, all speaking at once. Both Robert and Charles were well-respected in Downton, but the others had whipped themselves up into a frenzy. They were only interrupted when a young boy came running into the market, pushing his way through the crowd.

"Mr. Charles, come quick!" he exclaimed, out of breath. "It's your son. It's William."

"What's happened?" Charles demanded, following the boy.

"His horse threw him."

Charles could not believe it. William was as good a horseman as anyone in the village and Bella the gentlest creature there was. When he reached the site of the accident his blood ran cold. His eighteen-year-old son lay on the ground, flat on his back, while one of his neighbors held Bella - now perfectly calm - by her bridle. Charles knelt down beside William. The boy's eyes were open, but he didn't seem able to speak.

His neighbor saw his anxiety and tried to assuage it. "He got the wind knocked out of him, poor boy. He might not be able to talk right away."

Charles nodded and turned back to his son, putting his hand on his shoulder. "I'm here, my boy," he said. "Everything's going to be all right, William."

After a minute or so, William seemed to be breathing normally. "I don't know now it happened," he told his father.

"Never mind how it happened. How do you feel?"

"Like I'm going to have a few pretty nasty bruises."

"Can you sit up?"

William grimaced a little, but he sat up normally. Then Charles helped him get to his feet. He gingerly took a few steps before he stood up straight. "I think I'm all right, Dad, aside of some bumps and bruises."

Charles breathed a sigh of relief. He noticed that the group of rabble rousers had followed him and he turned to face them. "I'll go see the witch in the woods," he told them firmly. "And I'll take my sword."

To be continued...