‘Please, captain, sit down,’ said Sorcha, remembering her manners. ‘I’m not being a very good hostess. I can barely think straight. I could scarce believe what Alick told us at the Tolbooth.’ Alick Brigstowe was the Tolbooth keeper, a man with a large belly, bent legs and a gnarled hand — his other one having been amputated after it became caught in the rigging on her da’s ship. Unable to fish with one arm, Alick had been given the job of managing the Tolbooth thanks to her father, who had used his influence as a boat owner to arrange it. There was no love lost between Alick and the reverend; Alick was one of those led astray by the soldiers and more likely to be found drinking ale on a Sunday than attending kirk. He refused the coin the captain offered him when they first knocked on the door of the Tolbooth and demanded to speak to the bailies, and instead reported back all he could hear through the door. It was his information that allowed them to leave before the constables and warn Nicolas.

‘They beat her,’ said Sorcha then downed her drink in one gulp. ‘They beat poor auld Beatrix.’ She shook her head as if to banish the thought.

‘I’ll never forget the sound of her screams. Thank God her William wasn’t there to hear them.’ Nettie shuddered. ‘The bastards. And now we know exactly what she’s been accused of, thanks to Alick.’

Sorcha stared at the fire as it took hold. Wind whistled down the chimney, blowing smoke back into the room. Squinting through the worst of it, she went over what Alick had revealed. ‘You don’t think Beatrix was telling the truth, do you? That she renounced her baptism?’ She raised her limpid turquoise eyes to Captain Ross, then Nettie.

‘Nae,’ said Captain Ross. ‘I think she was telling the men what they wanted to hear.’

‘I agree,’ said Nettie. ‘Anything to stop being hit. In naming Nicolas, she named someone she knew would be strong against the reverend. Against these base accusations. Nicolas laughed when we told her, bless her. Unlike Beatrix, it’s not worth their while to imprison her.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Captain Ross.

Nettie whirled her whisky as she considered how to answer him. ‘You’re not so ignorant as to miss my meaning, are you, captain? Once someone’s named a witch, then the town council is entitled not only to fine them and their families, but also to take a huge portion of their wealth — something like two-thirds or at least a half. Beatrix has means. Nicolas, on the other hand, is as poor as a kirk-mouse, not worth arresting, not really. I’m not sure what the reverend or the bailies hope to get out of questioning her, except perhaps something to help convict Beatrix, who, of course, possesses both property and coin.’