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Back The Darkest Shore
Chapters (76)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Also by Karen Brooks
  4. Title Page
  5. Dedication
  6. EXPLANATORY NOTE
  7. PART ONE
  8. One
  9. Two
  10. Three
  11. Four
  12. Five
  13. Six
  14. Seven
  15. Eight
  16. Nine
  17. Ten
  18. Eleven
  19. Twelve
  20. Thirteen
  21. Fourteen
  22. Fifteen
  23. Sixteen
  24. Seventeen
  25. Eighteen
  26. Nineteen
  27. Twenty
  28. Twenty-One
  29. Twenty-Two
  30. Twenty-Three
  31. Twenty-Four
  32. Twenty-Five
  33. Twenty-Six
  34. Twenty-Seven
  35. Twenty-Eight
  36. PART TWO
  37. Twenty-Nine
  38. Thirty
  39. Thirty-One
  40. Thirty-Two
  41. Thirty-Three
  42. Thirty-Four
  43. Thirty-Five
  44. PART THREE
  45. Thirty-Six
  46. Thirty-Seven
  47. Thirty-Eight
  48. Thirty-Nine
  49. Forty
  50. Forty-One
  51. Forty-Two
  52. Forty-Three
  53. Forty-Four
  54. Forty-Five
  55. Forty-Six
  56. Forty-Seven
  57. Forty-Eight
  58. Forty-Nine
  59. Fifty
  60. Fifty-One
  61. Fifty-Two
  62. PART FOUR
  63. Fifty-Three
  64. Fifty-Four
  65. Fifty-Five
  66. Fifty-Six
  67. Fifty-Seven
  68. Fifty-Eight
  69. Fifty-Nine
  70. Sixty
  71. Sixty-One
  72. Epilogue: Autumn 1706
  73. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  74. GLOSSARY
  75. LIST OF CHARACTERS
  76. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thrusting his hands between her knees, Mr Bollard did the unthinkable. He pulled her legs apart. If she hadn’t been lost in a nether world of agony, Beatrix would have keeled over with the humiliation. Her womanly parts on display, like she was a wanton, a whore. She began to cry, to protest, but it came out as gibberish.

‘Behold. She speaks in tongues.’ He spread her legs as wide as her bonds allowed. ‘Look!’ he cried. ‘As I suspected, here is another one.’ Mr Bollard pinched the lips of her mull together, pulling at them and, before she could prepare herself, drove the needle through. This time, Beatrix screamed. It was like a cow bellowing. Blood flowed from the wound, hot and plentiful.

Cries rent the air, powerful, deep. Shockingly, she understood with a distant part of her mind, they were hers. She could take it no more — the pain, the utter abasement.

‘Nae more. Please, please, nae more.’

Mr Bollard inhaled sharply. The reverend moved beside her. ‘What?’ he murmured. It was like manna to her ears.

‘Please… no more. I can stand it no longer.’

‘Do you confess?’ asked the reverend. His voice was so very soft. An unguent, a salve to her hurting body, her aching soul.

‘Aye. I confess, I confess,’ she panted through ragged breaths.

There was an intake of breath. ‘What do you confess, Beatrix Laing?’ She heard the snapping of fingers and then a warm, wet cloth was run over her snottery face. It was so soothing, so nice. A sheet was draped over her body. The blood flowed between her legs, as if she’d given birth again. Aye, she remembered when young James came into the world. But he went to God soon after. Too many of her bairns went to the Lord…

‘To what do you confess, Beatrix Laing,’ repeated the voice. Harder this time. The wet cloth was taken away. The sheet began to slip from her body.

‘I confess that I renounced my baptism…’

There was a noise of disgust. ‘We know that already. Twelve years ago you renounced the Lord. What of it?’

‘I… I… did that so I might enter into compact with the devil.’

‘Did you now?’ She could feel the reverend’s sour breath on her cheek. He smelled of sweat — sweat and whisky. ‘What did he look like?’ The cloth began to pat her fevered brow, gently wipe her scorching cheek.

‘A black dog…’ said Beatrix, thinking how ridiculous she sounded. But she’d heard the reverend make mention of a dog the colour of coal. How it was the devil’s hound. Had not others accused of witchcraft in the pamphlets the reverend read to the kirk said the same? Beatrix remembered the story about young Richard Dugdale from Lancashire… he made mention of a mongrel, did he not? ‘He came to me only once. It was upon Ceres Moor and he wore the guise of a black dog.’