‘This is ridiculous,’ said Nettie. ‘We’re no accomplices — just as Beatrix Laing be no witch. Why, you’ve known us your whole lives, lads. Who was it gave you a taste of your first mussel, Mark Smith? And what about you, Simon Wood? Look at me when I’m talking to you, lad. Who was it brought fish soup to your ma when she was poorly? Who wiped your dirty arse when you had the squits?’ The fishwives snickered. ‘Nicolas here even used her special remedies to look after your wee sister when she fell and broke her arm.’ When Simon didn’t respond, Nettie sighed and shrugged. ‘Very well. That’s how it is then. We’ll come with you, lads, but only because you’ll be escorting us back here before the tide turns, won’t they, lasses?’

The women tried to mimic her flippancy. All but Sorcha failed. Untying their aprons, they passed whatever tools they were using to the remaining fishwives. The men at the boats had by now crossed the sand and, with the children by their side, were watching the proceedings with a mixture of rage and concern. Sorcha prayed they wouldn’t do anything foolish lest the women be accused of bewitching the men to do their bidding as well.

Taking her lead from Nettie, she gave the fishermen what she hoped was a reassuring wave. ‘It’s all right, lads, kiddykins. We’ll be back to finish before you know we’ve gone.’

Gerard came and stood on one side of her. ‘Where are you taking us, Gerard?’ asked Sorcha, praying it wasn’t the Tolbooth, though at least if it was, they would see Beatrix.

‘To the Morton house,’ said Gerard and began to lead them away from the shore.

‘The Morton house?’ asked Janet. ‘Since when has it become the place the council does its business?’

Mark gave the old woman a shove. ‘Cease your blether. It’s where we’re ordered to take you. Now, move, lasses.’

The last word was said with such disdain, it was all Sorcha could do not to clout him across the ears. The men might have been ordered to take them into custody, but they could show some respect. But it was as if they’d changed — all of them. From former playmates and neighbours into burly, terse guards and the women were transformed into criminals. Nae, she knew what it was they’d suddenly become: witches.

Her stomach flipped and her throat grew dry.

Nettie fell lightly against her and whispered, ‘This does not bode well, hen.’

As they were herded up the High Street, folk came to their doors, spilled out of shops to watch them pass. Most were silent. A couple spat, but whether at the women or the constables, Sorcha couldn’t be certain. Some called out, asking where they were going, why they were being taken.