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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

In the room below them, Thomas Brown and the other three women suffered greatly as well. The new guards, hastily recruited and posted to safeguard the lower room only last week, were refusing to give Thomas the food his daughter cooked for him, eating it outside the door with great relish so those inside might smell it and know what they were missing out on. Janet had managed to have a message passed upstairs by one of the other, older guards who felt sorry for them. From this they learned that Thomas had fallen ill and was becoming frailer with each passing day. Sorcha was scared for him. For Janet, too; for all she gave the appearance of being as tough as a seasoned milch cow, she was really just a grannie mutchie.

A noise outside the door drew Sorcha’s attention. The key rattled in the lock. The women scrambled to their feet, meeting in the middle of the room and holding hands, drawing strength from each other. God, they were a sorry looking lot.

Who should enter but the reverend, fresh from delivering his sermon. So much for Sunday being a day of rest.

‘Good afternoon, ladies.’ The rain had plastered his hair to his skull. His smock was damp along the bottom. Grass and clumps of dirt clung to his boots. He smelled of the outside, of wood smoke and, goddamn him, whisky and mutton.

Behind him was Mr Bollard. Sorcha no longer had the energy to be afraid. Following them were bailies Cook and Vernour. There were others as well, the constables, a few town officials. The latter pressed handkerchiefs to their noses, gazing at the women with round eyes, their shock apparent. A couple coughed. One cleared his throat loudly.

‘We’ve come to give you one last chance,’ said the reverend amiably. Sorcha knew his words were empty, said for the benefit of the strangers. He said that every time.

Pulling pieces of paper out of the satchel he had slung across his shoulders, he came further into the room. He laid the papers on the small table and smoothed them out. A quill and inkhorn were also produced. ‘If you would but sign these confessions then all this will stop.’ His hand swept the room. ‘You would be free to go.’

‘Free?’ snorted Nettie. ‘For how long, reverend? For as long as it takes the constables to round us up again and set us to burn upon the Kilgreen like the witches of bygone days.’

The reverend shook his head. ‘You’re wrong, Mrs White. If you do but sign these papers then we can take your confession, seek to baptise you into the Lord’s family again and banish the devil from your soul.’