Chapters (76)
- Cover
- About the Author
- Also by Karen Brooks
- Title Page
- Dedication
- EXPLANATORY NOTE
- PART ONE
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- PART TWO
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- PART THREE
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- PART FOUR
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Epilogue: Autumn 1706
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- GLOSSARY
- LIST OF CHARACTERS
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The reverend came alone, pushing the door open and holding a flickering candlestick aloft, blinking and peering. He looked like a badger emerging from its den. For a few moments, Beatrix had the advantage and she saw the reverend before he had a chance to adjust his features. He looked smaller than she remembered, older, but also, as the halo of light accentuated his cadaverous face, narrow lips and strange cold eyes, a man incapable of remorse. How had he ever come to God?
She’d no doubt Cowper was like so many of his ilk, attracted to the Almighty for the power his position afforded him, power he wouldn’t otherwise be able to wield, despite being a man.
‘Och, there you be, Mrs Laing. Cowering among the rags, where your kind belong.’
Beatrix knew better than to respond.
He studied her. ‘I came to tell you that your sisters have joined you.’
What did he mean? She resisted the urge to look around, as if the others might manifest beside her.
Then it struck her. They’d confessed. God damn the arse.
She screwed her hands into fists, relishing the pain that shot up her arms. Keeping her eyes fixed on the reverend, she swallowed the words, the insults and threats batting at her mouth. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
‘Mr Bollard’s expertise was what was needed,’ continued the reverend after a while, his voice oddly flat in the cave, ‘to extract what law and the city officials require in order to put you all to trial — confessions. With the exception of Thomas Brown, everyone has now conceded they are indeed witches and that you, Beatrix Laing, are their leader.’
Beatrix’s eyes glimmered as tears banked. She willed them not to fall. Not yet. It wasn’t what he said that upset her, but what he didn’t. What must have been done to the lasses to make them say such things?
‘It won’t be long before Thomas Brown also confesses. After all, how can he meet his Maker if he doesn’t cleanse his soul?’
The reverend stared, clearly expecting her to ask what he meant, to seek further information. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She’d heard that Thomas was wasting away in the cell, unable to eat, drink or sleep; that at the reverend’s insistence the pricker had been merciless with him, uncaring of his age.
Cowper’s brow furrowed then cleared.
‘It also won’t be long before you’re free of this place, Beatrix — all I’m waiting upon is word from Edinburgh, then this will be over. How will that feel, hey?’
Beatrix raised her chin. A tear escaped and slowly slid down her left cheek. Damn if the canny dede-doer didn’t see it.