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
Twenty-Five
TWENTY-FIVE
One Thomas Brown, the only man accused by [Peter] Morton, imprisoned by the minister and bailies, after a great deal of hunger and hardship, died in prison…
— An Answer of a Letter From a Gentleman of Fife, 1705
God damn. God damn them all. Thomas Brown was dead. Found in his cell this June morning, lifeless, cold, bloodied and bruised and fucking well dead.
If only he hadn’t ordered the guards to ignore the pleas for sustenance and medick the women imprisoned with the old man had made. If only he hadn’t made that sappie-headed fool Camron MacGille Tolbooth keeper after Alick’s dismissal. If only the guards hadn’t been so precise in fulfilling their duties…
This wasn’t his fault.
Patrick Cowper paced back and forth in his drawing room, trying to think through the ramifications of this news, delivered by a breathless constable whom the reverend then demanded accompany him back to the Tolbooth so he could see Brown’s body for himself. Ordering Angus Stuart and the Tolbooth guards to remove the hysterical women first, he’d waited until he was quite alone before examining the corpse. Staring at the pale underweight body covered in cuts, bruises and scars, it was evident he was as dead as a fishwife’s herring. He certainly smelled like one.
Squatting beside the cadaver, Patrick shut his eyes. If anyone blundered in, it would look as though he was praying. His mind worked swiftly. How could he turn this disaster to his and thus the town’s advantage? Thomas Brown had lasted over two months in the Tolbooth only to drop dead now. Instructing Angus and Cameron to take the body upstairs to the council room, he’d waited until the doctor examined the cadaver and had given his verdict, then returned home.
Patrick thumped his fist against the mantlepiece in rage.
Pain shot through his hand and up his arm. Inhaling sharply, he cradled his fist in his other hand, feeling the heat rush into it. He breathed heavily to calm himself. Think, he remonstrated. Think! What to do? How to explain this catastrophe. He rubbed his injured hand absent-mindedly. The fucking witch wasn’t meant to keel over. He was meant to be put to the flame before the town so folk could see that justice was served; that demons had been excised. That he, Patrick Cowper, had kept them safe.
What was he to do now?
Brown was the only man identified by Peter Morton. Worried the lad had misstepped, it wasn’t until the Laing woman also named Brown as one of those who had made a pact with the devil that the decision to imprison him was validated. If she hadn’t, then they’d be in more trouble than a Jacobite at Whitehall.