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
When they learned from a note penned by Captain Ross, and passed to them by Camron, that the reverend and council had put a price of five hundred marks each on their liberty, she thought she’d never see the outside of the Tolbooth again. But she hadn’t considered the Weem’s generosity, Nettie’s wealthy friends, or the families who were dependent on the Mistral for their income. It may have taken a few weeks, but they’d raised the required sum.
Not even a spittering kept them away. Sorcha raised her face to the sky, relishing the droplets on her cheeks, the feeling of space, light and fresh air. Inhaling deeply, she sent a swift prayer to the God she’d briefly rejected, the God she’d started to believe only looked out for the likes of Patrick Cowper, and thanked Him.
Aware she looked and smelled terrible, even though the women had tried to wash and tidy their appearance when they learned they were to be released, it didn’t stop folk crowding around her. Some touched her gently on the back, others, mainly the fishwives like Jean Durkie, Therese Larnarch and Jen Hazell, pushed themselves forward and, dragging her off the doorstep, threw their arms around her, uncaring of her odour or the holes in her skirts, and wept into her neck.
Questions were thrown; offers of food, shelter and so much more. It was hard to take in. All the noise, the flesh, the smells, the warmth of the day after the relative quiet and cool dampness of the Tolbooth, let alone the fall of rain upon her skin. She turned one way, then the other, not really seeing anyone, unable still to find words. She hoped they understood.
There was a movement behind her and then another cheer went up as Nettie appeared. Like a queen before her subjects, she lifted her chin, gave a wave and grin, her teeth stained, her lips dry, though her cheeks were wet. Linking her arm through Sorcha’s, she drew her away from the Tolbooth entrance as if she was afraid they’d be sucked back inside its dark doorway. A commotion immediately in front of them revealed Nettie’s husband shouldering people aside. He was chalk-pale and appeared as if he too had been in the Tolbooth, he was so thin. Letting go of Sorcha, Nettie hobbled across the cobbles and fell into his embrace.
The sight of them together, locked in a hold, crying openly, made Sorcha’s eyes fill again.
Watching Nettie reunited with Mr White, seeing the husbands or brothers of Nicolas, Beatrix and Lillie Wallace among the crowd, not forgetting Margaret’s sister and even poor Thomas Brown’s daughter, who offered the saddest of acknowledgements, it struck her that she had no one. No one to really care what happened to her, no one to be grateful she was free and welcome her back properly. She was alone.