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Back The Darkest Shore Save as PDF
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

Every evening after they returned from traipsing about the countryside with their creels, those who were able gathered outside the door to the cave. Uncaring who else heard, they’d shout to Janet, hoping and praying she did. They spoke of the day, the fishing, the tides, sunlight, rain, heat and lately the cooler winds and frosty morns. They told her about the tailor, Angus Riding, who became so drunk he fell asleep on a gravestone, frightening the grieving Mrs Tyler who’d come to pay her respects to her father and ran screaming when she thought he’d risen from the dead.

They shared the tale of Mr Butterworth of Crail who, on advice from the doctor, came walking along the coastal path, his only company a bottle of medicine he’d been given by a French pirate who swore it would aid his melancholy. Finding the medicine made him feel quite hale, he’d downed the entire contents before he’d even left Anster, only to fall from the harbour wall. The tide was high and the current strong. Being a good swimmer, he’d struck out for what he thought was the shore. A Pittenweem boat picked him up almost drowned, halfway to the Isle of May. Turns out, the medicine he was drinking was a rough Irish spirit made from potato skins. The poor man was delirious and swore it was selkies who rescued him when it was really the strapping, thick-haired McDonald lads. Afeared these ungainly water faeries had come to claim him, as soon as he set foot on land, he’d bolted before he could be tended, running into the hills never to be seen again.

It didn’t take long for the guards from the Tolbooth to come marching down the wynd, hollering at the women to be on their way and threatening to lock them up again. They knew it was the reverend who sent them, as his children would hang over the kirk walls watching, the younger ones even throwing rocks and sticks. The fishwives would pelt them with fish heads or clods of peat they’d collected to fill their creels, laughing when one hit its mark. The children would jump down and run away, screeching for their da.