The journey back to Pittenweem, without Aidan, who was ordered to remain in the city, was a different affair to the restrained one of the morning. Within the confines of the coach there was much laughter and the relieved blether of those who’d been spared. Nettie and Nicolas spent most of the trip imitating Lord Rothes, who had the most unfortunate lisp, while Beatrix, Margaret and Lillie revelled in the fact they’d been able to retract what they’d confessed under duress and were believed.

That was the part that gratified Sorcha the most — that they could explain what had been done to them and how, unable to endure any more pain, they’d admitted to anything the reverend or the bailies suggested, including pacts with the devil in a variety of guises. The men had tried to hide their discomfort at the women’s revelations, but Sorcha could tell they were appalled. The scribe taking notes in the corner was so disturbed by Sorcha’s evidence, at one stage he’d ceased to write.

Upon returning to the village, Sorcha and Nettie had wasted no time but had gone straight to Bailie Bell’s house and presented him with their pardons. The following day, the constable, Simon Wood, had rapped on their doors, handing over a note from the town council declaring that if they wanted their pardons properly acknowledged, they were to pay a fine of eight pounds each.

Knowing this had nothing to do with Edinburgh and everything to do with putting more money in the town’s coffers as well as being punitive, Nettie and Beatrix had wanted to refuse. Sorcha persuaded them against this, even though Isobel, Nicolas, Margaret and Lillie would struggle to pay.

‘I’ll help,’ said Sorcha; anything to prevent them getting into more trouble.

While Sorcha had assets to her name, ready cash was a different proposition. Not only had Cowper and his associates damaged their reputations immeasurably with their false accusations, they’d also taken away their ability to earn money for an extended period. It was hard to make up the shortfall that six months of no income created. The Mistral was due home any day and it was only the guarantee of its cargo and the coin that would bring that enabled Sorcha to borrow enough to help those she’d promised. After Isobel, Lillie, Margaret and Nicolas sold linens they’d saved for their winding sheets — and thank goodness they’d no use for those at present — and Nettie and Beatrix had added what they could, they’d enough.

As a group they went to the council rooms and handed over their fines to the treasurer, Bailie Whyte, who, if they hadn’t known him better, might have been described as shamefaced.

When Sorcha said as much afterwards, Beatrix had cast her a long look. ‘Aye, and William’s really my selkie lover.’ They’d burst into laughter.