Patrick stopped writing. He put down the pen slowly and stared at Alexander McGregor. Why, this was far better than he had hoped. The muckle sumph even named Thomas Brown. How could his death be deemed unlawful if he was a witch? If he was among those hellbent on tormenting McGregor? This would clear both him and the bailies of any wrongdoing in either his imprisonment or death. Patrick wanted to cheer.

Reaching out, he held Alexander’s shoulder reassuringly, much as a proud father would a son. ‘What you have done here tonight, Alexander, is a brave thing. ’Tis righteous.’ Alexander’s cheeks suffused with colour. ‘God will reward you for this.’

The reverend regarded Peter, who stared at the floor, his face unreadable, then the fisherman, whose bloodshot eyes shone with unshed tears. Rising to his feet, he removed his hand from Alexander’s jacket.

‘Between you both, you’ve saved not only your own souls, but the souls of every person in this village. God be praised.’

‘God be praised,’ said Peter and Alexander in unison.

With a grim smile, the reverend went behind his desk and found a fresh piece of paper. He sat and began to write again.

‘What are you doing, reverend?’ asked Alexander, pushing his glass along the desk, a clear signal of what he’d prefer to be doing.

Without looking up, the reverend answered, ‘I’m writing to the bailies.’

‘The bailies? What for?’

‘To do what must be done.’ He raised his head. ‘It’s clear that I was right all along. Edinburgh was swift to judge, not the witches, but me. The council. Swift to judge you, Peter. Now, with Alexander’s testimony, we will be vindicated and the village saved.’ Signing the page with a flourish, he read over what he’d written and sanded it.

Peter poured himself and Alexander another drink.

Patrick tipped the candle and watched as wax dropped onto the back of the folded paper. He waited for it to cool slightly, then pressed his seal against it and gave a satisfied look. ‘Take this, lad,’ he said to Peter. ‘Go straight to Bailie Cook’s house and make sure he reads it now.’

‘May I ask what it says, sir?’ asked Peter, putting down his glass and sliding the letter beneath his jacket.

The reverend stood up and stared past the men, through the window and into the night.

‘It’s an order for the arrest of Isobel Adam. She’s clearly the chief tormentor here and thus the one we must break. Once we’ve questioned her and extracted the names of her accomplices — those you’ve revealed, Alexander — then we can move on them.