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Back The Darkest Shore
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

As the days passed, she learned that Isobel’s second confession, despite what they’d heard, was extracted after a series of beatings and pricking. A report on her arrest and that of her accomplices, along with Isobel’s signed confession, had been sent to Edinburgh. Camron told Sorcha that as far as he knew, none of the other women had been hurt, though they had been questioned. Through Camron, Nettie passed thanks for the blankets and food and said that while they were warmer than they had been the last time they stayed (Sorcha had choked back a sob; as if the Tolbooth was an inn, their internment a holiday), they lacked the one thing they sorely needed.

Sorcha understood. What Nettie meant was hope. They were lacking hope. Truth be told, so was Sorcha, especially since the support they’d once had from the townsfolk had all but evaporated.

Word in Pittenweem was that Edinburgh had played them for fools by forcing the early release of the witches, putting everyone at risk of sorcery and malfeasance. If Edinburgh wouldn’t look after them, they’d no choice but take matters into their own hands. Thank God for the reverend, people said. Sorcha felt like screaming.

Look at us! she wanted to cry out. You’ve known us our whole lives. Comforted us when we skinned our knees as bairns, shared your bannocks, blessed our unions with your sons and brothers, passed us your wee ones to hold when they were born; cried with us at funerals, celebrated when the drave was fine and the ships came home. Why, Beatrix’s husband had been the town treasurer, feted and admired. How many of those baying for blood had not only brought their ripped shirts for Isobel to mend, but fantasised about bedding her? Sought Nicolas’s herbs and lotions when they were hurt? How many had benefited from the work of Nettie and Janet?

Sorcha was forced to face the truth. Reverend Cowper had found his witches. In doing so, he’d not only divided the town, he now had the majority on his side. Sorcha was heartsick. Children started throwing clods of mud at her whenever she appeared and, as early snows fell, clumps of ice were aimed at her head. Cow and dog shit were smeared on her front door one night and even, after she’d been fruitlessly trying to sell fish around the outlying farms, left inside the big pot in her kitchen. When she came home one evening to find some of her mor’s plates smashed, and curdled milk spilled all over the chairs and bedding, she began to lock her door — unheard of in the Weem.