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 the minister first found her, she’d no intention of revealing who she was. He was a man of God, wasn’t he? She knew what that meant. Someone who hid behind the name of the Lord and His teachings to excuse their own shortcomings. Shortcomings in Patrick Cowper’s case being insecurity, greed, lust for power and a desire to have everyone conform to his way of thinking. The man was a beast; someone who feared what he didn’t understand. What he didn’t understand most of all, as far as she could discern, was women. Rather than seek common ground, he burned it so no one could tread there. She’d met a few ministers in her long life and was yet to meet one who’d prove her estimation wrong. It was just unfortunate that Cowper was the worst of those she’d encountered. She’d no doubt this ruddy-faced man who smelled of sleep, ale and mutton was no different.
And yet, he was.
Helping her into his office first, he swiftly decided she needed more comfort than the sparse room could offer and led her to the house that adjoined the kirk with encouraging words. He summoned his housekeeper to not only bring hot water so Janet might wash and find some clothes for her to change into, but extra blankets and, even better, food. The whisky he brought himself from another room, deeper in the house.
Worn down not merely by her terrible journey and lack of sustenance and the damn cold, but by his gentle manner, before long she found herself telling him everything.
As the room darkened and the housekeeper came in and out, bringing more food, stoking the fire, asking the minister if there was anything else they needed, casting suspicious but also sympathetic looks in her direction, Janet felt herself relaxing. At one stage, a manservant entered and was instructed to prepare a bed for her. She almost squealed with delight. A bed. A real bed. When was the last time she’d slept in a bed? She could scarce remember. Her mind wandered, her tongue too. Was it the whisky? Aye, possibly. But it was also a compassionate, non-judgemental ear that loosened her lips.
When, after the clock struck seven, the minister asked her outright if she was one of the witches that had been pardoned by Edinburgh, making the Weem a bit of a laughing stock among the other parishes for advertising they’d caught witches and being so righteous about it when they were clearly just unfortunate women, Janet knew she’d found a like-minded soul and sent another prayer to God. So many this day already, the Lord must be suspicious.
Watching the way the reverend spoke to his housekeeper — so kindly; to his manservant — with respect — and to her, with such caring deference, gratitude overwhelmed her. Hot tears welled and, before she could prevent them, fell.