The bearded man made a chopping motion with his hand and, in one movement, the men holding the door threw it down on Janet. There was no hesitation. It slammed into her, the force making her legs and arms fly upwards. Before it had even settled, the men leapt onto it, jumping up and down, beckoning those watching to join. Pulling volunteers up beside them, they stomped upon the wood, drinking from flasks, bottles, crying out in celebration, as if a woman wasn’t being crushed to death beneath their boots.

Janet’s head lolled to one side. Her mouth fell open and her tongue escaped. Where her blood flowed, steam rose into the chilly night air, weaving the murderers with their sweaty bodies and hot whisky breath, in an insubstantial mist. All the while the moon shone its lambent glow upon them, making Janet appear ephemeral, ghoulish, and those killing her evil spectres who’d been granted grey flesh for the night.

Sorcha saw the moment life left Janet. Her eyes, bright with pain and disbelief, widened, grew glazed, then empty.

Janet Cornfoot was gone.

Sorcha stayed at the window, unable to look away. She prayed for Janet’s soul and that those who committed such a foul act, including the man who was really responsible, would pay. Eternal damnation was not enough. What was this if not damnation made manifest? She would never forget what she was witnessing. None of them would. She felt scraped, hollow, as if all the light in the world had been extinguished and a great darkness had taken up residence. A darkness thicker than pitch and just as evil smelling and evil tasting.

Around her, the women wept. Some of the men too.

Nettie stirred, crawled her way to the window and held Sorcha in her arms. They neither cried nor spoke, simply stared.

At some point Sergeant Thatcher regained consciousness and, learning what was happening, clambered to his feet and said something to Sorcha. She gave the barest of nods and he left, taking some of the soldiers with him. They could do no more for Janet Cornfoot, and he was certain she and Nettie were safe for the time being. But they could try and help protect those who’d gone to the Tolbooth. Sorcha hoped with all her wrung-out heart that this time, the soldiers’ presence would be a deterrent.

Those dancing atop Janet didn’t notice them leaving the house; they were too busy.

Minutes or hours later, Sorcha no longer knew, a cart was dragged up the lane by a man in a large floppy hat, who invited people to jump in the back. When four people obliged, he wheeled it back and forth across the door. Across Janet. When it became stuck on the edges, the men were quick to free it, holding it by the sides to make sure it didn’t roll off.